Song of the Silent Snow

by Hubert Selby

  It wasnt until he stopped, just inside the door, and felt the wave of cool air that he realized he was hot and flushed. He suddenly became aware of the sweat rolling down his sides and back and burning his eyes. He wiped his face quickly with his handkerchief as he looked around for a second, then walked toward his friends.

  Hey Harry, whatta you doin here?

  Whatta ya say Ron—he looked at Larry and Kelly—whats happening? Larry shrugged, Wanna beer? Sure, why not. Larry leaned over the bar, Hey Bob, give lover boy a beer. They all chuckled.

  Kelly drained his glass and put it on the bar, May just as well put a head on this. He turned to Harry, How come youre here? Its—squinting at the clock on the wall—about 8:03 and its Saturday night.

  Yeah, wheres Mary?

  Harry tossed his head back, Eh, forget it.

  What happened man, she split?

  Dont ask. You wouldnt believe it—Harry grabbed his glass and gulped half of it and sighed as he put it down.—Krist thats good. I didnt realize how thirsty I was. He finished his beer and put some money on the bar, Hey Bob, giveus another round.

  The door opened and Wally, Artie and Matt came in and stopped halfway down the bar. Harry barely noticed them out of the corner of his eye, and then Wally put his hands on the bar and Harry frowned and turned his head and looked at the cast on Wallys thumb and around his wrist and the wire going across the tips of his fingers. What happened to Wally?

  O man, it was somethin else. His brother.

  Mikey no legs?

  Yeah. Drunk outta his mind. You know how he gets.

  Yeah—nodding his head.

  It happened just a coupla hours ago. No legs comes in an hes bouncin off the walls and knockin people all over and Wally tries to takeim outside and Mike is blitherin about the Nuns and arithmetic—they all start chuckling and nodding their heads -You know, when he goes off he goes off. He dont know nobody.

  Yeah you aint kiddin. Hes really fuckin crazy when hes bombed.

  So he suddenly grabs Wallys thumb and just bends it back, real quick, and you could hear it snap a block away.

  It was really weird because he looked like he was pushin down on a lever or somethin. I mean you could see that he didnt know what he was doin.

  Or who Wally was. Just a quick snap. And he just walks out and Wally and Matt and Artie are staring at Wallys thumb, an then everybody in the joint is staring at it until Bob pours him a good stiff shot and after he drinks it Wally almost falls on his ass. He grabs his wrist and starts rockin back and forth and Matty runs out and grabs a cab and they went down to the emergency.

  I guess it wasnt too crowded, they got back pretty fast. At least for that joint.

  Yeah, well its early yet. The night is young. And youre so beautiful. Kelly pinched Larrys cheek and they all chuckled and reached for their beers.

  Mikey no legs was in the cellar of his apartment building. His parents had lived there for 10 years before he was born, and for 5 years before Wally was born. And they lived there still. The four of them. And they were still the supers, a job that was much easier since the furnace was converted to oil quite a few years ago: no coal to shovel, no ashes to carry out, no fire to shake and bank and worry about. But there was still the garbage cans to put out, a job Mike had been doing for almost 20 of the 28 years of his life.

  Mike started by helping Wally with the cans, always wanting to follow his big brother. He idolized Wally and begged him to let him help with the cans, and he did. At first Wally took most of the weight, patting his brother on the back and telling him he was a real good helper. Then Mike was taking one up all by himself, tugging on the handle as the can banged against the stone steps. Eventually he was able to pick up the can and carry it up the steps, and then with the passing of a few more years, he simply picked up one in each hand and almost ran them up the stairs.

  The same occurred with the much heavier cans of ashes, Mike developing incredible strength.

  Now there were no ashes. But they were still the supers and Mike carried the garbage cans up the same immortal steps only slightly worn by cans and shoes.

  Although he was called no legs, it was not an accurate description. It was simply that he had a large barrel chest that carrying the cans had made even larger, and his legs appeared too short for his body.

