evear ard

$10.00 US / $13.50 CAN

26>

o 74470 81256 2

lened in Mainz, had ref t

trim thatday, he final pacity gr en-and-blue

dri eway and I Irn wh re Sam md I '3W how ;tohimlhad 't ure that wasn't n the burden f took my Ibow Ill. He stared at flew out of my Ie dirt, I waited

on-this I only very thing that La that 1could It lea.<;t breathe mg time was n Hencel and jerstand at last wa. how much

DEBRA ANNE DAVIS

Fighting the Devil by Killing the Angel

Mrs. W. arranged u Iphab tic IIy, so I pent my entire third grade ear 'itting next to a sadist nam d Hank C. Every day, several times a day, whenever he teacher wasn't laking (th ugh he became more bold a' the year went on and he wasn'teverc ught), Hank would jabrus pencil into my arm. He was shorter than me al1d 1'd look down on his traight brown h ir and he'd g] nee up at me with a ero ked smile and then he'd do it: jab jab jab.

He'd g t up from his eat often t sharpen the pint; I'd sit in my s at in dread, Ii tening to the churn of th pencil sharp ner in the back of th room, knowing the pencil tip would seldom touch pap rl would be dull d instead by my skin. 1'd 0 home with little gray circle, ome with do s of red in the enterl Hank/s own bull's eye l all up n down my left arm. I remember it was my left arm, because I can see my elf sitting next to him, wearing one of the outfits, not just a dr SSI but an outfit-matching socks, hair ribbonl ev n underwe.ar-that my mother would put mt~ in each morning. r I ok at him and hopei maybe not this time, please no morel nd he glan 'es at me (or doesn't-he g t so good at it that after a while he could find my arm without looking) and jab jab jab. Each time Ihope hewon/tand each time he does.

10stly rd just endure. This is what is happening there's nothing I can do nbOllt it. 1'd hop he would stop onhis own. Go away jl/st go muay now, I thinkl don't sayl go lIOW. One day after scho 1I decided that I couldn/t take it any more. I decide that I would t J the teacher th very next time h did it. Of cours' I'd h v to wait for him to do it again first. I felt relief.

1went to sello01 the next day ... and we had a sub titute teacher inst ad ofMrs. W. oIlosts meofmyr solvel butn taliofit.Hankeemed in better spirits than u ual.He tartedins on fterthebellrangwhilew weredoing workboo . Jab jab jab. I stood and walked to th front of the room l my lime green dre brushing against the gray metal of the teach rls desk. UHank always pokes me with the pencil/I r told the tranger. My voi e wa muell small r than I'd hoped. rd said it like a who per; rd meant to ound m d.

"You go back to your stand tell me if he does it again/' she aid. An that wa' it. [nev r could work up the n rve again to walk the fifteen feet to the big desk and blurt out the nature of the botscrirne: alwaysl hep kes mE'. I continued going home ach day with pencil wound .

Davis 1..39

I

I

When 1 think ab ut this now, 1wonder, how couJd I have let it go on so 10 g? Twould never let someone do that to me now. Why did I allow it th n? I kn w he was wrong, that what H nk wa doing to me w omething you could get in trouble for, was something the teacher

would disapprove f. Why did I ndure the pain so long? And why, when T w . finally able to tell on rum, w' my voice 0 small? 1 d n't think the substi ute teacher even underst ad what I'd said; my tone was ~o incongruous with the content.

1knew the teacher, any teacher, w uld be on my id ,migl t en all w me to chan e seats so I wouldn't be hllft ny I nger-and would certainly chastise Hank. I wasn't c I' d f Hank xactly. His power ov r m wa Limit d to the spae we oecupi d at the rectangular desk we hared; on the playgr und, on the oth ride f th classroom, his pencil c uldn'l reach me. H a no thr at without hi pencil, with ut proximity, without the ituation he'd created and I'd allowed.

h problem, I think, wa thatI 'imply wasn't mad at him. When I went to tell th teach r, my voice wasn't loud in a bur of righteous anger, it was demure. I didn't want to bother her. Maybe I didn't want to see H nk pW1i hed. Maybe J didn't think I deserved not to be hurt. Maybe it just didn't seem that big an aberr han, didn't seem like life wasn't supposed t be this w y, because this was h w it wa . Even th ugh no one Is wa being poke at every day, maybe this was ju ·t my lot in lif .

