by Hubert Selby
Mike sat on a car fender, Wally standing next to him. The others stretched. I forget what fresh airs like after a few hours in that joint.
Yeah. Its the fuckin air conditioner.
Yeah, it smokes too much. They all chuckled.
Man, its some night, eh?
Yeah, its really nice out.
Why dont ya leave it out?
Because I dont want anybody steppin on it—they started horsing around and Wally suggested they walk and put his hand on his brothers shoulder, Mike still looking at the ground, shaking his shoulders occasionally in response to the voices that were constantly dinning in his head. From time to time he would look at Wally and tell him he was sorry and Wally would tap him on the shoulder and tell him to forget it, its alright. No more Wally. I swear. No more. And they continued walking, leaving the avenue and walking along the path in the park area bordering the parkway, Harry, Ron, Kelly and Larry, once more feeling the effects of the nights drinking, joking and kidding around as they walked, Mike hearing their laughter and resenting it, not because he didnt want them to be happy, but because he wanted their laughter to somehow ease his pain, the pain that grew in gnawing knots within him, twisting his body and mind with tension, pain that was magnified by his guilt and overwhelming remorse, a pain that increased as he fought accepting the truth that he had broken his brothers hand, yet deep within him he knew he had. The truth continued to settle in and grow and be accepted and as it did Mikes agony increased because he didnt want it to be true. He didnt want to have done that to his brother. He had gotten into fights and didnt remember them, but he didnt give a shit about that. What the fuck did he care about those hardons? But how could he have done that to Wally? How?—hitting his head with his hands—How? How???? How could it happen? He didnt want to hurt his brother and the more he tried to figure what happened the more intense the pain and confusion became, and the more the pain grew the more he tried to figure out what happened and he kept getting deeper and deeper into a black nausea that twisted itself from his gut up to his throat threatening to make him puke, and up to the top of his head until it felt like it was about to be fuckin ripped open, and he was powerless to do anything about the pain or the cause of the pain, all he could do was be victimized by it and be a part of the process without having any control, flailing impotently at the process and pain and trying to wish it all away: everything that had happened, the entire evening, and he kept telling himself that if he could only remember what had happened he could somehow change it, make believe it never happened, but then he would look at Wallys hand and the truth would descend on him like a dull and rusty guillotine and all he could feel was the crushing pain of dying without the release of death, and so he continued walking along the path, watching his feet and the shadow of Wallys hand, hearing painfully the laughter of the others and then he became vaguely aware of another sound that worked its way through their laughter and the sounds of their walking, the sound of cars passing along the parkway, and the screeching in his head; it was the sound of chuckling and giggling and words that were barely audible but the sound was undeniably happy… yeah, thats what the voices said, they said they were happy. He couldnt figure the words out for shit but the voices said they were happy. He raised his head and noticed a young couple in the distance walking in their direction across the grass that sloped to the parkway. They passed through the cone of light from a streetlamp and he could see a guy and a girl, his arm around her waist, slowly walking, their voices happy, happy, and when they passed from the relative brightness near the lamp to the misty aura of the light they stopped and kissed and were quiet for a few moments… and then their happy voices started up again and saying Krist knows what to each other. Mike watched them from the corner of his eye for a few minutes, then raised his head slightly, not wanting anyone to see what he was doing, and kept his eyes trained on them as they approached, ten feet or so off the path, and as he watched, seeing them more and more distinctly as they got nearer, his head got quieter and the grinding pain started to subside and a new excitement wormed its way through his tensed body, and as they drew abreast of them he stopped and watched them, Wally and the others stopping and looking at Mike.
