The fog lifts and blows away… I’m not in a hurry any more… I can take my time about getting to Meanwell… This place on the riverfront suits me… the fair and the strangers in the haze… There’s something very pleasant about a language you don’t understand… It’s like a fog swirling around in your thoughts… It’s nice, it’s like a dream, there’s really nothing better… It’s fine as long as the words stay in the dream… I sit down for a while quietly on my blanket, against a stone post, on the other side of the chains… I can lean back, I’m pretty comfortable… I watch the whole show passing… A whole string of sailors with lanterns on the end of long poles… They’re funny guys… Confusion! Fireworks!… They’re all dead drunk and happy!… They push and shove and squeal like cats… They throw the whole crowd into a panic. They can’t get ahead… Their snake dance gets tangled up in a lamp post… It winds and unwinds… One of them collapses in the gutter… They’ve knocked the Negro over… Shouts… challenges… insults!… Suddenly they’re roaring mad… They want to hang the Negro from the trolley pole!… What a racket!… A mean fight starts up… The whole place is steaming and sizzling… The blows fall like drumbeats… terrible grunts and groans!… Whistles blow… A troupe of extras come running… A screaming cloud!… A whole squad of police, blue with pointed black helmets!… They’re in a terrible hurry. They pop out of the streets, out of the shadows, from all over… on the double… And the soldiers who’ve been strutting along the stands, dandling their riding whips, start running too… They plunge into the fray… Catcalls from the saraband!… They stagger and fall!… Every colour in the rainbow! A battle of samples!… Jonquil… green… violet… A free-for-all!… A scramble… The women escape into the corners with their acetylene lamps, the lights blend with the fog, all screaming something awful. Terrified, skinned alive… Police reinforcements arrive, parrot colour… Majestically they join in the dance… They’re toppled over, their clothes are torn off. A battle in a birdhouse… A welter of riding whips and plumes… A charabanc with four horses bounds out of an alley… It stops short in the middle of the riot… Some more bruisers pour out… They fling themselves on the mob like a ton of bricks… they’re giants and they move fast… They nab the most truculent, the drunkest, the ones that are yelling loudest… They toss them into the van, completely upside down… The corpses pile up inside… The battle dies down… The ruckus is swallowed up in darkness… The wagon gallops away… And that’s the end of the riot!… The crowd flows back toward the bars, to the mahogany counters… to guzzle harder than ever… The roadway is clear… little carts go by… French fries… sausages… winkles… Glasses are clinked… Knives cutting into sausage… The swinging doors are in constant motion… right and left. A drunk stumbles and falls flat in the gutter… The procession circles around him… People dawdle past… A bevy of floozies… cackling and guffawing… sailors push them into the doorways… They talk… they belch… the bar absorbs them… The Scotsmen dash in… They’d like to fight some more, but they really can’t…
I follow them in with my suitcase… Nobody asks me anything… They serve me first… A whole mugful of syrup, thick and black and frothy… it’s bitter… it’s beer! It tastes like stewed smoke… They give me back two coppers with the queen on them, the one that just died, with the face like a rear end… the fair Victoria… I can’t finish their brew, it turns my stomach and I’m mighty ashamed! I go back to the procession. We pass the little carts again, with the lamps between the shafts… I hear a regular orchestra… I look around and locate it… It’s right near the landing… It’s coming out of a big tent, a blaring uproar… They’re singing in chorus, completely out of tune… It’s amazing the way they manage to torture their mouths, to dilate them, to blow them up like real trombones… And pull them in again… They’re on their last legs… They’re dying of convulsions… They’re praying and singing hymns!… There’s this big tall battleaxe with only one eye, she’s yodelling so hard it’s likely to pop out of her head!