I'm tw nty-fiveyears old.I'm lone in my apartment. Iheara knock.lop n th d orand s ea faceldon'tknow. The man scares me, Idon'tknow why. My first impulse is to shut the dOOL But I stop my elf: you can't do omething like that. It's mde.

I don' invite him in, but suddenly he' pushing the door and stepping inside. 1don't want him to come in; he hasn't waited to be invited.] push thedoortoc1o eit,butldon'tpu'hveryhard;Ik epr memb ringthatit's not polite to slam a door in someon 's fa .

H if: insid . H slam th door hu t him elf and pushes me against the wall. My judgment: he is very rude. Ima e this con 'dou decision: Since he is bing rud , it is okay faT me to be r de back. I reach for the doorknob; I want to open the door and shove him outside and then slam the door in his face, rude 0 not, I don't care n w. But, frankly, I don't push him aside with much determination. I've made the mental choice to be rude, but I haven't b en able t muster the physical bluntnes the act requires.

Or, m ybe I realize the game is lost alr ady. He is tronger than I am, I assunle, as men have ah ay b en stronger. J h ve no r al hanee of

14() Harvard Review 26

pushing him aside. No real chance of itl very angry. I'm a lilll bit angry.

But, despite the fact that rdiJ 't hl m . [know why: it" bec use ['ve been ru

ashamed. WefaUintoourrole quite a ily,tw

ot ler, two peapl rais d in th m Cl

turns out, a rapist and his victim.

la k d my students, allege ireshmen, t your parents teach you that u will tei teach you that you won't teach y ur ki'

One yOlmg woman ai ," y pan everyone. I on't teach my children tha c eryone."

Sh was so oung, but he knew tl Ie Tn?

Workingonthi tuffnakesm aliLll c for h illS about being raped and h WI

mak me di h'ad d, jitt ry-b th ce<

and because writing g bey nd ima! So ometim s I have to stop, leave.

s nt nce (1 couldn't rememb r ar and lac d up my hiking b ots, zipped and brown glov s, threw am Milk a

and marched out into th n t-too-bitte [' d d oded I needed to reread Vi rgi

myselffora hile--"angel" or just "We my desk and in the front pock~t of my bo k with the angel in it. (l auld feell ex t e lor and textur of her owing

I stood in front of the W men's acr 55 the street fran a university, rea books, all kinds of b oks. But th y \ e: th rignt bo k, the nghtessay (I'd forg' ang I wasn't in th tit!). I epl ar Virginia Woolf to tell me, to remind n'

L

:ler, how could 1have let it go on 50

tha l to m now. Why did 1 allow it what Han w s doing to me was !e for, was sam thing the te her Idme the pain. 0 long? And why, 111, was m voice so small? I don't lertoodvvhatI'd'ai ;myton w s

luld b on my ide, might ev n all w ut an I nger-and would certainly nk 'a ,tly. His power over me was '-' rectangul r desk e shar d; on th =Iassroom, his p neil c ul n't rea h lei!, without proximity, without the :I . Iplywa n'tma athim, Wh nIw nt d in a bur tot righte us anger, itwas . Maybe Tdidn't want to see Hank ,erved n t to be hurt. Maybe it just n'tseem like life wasn't suppos to wa , Even though no one else was was just my lot in Life.

my apartment.l htlar a knock. rope 1e man scares me, Idon'tknow why. r. But I top my elf: y u can't do

he IS pushing the do rand st pping _ha n't waited to b invited. I pu:h / har ; I keep rem bering that it's ; fae .

himself and push me against th kc this consci us deci. ion: ince he de bac . I re ch for the doorknob; I utsid and then slam th do r in his 'rank! ,I don't push him asid with 'n , I d10i eta b ntd ,but 1haven't

ess he act require . lr dy He i tr nger than I am,

.trong r. I have n re chance of

pushing him asid . No real chance of it unl ssI'm very angry. And I'm nt very angry. I'm a little bit angry.

