Requiem for a Dream

by Hubert Selby Jr.

  But there was less and less dope out there. It seemed like each day it was just a little more difficult to get the dope and their phone rang constantly with calls from people looking for some. Occasionally they would get enough to sell and make some bread, but it seemed like most of the time they were using most of what they got. One night they couldnt get any at all. They kept getting promises from a couple of dudes that they would have some soon, but nothing came. Eventually they fell asleep with the aid of a few sleeping pills, but their bodies were shaking slightly and inwardly they were trembling. They had never gone to bed without having dope in the house for when they woke up. They had never thought of it in those terms before. Even with the hassles they were having lately, they always had enough for themselves, but now there wasnt a thing in the house, just the cottons they had been saving. They were going to use them, but through an intense exertion of will, and the use of downers and pot, they decided to save them for morning. Their sleep was worse than shallow. It was almost worse than being awake. They could feel their bodies sweating and could smell the sweat. They seemed to be freezing. The back of their heads and their stomachs seemed to be linked in pain, working together to bring about a nausea that continually threatened to erupt, but there was nothing there but the constant pressure of the pain and nausea; and with every breath their panic increased. Their anxiety grew and grew until it consumed their bodies and swelled in their chests and threatened to cut off their air and they gasped for air and sat up in the bed and looked around in the dark trying to identify whatever it was that had awakened them. They tried closing their eyes and going to sleep, but they couldnt tell the difference between sleep and being awake. They seemed to be caught in some sort of trap, and they tossed and moaned and finally Marion bolted up in bed, gasping for breath and Harry put the light on, You alright? Marion nodded, Must have had a bad dream I guess. She was still panting, her entire body heaving with each breath. Harry put his arm around her, Maybe we should use the cottons now? Do you think we should, its so early? Why not? Itll probably help you. Yes, I guess so. I'll get the stuff. Alright. Harry went to the bathroom, and Marion got out of bed to be by his side when he divided the cottons, both feeling justified in using them so far ahead of schedule, feeling that the weight was off their backs, and the other had really suggested it. Saving cottons had started as a game, but now they were more like a life preserver. After they got off the dope, combined with the sleeping pills, had them nodding out and they went back to sleep for a few more hours, but this time they drifted into unconsciousness. The sun was shining when they awoke and they immediately went back to the cottons before doing anything else. There was a little something left, but not much. Harry got on the phone, but nothing was happening. They sat around stiffly smoking a few joints and trying to watch the television but even though they could hear the radiator clicking with steam, there was a cold chill in the air, a stiffness that surprised them but didnt occupy them for they had only one preoccupation, waiting to get some dope. A little before twelve Tyrone called to ask if anything was happening. No man, nothin. Ah just got a call from mah man downtown, he got some stuff so ahm on mah way. Great! How long will it takeya? Depen on traffic. Maybe a hour. Or less. Ah let you know when I get back. Groovy. I'll hang around here in case somethin happens at this end. Later baby. Harry hung up the phone with an audible sigh. The room was suddenly warm and the barriers seemed to have been dissolved. They sat around talking, smoking, watching television with a hysterical and rigid nonchalance. Neither one wanted to be obvious and look at the clock, but they kept calculating the time mentally by the progress of the television show, feeling almost nauseous from the intensity of their anticipation. When the phone rang Harry did his best to just saunter over to it and pick it up carelessly, and Marion tried to assume an attitude of indifference, keeping her gaze on the television, but watching Harry out of the corner of her eye, a sharp twist of panic turning her head as she noticed the expression on Harrys face, No man, nothin yet. Try me later. She sighed inwardly, at least it wasnt Tyrone saying he didnt get anything. Harry sat back on the couch, A lot of people out there looking for something. Marion nodded, wanting to say something, but no words formed so her mouth remained closed and her eyes continued to watch the television screen, not seeing what was happening, but allowing it to help push the endless time a little faster. Harry moved to the far end of the couch so he would be closer to the phone and when it rang he stayed seated and just sort of reached over to it, the both of them feeling the immediate hush and press of silence and anticipation, as if all life and action in the room had been immediately suspended. Marion had his face clearly in view when it widened in a grin, Seeya man. Harry stood up, Tys back and hes straight. Marion stood, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible, yet unable to deny the struggle going on within her, I think I'll ride over with you. I could use some fresh air. The life suddenly rushed back into the room and the stillness chattered and dissolved as they put on their coats and smiled at each other, suddenly feeling something huge and heavy flow from them, leaving them free to smile and talk. They couldnt believe what was happening within them, trying to deny its existence but not telling the other one about it, trying desperately to stay involved in meaningless conversation as they rode to Tyrones pad. There was a voice, loud and clear, saying they were hooked, but good, and they tried to shrug it away but it persisted, more as a feeling than a voice, that permeated their every cell just as the dope they were addicted to had already done, and they tried combating it with another voice saying so what, it was no big deal, they could stop any time they wanted to, it was no big thing and what else was there? things would straighten out soon and they tried to interest themselves in staring through the cab windows at the people fighting the wind and the cold, thinking of how soon they would feel that loving warm flush, and when they got to Tyrones they still tried to maintain the cool attitude and smile and joke for a few minutes as they took off their coats, consciously and deliberately not asking about the dope but feeling a wave of joy when they saw Alices eyes almost closed and Tyrone looking so cool, but eventually the taste in the back of their throats refused to allow them to continue the bullshit about the weather and they asked him about the stuff and he got out two bundles and they took a couple of bags and went in the bathroom and borrowed Tys works and got off and immediately all the thoughts and nightmares and fears and terrors of the previous night, the inner battles during the short day and ride to Tyrones, were obliterated and dissolved and never existed, and the four of them sat around the rest of the day, listening to music, rapping, getting off, wrapped in the comforting warmth of their camaraderie.

