by Edward Abbey
Alright, look, Mr., Mr….uh…you just hang on there and I’ll try to get a new check out to you and…what’s your name again? What? Bellabista? Bellabista? Oh yes, and the case number? Yes, okay. Yes. No. Yes, that’s all I can tell you now. Goodby.
He hung up, trying to remember to write down the name and case number before he forgot. The telephone rang again. Reflexively he reached for it but stopped his hand in time, letting it ring, and went to see his supervisor. Mrs. Kelly, for the moment unattended by either clerks, caseworkers or superior administrators and supervisors, was talking, in agitated spasms, with an invisible presence through the telephone. He waited for a minute, while phones and voices and typewriters jingled, buzzed, rumbled, clattered all around, then fearing he’d forget the names he went to his desk for his field book.
Rogelio, he told himself,—Rogelio, Bellabista Rogelio…And Cynthia Moore, I mean Sylvia Moore, no, no, Sylvia Jackson, that’s right, Sylvia Jackson, Sylvia Jackson. He opened the book to the J’s, found seven Jacksons waiting for his psycho-sociotherapy: Adelaide Jackson, Annabelle Lee Jackson, Cynthia Jackson, Maybelline Placenta Jackson, Opaline Ovary Jackson, Sylvia Fallopian Jackson and Winifred Randolph Positive Wasserman Jackson. All were AFDC cases, each had at least seven children, some ten or eleven, all had recently arrived in New York from places like Monk’s Corners, South Carolina, and Hardscrabble Hollow, Alabama. Their lives in the city were fantasies of misery, complexity and horror, but whatever they had left behind, in the South, must have been worse. Their many men came and went, like shadows, like dark ghosts, stopping at home only long enough to plant more seed in the polyandrous furrow, stash the welfare money in their pockets, and slip down the fire escape as the welfare investigator knocked on the front door, then dying soon afterwards—not him, them—in puddles of blood down a dark street, in a black hallway, on the floor of the barroom, in Attica, at Bellevue, in the Hole. And the women went on, endured somehow, shuddering when the fool-moon looked down through the powerlines, TV antennae and clotheslines, for they knew the moon’s rays made the belly swell, made the babies come.
Book in hand, he approached Mrs. Kelly.
Mr. Lightcap! the clerk hollered, telephone!
No!
Yes!
Sweet jumping jesus…He took the sweaty instrument from her hand. Yeah? He was startled at the sound of his own voice, which sounded new and strange, almost harsh, like somebody else’s, like Lanahan’s, for example, yes, like Bat Lanahan’s voice.—This is Mr. Lightcap…
Is that you, Mister Lightcap? Listen, you don’t know me but they said that you are my investigator now. My name it is Angelina Marinetti and my case number 6105052. I live at 601, 12th Street, Apartment 9C, and I am twenty-two years old and have three childs and will have another very soon, next month the doctor say. Mr. Lightcap I want to know what you can do for me right now? My trouble is, you see, I am not really on the welfare right now but I have no money, no job, my husband he die five years ago and leave me nothing. For three years I was on the welfare but the last caseworker that lady Mrs. I forgot her name she close my case and cut me off because I have two new babies last year, the twins I mean.
Why’d she close your case?
She say I must file complaint with the Domestic Relations Court against the father of my children. She say if I don’t do that she close my case. So she close my case.
Why don’t you file the complaint?
Oh I cannot do that, Mr. Lightcap I cannot do that. He would beat me up, he say he kill me if I do that.
But you’ve got to file a complaint, Mrs. Marinetti.
But I am afraid.
But you must. The law says that you must. They won’t let me give you money unless you file the complaint.
But he say he kill me.
He’s not allowed to do that, Mrs. Marinetti. I mean…the police will protect you if he comes around. Tell the police about him and they will pick him up. It’s against the law to threaten the life of another person. Call the police.
But Mr. Lightcap I am afraid.
Call the police. That’s their job.
But Mr. Lightcap, he is a policeman.
He is? Who is?
The man I tell you about. That father of these kids, he is a policeman, and he say if I tell anybody he will come with his friends and rape me and kill me.
He can’t do that.
He can’t do that, you say, but he can, Mr. Lightcap. He do everything but kill me already. What can I do?