But, de pite the fact that I didn't sh e with much force, lie is angry t me.l know why: i s because I've been rude t him. He i" insult d. I am a bit ashamed.

W fall into our r I quite ea ily, two people who have nev r met each other, two people raised in the same culture, man nd a w man. As it turns out, a r piEt and his victim.

I asked my tudents, college freshm n, these two questions once: What did your par nts teach you that you will teach your m n kids? What dld they t ach you th t Y u won't tach your kids?

One young woman aid, liMy parents alway' told me to be kind to veryon . I won't tead1 my children that. It's not always good to be kind to

e eryone." She was so young, but she knew this. Why did it tak. m so long to

learn?

Working on this stu f£ mak s me a li ttle crazy. i tting at my compu t r typi ng for hours about bing raped and how it made me feel and mak me feel make' me distracted, jittery-both beeau. e I drink t much trong coffe and b cause writing goes beyond imagining into reliving.

Sometimes I have to st p, leave. One day, I stopped in th middl of a sentence (1 couldn't remember Samantha's mother's name ... see bel w)

and lac d up my hiking boots, zipped up my parka, put on my brown ha t nd brown gloves, thr w some Milk Bon up the tairs to di tract th dog,

and marched out into the n Hoo-bitteT mid-winter day. I'd decided I needed to rerea ViTgini Woolf. 1'd b en making notes to

myself for a while-"angel" or just "Woolf" cribbled on scraps paper on my de k and in the front pocket of my backpack, to g buy the book, th book with the angel in it. (1 could fe I her hovering a. r typed; I knm th exact color and texture of her flowing gown).

I stood in front of the Women's Studies section of a b ok. tore right across the street from a uni ersity, reading er titl~. Ther w re a I t of books, all kinds of books, But they weren't what 1 wa ted. 1 couldn't find th right b ok, the right essay (I'd forgotten what it was call d ex ctly; the ang I wasn't in th title). I k pt se rching, I wanted th secret; [ n eded Virginia Woolf to t II me, to remind me, how to throttle my angel.

Davis 141

What c uld b asier th< n to write rtiel and to buy Per ian cat· with the profits? But wait a mom nt. Articles have to be about sornet ing. Mine, Ism to remember, was about a novel by a famou: m n. And whiJ I was writing this review, 1 i covered that if 1 were going to review books 1 ~hould need to do battle with a c rtain phantom. And the phant m was a woman, and when I came to know her bett r r called her after th heroine of a famous po m, The Angel in th House. It was she who used to come between me and my pap r when 1wa writingreviews.ltwas she who bothered me and wa t dmy time and so tormented me thatatla tl 'lIed her.

-"Professions for Worn n," Virginia Woolf (1931)

There was TV. Reruns of reruns of [ Love Lucy and The Flintsto1!es. I Dream ofJcal1llie. Bewitched. I can'te en think of a show rom my youth that had a singl f c Ie ch facter who wa smart, self-confident, and respect d by oth rEi. Ysi. tel' and I would lie on our stomach, head' propped n fuzzy c t on pill vr with I pard--kin covers, watching, indiscriminate, mildly entertained, for hours.

amantha was smarter than arren, it was obvi us, but she hid her intellig nc j t as sh hid h l' magic p wer ,power' Darren didn't ha e, p wel' thet made him angry. amantha's mother, Endora, used her pow­ers wHh onfidence and even flair, but he cackled and wore flowing bright gre n dresses and t a much mak -up; she \vas a mother-in-law. 1 was supp sed to Ie 'n h w to be like Samantha, n t like Endora, and r did.

Non of tJ is is n W', of cour e; w can all ee those sexist stere types quit easily, now. But ju t because T an see, under-tand, and b liev that s mething is false, that it's not light, now, doesn't mean it won't continue to be a part of me, always.

(Barbara Eden calling Larry H gman "Master." How many times did 1h ar that?)

[Women] must charm, they must conciliate, they must-to put it bluntly-tell lies if they are to 'ucceed.