Mike continued watching them then suddenly turned and looked around and ran to the fence and found an old, splintered piece of 2 x 4, and holding it like a club he walked toward the young couple and as he passed the guys he told Wally, Comeon, youre gonna get laid—and continued down the slope toward the couple. Wally and the others stood still for a moment, Mikes words not registering until they heard him yell at them -COMEON, IM GONNA GETYA LAID WALLY—the couple stopping and turning and looking at Mike as he descended on them waving the 2 x 4—Ya betta get outta here asshole unless ya wanna get ya head bashed in. Were gonna fuck the ass off that cunt—and Mike laughed a sick laugh and the guy stepped forward in front of the girl and started looking around for a way to run when he noticed the other guys running toward them, screaming, MIKE! MIKE! ITS WALLY! Comeon Wally, Im gonna get ya fucked—and the girl started screaming and her boyfriend pushed her and told her to run but she could only hold on to him and scream as Mike stood in front of him waving the 2 x 4 and a couple of guys came up behind him and grabbed the club and a guy with a cast on his hand stood in front of the guy with the club saying something and someone else came over and told him to take his girl and beat it, and the guy put his arms around the trembling girl and they trotted then ran up the slope to the path and to the street and Wally continued to try to reason with Mike who seriously wanted to get a piece of ass for his brother, I mean, what the fuck Wally, it’ll take your mind off ya hand, right? and Wally nodded and did his best to smile as the others stood nervously around wondering if the cops would be there soon and if they would all suddenly end up in the fuckin slammer and wanting very much to get the fuckin hell outta there but didnt want to leave their friends so they stayed and Wally told Mike that he was tired, Its late Mike. I dont feel like gettin laid, okay? But she was a real doll Wally. She probably give ya a good blow job. Yeah, yeah, Mike, but not now, okay? Im fuckin beat Mike an Im tired of all this fuckin shit, ya hear me—his voice getting louder and angrier—I just want to go fuckin home and sleep and forget about this whole fuckin night—Mike nodding his head, Okay, okay, Wally, I didnt mean nothin—Good because Im goin home and I dont give a shit what you do—Wally turned and started walking rapidly—Ive had it with your bullshit. Okay Wally, no offense. Mike quickly caught up with Wally, the others following a few feet behind, hoping to Krist they could get rid of Mike and go back to STEVES and pick up where they left off before Mike fucked up the night. Mike had to almost run to keep up with Wally who refused to look at him or talk to him, and once again the pain and the voices started twisting him, creating a pressure inside that threatened to blow the top off his skull and he tried to vent it by pounding his feet on the pavement but it not only did not relieve the pressure, it seemed to increase it, and soon Mike was having trouble seeing properly as the anxiety caused his head to shake and his vision to blur and he kept telling his brother he was sorry and Wally kept walking rapidly and when they turned a corner they passed a newsstand and Mike suddenly screamed and yanked and tugged the hundreds of pounds of newsstand and eventually wrestled it off the ground and heaved it through the plate glass window of the store, still screaming, his screams piercing through the sound of the broken glass that thundered to the street in the late night stillness, and when the glass had stopped falling Mike still screamed and when he ran out of breath he inhaled and screamed again and the guys stopped and stared, wanting to run like hell but afraid to leave Wally alone with Mike and finally Mike stopped screaming as a head occurred in the window above the store and Wally grabbed Mike and they quickly disappeared around the corner as a voice from the window wanted to know what the hell was going on and the others went around the corner and ran along the avenue as Mike quietly followed Wally home.
Harry and his friends continued walking rapidly, toward STEVES,
but just before they got there Harry said he didnt feel like drinking anymore and left them, wanting to be alone.
Harry walked down the street not certain where he was going or what he was going to do. He didnt feel like going home so he thought he would just walk around and maybe get his head cleared a bit. He had gone through so many emotions in the last few hours that he wasnt sure how he felt about anything. He wasnt even sure he knew what had happened. He walked along the quiet, tree-shadowed street and suddenly became aware of an urgent need to pee. He stood in the shadows of a tree between two cars and sighed with relief, then chuckled as he remembered the Gothic H he was going to carve in the ice. Shit, it was good to feel his face smile. That crazy Mikey no legs got him so fucked up it seemed like years since he laughed even though he knew it was just a short time ago they were laughing and having a ball… Yeah, I dont need her to have a good time. I had more laughs tonight then Ive had in a long time. He continued walking down the breezeless street, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, suddenly aware of the humid heat. He took a deep breath, Yeah, a lot of laughs…
No breeze.
Not even a hint of one. His place would be like an oven. Even with the fan. Maybe I shouldve gone back to STEVES with the guys. A lot cooler. Couldve had a few more laughs. O well… shit…. He heard the sound of a tugboats horn and then another vessel answering and thought of the pier. Yeah. It’d be cooler there, a hell of a lot cooler. And quiet. Probably deserted this time a night. Yeah, good idea. There was a slight spring to his step now, now that he knew where he was going, a destination clearly in mind, a purpose to his walking.