  * * *

  Now the shit really hit the fan. It must have hit something because it sure as hell wasnt floating around the city. There no longer was any thought, or even desire, to make money, but just an unending effort to get enough for themselves. some days it was a case of just copping enough for right now and then going out again to take care of the rest of the day and have that wake up shot nice and secure.

  And the streets were getting tougher. All the neighborhood streets were rilled with dope fiends, even in the snow and sleet, looking for something, anything. Every hallway was cluttered with sick faces with runny noses and bodies shivering with the cold and junk sickness, the cold cracking the marrow of their bones as they broke out in sweats from time to time. The deserted buildings that stretched for miles and made the city look like a battleground of WWII, that gave it the pathetic and devastated look that froze on the faces of the people that inhabited them, were spotted with tiny fires as shivering bodies tried to keep warm and survive long enough to get some dope, one way or another, and make it through one more day so they could start the same routine again. When someone did cop he then had to make it safely to his pad, or some place, where he could get off without someone breaking down the door and stealing his dope and maybe getting killed, or killing, if he didnt want to part with something more precious, at that particula
r moment, than his life, for without it his life was worse than hell, far worse than death, death seeming to be a reward rather than a threat, because this process of lingering death was the most fearful thing that could happen. And so the city became even more savage with the passing of each day, with the taking of each step, the breathing of each breath. From time to time a body would fall from a window and before the blood had a chance to seep through the clothing hands were going through his pockets to see what might be found to help them through another moment of being suspended in Hell. Cabbies were avoiding certain neighborhoods and carrying guns. Deliveries werent made. Some services discontinued. The sections were like cities under siege, surrounded by the enemy trying to starve them into submission, but the enemy was within. Not only within the boundaries of the cities, of the neighborhoods, the deserted buildings and piss stained doorways, but within each and every body and mind and, most of all, soul. The enemy ate away at their will so they could not resist, their bodies not only craving, but needing the very poison that ground them into that pitiable state of being; the mind diseased and crippled by the enemy it was obsessed with and the obsession and terrible physical need corrupting the soul until the actions were less than those of an animal, less than those of a wounded animal, less than those of anything and everything they did not want to be. The police increased their personnel on the streets as the number of insane robberies increased and men and women were shot as they broke store windows and tried to run down the street with a TV set, the sets exploding as they fell to the ground, the bodies sliding on the ice leaving a trail of blood, and freezing, stiff, before being picked up and disposed of. For every bit of dope that was put on the streets there were thousands of eager and sick hands reaching, grabbing, stabbing, choking, clubbing, or pulling the trigger of a gun. And if you did rip somebody off and get away nice and clean you werent sure you would ever get to see it flow into your veins. And maybe you wouldnt even know that you didnt as you concentrated on cooking it up, not wanting to spill a drop, and somebody bashed in your head before the needle ever got in your arm.