142 Harvard Review 26

"It' big," lsay. [turn my head up. I s even then. Well, it i$ big, (And, II fortu

s in few minutes,) And, 1want to more th n he aIr ady plans to. L es learned about flirting and low it wo

ople to like you, to do things for yoy honed. And I'm u ing it n w, T e

f ourse h ha n't plaruled to ki II m He mile d Nnatm (I'monmy

bed, my hands tied behind me, my h

You who com of a younger nd heard of her-y u may n t kn w Hous . 1 will describ her as sho sympathetic.Sh '\ asimmen ely ish. She excelled in the difficult herself d ity. If lh re wa' chicken draught he at in it-in short she had a mind or a wi 'h of her ow alway with the min . and wis e

Back wh n he was pulling my jeans 01

b hind II e, reached around II istb buttons popped open. (He'd a1re dy ti he crawled back a few f 't and began t a stupid way t try to take 'omeon

anything. He wa ha ing a little trouble bec"

obviously, he'd envi i ned they WOll]

ing. "Stop fighting!" he growled at n fighting!" 1 sas ed back at him. And I

mean. Of fighting.

) buy Persicu1 ca ts have to be bout lout a novel by a , I discov red tha t ) do battle with a ,and vvhen I came If a famou poem, :ome between me she who bothered all. tlkiIIedher. a Woolf (1931)

Ie Flilltstolles. I Dr 17//1

I my youth that ha , I t, and resp cted by Ids proppe on fuzzy Idis'rimi ate, mil Iy

OllS, but she hid her , arren didn't have, ,dora, used her paw­I wore flOWing bdgh t n.other-in-Iaw. I -vas Endora, and r did. 'se exist. t'reotype mel, and believe that 'an it won't continue

low ma y tim _ did

must-to put it

"Tt'· big," I say. I tum my h ad up. I smile. Wh do I ay this? I ab' myself, even then. Well, it is big. (And, unfortunately, he will b shoving it up my asS in a few minut .) And, I want to flatter him., 0 he won't hurt me any mar than he already pI ns to. I, yes, I am trying to flirt with him. I've learned about flirting and how it works and what it can do. (It can get people to like you, to do things for y u, to tre t y u well.) It's a skilll have honed. And I'm usin it now. To save my life. (An ,hey, it worked! Unless of course h hadn't planned to kill me in the first place.)

Hesmilesdownatm (I'monmykn es,naked,leaningag ins myown bed, my hands tied behin me, my head in his o'otch) proudly.

You who come of a younger nd happier g neration may not have heard of her-you may not know what I mean by th Angel in the HoU'. J will describe her as . hartly as I can. She was inter ely 'ymp theti .Shewasimmen ely charming. She was utterly uns If­i. h. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She saCl"Hic d h rs If daily. 1£ there was chicken, she took the leg; if ther as draught she sat in it-in short she was so constituted that she never had a mind or a wish of her own, but pr ferr d to sympathize alvvay "vith th minds and wishes of others.

Back when he was pulling my jeans off, this is what happened: he kn 1 d behind me, reached around the waistband to the fly, and pulled until all th buttons popped open. (H 'd already tied my hands behind my ac .) Then he crawled back a f w f t and began. to pull the jea ' ff from the ankles­a stupid way to try to take someone else's pants off, but I didn't say anything.

H wa haVing a little trouble because the pants weren't slippin ff as, obviously, he'd envisioned they would. He tugged, and then began yank­ing. "Stop fighting!" he growled at me. Ooh, that pissed me off! 'Tm nut fighting'" I sassed bac at him. And I wasn't. How dare he! A eus me, I mean. Of fighting.

Davis 143

Above all-I need not say it- he was pure. Her purity was sup­posed to be h r chief beauty-h r blushes, her gr at grace. In tho e days-the last of Que n Victoria~very house had its Angel. And when I came to write Lencount r d her with the very first words. The shadow ofh r wings fell on my page; 1heard th ru'tlingofher kirts in the r am. Directly, that' t . ay, I took my pen in hand to

review that novel by a famous m n, 'he sUpped behind me and whi pered: "My dar, you ar a young w man. You are writing about book that ha been written by man. Be ympathetic; be tender; flatter; deceive; use all the arts nd wiles of our sex. Never let anybody gue s that you have mind oi your wn. Above all, b pure."