… The way she’s jigging and heaving, her bun starts sliding down over her nose, and her bonnet with the ribbons too… she thinks she’s not making enough noise, she grabs her man’s trombone and blows, she spits a whole lung into it… But it’s a polka she’s playing, a regular hornpipe… The gloom is over… The people begin to dance, they hug each other, they hop, they shake each other up… The guy in the uniform that’s looking at her must be her brother, he looks just like her except for the beard, and besides he’s got glasses and a nifty cap with an inscription. He seems to be sulking… He’s got his nose in a book… All of a sudden he breaks into a fit too! He grabs the horn from his sister… He climbs up on the stool, spits a good oyster… and begins to jabber… The way he’s waving his arms and beating his breast… working himself up into an ecstasy… I can see it must be a sermon… His words come out sobbing… tortured… it’s unbearable… The characters around them are laughing fit to kill… He defies them, challenges them, nothing can stop him… not even the whistles of the boats stemming the current… He goes right on thundering… Personally, he gives me a pain… He puts me to sleep… I sit down on my blanket… I cover myself, nobody can see me, I’m hidden by the sheds… The Salvation Army guy is still yelling, screeching his lungs out… He makes me tired… It’s cold, but I wrap up good… I feel a little warmer… The mist is white, then blue. I’m right next to a sentry box… It’s getting dark, little by little… I’m going to sleep… Over there, that’s where the music is coming from… It’s a merry-go-round… a barrel organ… From across the river… that’s the wind… the lapping of the water…
* * *
A terrible groan from a boiler woke me with a start!… A ship was coming up the river… fighting the current… The Salvation Army characters from before had cleared out… Negroes were jumping up and down on the stage… somersaulting in swallowtails… landing in the street… Their lavender coat-tails spun around behind them in the mud and the acetylene glare. “The Minstrels”, it said on their big drum… They went on and on… a roll of the drum… a happy landing… a pirouette!… A great big enormous siren rips through the echoes… The crowd stops in its tracks… They all move down to the edge to watch the ship landing… I wedge myself into the staircase right next to the waves…
A lot of brats in little boats were whirling around in the eddies looking for the hawser… The launch, the big fat one with the enormous copper boiler in the middle, was rolling like a top… She was bringing the papers. The East Indiaman was having a tough time with the current… She was still in midstream, in the middle of the blackness… She didn’t want to come closer… with her green eye and her red one… Finally the wise guy came in after all, bashing against an enormous bundle of sticks that was hanging from the dock… It cracked like a pile of bones… She had her nose in the current, she roared in the rough water… She churned against the mooring buoy… a tethered monster… She let out one little howl… She was beaten… all alone in the glistening whirling water… We turned back to the merry-go-round, the one with the organs and the mountains… The party was still going on… I felt better after my nap… It was like magic… an entirely different world… fantastic! Like a crazy picture… All of a sudden I felt they’d never catch me again… that I’d turned into a memory that no one would ever recognize… that I had nothing more to fear, that nobody’d ever find me again… I treated myself to a ride on the merry-go-round, I held out my change. I took three whole rides with three crazy floozies and some soldiers… They were cute, they had faces like dolls, eyes like blue sweets… I was dizzy… I wanted to take another turn… I was afraid to show my dough… I went off a little way into the darkness… I tore open my lining, I wanted to take out my banknote, the whole pound. And then the smell of something frying steered me to a place right near the locks… It was fritters… I could smell them a mile away… on a cart with little wheels.