Henry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know. At the same time, he heard Mrs. Kelly calling him.
What can I do, Mr. Lightcap? I have three little children, I will have another next month. What can I do?
You can…You’ve got to…Maybe you could call the police commissioner, tell him about it.
I cannot tell anybody, Mr. Lightcap. They are too busy to listen to me. If they are not too busy they will not believe me. If they believe me they say I must have proof. If I have proof I must go to police and file charges. If I file charges against a policeman the police will kill me.
Wait now, Mrs. Marinetti, this is fantastic. You can’t expect me to believe…I mean, after all, we live in a…
Mr. Lightcap! Mrs. Kelly shouted, will you please come here?
He nodded at her, listening meanwhile to his client Mrs. Marinetti.
You don’t believe me either? she said.
What? Yes, I…I don’t know…You must not be afraid of them. Get a good lawyer.
I have no money, Mr. Lightcap. That is why I wish to get the welfare. I have no money and I cannot work because I am in my eighth month. You must help me, Mr. Lightcap.
Well my God, won’t this…can’t this cop help you out? Doesn’t he give you any money?
Yes, Mr. Lightcap, he gives me money. Last month he give me five dollars. This month he give me four dollars and one black eye. Next month he say he give me nothing, he say he have wife and children of his own and the city does not pay him anything, he says, and he is a very angry man, Mr. Lightcap, and I am afraid.
Well, why…how’d you ever get mixed up with a man like this?
My husband he die five years ago. I was lonely.
Mr. Lightcap! called Mrs. Kelly, you can’t spend all morning at that telephone!
Your time is up, the operator said. Deposit ten cents, please.
Mr. Lightcap, you must help me!
I…I’ll…I’ll try to…
Ten cents, please!
Help me, help me, the children are sick, Mr. Lightcap.
Yes, I know, I mean, yes, I…I understand…
Ten cents, please!
Mr. Lightcap! shouted Mrs. Kelly.
Please please please help me, you sound like a good man, like a good young man, please help me, please!…
The line went dead as the operator broke the connection. He hung up and for a moment the telephone was quiet. Then it rang again. But by that time Henry had fled to Mrs. Kelly’s desk.
Look, he said, my God, Mrs. Kelly, this woman says, she says they won’t put her on welfare because she didn’t file a complaint and she says she can’t file a complaint because…
Mr. Lightcap, you didn’t file your work report last week. Mrs. Kelly fixed her malign cold eyes on him, glaring at him through her monstrous spectacles. Her hands trembled.
My what? I didn’t what? But look, Mrs. Kelly, not only that but this other one, Mrs. Moore, yes, Mrs. Cynthia Moore, she says her husband stole her check and ran away and she has to go to the hospital this afternoon and there’s no one to look after the kids and what’s more the wheel fell off her wheelchair, I mean his wheelchair, yes, Mr. Rogelio’s wheelchair, and they stole his check too, he said, and one of the children is having an epileptic fit, yes, a seizure, and the cop says he’ll kill her if she…no, that’s the other one, the Italian name, Mrs…. Mrs…
Settle down, Mr. Lightcap. Get a grip on yourself. She screamed at him: What’re you all excited about?
Well my God, M
rs. Kelly, I’ve got to get out there!
You’re not going anywhere till you make out last week’s work report and next week’s field visit schedule and you’re not going anywhere till you dictate your reports on the visits you made or should have made last week.
What? Last week? Should have made? Mrs. Kelly…
Mr. Lightcap, you’re going to get phone calls like that all the time. Every other minute. You’ve been here long enough, you ought to be used to it by now. Before you make any more field visits you’ve got to catch up with your officework.
But the…those people…they’re out there.
But the forms are in here. You have reports to make, budgets to prepare, letters to answer, records to file and forms to fill out and if you don’t do it the other people in your caseload are going to suffer. A drop hung from her nose; she sniffed, glaring at him.
But Mrs. Kelly…she’s in…they’re in terrible terrible trouble.
They’re always in terrible trouble. That’s why they’re on public welfare. They’re incompetent and degenerate people, Mr. Lightcap, the very dregs of our society. Animals. Animals! And do you realize how many there are? Do you realize we have over 300,000 active cases on the rolls right now? Three hundred thousand cases in the city alone, not counting Long Island and Connecticut and North Jersey. That means close to a million people, including the children in these cases, nearly a million people, are living off public charity, at our expense, in New York City alone. One million animals, all on welfare.