One thing being raped did to me: it cau ed me to be sometimes rude to strt ngers. Not out of anger, though, but out of fear.

Twas twenty-five when I was raped. J'm thirty-five now. This hap­pened last week.

I was in a coffee shop, reading textbook for a class I'm t aching. The curriculum for this cours i" Uenging"-which means it's difficult for thest-uden but that it's kicking my butt too. I have to study daily to keep up with the mat rial. I actuaUy njoy this ehall ng and pend a lot of my free time preparing. So, I" as sitting at a littl round table, folders, a spiral n tebook, pens spread ut around me. My cappuccino sat, at the Ie dy, n at my right hand; th textbook lay open in £rant of m . I had my head dovm, st ring at th page in £rant of me, trying to absorb what those word. had to tell me. 0 an bscrver, it might have seemed that I was reading th€ mo t fa cinaling a k ever publish d.

Aft r a while, I took a little break and br ught my now-empty cup back to the count r. There was a guy at the cmmt r waiting for hi drink "What are you r ading?" he asked. He had a big smil on hi face, a friendly smile. He wasn't creepy; he was being friendly. I sensed these things. "It's a textbook," I answer d. I " as looking at the floor now, not at his face any longer.

" h! What class are you studying for?" he asked. 'lt' a class I'm teaching," 1 said. Oh no. "wh re do yOll teach? At - College" "No," [ said flaLiy and tri d to smile a little. I felt nervous, pinned. I

knew the conversation wa n't ver, but 1simply turned and w nt back to my little table. He stood there at the counter, probably watching me walk

144 Harvard Review 26

away and wonderingwhy I wouldr unspoken c d of our culture,l hal a friendly word or a wave. Bul th notice) where rtaughtor whatI taul was no way L c uld e, plain this tc made me too nervou .I certainly w And right ther in the coffee sh rustling ofher skirts: "Be. ympath€ Its tender. And pure." J could 't

Though t wa n'tfini hed with I gathered up my thing' al1d left.

I turne upon h r and caught I her. My excuse, if! wer t b h I acted inself-d fence. Had 1no

He bent down to gently arr nge tl fter it was aU over with. "You et

he tal me. And for the fir t li e in my 1'1

my physical app aranee. Why, I wanted to be can i ered pretly­n thing. Or worse, compliments r m tdome?

Thus, whe.n ver 1felt the shar halo upon my p ge,l took up I hard. Her fictiti us nature harder to kill a phantom thai

1haven't killed er. Yet. Mayb I at h r. Hmm, I wonde how sh imagine hurlin this ten-pound corn ,to my right). Ite sily tean

pure. Her purity was sup­es, h rgr at ac .In Lhos y hue had its Angel. And

.r \ ith th very fir t w rd . ::>e;Ih ard the ru in of her

y, I to k m pen in hand t I e slip ed b hind In and g w man. You r writing a man. e ymp thetic; be

, and wiles of our ex. Never f your own. Abov aU, be

'ed mc to be sometim s rude to ut of far.

. I'm thirty-five n w. This hap­

00 for a cia I'm teaching. The "-which means it's difficult f r t O. I have to tudy d ily to ke p ; challenge and sp nd lot of m ittl r und table, fol er, a pir 1

My c ppuc ino . at, at the ready, n in front of m . I had my head

rying to bs rb what those word ve eemed th t I waS r ading the

r ght my now-empty cup back ~nter waiting r hi . drink. "What "mil on hie; face, a friendly smile. Jy. I s nse the e things. "It's a the £Ioor now, not at hi face any

r?" he a, ked. no.