This kid that was messing with the batter… I can’t say she was pretty… She had two t
eeth missing in front… She never stopped laughing… She had a fringed hat with a big pile of flowers on top… crushed under the weight… a regular hanging garden… and long muslin veils that hung down into her kettle… She took them out with a sweet smile… She seemed very young to be wearing such a thing even at that time of night… even under those cockeyed circumstances… that lid really sent me… I couldn’t take my eyes off it. She was still smiling at me… The kid wasn’t twenty, with pert little tits and a wasp waist… and an arse the way I like them, taut, muscular, with a good split… I walked around her to get a good look. She was still absorbed in her grease… She wasn’t proud or stand-offish… I showed her my change… She served me enough fritters to stuff a whole family. All she took was one little coin… There was sympathy between us… She could see from my suitcase that I’d just got off the train… She tries to make me understand something… She tries to explain… She speaks very slowly… She pronounces each word separately… Well, then I begin to feel jumpy!… I shrivel up… The poison runs through me… As soon as anybody starts talking to me I get mean!… I didn’t want any more chit-chat!… Save your breath! I’ve had enough!… I know what it leads to! You can’t fool me… She gets politer, sweeter, more endearing than ever… Anyway that hole in her mouth when she smiles makes me sick!… I make motions to show that I’m going for a walk over by the pubs… to have a little fun… I leave her my suitcase in exchange and my blanket… I put them down beside her camp chair… I make a sign for her to watch them… I go back to the crowd…
With nothing to weigh me down, I head for the shops… I stroll past the piles of grub… But I’m full up, I can’t eat any more. The clock strikes eleven… Drunks come out in waves and stream down the esplanade… this way and that way, crashing against the wall of the customs house… tumbling, roaring, spreading out, dispersing… The ones that are stewed but still swaggering step into the pub stiffly, rhythmically, buttoned crooked but buttoned, and head straight for the bar… There they stand speechless, transfixed, riveted by the mechanical din, the “valse d’amour”. I’ve got piles of money left… I took two more helpings of beer soup, the kind that makes you piss…
I went out with a little thug and another burper with a little cat under his arm. He was miaowing between the two of us… I didn’t get very far… I retreated into the next pub… I staggered through the swinging doors… I sat down on a bench… waiting for it to pass… with all the boozehounds… There was a crowd of dames in short jackets, in feathers and tams and hard-brimmed straw hats… They were all talking like animals… barking and belching… They were dogs, tigers, wolves, crabs… I was beginning to itch…
Outside, through the window, fish were passing now… You could see them clear as anything… They were moving slowly… undulating past the glass… coming out into the light… They opened their mouths, little puffs of fog came out… There were mackerel and carp… They smelt like it too, they smelt of muck, honey, acrid smoke… everything… Another little slug of beer… and I’ll never be able to get up again… That’ll be fine… They drool, they chortle… all those bums… They’re all fighting, they give each other clouts on the arse that would kill a mule… The stinkers!…
But then the piano stops, the barman in the apron throws us all out!… I’m in the street again! I unbutton my collar!… I feel lousy… I drag myself through the shadows. I can still see the two street lamps a little… not much!… I see the water… I can see it lapping… Ah! I can even see the way down. I take the steps one by one… I lean on the rail, I’m very careful… I touch the drink… on my knees… I vomit on it… I make a violent effort… I feel better… An enormous burst comes down on me from above… a whole meal… I can see the guy leaning over… Seconds… A slimy mess… I try to stand up! Hell, I can’t make it… I sit down again… I take the whole business! Oh well! It runs into my eyes… Another retch… Wah! I see the water dancing… white… and black… It’s really cold. I’m shivering, I tear my trousers… I can’t throw up any more… I lie down again in a corner… The bowsprit of a sailboat passes over me… It just grazes my head… The guys are coming! A whole squadron of them!… Oh yes! They’re coming out of the fog… They’re pulling at the oars… They pull up at the dock… The sails are furled at half-mast… I hear the mob coming, stamping along the dock, that’s the fatigue squad…
I stay by the water’s edge… I’m not quite so cold… My head’s fuzzy… I’m all right here. Why not? I’m not bothering anybody… They’re some kind of “tartans”… I know about boats… Still more of them coming… They crowd together… They settle in the waves… up to the rail… weighed down with food. Enough vegetables for an army… Red cabbage, onions, black radishes, mountains of turnips, whole cathedrals of them, heading into the stream, towed by a sailing boat!… They rise up out of the darkness… proud and graceful in the beam of the searchlights… The longshoremen have put the ladder in place… All at the same time they swallow their plugs. They hang their hats on their alpaca coats… They looked like a bunch of bookkeepers… They were even wearing cuffs… That’s what longshoremen were like in those days… They toted baskets, enormous piles of them… balancing acts… the tops were lost in the darkness… They came back with tomatoes, they dug deep tunnels in the wall of cauliflowers… They vanished in the holds again… They came back out into the lamplight… with big loads of artichokes… the boat wasn’t listing any more, it was sinking under the weight of the gangplanks… Another batch of phoney longshoremen tote some more of the cargo away.
