Last Exit to Brooklyn

by Hubert Selby Jr.

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  THE CHASE

  A group of kids, about 5 and 6 years old, stood on the steps of the entrance to one of the buildings. Another group stood huddled about a hundred feet away. The 2 groups eyed each other, spitting, cursing, staring. Some of the kids on the steps wanted to get the mothafuckas now and killem, the others wanted to wait for Jimmy. Jimmy was the biggest guy they had. When he come we/ll get the bastards. He run fasteran any ofem. Sheeit man, we/ll catchem all and killem. Yeah man, we/ll burn the mothafuckas alive. They paced on the steps impatiently, spitting and glaring at the other group. Then they heard someone running down the stairs and Jimmy came out. Jimmy yelled to them and took out a gun and said, comeon, lets kill those fuckinbastards. They all screeched wildly and followed Jimmy as he ran at the other gang. They screeched too and started running. The game of cowboys and indians had started. They ran along the streets shooting, yelling, bang, bang, yur dead motherfucka. I gotya. Yo aiss yo did. I gotya. Bang. Bang. In, out and between the people walking, standing, sitting on the benches; running around the trees, bang, bang, looking behind and shooting at the pursuer; knocking into someone and spinning them around—Why dontya look where ya goin ya stupid bastard—or if they were small they simply knocked them down the pursuer jumping over the fallen kid who was now crying and yelling for his mommy. Bang, bang, through the hedges and spinning around the young trees; knocking over the shrubs, bang, bang. Jimmy got one cornered by the steps. He stood just in front of Jimmy on the other side of a baby carriage. The kid feinted to one side then the other. Finally Jimmy committed himself to one side and the kid whirled around the opposite side pulling over the carriage, the baby falling out and rolling along the ground, stopping as it hit the hedge. The 2 kids looked at it for a moment, listening to it scream, then a head popped out a window and wanted to know what the fuck they was doin, and the kids hauledass and Jimmy ran through the hedge after the other kid, bang, bang, and they ran around the building out of sight. The game of cowboys and indians continued.

