His armaments: soaps, creams and lotions; floss, brushes, swabs and his uncle’s safety razor. The field: the tiny bathroom of the Troupe bungalow, pulsing with rock music from a portable radio. His foe: his body, which seemed anxious to betray him at every turn. If his vigil was not constant, white flakes might break loose from his scalp and snow his hair or speckle his shoulders; a booger might peek maliciously from a nostril; malodorous liquid would seep from his armpits; dirt would collect secretly under his fingernails and between his toes. Each morning before school Bryan conducted a desperate rearguard campaign against the temple of his own flesh. Never did he feel completely successful. But this evening he was going to Ellen Thomson’s for the first time and he planned to flog his enemy into total submission. In the shower, he turned slowly under a jet of scalding water. With a shampoo-conditioner that smelled like apples and peaches and guaranteed an end to dandruff, he washed his hair three times, then shut off the water.
What do You think about Speak To The Earth (1994)?
