Falconer+-+John+Cheever

Falconer 95
anything but did I know him well enough to identify him and I
said of course, thinking that he might be in some line-up although
I had already begun to sense that it would be something more
serious and grave, as it was. I followed him down some stairs and I
could tell by the stink where we were going and there were all these
big drawers like a walk-in filing cabinet and he pulled one out and
there was Michael, very dead, of course. The lieutenant said they
got him with a knife in the back, twenty-two times, and the cop,
the lieutenant, said he was very big in drugs, very active, and I
guess somebody really hated him. They must have gone on knifing
him long after he was dead. So then the lieutenant and I shook
hands and I think he gave me a searching look to see if I was an
addict or a queer and then he gave me a broad smile of relief
which meant that he didn’t think I was either although I could
have made this all up. I went back to the motel and had about
seventeen more drinks and cried myself to sleep.”
It was not that night but sometime later that the Cuckold told
Farragut about the Valley. The Valley was a long room off the
tunnel to the left of the mess hall. Along one wall was a cast-iron
trough of a urinal. The light in the room was very dim. The wall
above the urinal was white tiling with a very limited power of
reflection. You could make out the height and the complexion of
the men on your left and your right and that was about all. The
Valley was where you went after chow to fuck yourself. Almost no
one but killjoys strayed into the dungeon for a simple piss. There
were ground rules. You could touch the other man’s hips and
shoulders, but nothing else. The trough accommodated twenty
men and twenty men stood there, soft, hard or halfway in either
direction, fucking themselves. If you finished and wanted to come
again you went to the end of the line. There were the usual jokes.
How many times, Charlie? Five coming up, but my feet are getting
sore.