  He wasnt exceptionally violent or quiet, just sort of unobtrusively there, except when he got crazy drunk. Fortunately he only got drunk periodically, and then it was only occasionally that he got violent, when some twisted message tripped through his drunken body to his brain and voices burned his head and he couldnt scream them quiet, and, from time to time, things would appear either without or within his head that he had to defend himself against.

  Mike sat on the floor leaning against the wooden wall of a storage room, a bottle of wine on the floor beside him and a small transistor radio. From time to time he would take a drink, then turn the dial from one end of the band to the other trying to find the ballgame. He knew there was one somewhere, but where???? He looked at the radio, his head swaying back and forth, eyes half closed, barely able to see the radio in the dimness of the cellar, Where are ya ya son of a bitch? Eh? Wheres those fuckin Mets? He continued spinning the dial eliding from one station to another, one song to another, one announcer to another, the rock rolling into the pop as his finger continued pushing the small wheel and suddenly a soprano screeched and he twisted the radio, Shut up bitch. He squeezed the radio and pulled his hand back, but then lowered it slowly and put the radio back on the ground. Fuck it. Who needs this shit. He took another drink of wine then slowly curled onto the floor, pillowing his head on an arm, and slept.

  The game was on in STEVES and the guys at the bar looked at it from time to time. Harry and his friends decided they would chugalug a beer every time there was a double play or a home run. After two innings of neither one they extended it to include strike outs, stolen bases, runners caught trying to steal, bases on balls, scoreless half innings, and every third out. After six innings they also included the seventh inning stretch. Half an hour after the game ended, they had forgotten the score and werent too certain who won or who had played.

  To Harry it seemed like the best game he had ever seen. He couldnt remember when he had laughed so much or so hard. The Mets were always good for a laugh, but tonight was something special. He felt loose, relaxed. He hadnt realized it until now, but this was exactly what he needed, a night out with the boys… drinking beer, watching a ball game, swapping stories and having some good laughs. He was feeling good… great. He staggered slightly, but only for a second, when he pushed himself away from the bar and started toward the mens room… again. One thing about that fuckin beer, it sure goes through you. He slowly worked his way to the mens room and leaned against the wall and looked down at the cake of ice in the urinal. The flushometer never worked and so everyone in STEVES indulged in the art of ice writing. He had started to carve his initials on his previous trips but his efforts had been obliterated by others who had no respect for his artistic endeavors and were happy to just piss indiscriminately on the ice while sighing, Ahhh, this is the pause that refreshes; or just trying to cut the piece in half (half a piece is better than none, hahaha) or just chip away at an edge. No class. No fucking class. Harry was determined that he would carve at least one clear, clean, recognizable H in the ice before the night was over and so, although there was a pressured urgency to his need to urinate, he squeezed his joint so just a thin stream of urine came out and carefully carved an almost near perfect (to him) H in the ice, still leaning against the wall with one hand and ignoring the splashing and splattering. When he finished he leaned back and looked with satisfaction at his initial and started to shake the final drops but stopped and moved so they would not fall on the results of his work and directed them to the corner of the urinal, a series of elipses going directly down the drain, not passing Go, not collecting two hundred dollars. He zipped his fly and stood swaying slightly in front of the urina
l, smiling and nodding to the compliments he was hearing in his head. He wished he had a Polaroid camera so he could take a picture of it. Never see it again. Nobody’d believe it. Between the heat and all those assholes pissin all over it it wont be here long. Maybe he should just stay here and watch it slowly melt and stand in front of the urinal so nobody else could fuck it up. Naaa… shit, that aint no good. Anyway, Im fuckin thirsty an—

  Ya finished?

  Yeah. Harry took another few steps back.

  Thank Krist. I gotta piss like a bandit.He sighed as there was a sudden flood of urine on the rocks, Ahhhhh, the pause that refreshes.