But they stole their checks. Those women, they don’t have any money at all, Mrs. Kelly. The nights are cold, their children are sick and hungry…
Now Mr. Lightcap, don’t get emotional about it. Mrs. Kelly spoke rapidly, intensely. Keep yourself cool, calm and efficient. Our job is to investigate applications and process the papers. We mail out the checks to those who are eligible. It’s the responsibility of the Post Office Department to deliver the checks to the correct address. It’s the responsibility of the welfare client to get her check before some other welfare client steals it. Your job is to get your work reports in on time…
Her telephone rang; she reached for it, hand jerking forth.
Get your work reports in on time, in duplicate, keep your case records neat and tidy, get your dictation and narrative reports up to date in triplicate, investigate the new applications, contact relatives and employers, process the papers and coordinate your work with the other agencies concerned…
Mrs. Kelly, I promised them I’d be out there right away!
Never promise a welfare client anything. You’re not leaving this office till you finish your paperwork. You understand? She picked up her phone and raised it toward her mouth and ear. You understand, Mr. Lightcap? Mrs. Kelly speaking…
Telephone, Mr. Lightcap, cried the unit clerk, telephone! Telephone!
Numbly, dumbly, humbly, he shambled back to the clerk’s desk and took the call. Lightcap speaking…
Mist Lightcap dis heah’s Angus Augustus Sneed Junior a-callin. You ’member me, you was out ta see me just other day, ’member?
Augustus Sneed?
Yessuh, dass raht. Well suh, ah got troubles. Ah got troubles, Mist Lightcap, an’ ah reckon you know what dey is. Ah got de troubles, suh, dat surpass human disbelief. Ah got troubles dat ain’t nevah been done invented yet till ah invent them. You ’member dat landlady ah tell you all about, dat Missus Mulroney? Well suh, she mad at me cause I stick pins in duh radiator valves cause ah like tuh git some heat in mah room an’ dah only way ah can git der heat is tah stick pins in dah radiator valves cause if I don’ do dat, Mist Lightcap, it git too cold an’ it git too dry in dah room an’ you know ah can’t tolerate dah dry air account of my lung trouble. Well you know how dat crazy woman do, she ninety year ole now an’ ain’t got no sense a-tall, she crazy as a bat, Mist Lightcap, she come intah mah room when ah out eatin’ lunch an’ she move all mah pussonal belongin’s out onta dah street, an’ she won’t let me back in no moah. She put a new lock on dah door so ah cain’t git in an’ when ah say somethin’ about it to her she hit me over dah haid wit her broom, Mist Lightcap an’ she mighty powerful woman even if she is mos’ ninety year old, and no ah ain’t got no place ter sleep tonight an’ ah cain’t find another room cause dat Missus Mulroney she tell all dah other landladies an’ landlords an’ won’ nobody rent me a room an’ ah wanna know where is ah gonter sleep dis night?
Go to a different neighborhood where they don’t know you yet. Rent another room somewhere else.
Yassuh, dassa fine idea Mist Lightcap except suh, you see ah don’ know about you, suh, but ah ain’t got no money a-tall. None whatsoever a-tall.
No money? What happened to your last welfare check?
It’s all gone. All done gone.
Look, did you pay your rent to Mrs. Mulroney?
Well suh, it’s diss way: ah did an’ ah didn’t. Ah did pay it an’ den ah borrowed part of it back but it’s all gone now. So what’s ah gonter do now, Mist Lightcap?
I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re going to do now, Mr. Sneed. I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to Mrs. Mulroney, that’s all I can say.
Dat’s Angus Augustus Sneed Junior, suh. An’ ever time ah try to talk to her she hit me wit dah broom. What you gonter do about dat?
Talk to her anyway.
Ah try dat agin but ah know it ain’t gonter do no good. So you got to help me, Mist Lightcap.
Your time is up, sir, the telephone operator interrupted them, please deposit ten cents if you wish to continue.
What you gonter do, Mist Lightcap?