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  Ada hummed as she washed the dishes. She scoured the sink then made her bed, first opening the windows so the bed clothes should air out, then carefully tucking in the sheets and blanket, fluffing up the pillows (Hymie always liked his pillow thick and fluffy), then hanging up her nightgown and the pajamas she laid out on Hymies side of the bed each night. (Hymie had always liked a clean pair of pajamas every night and though he had been dead these 5 years, 6 in October, October the 23rd, she still laid out a pair of pajamas every night, though now she used the same pair each night, washing them once a month, ironing them and putting them back on the bed. ) Then she tidied up the apartment, sweeping the kitchen floor and adjusting the furniture, before wiping the dishes and putting them away with the other dairy dishes. The humming evolved into light singing as she put on her sweater and coat and readied herself to go downstairs. She looked around the apartment, making certain the stove was off and all the lights out, before closing the door and going out. Near the entrance to the building was a small area bordered with benches and a few young trees. Here Ada sat whenever the weather permitted. She sat on a bench on the near side as she knew it would be in the sun longer than any of the others. This was her bench and here she sat and watched the children, the people passing or sitting, and enjoying the warmth of the sunshine. She closed her eyes and faced the sun, lifting her face, and sat thus for many minutes feeling the heat on her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, feeling the suns rays penetrating her chest, warming her heart, making her feel almost happy. She breathed deeply, sighing inaudibly, and lowered her head and opened her eyes, then raised her feet slightly and wiggled her toes in her shoes. Her poor feet had such a burden to carry and they suffered so in the winter, but now even they were alive and relieved. It would be many, many wonderfully warm and sunny months before her feet would have to be tortured with thick heavy socks and forced to feel the cold. Soon she could go one day to Coney Island and sit on the Boardwalk and watch the swimmers or maybe she could even walk in the surf, but she wasnt sure if she should. She might slip, or someone might knock her over. Anyway, the beach was nice even just sitting on a bench getting the sun. She watched a small child ride by on his tricycle then watched a group of children running after each other and yelling. Occasionally she would be able to distinguish the words they were yelling and she blushed and immediately pushed it from her mind (this too would be remembered next winter) then turned abruptly as she heard a baby crying, seeing the overturned carriage, hearing the voice from a window, seeing a blur as 2 children ran away; trying to locate the baby, getting up from the bench when she finally saw it lying on the ground, but sitting down when she saw a woman coming out of the building. Those children really should be more careful. She watched the mother pick up the child and drop him in the carriage and shove a bottle in his mouth and go upstairs. I hope it wasnt hurt. The baby eventually stopped crying and Ada turned away and once more watched the child circling the benches on its tricycle. She saw a woman passing with her children and shopping cart. The woman smiled, nodded and said Hello. Ada returned her greeting but didnt smile. She was a nice lady but her husband was a no good. He always looked at Ada funny like he was going to hurt her. Not like her Hymie. Her Hymie was always friendly. Such a good man. They would have been married 43 years this summer, July 29th, if he was still alive. Hymie used to help her all the time. And he too loved the beach. But so seldom they could go. Only on Mondays when they closed the store and then sometimes it wouldnt be so nice. But many times they would go and she would make sandwiches and a thermos of a cold drink and Hymie always got for her a beach chair and umbrella. He always insisted. I want you should be comfortable and enjoy yourself. Thats what he said. She would always say no, dont bother. Who needs it? and they would laugh. But always Hymie insisted she should have the umbrella in case she might want to sit in the shade, but she never did and they would sit on the beach chairs getting the sun and once, maybe twice, during the day they would go down to the surf and splash around. He was so good her Hymie. And sometimes when her Ira got older he would tell them to go to the beach, he would mind the store and they would go an extra day to the beach. Her Ira was the best boy any Mother could have. (Everynight before going to bed she kissed their pictures.) Still only a boy already when they killed him. Just a boy. Not even married. Not even married when the Army took him. And he was such a good boy. When he was still just a little one he would come home from school and tell her to take a nap, hed help papa in the store and Hymie would smile so big and rub little Iras head and say yes, take a nap, Iras a big boy now and he will help me and Ira would smile up at his father and Ada would go back to the small rooms behind the candy store and lie down. And sometimes, when maybe it wasnt too busy, Hymie would fix the supper while Ira watched the store and then Ira would come back and wake her up and say suppers ready Mommy. See? And everything would be on the table and they would eat and she would go out and take care of the store while Hymie ate. And Hymie worked so hard. Opening the store at 6 in the morning and going out and getting the papers off the street, and sometimes it would be cold and raining, and he would carry in the big bundles of papers all by himself ( he would never let her help him with that) and cut the cords and arrange them on the stand and she would lie in bed, pretending to be asleep, and all the years they were married Hymie got out of bed so quietly so she should sleeplonger and every morning she would wake up but she never let him know she was awake so he wouldnt worry about her. Then he would come back at 8 oclock and she would pretend to wake up when he touched her, and she would get up and fix the breakfast. For 20 years they had that store and they were so happy—the child ran his tricycle into a tree and toppled off, but got right up and started riding again—maybe they didnt always have so much, but they were happy and she could still smell the soda fountain; the sweet smell of ice cream, syrups, mixed fruits, hot fudge, marshmallow, whip
ped cream and the fudgicles, popsicles and ices and the candy and chewing gum on the counter and the candy shelves on the opposite side of the store, the sliding glass doors smeared by the smudgy hands of thousands of children. She used to lean on the counter and watch them look at the candies pointing with their fingers pressed against the glass. Many times each day this would happen and Ada would wonder why they had to lean against the glass with their hands and why it took them so long to make up their minds what candy they wanted. And then when Ira came, late in her life, it didnt annoy her as much. They were young like her Ira. But when they get older they werent so nice and said bad things to you. But Ira was always such a good boy. And they had to kill him. And they didnt even see his body. Just a telegram and many years later a sealed coffin. My poor Ira. So young. Not even a father and now dead. Dead already 15 years—a few other children joined the one with the tricycle and they took turns riding it, laughing and running around in circles. Ada smiled as she watched them. Dead 15 years and not even children to remember you. I dont know why they did this to me. Even dead before Hymie, his father. And even Hymie left me. Such a good man. Worked so hard his back bent—someone passed and Ada smiled, but they just walked past not noticing Ada and Ada almost yelled at them, but stopped as she noticed that now women were coming down and people were going to the store and children were running and laughing and the sun was getting brighter and warmer and a few men straddled a bench with a checker board between them and maybe someone would sit down next to her and they would talk.

