The Wild Boys: A Book of the Dead

by William S. Burroughs

  The Frisco Kid

  Front Street Nome Alaska 1898. Across the street is RESTAURANT. I walk through a path in waist-high drifts past a dog team dog’s breath in the air and open the door of the restaurant smell of chop suey and chili wood tables Chinese waiter. Order a bowl of chili and coffee. There are several miners at the tables. I am eating my chili when the door opens behind me and icy air touches the back of my neck. Some one comes in and sits down at my table. It is a young man about twenty-three with very pale eyes. He says “Howdy” and orders chop suey. There is talk from the other tables of dogs and strikes and custom duties. I have finished the chili. I am drinking coffee from a heavy white mug with a chipped handle. The curtain between the kitchen and the restaurant stirs as the waiter walks back and forth. I get a whiff of opium. The Chinese railroad workers are smoking in a room behind the kitchen. The young man opposite me eats his chop suey.

  He leans back in his chair and looks at me.

  “Didn’t I see you someplace?”

  “Maybe. Where you from?”

  “Frisco.”

  “I’ve been there once.”

  I offered him a cigarette. He took it fished a match out of his pocket and lit it with a dirty fingernail. We both inhaled deeply. The waiter set his coffee on the table. The party of miners paid and left. We were alone in the restaurant. I jerked a thumb toward the kitchen.

  “Smoking. It keeps out the cold.”

  He just nodded looking at my face the eyes very pale like I could see through them and out the back of his head.

  “They call me the Frisco Kid” he said.

  “I’m Fred Flash from St Louis. Photographer.”

  “You got a place to stay?”

  “No just got here.”

  “You can bunk with me then.”

  “All right.”

  He lived in a boarding house on a side street run by Mrs Murphy.

  “That will be two dollars extra per week” she said when the Frisco Kid told her I would be sharing the room. Room 18 on the third floor. He lit a kerosene lamp. The room was lined with green-painted metal in patterns of scrolls and flowers. There was a copper-luster wash basin, a tarnished mirror, a double brass bed, two chairs, a sea chest by the bed. The window was narrow the cracks stuffed with quilting and covered by a frayed red curtain. We sat down on the bed and lit cigarettes.

  I get a whiff of me then I see room 18 wardrobe a tarnished mirror the window him a cigarette quilting red curtains his fingernail the bed my face drifts out of the back of his head he nodded coffee eating my chili there was a door we went through and some one comes in and sits down pale eyes chop suey Mrs Murphy the room kerosene light his smile through cigarette smoke. It was the first time I had seen him smile. I lay back on the bed blowing smoke toward the ceiling looking at the scrolls. Here and there a white crust had formed streaked with rust. I yawned.

  “I’d like to turn in if it’s all right with you.”

  “Sure” he said. “Why waste money on some sucker trap.”

  He stood up unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled off his trousers. He turned back the bed and whiff of stale flesh came off the blankets. We got in and lay there side by side. He leaned over and blew out the lamp and the smell of the wick hung in damp cold air of the room. Outside angry voices from some saloon a distant pistol shot. Then I was looking up at the ceiling and the room was full of grey light, my breath hanging in the air. I looked around at the lamp on the table the curtains the window. It was very quiet outside muffled by snow. I took in the clothes on pegs the wash stand the mirror. I was lying on my back the Frisco Kid close beside me one leg sprawled across my crotch. Under the leg my cock was stiff and standing out of my shorts. I turned and looked at him. His eyes were open in the grey milky light and I felt a shiver down the spine. He wasn’t there really. Pale the picture was pale. I could see through him. He smiled slow and rubbed his leg back and forth. I sighed and moved with it. He brought his hands up under the covers where I could see and made a fist and shoved a finger in and out. I nodded. He put his hands down and shoved his shorts off. I did the same. We lay there side by side our breath hanging in the air. He hitched an arm under my shoulders. With the other hand he turned me on my side. He spit into his hand and rubbed it on himself. Slow pressure I took a deep breath and it slid all the way in. Ten strokes and we came together shuddering gasps his breath on my back. Where from? Frisco. A kid he never returns. In life used young pale eyes. Lungs out and finished. Tarnished air sunlight through the curtains red curtains his fingernail smiled then and rubbed his leg.

  “You someplace?”

  “They call me the Frisco Kid. I’m out Front Street Nome Alaska 1898.”

  “To stay?”

  “No. Just got here. Want to.”