  Harry stood for a moment, then blinked and shrugged and left, Dont get ya feet wet.

  Yeah, hahahaha.

  A fresh beer was waiting for Harry when he rejoined his friends. Comeon Harry, chugalug.

  What for this time?

  Who the fuck knows.

  They chuckled and laughed, then controlled it just enough to drain their glasses, Harry having visions of a beautiful gothic H engraved in the ice.

  Mike stirred, twisted his body, his head, then slowly sat up and looked around the darkened cellar, unable to see more than a foot or two away. He carefully moved his hand along the floor until he found his bottle, then picked it up. He tried to look at it but could see nothing of the contents so he shook it slightly and was relieved and happy to hear something splashing around inside. He took a long drink and closed his eyes and concentrated on the warm glow spreading within him, and smiled because he knew there was at least one good drink in the bottle, maybe more. He licked his lips and took another drink and when that had settled in he finished off the few remaining drops. He leaned against the wall as the wine continued on its journey and slowly a few things clicked into place. He knew where he was. He didnt have to be able to see to know he was in the cellar. He sat quietly for a few minutes listening to the sounds of the street, the sounds telling him that it wasnt too late, there were still people walking and talking so the bars must still be open. He jammed his hand in his pocket and felt some money. Thank Krist. He rubbed his head and his face. Must still be Saturday. Probably Saturday night. Yeah. Must be. Hope the fuck the bars are still open. He slowly stood up, leaning against the wooden wall, tested his legs, then paced himself to the stairs, feeling his way through the dark, able to walk just as freely and rapidly in the dark as in daylight, having spent so many hours, and having made so many trips, from where he was to the stairs that led to the street. Faint light from the street lamp near the top of the stairs cast a slanted shadow across the sidewalk and he stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, blinking, looking around, seeing lights on in most of the houses and feeling secure that there was still time to have fun.

  He rotated his shoulders a few times as if loosening them up from heavy work, or getting ready for it, then started walking down the street, his pace quickening as he felt steadier on his feet.

  Kelly was squinting slightly as he spoke to Harry, One thing you cant do is let a broad break ya balls—everyone was nodding -Thats right man. Ya gotta keepem in their place or they’ll shove it in and break it off.

  Yeah, yeah, I know man—they were all unsteady on their feet and leaned heavily against the bar for support while trying to look nonchalant—gettin laid aint worth all that bullshit.

  Ya goddamn right. Ya gotta letem know whos the fuckin boss—they were nodding wisely—hey, I aint bullshittin man—I know man. Im right withya Larry—they start comin on with that, do it my way or else, bullshit an ya gotta givem their walkin papers.

  Hey, right on man. Take it from me, ya either slapem down or cutem loose.

  Harry straightened as much as possible while still supporting himself on the bar and looking cool, Hey, I tolder where to shove her bullshit—shaking his head—I dont understand why shes runnin these fuckin games down all of a sudden.

  O man, you know how these fuckin broads are, shes probably ballin some other cat but wants to keep you around in case it dont work out—they all nodded very wisely.

  Yeah, thats their schtick man.

  Well, I’ll tellya one thing—grabbing his crotch—this is one pair a balls she aint gonna put no strings around, or any other broad!

  Hey!

  Right on!

  They all laughed and poked each other on the shoulder and finished their beers and banged their glasses on the bar for Bob. Their laughter quickly dropped to faint chuckling as Mikey no legs came into the bar, stopped just inside the door and looked around.

  Mike was feeling pretty good by the time he pushed the door open. The rest had refreshed him and the wine he drank before leaving his cellar had revitalized him. He was in the mood for fun, and did not notice that there was a sudden and prolonged decrease in laughter and conversation immediately he entered, the juke box suddenly seeming very loud. He smiled and walked to the bar and waved at Bob who started gingerly toward him, watching Mikes eyes for any hint of trouble. Whatta ya say Bob, giveus a beer, eh? Bob smiled and relaxed when he realized Mike knew who he was and seemed to be alright. He put the beer in front of Mike, smiling, picking up the proper change. Wally been in tonight?