~ a liltle. I elt n rvous, pinn . 1 I imply tum d and went back to nter, prob bl watching me wal

a ay and wondering why Iwouldn't an wer his quesn n, why, again t the un poken code f our culture, I hadn't at lea t fini h d the exchal ge with a friendly w rd r a wave. But ther wa no way 1would tell him (or y II,

notice) wh reI taughtorwhatI taughtoranythingel aboutme.And there was no way I could explain thi t him courteously; the whole xchange made me too nervo . I certainly a n't angry at him, but I w a bit afraid. And right there in the c ffee hop, I felt the pr enc of my angel, the ru tlingofh r kirt : "Be sympathetic," I heard her reprimand me, we tly. "B tender. And pure." Ie uldn't b polite, but I did f I guilty.

Though I wasn'tfini hed wi my reading, when I got back to th table, I gathered up my things nd left.

I turned upon her and caught her by the throat. I did my best to kill h r. My exc e, if I were to be had up in a c w·t f law, would be that Iactedinself-def nce.Hadlnotkill dhershe ouldhavekill dm .

He bent down to gently arrange the towel ver my bare and oozing body, after itwas all over with. "You were so good-I oking, rjust ouldn'tr sist," he told me.

And for the first time in my lit ,I didn't njoy being complimented n my physical app aranc . Why, I wondered at that moment, had I ever wanted to be c n idered pretty-or kin , or go ? Co lplim nt mean nothing.Orwor e, compliments mean thi .What good doe' -uch a c mpli­ment do m ?

hus, whenever I felt th shadow of her wing or the radiance of her halo upon my page, I took up the inkpot and flung it at her. h di d hard. Her fictitious nature wa of great a, sistanc to her. It is far harder to kill phantom than a reality.

I ha en't kill d h r. Yet. Maybe 1 ne d to go out and g tan inkpot to £lin at her. Hmm, r wond r how she'd hold up against a fI ing lapt p. I can imagine hurling this ten-pound black pIa tic box at her ( ht:!'s up in the corner, t my right). Iteasily tears through the soft blu , rough otton of her

Davis 145

ankle-length gown (sh h a long, thin, whit lace apron tied arotmd her wit). The computer ra hes into the pa e wher the wal and c iling me t; she f lIs to the carpet. And then h t? She's dead. And how do r feel about that? Guilty Relie ed? Well, 1 don't think I'd want to stuff my pockets ith r ck and wad into a river. ( id Woolf ev r really kill her angel? Or is it th angel that killed hr.)

What 1 want to know i~ this:if I'm ever phy. ically attacked again, will I fight to sa e mys If? And will [ be fighting out of righteou anger or out of unstrung fear?

What rneed to w is this: is the angel really the on ho needs to die?

"I gues ['II get twenty year in the p nitentiary for this ... " he says, nd waves hi hand aCT 55 th room at me.

Tw nty years? Just for this? Ju ·t for doing this to m ? Twenty years i5 a really long time.

In fact, h got thirty-five year. On a plea bargain. he p lice, the lawyers, th judge-the state, the legal system-even he, the criminal, the rapist, thought h d erv d decades in jail for what h 'd done to me. Why didn't I?

146 Harvard Review 26

BARBARA SUTTO

Maybe, Maybe Not

r just married the boy nexl de

n ighbor for a year, mayb Ies., n w. His fami! had moved up neighborhood g t used to th i The father was dims adjust( v n tian blinds that cam wit relevant story. Both wer fel scho 1, and di played v h til, never both red to 'peak . the both red to remove the labeI:, t

was finit Iy. omethiJ impe the r ason for their appeal t n

Wh ''''in sup y ur immec in life-as much fa crap. hoot, w ha t you're going to read. On a obitu ri . One f the write-u who'd deY loped some kind {

er n within the cientific co ending from a brain tumor at ag I rem mbered this guy nd hi t

f tim when I was y ung. Wh a claims adju ·t r? I mu t've Iii must'v invented a complex of faces in my memory to c I ul­thirty-one years.

I paid a I t of attention to fl'I

was an only child. As if to h ~

swing set ith one swing. "WI rationale. Kids didn't want topl on the swing and the swing set kid to hang by h r kn s from game with baLL ,bir i o,orwi lh jonely backyard of old pecj pires or Austrian with rare s~

day. Inside was their domain,