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  WOMENS CHORUS I

  The housewives were on a bench. They looked at Ada and laughed. Everything comes out in this weather. Even Ada. I guess shes airing out her clothes. Laughter. Same shitty coat. She wears it all winter. Why dont she take it off? She got nothin on underneath. Whattaya mean? I bet shes wearing scabs. Laughter. Shes a filthy slob. I bet even the fumi-gator is afraid ta go up her house. I bet her crotch smells like limburger cheese. Laughter. ( One picked her nose, exploring each nostril first with the pinky, locating the choice deposits, then with the forefinger broke loose the nights accumulations, scraping with the thumb and plucking forth, with thumb and forefinger, a choice meaty snot, long and green, spotted with yellows, waving it about, then rolling it in a ball, caressing it between her fingers, trying to flip it off but it clung tenaciously, adhesively to the finger until it was finally rubbed off on the bench.) And that fuckin Lucy. I saw her goin to the laundromat with another bunch of clothes. Aaaaa, who the fuck she thinks she is. Always washin clothes. Yeah, whos she tryin ta kid. You know her husbands goin ta school. Yeah. I guess he thinks hes gonna be somethin. Maybe hes gonna learn ta be a pimp. What for. Aint nobody gonna want ta fuck Lucy. I bet she thinks its ta piss through. Me, I wash my clothes when they need it, but I dont act like that. (One lifted a cheek of her ass, let go a loud gurgling fart and sighed.) Laughter. Looka Ada smilin. I think shes nuts the way she smiles all the time like that. She is. Shes got people talkin to/er in her head. Somebody oughtta call up Kings County and turner in. Laughter. Yeah, it aint safe with nuts runnin around. All she needs is a good fuckin. Maybe I should send Henry ova, hed do a good job. Laughter. I bet shes got money put away somewhere. You know those kind. Yeah. Her husband was in business for himself and you cant tell me shes gotta go on Relief. Look atter sittin alone and smilin. If I had her money you wouldnt catch me sittin here. (A scab is picked off a leg, examined from various angles then flicked away. )

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  PROJECT NEWSLETTER

  It has been brought to the attention of the Management of this Project that certain Adolescent children are taking money from younger children, threatening to beat them up if they do not give up the money they have. They are also stopping the smaller children on there way to the store with deposit bottles and taking them away from them along with any money they might have. Any child caught taking money from younger children will be handed over to the Police Department for prosecution and the families of the children will be immediately evicted. The management recommends that mothers refrain from sending young children to the store with money or deposit bottles. We want this Project to be a safe place for everyone to live. It is up to everyone to cooperate.

