I downed two big glasses of water, then, naturally, had to hightail it to the men’s room. The urinals were Indian pink. I chose the one in the middle. Every time I find myself in front of one of those jobs it reminds me of the time I startled a six-foot blonde in the men’s room, straddling the urinal, who told me, Don’t fret, baby, I’ll give you your thingamajig back in just a minute. I’ll never forget that girl. It was back in the days when there was a lot of talk about women’s liberation-they bombarded you with it. It was that girl, though, who drove the concept home-I had to admit that something had changed.
I was thinking about her, undoing the buttons of my fly with one hand, when one of the brush-cut dudes came in. He sidled up next to me and stared at the big silver button that makes the water flush.
Nothing was coming on my side. His either. The silence he tween us was deadly. Every few seconds he’d look over at me to see how I was doing, and clear his throat. He was wearing baggy pants and a colored shirt. Me: tight jeans and a white T·-shirt. He was about eighteen. Me: thirty-five. I gritted my teeth and contracted my abdominal muscles. I felt him do the same. I tried to concentrate.
The silence was interrupted by the characteristic tinkle that squirmed out in front of me. I smiled.
“Hha,” I said.
“I didn’t have to go, anyway,” he muttered.
When I was his age, Kerouac told me, Be in love with your life. It was only normal that I pissed quicker. Still, I didn’t want to rest on my laurels.
“Got to take advantage of things,” I said. “Who knows how long they’ll last?”
He scratched his head. He made faces in the mirror while I washed my hands.
“By the way,” he said. “I was thinking… I may have something that might interest you.”
I turned my back to him to dry my hands. I tore off the regulation ten inches. I was in a good mood.
“Oh yeah?” I said.
He came over and unfolded a small piece of paper under my nose.
“There’s a good gram here,” he whispered.
“Is it good stuff?”
“Must be. But don’t ask me, I never even tried it. I’m doing this to raise money for my vacation. I want to go surfing.”
God, how youth can lead you astray, I thought. Not to mention that he hadn’t even washed his hands. There was quite a bit of crystal there, though. I tasted it. I asked him how much it was. He told me. It had been a long time since I’d dealt in such things-the price had doubled since. I stood there with my mouth open.
“You sure you got that right?” I asked.
“Take it or leave it.”
I pulled a bill out of my pocket.
“What’ll this buy me?”
He didn’t seem impressed. I forced his hand a little.
“This’ll buy you a pair of Bermudas at least…” I said.
He laughed. We locked ourselves in a stall, and he got it ready for me on top of the toilet tank. I blew my nose conscientiously before snorting. After that I was ready to face a brand-new day-my mood was electric. I grabbed his arm before leaving.
“Just remember one thing,” I told him. “Places with only sand and surf do not exist. Blood flows everywhere.”
He looked at me as if I’d just solved the riddle of the Sphinx for him.
“Why are you telling me that?” he said.
“Just kidding,” I said. “At thirty-five you wonder if you can still make people laugh.”
It’s true that I felt the world getting more and more somber with each passing year, but it never mattered much to me. I always tried to stand tall, to not let my life turn to shit. It was the best I could do, and I did my best to do it. It wasn’t easy. One thing I’m proud of in life, though; I’ve always tried to be a decent guy. Don’t ask any more of me-I wouldn’t have the strength. I went back to Betty, sniffling. I grabbed her in my arms, almost yanking her off her seat. People looked at us.
“Hey,” she said. “Nothing personal, but we’re not alone here.”
“Fuck ‘em,” I said.
I believed I could have bent the stool in half.
On the way home, I felt like I was at the helm of a runaway engine that nothing in the world could stop. Betty had drunk a little wine. The whole world had drunk a little wine, and I was the only one still lucid-the only one still faithful at his post, steady at the wheel. Everybody was signaling me to turn on my headlights. Bums. Betty put a lit cigarette in my mouth.
“Maybe you’d see a little better if you had a little light in front of you…”
Before I had time to look, she’d bent over the dashboard and flicked on the high beams. It was better, okay, but so what?
“You don’t have to believe me,” I said. “But I could see like it was broad daylight.”
“I believe you.”
“Just because it’s dark out doesn’t mean we have to act like blind people, you know…”
“I know.”
“Damn straight…”
I had an itch to do something extraordinary. We were back in town, and all I could do was crawl down the streets, avoiding pedestrians, stopping at red lights like a wimp, while the dynamite coursed through my veins.
I parked in front of the house. The night was soft, calm, and silent, underlined by moonlight; yet the general feeling was one of incredible violence-blue and pearl-gray. I crossed the street, inhaling the cool air, not feeling sleepy at all. Betty had been yawning since the end of the trip. I didn’t want to notice.
We went upstairs and she fell on the bed. I tried to shake her.
“Hey, you can’t do that!” I yelled. “Don’t you want another drink? Let me get you something.”
She struggled for a little while, smiling, but her eyes kept closing. I wanted to stay up all night talking-I wanted to TALK, goddammit! I helped her get undressed, explaining that to me things were totally clear. She hid her mouth with her hand, so as not to offend me. I gave her a slap on the butt as she slid under the sheets. Her nipples were soft as rags. It wasn’t even worth it to try feeling her up-she was sound asleep.