That’s funny, my teeth are chattering… I’m dying of the cold… literally. I’m not dizzy any more… Suddenly I remember… Where did I leave my blanket? It all comes back to me… the kid with the fritters… I look from one stand to the next… Finally I find her. She was waiting for me. She’d put everything away, all the kettles, the big fork, folded up the whole shooting match… She was all ready to leave. She was glad to see me back. She’d sold her whole stock. She even showed me that all the dishes were empty… The French fries… the potato salad… All she had left was a piece of head cheese… She smeared it on bread with a knife, a good chunk, and we shared it… I was hungry again. She pulled up her veil to get a better look at me. She made scolding gestures, because I’d stayed away too long. She was jealous already!… She wouldn’t let me help her pulling at the shafts… The shed where she kept her cart was in town… I carried the lantern… I hadn’t seen all of her hat… There was more to see… streamers hanging down to her waist. A great big peacock feather was tied under her chin with a really magnificent scarf with a mauve-and-gold flower pattern.
In the shed we piled up the pots… We locked the door and went out bumming. She came closer to me… she wanted to talk to me seriously… But again I wouldn’t give in… I played dumb. I showed her my address… “Meanwell College”. I stopped under a lamp so she could read it… As it happened, she didn’t know how to read… She went on gabbing the whole time… She kept repeating her name. She tapped on her chest… Gwendoline! Gwendoline!… I heard her all right, I massaged her tits, but I didn’t get the words… To hell with tenderness! Sentiment! That stuff is like a family! At first you don’t catch on, but it stinks, it’s putrid, crawling… No Greasy Joan is going to drag any words out of me. Pleased to meet you, kid! Go shit in your hat! Let her carry my bag… God bless your kind heart! Go right ahead! Anyway, she was stronger than me!… She took advantage of the dark corners to smother me with caresses. She hugged me like a wrestler… There was no point in resisting… The streets were almost deserted… She wanted me to knead her… to press her… to squeeze her… She was hot stuff… demanding and curious… We hid behind the fog… I had to keep on kissing her, she wouldn’t have given my stuff back… It was no use wriggling, I’d have looked like a dope… We were under a lamp… she had a crust on her… she took out my dick… it wasn’t hard any more… she hardens it up… I come… That really drives her crazy… She goes jumping around in the
fog… She hikes up her skirt… she dances like a cannibal… I couldn’t help laughing… It didn’t seem like the right time of day! She wanted the whole works! Hell! She’s running after me… She’s getting mean! She catches me… She tries to eat me alive! With big sucking kisses! That kid liked foreigners…
The esplanade was empty, at the other end the jugglers were folding their tents… the little carts with sweets and jam crossed the open space, jolting in the holes and ruts… They had trouble pushing… We came to a booth… the last woman in the place, a grandmother, was rolling up her hangings… She was dressed like a houri… She blew out her candles… She rolled up her oriental carpets… There were signs all around the entrance… showing the lines of the hand… She was yawning tremendously… enough to dislocate her jaw… “Wah! Wah!” she grunted out through the night. We came closer, me and my floozie. We interrupted her house-cleaning. The two broads knew each other… They stop to chat… They must have been friends… They jabber a lot of stuff. They were both interested in me… The Fatima motions me to come up, to step into her shack. I couldn’t refuse; the other one minded my things… The old bag takes my hand, she turns it over, she looks at my palms… Close up, under the lamp. She’s going to tell my fortune… I catch on! They’re curious about my future!… Women always want to know everything! The minute you refuse to talk!… I didn’t give a damn, I was nice and comfortable on a pile of cushions… It was a damn sight warmer than outside… I just took it easy… They went on with their hocus-pocus… They were interested in my case… The Fatima was getting excited… she was cooking up my horoscope… My girl was frowning… My fate must have been sad… I let them work on my hands… It wasn’t unpleasant. Anyway I had other things to worry about! I looked around me some… Their tent had stripes and stars on it, and on the ceiling embroidered moons and comets… It was too late to get up much interest! I couldn’t understand a word of their gibberish… It was at least two o’clock! They kept at it, drawing things out… Now they were talking about the little furrow… They were conscientious souls… My hands were always dirty, that couldn’t have helped much. And the nails… I could just as well have dropped off to sleep… Finally they were done… They agreed. My kid paid the old bag with her own money, two coins, I was looking… She had the cards laid out for her… And then we were done with the future… We went out under the curtains. The old bag climbed up on her counter and went back to her hangings.
Death on Credit Page 24