Hunger and Thirst

by Richard Matheson

  Face hardening. Struggle. Reluctant easing of fury.

  What’s going on it’s Perkins sir we’re ‘aving a bit of a time below stairs I said where did that damn chain come from God knows I’m hungry I’m thirsty I want to get up so I want to When you wish upon a star Oh! Pain chain gas and water main thirsty there it goes Nose itches Time is it? Afternoon guess break swords into ploughshares no bomb casings ho ho that’s rich that’s Sam you made the day too long Male and Female created he Gloria Swanson based on teeth sticking out Drop da gun Louie Here’s my plan John to hell with the Germans I say let’s declare war on the second looies It’s okay with me Erick John you John I John… hungry Feel sick Must Please must get up Think I’m God, what am I going to do?… Wall dirty Odd yes messy dirty hurty wakey wakey pip pip righto There’ll always be an England seven inch cigar Bless land God bless ‘em all long short and tear her tattered ensign down long has she was mine I tell you all wall floor money shoo shot in the back Paralyzed here now No move I’m hungry thirsty hunger thirst Hunger and Thirst good title for a book What is the hunger for food to compare with the hunger for knowledge What is the thirst for water beside the thirst to know I saw that What a fool I was who made his prayer to Our Father with Art in heaven Harold be thy name How now brown cow cow cow now I have to shit I have to crap I have to God damn it all I have to oh PAIN PAIN!…

  Head rolling on pillow. Lips drawn back. Sweat breaking out on forehead and upper lip.

  Oh my God that was awful it felt like fire in the belly Judge Holmes sweet home The closet door is ajar when isn’t a door a look the rose is opening It’s dying Look at it makes me want to cry it’s so beautiful We die in order to live Each moment of life prepares us for death The petals are so delicately colored Yellow in the middle Deep pink on the edges They’ll fall in the water Look at that will you I’m so thirsty I could My throat is dry Stop off at the next oasis Ali and don’t dare When I think of all the times I spit and threw water away and pissed it out and was glad to get rid of it What the hell was wrong with me It’s true Food isn’t as important When you lie still like this it doesn’t bother you I wonder what it’s like to fast to slow fast slow past snow know Mahatma knew Jesus knew Why did they fast There must be something to it I’ll learn, no I won’t I’ll be out of here by late tonight at the most I’ll get this dam wound treated somewhere Where shall I go I always wanted to go to California Calif hr I k Took me three months to learn that damn speed-writing and what for So I can write dirty jokes on bathroom walls without anyone understanding My head itches damn my underwear is still wet God is that my foot itching for Christ sake it feels like somebody else’s foot wonder what time it must be late in the afternoon Soon to pass to leafy bowers and crying out for rains and moon struck cloudy hours What in hell is that Poetry you horses ass Where am I Oh On Third Avenue All alone by the what happened to my Take it easy will you! Stop being so scared There’s nothing to be afraid of Okay Oh Kay You too George poor guy cut off in his prime Who has it in for us poor wonder boys You include your meager pen in this majestic scrap pile? Well didn’t I sell a story Yes one story and for twenty five dollars So what you ass Great oaks from little What are you going to do with it Retire or put it back into the capitalistic system to rejuvenate used up factories or buy boats and send wheat to the Indians Hunger they know what real hunger is They are born with hunger live and die with hunger It bestrides their frail backs like old men of the sea made of lead It cackles obscene death jokes in their ears It grinds them to dust Hunger Hunger Hunger it is all it is everything when it is anything It crowds out mind and spirit unless it is deliberate but we are not holy men Congress almighty I am a child and do not care for freedom of this and that when my belly is swollen for lack of eating Sir do you not understand Who gives me good in my hunger gives me everything Give me bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who…

  Eyes closed. Sense of holiness, of martyrdom. Passing.