  I give you for that belated morning man about twenty-three kerosene lamp on a sea chest. Smile through me then I looked at room 18 been there might have seen peeling my breath in the tarnished mirror someone comes in and sits down my crotch feeling the ache in my crotch stiff pulsing against his leg. Shoved his finger in and out I saw the fingernail shiny with dirt under it. Shoved his shorts down we lay there side by side naked he reached over and slid his hand down my stomach and felt it tight and aching when I touched him electric shiver same size same feel feeling myself. Nodded “Sure”

  He said “Why waste money on a whore?”

  Turned back the bed and spit into his hand pressure I breathe cold air the snow was drifting here and there a white crust had formed on the window the wash stand the mirror.

  “Like to turn in if it’s all right with you.” Shoved his shorts off stood there with nothing on stale flesh off the blankets and felt it slide in silver flash behind the eyes bright cold sunlight in the room every object sharp and clear. I took in the clothes streaked with rust the ache in my groin feeling a leg warm against it his pale smile spit on my ass on my side facing the wall sliding in tarnished sunlight I sighed and moved with it stiff he opened his eyes and looked where I could see he wasn’t there really pale eyes looking down his leg.

  “Call me the Frisco Kid. I’m out. Just got here. Want to.” Whiff of breath belated morning the Frisco Kid’s legs used out and finished pale. I could see through him my cock was up under the covers he smiled finger in and out going to turn me too smell peeling old places tarnished mirror shiver down my spine and through the crotch a white crust had formed on his leg.

  “If it’s all right with you” and stood there with nothing on the room was warm and I saw a wood stove. He walked over and threw in a log and put a kettle on the stove. He hung his coat on a wooden peg and I did the same. He sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off and I did the same. He took off his shirt and hung it up pulled down his trousers. He took the kettle off the stove and poured hot water in the copper-luster wash basin. He rubbed soap over his face and neck and dried himself standing in front of the mirror. He peeled off his socks and there was a smell of feet and soap in the room. He put the basin on the floor and washed his feet.

  “Wash?”

  “Sure.”

  He tossed me the towel and I dried myself.

  “Warm in here” he said. He took off his long grey underwear matter of factly and hung it over his shirt. “If it’s all right with you.” He turned to me naked. He stood there and scratched his ass looking at me pale eyes touching me down my chest and stomach to the crotch and looking at him I could see his genitals were the same size and shape as mine he was seeing the same thing. We were standing a few feet apart looking at each other and I felt the blood rush to my crotch it was getting stiff I couldn’t stop it his pale smile we stood there now both stiff looking at identical erections. We sat down on the edge of the bed. He made a fist and shoved his finger in and out. “That all right with you?” I nodded. He stood up and went to the wardrobe and came back with a tin of grease. He got on the bed and kneeled and made a motion with his hands pulling them in. I turned toward him on all fours he rubbed the grease in slow pressure and we w
ere twisting he was pulling me up on my knees and shoving me down his hand on my eggs when I came there was a silver flash behind the eyes and I blacked out sort of there was a tarnished mirror over it stiff I looked at him his shorts stood out and I felt it naked.

  “You figure to do?”

  “I’m not here long.”

  Felt it tight and aching shiver down the spine.

  “Why waste money on a whore?”

  Shuddering gasps my groin shot pictures lawn streets

  sunlight faces a pale leg.

  “Want to?”

  Slow touching me down my chest genital smell peeling with nothing on the room was warm we stood there both stiff as wood.

  In front of the basin and rubbed soap he turned to me and finished.

  Rubbed his leg across my stomach to the crotch smiled finger in and out.

  “All right with you?”

  Getting stiff I couldn’t stop it he peeled the bed “With you?” I nodded. “Just got here. Want to. Warm in here with you.”

  Shuddering off flash behind the eyes sunlight faces that’s us all right in the mirror stiff standing by the wash basin wasn’t there really. The Frisco Kid he never returns. In life used address I give you for that belated morning.

  The Penny Arcade Peep Show

  + “ “ Billy the Kid said: “Quién es?” Pat Garrett killed him. Jesse James said: “That picture’s awful dusty.” He got on a chair to dust off the death of Stonewall Jackson. Bob Ford killed him. Dutch Schultz said: “I want to pay. Let them leave me alone.” He died two hours later without saying anything else.

