Autobiography of Red

by Anne Carson

But his thighs under the Aeroperu blanket were very warm. He snapped off the light and shoved the book deep out of sight in the seat pocket ahead of him. Sat back in the dark. On his left side Herakles stirred in sleep. Ancash was motionless on the right. Geryon tried to cross his knees but could not, then shifted sideways to the left. He would pretend to be asleep so he could lean against Herakles’ shoulder. The smell of the leather jacket near his face and the hard pressure of Herakles’ arm under the leather sent a wave of longing as strong as a color through Geryon. It exploded at the bottom of his belly. Then the blanket shifted. He felt Herakles’ hand move on his thigh and Geryon’s head went back like a poppy in a breeze as Herakles’ mouth came down on his and blackness sank through him. Herakles’ hand was on his zipper. Geryon gave himself up to pleasure as the aeroplane moved at 978 kilometers per hour through clouds registering −57 degrees centigrade.