  Bob looked at him for a moment, having been behind the bar when Mike had been in earlier in the evening and broke Wallys thumb. He had seen Mike crazy drunk many times and knew he never remembered what happened so he just shrugged, He was in earlier but left.

  Yeah? Who was he with?

  I dont know—shrugging—maybe Matt and Artie.

  Mike nodded and Bob went to the other end of the bar and the men resumed their previous conversations, the laughter growing in volume and the juke box receding to its proper place. The tension continued to decrease, rapidly, as Mike drank his beer He looked around and noticed Harry and the others and smiled at them and picked up his glass and walked toward them.

  They were leery of drinking with Mike after what had happened earlier that evening. O shit, no legs is coming over.

  Thats okay Ron, just cool it.

  He looks pretty straight, maybe he slept it off.

  I fuckin well hope so, I dont need anymore shit tonight.

  Whatta ya say guys, whats goin on?

  Eh—shrugging—you know Mike.

  Same ol thing. The Mets lost again.

  No shit? Krist, whats with those guys? I missed the game tanight—shrugs—big deal, eh? He chuckled and the others smiled cautiously. Mike finished his beer and put the empty glass on the bar, Comeon, drink up. I’d rather buy one than be one, eh? Mike laughed and the others relaxed and finished their beers.

  They continued drinking and laughing, getting a little drunker with each round, everything that had happened earlier in the evening dissolved by the alcohol and unable to dim the increasing joy that each drink brought.

  Then Wally came in. Larry nudged Ron and nodded toward the door as Wally stopped and looked at Mike who had just finished a beer and was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He saw Wally and his face opened in a quick, wide smile and he waved at him, Hey Wally, comere, Youre just in time for Harry to buy a drink. Mike laughed and walked to meet his brother and put an arm around his shoulder, Where ya been? ya missing all the fun, Bob was in the process of bringing beers for everyone and they all quieted and waited to see what would happen. Mike was happy and chuckling and pushed the beers along the bar to everyone, then picked up his and looked at his brother, Drink up, the brewery needs the barrels. Mike laughed, then took a drink and when he put his glass back on the bar he looked down and noticed his brothers hand. His face fell into a look of bewilderment and he stared at the cast and wire, What happened Wal? What the fuck happened? He finally looked up into Wallys face, his concern bringing tears to his eyes.

  Wally knew that he would be seeing his brother sooner or later and had been trying to prepare himself for the confrontation, but even now did not know what he was going to say. Mike always looked to him for answers, for help, and Mike loved him. Mike had never hurt Wally before, but he had gotten in
to fights when he was crazy drunk, and never remembered them, and when he came to Wally was always there to help Mike through the remorse and guilt when he found out what he had done, or to protect him from the truth. But now Wally didnt know what to do. If he told him somebody did it to him he would want to know who, and if Wally didnt give him a name sooner or later Mike would decide that somebody walking the street did it and might try and kill them. Sooner or later Mike was bound to get crazy drunk again. And he sure as Krist couldnt tell him he just fell, even Mike wouldnt buy that. Wally didnt know what in hell to do. What would happen if he told Mike the truth? Shit! Wally loved his kid brother. He had told him a thousand fuckin times not to drink and Mike always swore he never would again, but eventually Mike had a beer with the guys, and sooner or later that led to another crazy drunk and trouble, and Wally felt that this would lead to the kind of trouble no one could get Mike out of, that some day he would kill somebody and wouldnt even know he did it. Wally looked into his brothers eyes and saw tears behind the sadness in them and felt Mikes pain, a pain so much more terrible than the pain Wally had felt in his thumb, and that would grow each time he looked at Wallys hand.