  Harry and Tyrone were slowly absorbed by the cesspools they were spending more and more time in. It was a gradual progression, like most diseases, and their overwhelming need made it possible for them to ignore much of what was happening, distorting some, and the rest accepted as part of the reality of their lives. But with each day more and more of the truth was impossible to ignore while the disease instantly and automatically rationalized the truth into an acceptable distortion. Their disease made it possible for them to believe whatever lies it was necessary for them to believe to continue to pursue and indulge their disease, even to the point of them believing they were not enslaved by it, but were actually free. They climbed crumbling old staircases to shattered apartments shielding shattered people where old plaster was peeling off walls that had huge holes in them with broken beams and gigantic rats, as desperate as the other inhabitants of the building, bursting from the darkened holes and corners, sniffing and attacking the unconscious bodies sprawled on the floor. Harry and Tyrone went together now, no matter what the color scheme, because a loner was an open invitation to being ripped off of your dope and your life. Everyone looked like a muskrat and smelled like a skunk, that peculiar and overwhelming junk sick smell penetrating the clothes and the frigid air. At first Harry and Tyrone stayed on the fringes of the devastation, seeing the campfires in the hollowed buildings from a distance, but it became progressively necessary to go deeper and deeper into the desolation to fulfill their needs, the urgency of the need being the first concern of their lives. At first their forays were tentative and timid, now they were cautious but assertive, realizing the necessity of getting to where the action was as rapidly as possible before it was just no mans land with empty bags, broken bottles, unconscious bodies and an occasional corpse. Whatever chances they had to take they took automatically as their disease ordered and they obeyed, a small part of them wanting to try to resist, but that part shoved so far down that it was no more than an ancient dream from a previous life. Only the insatiable and insane need of the moment had any bearing on their lives, and it was that need that gave the orders.

  They were really scuffling and barely making it from one day to the next, one hour to the next, and with each day they became more desperate. Many times they were ripped off for a hundred bucks here, a few hundred there, but that was all part of that world and all they could do was get more bread and scuffle and hustle until they got the dope they needed. Many times they could only get a couple of bags and they would shoot them up and continue to try and cop more so they could have enough for Marion and Alice, but sometimes it was a long time between fixes for them. After they got off Harry and Tyrone would affirm that they would take the next stuff back to the pad, even if it was only a couple of bags, so their old ladies could have a taste, but each time they got only two bags they shot them up immediately knowing it would be better for everyone involved if they got off and stayed up here where the action was so they could get some weight and then give the girls a real taste. They knew, and believed, that it was better to have nothing at all than to have less than enough and who knows what might come down while they were away from the scene. And when they got back to their pads the lies came out easily and believingly. From time to time they would think of the old man but as quickly as possible they would dismiss him from their minds knowing that they would never get like that, that they would do something about it before that would happen to them. And whenever they saw cats scufflin the streets trying to sell somebody elses glasses for a fix, or dipping into a toilet bowl to get the Water to cook up their stuff, they knew they would never stoop to shit like that. Shooting dope was one thing, but only a fuckin animal would do that. Yet somehow everything that was happening became progressively easier to ignore. They were walking with a few other cats to cop from a connection when some dude came out of a doorway and shoved a gun against the connections head and blew half his fuckin head off and grabbed the dope and split muttering something about no mutha fucka goin burn him. The others dropped and scattered when it happened and when the guy split they looked at the connection for a brief moment, the blood pumping from the hole in his head, then scattered. The frozen body was found eight hours later.

  Sara took another Valium before going to visit Ada. They sat drinking tea, talking, and watching and listening to the television. Maybe now the holidays are over youll hear what show youre going on. Theres more holidays coming. Theres always more coming. Right now we're between. Maybe when I call later theyll have my card. Maybe they found it and are waiting for me to call. Ada shrugged, Could be, who knows. But you should eat. And you should sit still so I can get the roots. I dont like the way you look so thin. The red dress fits nice. It fits nice, it fits nice. But you dont fit nice. You should eat. Eh, you sound like my refrigerator. Ada looked at her with both her eyes, completely forgetting about the television, Now I sound like a refrigerator? What does a refrigerator sound like? besides rattling and groaning and sometimes just stopping like mine? Sara shrugged, They need a rest. Sara, youre alright? Of course. Why shouldnt I be? Why shouldnt you be? Because you dont look good. You look tired and — Im zophtic already. You should see the red dress and the gold shoes. Sara, theres something wrong. Im happy the dress is fitting, but Im worried. Your eyes dont look good dolly. Please, please, let me fix something for you . . . some soup. I just made fresh. Sara shook her head and waved her hand, No, no, no. Not now. Later. Sara got up, I have to call. I can feel they found my card. Ada looked sad as well as worried, You said that already a hundred times. I know, I know, but this time its for real ... I can tell . . . I can feel it.