  * * *

  + “ “ Sardine can cut open with scissors shoehorn has been used as spoon … dirty sock in a plate of moldy beans … toothpaste smear on wash stand glass … cigarette butt ground out in cold scrambled eggs …

  * * *

  + “ “ The old broken point of origin St Louis Missouri … lawn sprinklers summer golf course … iced tea and fried chicken at The Green Inn … classrooms silver stars … dust of young hand fading flickering thighs and buttocks made machine-gun noises as he came … “Look the Milky Way” … “But that was long ago and now my inspiration is in the stardust of the sky” … dim jerky faraway stars the drawer stuck his distant hand there it is just to my shoulder.

  * * *

  + “ “ Wife waves as her husband takes off in an autogiro. The sky is full of them. She gives orders to a robot that does the housework. In shattered cities muttering cripples pick through garbage.

  “We set out Friday, April 23, 1976.”

  “June 25, 1988 Casablanca 4 P.M. A rundown suburban street.”

  “April 3, 1989 Marrakech … unlighted streets carriages with carbide lamps. It looks like an 1890 print from some explorer’s travel book.”

  * * *

  + “ “ Clocks strike the hour. Seasons change. New Year revelers sing “Auld Lang Syne.” Bell rings. Fighters go to their corners. Referee with stop watch ends soccer game.

  * * *

  + “ “ Tissue, minerals, wood seen through electron microscope.

  * * *

  + “ “ Stars and space seen through telescope.

  * * *

  + “ “ Distant 1920 wind and dust.

  * * *

  The Dead Child

  There is something special for me about golf courses something that is supposed to happen there. I remember the golf course in Tangier but it didn’t happen there. I remember a room where the lights wouldn’t turn on and later in Mexico City I see myself standing on a street under dusty trees, and through the trees and some telephone wires the Mexican sky so blue it hurts to look. I see myself streaking across the sky like a star to leave the earth forever. What holds me back? It is the bargain by which I am here at all. The bargain is this body that holds me here. I am fourteen years old a thin blond boy with pale blue eyes. My mind moves from one object to another in a series of blank factual stops. I am standing now in front of the country club. There is a doorman. I stand there until he no longer pays me any attention. If I stand somewhere long enough people stop looking at me and I can walk by them. People stop looking at me and then I can. The women in the market call me ”El Niño Muerto” “The Dead Child” and cross themselves when I pass. I do not like the women young or old. I do not even like female animals and bitch dogs growl and whine at sight of me. I stand there under a dusty tree and wait. The members are walking in and out. Inside the gates is a building and beyond that the golf course. I want to get into the golf course but there is no hurry. A man sees me as he passes. He is looking not at me but around the edges drawing me out of the air. He stops and asks me if I want a sandwich. I tell him yes and he takes me inside where I sit at a table under vine trellises and he orders a sandwich and an orange drink.

  (I buy the dead child a sandwich. An American boy here alone. Listen I made a wrong move finding that golf course to say sir and pretend to be the dead child. Way was blocked of course.)

  The drink is very cold in my throat. I sit there and say nothing. There are several other men at the table. I can see the fuzzy word bits they call their “problems.” I have no problems. I am supposed to reach the golf course to get into the golf course and through the trees. I remember a room beyond that golf course I want. A little shiny ball drifts out of my head and nudges the underside of the vine trellis like a balloon trying to fly up into the sky but a thin thread always holds it back. I am outside now. It is hot. The stranger has given me some money. There is a soda kiosk outside the gates where I buy another orange drink. Other orange drink. I am sleepy. I look around for a place to sleep. I find a corner where there are little round stones against the walls. Round stones are good to sleep on almost like sand. I make myself a place and leaning my knees against the wall fall asleep. When I wake up the stones are cool under my shirt. A man is standing over me. He is pink-faced and peevish. He asks me if I am a caddy. His caddy isn’t here and he wants to know what kind of a club this is where he comes from clubs are run right. Yes I tell him I am a caddy. “Well then come along” he says. The doorman stops us. I am not a caddy of the club. The man argues. The doorman says we will have to clear it with the steward. Then we pass. The steward doesn’t care. He gives me an armband with a little brass disk and number. I am 18. The man is not able to knock the ball far and can’t see where it has gone. I find his balls for him right away. And he says I am the best caddy he ever had and what is an American boy doing here alone? I tell him I am an orphan which is a lie and he gives me twenty pesos. After the man has gone into the clubhouse I find my way blocked by several Mexican caddies.