  Mike lowered his gaze and once again stared at the cast and the tip of the thumb sticking in the air, the wire going from the tip of one finger to the other. It not only pained him to look at it, but it confused him too. The only thing Mike could see or think about was his brothers hand. He slowly reached down and touched the cast with the tip of his finger, gently, tentatively, as if it were alive and had feelings, like a child touching a turtle for the first time not knowing if he might kill it by pushing too hard on the shell. He stroked and patted it then held it gently in both hands and lifted it—the juke box suddenly went silent and those who knew Mike and Wally watched them until the music once more blared from the multicolored machine—and held it as if he were holding a baby for the first time, Who did it Wally? Who did it? Its nothing Mike. Forget it. Wally took his hand out of Mikes and smiled at him reassuringly. Who did it Wally—his voice louder and more anxious—I’ll killim. Take it easy Mike for Krists sake—Wallys anxiety mounting—its nothin ta get fucked up about. Mike put his arm around Wallys neck, I swear ta God Wally—his voice full of tears—Aint nobody gonna fuck with ya. Aint nobody gonna hurt ya. Wally put his hands on Mikes shoulders, then quickly yanked his injured one down. Im tellin ya Mike ta drop it. Just drop it, okay? Mike was crying and almost hanging on Wallys neck, I cant. I cant let somebody hurtya like that an get away with it. I dont give a shit how fuckin big he is or how fuckin many, I’ll getem. I swear on our Mothers head Wally I’ll—Wally shook his head and finally looked Mike in the eye and spoke as gently as he could through his confusion and fear, You did it Mike. Mike just stared, mouth hanging open, head shaking no. Yeah Mike. Earlier. Right here. Mikes mouth was still hanging open and his head shaking, I couldnt Wally, I couldnt—he looked at Wallys hand and more tears rolled down his cheeks. The tension and apprehension of the evening and the years, the worry and concern for his kid brother knocked down all the walls Wally had built and he almost cried as he shook Mike with his good hand, Jesus Krist Mike, I keep tellinya not to drink like that but you wont fuckin listen to me, I keep tellin ya every fuckin time—Mike was still shaking his head and crying, Wallys voice cracking with an occasional sob—to just take a couple a drinks an cool it but you gotta get stoned an go fuckin crazy and worry the shit outta me until I dont know whats comin down sometimes—Wally shook Mike again as he sobbed—I dont wanna see ya fucked up like this, Mike, Jesus Krist, I dont know what the fuck ta do for ya—Mike was once again staring at Wallys hand, his tears falling from his cheeks onto the cast -listen to me for Krists sake Mike, eh? ya listen to me this time???? Mike slowly raised his head and blinked his eyes, his expression so sorrowful Wally wanted to cry and just hug his brother—Does it hurt Wally, I mean did it,—Mike shrugged—hurt… real bad? Wally was smiling and shaking his head, Naw, naw, I dont feel nothin Mike. They fixed it up one, two, three and—Im sorry Wally, Jesus Krist Im sorry—agony ringing in his voice -I’ll break my own—grabbing his thumb—if thatll help, I—Wally grabbed his hand, No Mike, for Krists sake comeon, eh? Wally smiled and tried to look reassuringly at his brother who stared soulfully at him, I really did it Wally? Wally nodded, Yeah Mike. But its alright. I—I honest ta God did it? Wally nodded his head and gently touched his brother on the shoulder. Mike looked at Wallys hand, head shaking, then put his arms around Wally and hugged him and cried into his shoulder, the others shuffling awkwardly, some averting their eyes trying to ignore the scene, those who didnt know them assuming they were just a couple of maudlin drunks. Mike suddenly turned from his brother and started pounding the bar with his hand, I cant believe it, I cant fuckin believe it -the others stiffened until Mike stopped and just leaned over the bar, head hanging. Wally put an arm around his kid brothers shoulder, Why dont we go out an get some air? After a few seconds Mike raised his head, nodded, and continued to look at the floor as they left the bar, their friends automatically following.