I took the radio and a beer and went to sit in the kitchen. The news came on, but there was nothing important to report-everyone was more or less dead. I turned off the sound when they came to the sports. The moon was nearly full, and veritably perched on the table. I didn’t have to turn the lights on. It was quite restful. I got the idea to take a bath. My head was as clear as a sunny winter’s day-I could touch things with my eyes, I could have heard a piece of straw snap a hundred yards away. I chugged the rest of the beer down like a waterfall. It was good shit I’d bought, I had to admit, though the price of a gram still made me shiver.
An hour later I was still sitting there, bent slightly forward, staring between my legs to verify-yes or no-if I still had balls. I was holding a knife to my throat. I stood up with a bemused smile, short of breath. I went and got what I needed, then came back and sat down.
A little while later I had scrawled three pages. I stopped. All I had wanted to see was whether I was still capable of writing. Just one page. I didn’t ask for an epic. I hadn’t done too badly-far from it. No one could have been more surprised than me. I reread the pages slowly. It was one surprise after another. I couldn’t remember ever having written like that before, even at my peak. It was reassuring, like getting back on a bicycle after twenty years and not crashing after two turns of the pedal. It gave me a boost. I held my hands out in front of me to see if they were trembling. You would have thought I was waiting for them to put the cuffs on.
Not looking for trouble, I conscientiously burned the pages. I had no regrets, though. Once I write something, I never forget it. It’s the sign of a writer who has the touch.
Around two in the morning, a cat started meowing outside the window. I let him in. I opened up a can of sardines in tomato sauce. We were certainly the only two creatures still awake on the whole block. It was a young cat. I petted it and it purred. It climbed onto my lap. I decided to let
it stay there for a while and digest its meal before getting up. The night didn’t seem to be moving. Taking every precaution possible, I leaned backward to grab a bag of potato chips. It was nearly full. I spread a few out on the table. It made the time pass.
I finished the bag, wondering if the cat was planning to spend the rest of the night sitting on me. I shoved him off. He rubbed up against my legs. I got him a bowl of milk. The least you could say was that the day had passed under the sign of Milk-at once gentle and scalding, mysterious, unpredictable, unfathomably white-and with bears, elephants, and cats, what more could you ask? For a guy who hates milk I’d had quite a bit that day, and I hadn’t left a single drop. You have to acknowledge that force that makes you drink to the dregs. I poured the milk slowly for the cat. I didn’t spill any. I sensed it was the last such test of the day-I kind of have premonitions about these things.
I put the cat back out on the windowsill. I closed the window behind him, while he stretched in the geraniums. I put on some music. I had another beer before going to bed. I felt like doing something, but I didn’t know what. To get my body moving again, I got Betty’s things together and folded them.
I emptied the ashtrays.
I chased a mosquito.
I checked out all the channels on the television, but there was nothing that wasn’t so boring you’d die twenty times watching it.
I washed my face.
Sitting at the foot of the bed, I read an article reminding us of the fundamental precautions to take in case of nuclear attack, such as staying away from windows.
I filed a fingernail that was coming unhinged, then got into it and did all the others.
According to my calculations, there were still one hundred eighty-seven cubes of sugar left in the box on the kitchen table. I didn’t feel like going to bed. The cat meowed outside the window.
I got up to go look at the thermometer. Seventy-three degrees-not bad.
I got out the I Ching and pulled The Obfuscation of Light-not bad either. Betty rolled over and moaned.
I spotted where the paint had run on the wall.
Time passed. I plunged to the depths and came back up with my brain on fire-burning a cigarette. The most charming thing about this generation is its experience of solitude, and the deep uselessness of all things. Good thing life is swell. I stretched out on the bed, the silence taking on the form of leaden shell. I tried to relax, to calm this stupid energy that ran through me like an electric current. I turned to face the calm and beauty of a wholly redone ceiling. Betty jabbed me in the hip with her knee.
It wouldn’t be reasonable to start making chili for the next day. It had now been thirteen thousand days I’d been alive. I saw neither the beginning nor the end. I hoped the tar paper would hold for a while. The small lamp was only twenty-five watts. I put my shirt over it anyway.
I got a new pack of chewing gum out of Betty’s purse. I pulled out a stick and folded it in my fingers like an egg roll. No matter how hard I thought about it, I couldn’t figure out why they put ELEVEN sticks in a pack. It was like they just had to throw a monkey wrench into the works. I grabbed a pillow and lay down on my stomach. I tossed and turned. I was determined to fall asleep. I took the eleventh stick-the one that had caused me so much suffering-and poked it with my tongue. I swallowed it.
20
The cops had been nervous for a few days now. They’d been patrolling the area from morning till night, their cars crisscrossing the roads in the sun. Break-ins of small-town banks always cause an uproar. The only way to avoid crossing a checkpoint within a five-mile radius would have been by digging a tunnel. I had to go see this woman about moving a baby grand through her window. I was driving peacefully along a deserted road, when a cop car passed me and signaled me to stop. It was the young cop from the night behind the warehouse-the one with the steel thighs. I was running late, but I parked diligently on the shoulder. A few dandelions were growing along the side of the road. He was out of his car before I was. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not.
