Joshua MalbinLotUnderstand that El was different back then. He was one demon in a host of equallyunpredictable and bloodthirsty demons, the one who’d attached himself to my family.Most of the time we knew how to deal with demons. We kept them glutted withsacrifice blood and they left us alone. El was merely a little more baroque than others inhis directions for daubing and sprinkling that blood around his altar.Unfortunately, as with all fickle demons there were times when the usual propitiations didn’t work and El’s temper simply erupted. There had been no hint of trouble for a long time when out of the blue El came to my uncle Abie’s tent, ranting thathe’d heard the city I called home was full of fags and queers and he wasn’t going to putup with it anymore. He was heading straight down there to kill us all. When El appearedin those days he looked like any ordinary man, but my uncle knew how dangerous hewas: he and his wife were both pushing a century, and merely because Sarah laughed athim El threatened to make her pregnant. She ran off crying, terrified the labor wouldsnap her pelvis like a wishbone.So Abie didn’t take him on directly. He didn’t ask what El’s problem was with thegays, nor point out that I’d been living alongside them for years and thought they were perfectly lovely people. No, he knew well that while my town had a prominent gayminority, by far the majority of the people there were straight. So first he got El to agree1

Joshua Malbinit wouldn’t be fair to kill all the straight people alongside the homosexuals. He calledthem “evil men” because sometimes you have to talk to a bigot in his own language if you want to get through to him. Then he got El to agree that since it wouldn’t be fair tokill everyone together, he should spare the city if it was evenly split, gay and straight.And last he jewed him down on the percentage, until at last El agreed that if my town wasone-

tenth

straight, he’d let it be.After that Abie decided that since he’d gotten El to agree to impossible conditions,he didn’t have to worry about me or my town anymore, and didn’t bother to send anyoneahead to warn me. I only learned about El’s visit after many months, when it was far toolate to do any good. But El sent guys, two of them, to count gays and straights, and theyhad the bad luck to show up on the morning of the Pride parade. I was sitting on my step,waiting for it to pass by, when they arrived and greeted me.They said they’d come from Abie, which was half a lie since of course he hadn’t

sent

them, but I’d probably have invited them to join me anyway. That’s simply whatyou do in a hospitality culture. It’s not like they told me they were thinking of killingeveryone.Pretty soon the floats started to pass. (I call them floats, but they were really onlydonkey carts.) Dolled-up men balanced on them and handed wildflowers and dates to thespectators. There were dancers and musicians, too, lyre and tabor players, walking before and behind. The carts nearly touched the building walls hemming the strait, packed-earth streets, and the dancers and musicians passed literally within arm’s reach,no more than three abreast. They shouted their usual good-natured innuendos, this year,at my house, mostly directed at my guests.2

Joshua Malbin“Oh, honey, you must be angels,” called one man. “Come on and join us—take meto heaven.”“Behave yourself, Habbashak,” I said, “or I’ll send down my daughters to convertyou.”To me it was all good fun, but my guests grumbled, their mood obviously darkeningthe longer the parade went on. At first I thought, screw ’em, if gay people make Abie’shick friends uncomfortable, he shouldn’t have sent them down to the city. But eventuallythey got so tense that every little comment literally made them flinch, and I suggested wego inside.Just then my good friend Abinoab came by, one of the many, many marchers whowalked the parade in their regular clothes, happy to be part of the show of numberswithout wanting to be showy themselves. I’d known him since I’d first come to the city;he and his boyfriend at the time had been one of only a handful of people we’d invited tomy younger daughter’s naming ceremony. When I’d confessed to him, in private, that Iwas disappointed not to have any sons, he told me not to worry, that was better than being disappointed

your sons.He blew me a kiss hello and one of the guests spat back “Fag!” with so much hate inhis face that it twisted his lips open; his teeth were bared like a dog’s.Abinoab recoiled, though in the narrow lane there wasn’t far he could go. “Lot, whatthe fuck?” He was genuinely wounded, and I didn’t blame him. “How can you stand bythese men?”I pushed the guests into my house and tried to apologize, explaining they werecountry relatives and I’d never invited them. But I didn’t think Abinoab was buying it3