He walked to the end of the pier and sat down. He was heated from the walk, but there was a breeze, faint but refreshing on his face and arms. He sat quietly and allowed his body to cool down, enjoying the breeze and looking across the bay at the splotches of light on the shore lines, and the little dots of lights of the small harbor craft. He could only make out two ships anchored. Only two. And not much happening on the piers. Not like it used to be. He could remember when the harbor was always active and full of all kinds of ships but now there aint much goin on. Even the 69th Street ferry is gone. Even the old slips are gone. He looked down the pier where the ferry slips used to be, then at the Veranzanno Bridge that made the ferry a memory. Krist, what a gasser that was. Especially on a night like this. Ride to Staten Island, then over to the Battery and back all the way around again and just lean on the rail and feel the breeze and watch the water roll away from the sides of the ferry… Jesus that was great. Natures air conditioning. And they had the guy playing the accordion and singing songs and that bootblack. Jesus, he mustta been there for ever. Wonder what that son of a bitch is doin now. Shit. Aint the same anymore. All changed. Ah, what the hell. She wants to play it that way what do I care. She has a bug upper ass that one, a bug upper ass. She’ll get over it. Probably… How can you be so goofy for a movie??? Yeah, I guess ya cant. Must be something. He shrugged and looked again at the shorelines of Manhattan, Jersey, and Staten Island, watching a ferry going to the Battery. They should bring back the ferry for the summer. Everybody and his brother would want to ride it on a night like this. Just for July and August. Ah well, at least the piers still here. For now. Good ol 69th Street pier. Wonder how old the son of a bitch is? Had a lot of fun here. Right around this spot too. Learned to fish here. Tommy cods, eels, some crabbin. Had a lot a fun here when we were kids. Yeah, some good times…
Yeah, good times.
O, what the fuck—his stomach suddenly felt hollow and sick—Rons right, shes ballin some other guy. So its over, whats the big deal? She aint the first… or the last. Got myself in a little too deep. Big deal. Fuck it. He looked down at the dark water and the bits of debris floating out on the ebbing tide, the undertow creating sudden and ephemeral whirlpools around the end of the pier. He looked out a few yards from the corner of the pier. Used to be a mud hole out there. Get your line in there an you always got a bite. Pop used to be able to cast right there and always got a good sized eel. Probably still a good spot… Maybe. Might even be the same water… goes out and comes in, out and in… back and forth… Ah screw it. In a month I wont even remember her name… Probably.
He stared at the water and the currents eddying around the pilings. Probably the same
water
probably
The Sound
His eyes opened and he stared at the wall. The nightlight flickered and shadows jumped eerily around the 9 x 6 room. He lay still and listened. What woke him? He listened for a sound… Nothing. He looked up at the window. Darkness. There was no hint of dawn. Moving only his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling light. Only the flickering nightlight burned. What time was it? Had he slept one hour? Five hours? No way to tell. He lay on his side and slowly, unconsciously, pulled his legs up to a foetal position as he desperately clutched his pillow. His eyes started to tear as he continued staring at the flickering light, feeling the shadows float through the room. He blinked. His eyes filled with water and when he opened them the light shimmered and the room rolled slowly like a small boat on deep swells. The walls pulsated and undulated, threatening to close in on him. He shivered and blinked rapidly until his eyes dried. The room stilled. Still he heard nothing… the silence hostile.