  I don’t feel like thinking. I wish I were there you are lettuce and cabbage take me out of this to the ball game Coat go too and the hat and shoes dirty and my dirty mud caked memories Dreams of long ago and far away I dream a dream one day and night night and the music music music…

  God will you look at that water right there beside me My throat is drying up I can feel the flesh evaporating There goes some I wish it would rain or something or I said it once and I’ll say it again this room is too damn dry and airless Oh stop thinking will you Isn’t there a way to stop it? Throw a bridle on the mind and stop it Oh the church bells again The half hour Ava get off the floor you naughty girl Ava what kind of name is that Ava Maria Ava Avavavavavava…

  Take up your bed and walk…

  I wonder what he was like No crap now What would he say to me now The carpenter the Jew the healer the master the Christ? I wonder God I do I really wonder seriously Did he smile often Did he work hard Did he have big muscles Did he have a good tan Was his beard well kept Did he lux his Now stop that Well why? It’s a weakness when you can’t joke about something Anyway Jesus laughed sure he must have laughed Could such a man not laugh Could he love children and be a solemn pill No sire not Jesus Jones Wonder if he had a last name middle name Christian name Ha ha What does it matter anyway? Was he tall How much did he weigh Did he never have a woman in his arms whom he loved with a sensual love He must have He was human wasn’t he? It is all so hidden in mists Nail Him Up Boys or How to Build a Church in One Easy Lesson. He was a man I say this and I am alone and helpless and hungry and thirsty and I am thinking hard on this thing He was a man a wonderful man who loved and hated but loved more Who healed and scourged but healed more Who lived and died but did not die Did he get up? Big question no one can answer not the books and scrolls the parchments dry with age the holy men dry with age I say he died he never got up My word is as good as any other Here I am shot in the back on Third Avenue in New York City and my word is as good as any other in the world What’s the difference if he died He was good and kind he died for his beliefs What more could any God do He gave us love Us? Are you including yourself You who stole and struck and hated and SHUT UP!!!…

  Face contorted, angry, hating, murderous. Then, plaintive.

  Shut up your doors Nail shutters on the windows of your mind Oh for God’s sake how long can I lie here like this staring at the ceiling and a rose and money and a jumbled up overcoat How long before it all bursts out in a crazy scream How long before it clamps my teeth and sets my face in a gaping grin? When do I start drooling and blubbering and befouling the walls with idiot soliloquies When? WHEN? Oh stop…

  No it doesn’t stop It won’t stop It runs on and on like a berserk machine I was wrong to start it Wrong to press the button tug the string and set the top to buzzing Wrong? Wrong I didn’t know I should have known but I didn’t know I thought… I thought… grind to a halt.

  No…

  Hopelessness.

  Leo where are you At the office aren’t you wondering about me Why did I meet you Who planned it? Well I don’t want to think about it Think of something else Think of California maybe Here I come right back where I Who did? Me did Maybe in another life When I was a mongoose No a burro No I know I was the jerk who discovered gold at Sutter’s Mill or Alexander No that’s too grand I was the little man the fuckup the fubar boy the guy who drove nails into his palms The slob who invented gunpowder The last one to maintain that the world was flat I was the J. Wesley Smith of all time Oh get me out of here shut off the steam tighten the faucet pull the cord Get me out of…

  Sudden resolution. Face relaxing. Thin smile.

  I know I’ll close my eyes and pretend I’m back at college I just finished my last examination I got an A in it and tonight I’m going over to Sally’s house for dinner we’ll be alone and we’ll eat together and love together and we’ll sleep in each other’s arms Oh God no don’t think of that Think of something else To have thrown that diamond aside I… God leave me be! Stroke me a mental mute Tear all memories from my mind
Tip me oh lord and pour me empty of recollection Let me become a jelly let me grow into the bed into the floors into the walls Let me be the room creaking and dumb and never remembering The log is a happy creature He cannot mourn He cannot hope He cannot think…

  Close your eyes Darkness sweep black over the city Robe the day with night Muffle the cars and the bedlam of the strains Strike the busses dead Let heavy silence hang like a mist Let silence and peace fall like a curtain at the end of this my lay Let me sleep in peace and when I wake up Oh God let me rise and depart and I’ll never bother you again I’ll be good if you’ll just do this for me I swear it by my soul if soul I have Just let me sleep oh please let me sleep The ceilings are black velvet the walls are black velvet the screen is black velvet except for one word in white the word is Sleep Sleep Sleep Sleep Sleepsleep sleepsleepsleep…

  Brain slowing down. Descent. Into the pit of unconsciousness.