“Hi. Still girded for battle?” I joked.
“Show me your registration,” he said.
“Don’t you recognize me?”
He just stood there with his hand out, looking around, tired. I got out the registration.
“If you ask me, the guys who did the bank job aren’t from around here,” I added. “Myself… as you can tell by looking at me… I’m on my way to work.”
I had the feeling that I was getting on his nerves. He tapped a bebop rhythm on the hood of the car. His holster gleamed in the sun like a black panther.
“Let me look in the trunk,” he said.
I knew that he knew that I had nothing to do with his goddamn bank. He knew that I knew. He just didn’t like me-it was written all over his face-but I hadn’t the vaguest idea why. I pulled my keys out of the ignition and dangled them in front of my nose. He practically ripped them out of my hand. It was clear I was going to be late.
He screwed around with the lock for a few seconds, trying to turn the knob in all directions at once. I got out and slammed the door.
“Okay,” I said. “Let me do it. It may seem ridiculous to you, but I’d rather not have my car ruined. I use it for my work.”
I opened the trunk and moved away so he could look inside. All there was was an old book of matches, all the way in the back. I waited for a minute before closing the trunk.
“…Take advantage of the situation to air it out a little,” I said.
I got back in the ear. I went to turn the ignition key, but he leaned over and grabbed the door.
“Hey, hold on there a minute!” he said. “What about this…?”
I stuck my head out the window. He was running his hand on my tire.
“Feels like a banana peel,” he said. “I wouldn’t even use it to put flowers in.”
I cooled down immediately. I sensed trouble.
“Right, I know,” I said. “I noticed it this morning before I left. I was going to take care of it right away.”
He stood up without taking his eyes off me. I tried to send him love messages.
“I can’t let you go like that,” he said. “You’re a public menace.”
“Look, I’m not going very far. I’ll go slow. I’ll change the tire as soon as I get home. Rest assured. I have no idea how such a thing could have happened.”
He stepped away from the car, fatigued.
“All right, I’ll let it go. But in the meantime, put on the spare tire.”
I felt the hair bristle on my arms and legs. My spare tire was not in any condition to be seen by a police officer. It had about twenty-five thousand miles on it. The tire he wanted me to change looked practically new next to it. I suddenly got a frog in my throat. I offered him a cigarette.
“Rhuh… care for a smoke?… Rhuh, rhuh… hey, that bank thing must really keep you guys hopping… rhuh… wouldn’t want to be in the culprits’ shoes, rhuh…”
“Right, now let’s get moving. I haven’t got all day.”
I took out a cigarette. The jig was up. I lit it, watching the road unroll through the windshield. The cop squinted.
“Maybe you’d like me to help you…” he said.
“No,” I sighed. “It’s not worth it. It’d be a waste of time. The other tire’s also a mess. I’ll have to change it, too.”
He grabbed my door with his hands. A wild lock of hair fell down on his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“In principle, I’m supposed to immobilize your vehicle. I could even make you go the rest of the way on foot. Now we’re going to turn around here, and you’re going to stop at the first garage we come to and change that tire. I’ll follow you.”
The bottom line was that I was going to be late. But a baby grand is not something you sell every day. I felt like telling him that keeping people from working does not sign his paycheck, but the sun seemed to be getting to his brain.
“Look,” I said. “I have an appoint
ment two minutes from here. I’m not out for a joyride, I’m on my way to sell a piano, and you know very well that small, businessmen can’t afford to miss appointments. It’s hard times for everyone these days. I give you my word that I’ll take care of the tires when I get home. I swear it.
“No,” he snapped. “Now.”
I grabbed the wheel, trying not to squeeze it too hard in my fists, but my arms were already stiff as wood.
“Okay,” I said. “Since you’re determined to give me a ticket, just go ahead and do it. At least I’ll know why I have to work today-I don’t seem to have any choice in the matter…”
“I didn’t say anything about a ticket. I said you have to change your tire!… IMMEDIATELY!!”
“Right, I got that. But if it means missing out on a sale, I’d rather have a ticket.”
He stood there silently for ten seconds staring at me. Then he took one step back and slowly drew his gun. There was no one around for miles.
“Either we do as I say,” he growled. “Or you get a bullet in your tire, for starters…!”
There was no doubt in my mind that he’d do it. Two minutes later found us rolling back toward town. I checked the morning off my list.
There was a wreck sitting in the driveway, so I signaled and pulled around into the courtyard. A dog, black with motor oil, was barking at the end of his chain. A guy was sorting bolts in a shed. He watched us pull in. It was one of those lovely spring days, just warm, no wind. There were piles of car carcasses all over the place. I got out. The junkman gave the dog a kick as he wiped his hands. He smiled at the young cop.
“Hey, Richard, what brings you here?” he said.
“My job, man. Always working.”
“I came for the tires, myself,” I said.
The dude scratched his head. He allowed as how he had three or four Mercedes in the junkpile, but the problem was to find them.
Betty Blue Page 21