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  Mike finally got up. The babys crying was faint, but he knew that as soon as he opened the door the crying would be louder and Helen would come over to him and bother him about something, wanting to eat or get dressed or ask some damn stupid questions. He got dressed and sat back on the edge of the bed and smoked a cigarette, then stretched out on the bed hoping he would feel sleepy. He covered his eyes with his arm, but it didnt help. He put out the cigarette and rolled over on his side—Helen heard the movement and turned from the window, where she had been watching the kids, and waited for the door to open-but he just didnt feel tired. Still he lay there hoping he might drowse off and maybe sleep for a few more hours. At least there would be that much more time passed. I wonder what time it is? Cant be 12 yet, didnt hear the whistle. If the kids would just shut up maybe I could get ta sleep. But the sun was bright and even with the shade drawn there was plenty of light in the room and goddamn-it, he might just as well get up. Might just as well. He rolled back to the edge of the bed and slowly stood. The goddamn kid was probably wet. Krist can he make noise. He went to the window and peered out, keeping the shade down. Most of the windows of the apartments were open and he looked in each one, not shifting to the next one until he was fully accustomed to the changes of light and was certain there was nothing to be seen. Once he had seen a woman, not a bad lookin head either, leaning out the window, talking to someone downstairs, and one of her tits fell out of her robe. She didnt know he was watching so she didnt hurry to stick it back. And it was a good size tit too. Things like that might happen anytime, especially when the weather was warm. That was a good day. He had felt good the whole day. It was almost as good as gettin a strange piece. He had a gigantic hardon all day and when Irene came home from work he walked her right into the bedroom and they fucked like crazy. He had her sit on it and her tits stuck way out and he buried his face in them and all the time Irene wiggled her ass and Krist did his cock twitch. Yeah, that was some day. He wished ta Krist somethin like that would happen again. A couple a times hed seen a nigga bitch walkin around with her tits hangin out, but that was different. It gotim homy, but not the way it did when he saw a white broads tits with big rosy nipples. Thats what he needed. A strange piece. Been a long time since he fucked anybody but Irene . . . Except, of course, for a couplea gangbangs at beer rackets, but that was different. Its not like really makin a broad; Its not that Irene aint a good piece—shes built real nice and got a great pair of tits —but he was gettin tired of the same old shit all the time. And lately she/d been breakin his balls about getting a job again. Fuck her. Why should he work? He dont get nothin outta it. Why should he get up in the mornin and break his balls? They was doin alright like this with Irene workin. —The baby was still crying, but he was completely accustomed to the noise now and with his mind preoccupied he didnt hear him. He continued looking carefully into each window. A young jew girl lived across from him and he watched her window for a long time. She had a nice pair of boobs and hed like ta catch her sometime. If only he could see in the bathroom window and watch her come outta the tub, man that would be somethin. Nice young stuff. Shit. Shes probably outta the house by now. He passed on to the next window. Why in the hell should I work? Break yaballs for what? Ya dont get nothin anyway. Shit. Almost 26 and whatave I got? Nothin. Why should I break my balls for some jew for a lousy couple a bucks a week and they get all the gravy. Fuckem. If I had a couple a bucks I could see somea the boys tanight and maybe we/d pick somethin up. Thats what I need ta straighten me out. Been feelin kindda crummy lately. Need ta go out with the boys is all. If I dont wanna work its my business. He finished making the rounds of the windows
, but went over them again, quickly, but still there was nothing to be seen. Balls. He left the room. He ignored the now loud crying of the baby and went out to the kitchen, Helen walking behind him. I hope ta Krist Irene made a good pot of coffee this morning. He looked at the jar of instant coffee on the table and cursed Irenes lazy ass for not making a pot of coffee. He heated some water and made a cup of coffee, shaking his head yes, no, at Helen who hadnt stopped talking since he came out, agreeing, disagreeing, telling her o k, wait a minute; not today, maybe tomorrow. He lit a cigarette, turned on the radio—Helen still talking—and finally told Helen to stop bothering him. I want to go out Daddy. O K, O K, let me finish my coffee, willya? He drank his coffee and smoked a cigarette then started to dress her, tearing clothes out of drawers, looking for an undershirt and, where the hell areya pants, cursing Irene for not laying out the kids clothes before she left. How inthehell did she expect him ta know where she kept everything and all the time Arthur was crying and Helen stood away, her thumb in her mouth, and Mike was goddamn mad because there was no reason why the things couldnt be where he could find them and why the hell didnt she dress the kid before she left and he finally said the hell with it and Helen started crying and he yelled ta shut up and shoved her in her room. He made himself another cup of coffee and lit another cigarette, trying to ignore Arthur, but he couldnt and knew that sooner or later he would have to change him just as he knew each morning when he awoke that eventually he would have to get up and he would reach this same point when he could no longer ignore the yellin brat and hed have ta change the pissy diaper. Krist, how he hated ta change the kid in the morning. He didnt mind so much in the afternoon, the other time he changed him (when he did), but in the morning it was disgusting. The goddamn diaper was soaked with piss and they stunk like hell. And usually there was a pile of shit and it was smeared all over the kids ass. He finished the coffee and cigarette, but didnt move from the table. Maybe he should go out and get a few bottles of beer first. Yeah, that was a good idea. He bought a few quarts of beer and came back feeling better. He poured a glass and went into the kids room, looked at Arthur, why doya have ta make so goddamn much noise. Krist, ya stink. He yanked the rubber diaper off, then carefully took out the pins and turned his head slightly as he slowly pulled the diaper off. O Jesus, what a fuckin mess! He clamped his teeth together and was so goddamn mad he wanted to slap the kid. Arthur finally stopped crying as the wet diaper was removed and Mike looked at him and told him hed better shut up or hed wrap the diaper around his goddamn head. He dumped the shit in the toilet bowl and dropped the diaper in a bucket. The bucket was filled with dirty diapers and he cursed Irene for not cleaning them yesterday like he told her. She knows she should wash diapers everyday, the sonofabitch. Shit. He went back to Arthur, put a clean diaper on him, pulled up the rubber pants, then dropped a few toys in the crib before going back to the kitchen and his beer. At least that much was over and now he could at least sit and have a beer and listen to the radio and maybe think of something to do.