Nothing, Mr. Sneed. I can’t do nothing for you. Goodby. He hung up and walked away as the phone jangled angrily behind him. He sat down at his desk and confronted the papers, the papers, las muchas papeles, the piles and heaps and stacks of papers, awaiting, no, demanding his attention, his mind and soul. He sighed and raised his eyes a bit, staring at the dark and glossy knees of Miss Dresnick. He raised his eyes a bit more and saw that she was staring at him. He nodded; she smiled. He smiled and she smiled again. He stirred, as if to speak, as if to rise, and she lowered her look to the papers on her desk. Henry relapsed.
Don’t forget your work report sheets, Mr. Lightcap, Mrs. Kelly said, passing close by. And your field visit schedule for next week. She passed on into the haze of cigarette smoke, the blizzard of papers, the maze of desks and filing cabinets.
Don’t forget your work report sheets, Mr. Lightcap, he mimicked, echoing her tense squeaky voice as she passed out of hearing range. Don’t forget your field visit schedule for next week.
Miss Dresnick smiled again but did not look up.
Bat Lanahan adjusted the tuning knob on his transistor radio and pulled the earphone, with its cord, out of his ear for a moment. Relax, kid, relax. She’s harmless. She’s really as confused as you are. Don’t forget you’re having lunch with me. He stuck the earphone back in his ear, turned the tuning knob until he found the station he wanted, and returned to his work. When his telephone rang, as it did presently, he turned up the volume knob on the radio. Yeah? Yeah? Is that so? Look here, Mr. Mondragon, I have an easy solution to your problem. Go shoot yourself and save the people money. Yeah, that’s right, that’s what I said, shoot yourself. Jump off the roof. Yes, you ask for my suggestion, I give you my suggestion. What? Yeah, we’ll supply the bullets. Sure. What? Goodby, Mr. Mondragon, Lanahan went back to his work, filling out IBM budget cards.
Mr. Lightcap, the unit clerk called, waving the telephone again, there’s one of your clients downstairs demanding to see you. Yes, downstairs, he won’t go away, he wants to see Mr. Lightcap. He’s in the Service Department.
The what? Henry asked.
The Service Department. He wants to see you. It’s a Mr. James J. Killoran and he says it’s very important, he won’t talk to anybody but you.
Alright. Alright. I’ll be right down. He opened his field book and looked up the Killoran case. What he found were the usual brie
f notes sketching the outline of the normal dislocations of the typical happy All-American family:
Killoran, James J.; Case #13406, Old Age Assistance; birthdate 1-5-11; living arrangements: couple share 3-rm apt 5th floor multi-family apt bldg, cold-water flat, rent $385 per mo, furnishing adequate, housekeeping standards fair; health & medical condition: suffers from arteriosclerosis, diabetes, rheumatic heart disease, maturing cataract on left eye, hypertension, arthritis, and shingles; financial resources: OASI pension, $99.40 per mo; legally responsible relatives: Son, Arthur G. Killoran, 52 Winona Pl, LA, Calif., occupation electronic engr, inc $1980 per mo, married, 2 children, legal capacity to support $135 per mo, actual contribution $00; Son, Wm Killoran, Rahway St Pen, Rahway, NJ, married, six children, wife on ADC, Newark, NJ, no capacity to support; Son, Timothy P. Killoran, CPA, Houston, Tex, no response to inquiries; Daughter, Sheila K. Mattiace, 1012-244 St, NYC, married, 4 children, no capacity; Son, Rev. J.J. Killoran Jr, medical missionary, Bohol, Phillipines, single, no children, no reply to inquiries; Daughter, Susan K. Masterson, 1097 Summit Ave, J.C., NJ, married, six children, husband deserted, ADC case, no capacity; Son, Richard Killoran, 412 Madison St, Seattle, Wash., computer taper, inc $1695 per mo, married, one child, legal capacity $186 per mo, actual contribution $15-30 per mo; Other Relatives: bro, Theo. Killoran, age 74, Laurel Hill Nursing Home, NY, cannot assist; half-bro, Clyde Noonan, age 68, Rockland St Hosp, Rockland, NY, cannot assist; all others deceased; burial plot, none; insurance, Metro Life #1310076 face value $1500 assigned to Welfare Dept 9-1-54; Religion: R.C.; Will: none.