Something awakened him, but what? A dream? He tried remembering… Nothing. It couldn't have been a dream…
He stared at the wall and the leaping shadows, straining to hear something… anything. There was only silence, heavy, ominous. Suddenly he became aware of painful cramps in his hands. He forced his hands open. At first they resisted and continued clutching his pillow. But slowly, painfully, his fingers straightened as he concentrated on the effort. He looked at his hands as the pain slowly subsided. Suddenly he jerked his head up, his vision blurring, wondering why he had bolted up. His body tensed even more as he listened intently…
Then he heard it. Or did he? It was so faint he couldn't be certain. Was this a dream? Was he still sleeping???? No. He must be awake. The pain in his hands; the flickering light and eerie shadows were real. They had to be real! He had heard that sound. He was sure of that. Wasn't he? It must have been real He straightened his legs slowly and slid them over the side of the bed and sat up. He turned his head until he was looking at the locked door. Or was it locked???? He strained so hard to hear the sound that his body was gradually leaning toward the door. Fearfully he raised his eyes to look through the small window in the door. He sighed audibly, shocked at the unexpected sound. All was dark and shadowless in the hallway. All was normal. Then the sound once again pierced his ears. It chilled him. Why was he so frightened? It didn't make sense. The sound must be real. It couldn't be his imagination. He was safe. There couldn't be anything to fear. And anyway, the door was locked. Locked? He stared at the door. An unbelievable chill, deep within his body, making him shiver. Locked? What could he do if it was open? Where could he hide? There was no place in the small room he could hide, nothing to crouch behind. Just the bed and a small stainless steel stand next to it. If it wasn't locked he could shove it open, look away from the sound and run… Where??? Where? Where was he???? Didn't matter. Couldn't go out there anyway. He shook his head. He knew he couldn't go out there. He had no idea what was out there in the darkness… in the darkness with the sound. He shivered again. He must get to the door and try to see what was out there… Goddam that light! The way it flickered he couldn't be sure the door was closed. He had to find out if it was locked! He lifted his head slightly and leaned further toward the door. No—no, there was no sound. How long had it been since the last time he heard it??? He had no idea. He tried to think about time. He floundered and quickly abandoned the attempt. Then he realized he had no idea what day it was. Month? O God. It's October, isn't it? Yeah. That's right. It's October. Yeah, I'm sure of that. It must be—never ceasing to stare at the door and small window. But it's been so long since the last time he had heard the sound. Too long? Was it outside his door waiting for
him? It? It what? It was nothing. Why should anyone… anything… be out there in the dark waiting for him? O God. Please. Please—a whimpering sound coming from a clenched mouth. The fear that there might be something beyond the door was stronger than the fear that kept him on the side of the bed and forced him to silently slide off and stand leaning against it, his eyes never leaving the door. A spasm jerked his body and thrust him forward. He padded, barefoot and silent, to the door. He stopped abruptly just a foot away. He stared. It must be. It has to be. He closed his eyes. O God—O God! GOD!! With his eyes still closed he thrust his arms forward. The sound of the door banging against the lock broke the silence like the clanging of a steeple bell. He eyes popped open and he stared at the door for a moment, fully assimilating the meaning of the sound. He almost collapsed as his tensed body suddenly relaxed with the realization that the door was locked. Locked! He was safe. Safe. Thank God—startled by the sudden sound of his voice. Then his face slowly relaxed into a smile… then a frown. Safe from what? Who? He shrugged. What difference does it make now? The door was locked. He was safe. But what was the sound he had heard? How long ago was it now? Had an hour passed? Or was it only minutes? O well, it didn't make any difference now. He smiled securely as he pushed the door, lightly at first, then harder. Securely locked. And nothing… no one… could break down that door. And anyway, what… or who—could be out there? Not important now. His room was impenetrable. He looked through the window but could only see about 10 feet down the narrow and darkened corridor. He put his face against the glass, his face filling the small recess. He shielded his eyes with his hands. Soon he could make out the shapes of the dirty linen baskets against the opposite wall and then the signs above them. He strained his eyes yet could see nothing else. Nothing. He turned his head and looked down the wide, main hallway running perpendicular to the corridor. Nothing. No one… His head jerked around as he once more heard the sound. It seemed louder this time. Was it closer? Was that why it was louder? Or was it simply because he was closer to the source? Or was it closer to him? The door? The old, undeniable fear returned. Then slowly the terror subsided. Whatever else might be, he knew the door was locked. That was the only important thing. He was safe. He stared down the corridor for many endless minutes, a vague thought disturbing him. Suppose they had a key. They could get in. But no one was after him. He didn't have to worry about that. He was—there it was again! He peered harder. Nothing. Was it louder? He wasn't certain. If it was moving up the hallway it was moving slowly. Very slowly. He tried to think what it sounded like, but nothing came to mind. It was just a sound. That was it. Of course. That's all it was. It was only a sound. Nothing to fear. Didn't something have to cause a sound? He shook his head, fighting against the logic of this new idea as it tried to force itself and the consequences upon him. No! No! Again he pushed against the door and felt comforted as it resisted the pressure. He leaned even harder against the glass, eyes still shielded with his hands, trying to see a few more feet, a few more inches down the hallway. Then he leaped back from the door and fell over the end of the bed as the lights suddenly went on. He twisted around and stared at the door. He felt his pajamas stick to his sweaty skin. Then he heard the sounds of voices and footsteps coming from the brightly lighted hallway. Faint light slanted through the window over his bed. He looked around the brightly lighted and shadowless room, then fell back on the bed and slept.