  11

  The church bells were chiming six as he woke up.

  He only heard four of them. But it couldn’t be four o’clock, he thought. It was getting dark. It’s April and it doesn’t get dark until later in April. He guessed it was six o’clock. There was more noise at five o’clock with people running up the steps to the elevated platform and cars and buses rushing through traffic and the elevated trains running more often. And it would be dark if it were seven.

  So it was six.

  He felt a slight yet definite satisfaction in knowing what time it was. It got him more or less back in tune. He was part of the world again. He had caught up with the schedule and now he could get up, put on his coat and walk back into the world again.

  He lay very still. He didn’t try to get up. He was wondering with a twinge of fear whether he should wait; a little while anyway. Let reserves build themselves up, let the muscle tone rejuvenate. Then he could get up. It would probably be much better to wait a little while longer. Maybe until seven o’clock. When it was too dark to see anything but the hall light through the dust-thick transom. Then he’d get up. His throat moved nervously as his mind ranted—Oh stop the crap will you? You’re not going to get up and you know it.

  I am! He fired back in anger.

  After a little more rest. Then he’d get up.

  He turned his head as if turning away from his insulting mind. He looked at the rose. The petals were more loose now, hanging like blushing lettuce leaves in sloppy folds around the still tight heart. Dying from the outside in, he thought. How different from man. Our heart stops and then we unfold from the inside out. It is better to die that way because…

  He drove his lips together furiously.

  Stop this idiotic prattle about dying! he ordered his mind. What in the hell’s the matter with you? Are you crazy? Don’t you know that there’s nothing so desperate in the world except that thinking makes it so. Get some perspective boy, get some… it all sounded so ridiculous to him that he shoved the entire series of thoughts over the cliff of attention.

  He looked at the water in the glass and his drying tongue ran over his lips. His throat was parched. The air was so lacking in moisture in the room. It was dusty air.

  He kept staring at the bubbles rise and licking his lips. One, two, three, four, five… oh, for Christ’s sake stop going so fast. Then—Oh, for Christ’s sake stop trying to count them.

  But he couldn’t help feeling a growing disquiet for every bubble that disappeared. It was water evaporating and gone, sucked into the great rotting maw of the room. There was that much less water to drink. And it seemed that each drop was a symbol of part of his existence.

  Evaporating slowly, ceaselessly…

  He shut his eyes, blotting out the sight and the train of thought. So what? he thought in studied belligerence, what in the hell difference does it make? I’ll get all the water I want when I get up. All I want. Cool torrents of it. Glasses of it, bottles of it pouring cold and wet down my dry throat. Rivers of it to plunge in, lakes of it to float in, oceans of water to drink and drink and…

  He cut that short too, trembling a little, frightened at the insistence with which the stream of water associations had torn through his brain as though they had a vitality all their own; like a rampaging animal, unstoppable. That’s bad, he thought, don’t start rhapsodizing about water and food for Christ’s sake. That’s the fastest way to the… never mind!

  Just watch it.

  He smiled. He forced his lips to raise in token of his calculated amusement.

  Why get so upset? What’s the difference? Why am I making so much of it? I’ll be up and around in no time. There, listen to the bells, the loud alarm… never mind.

  Six fifteen already. Only forty five minutes and I’ll be up and… it seemed obviously forced to him. To say that in forty five minutes he’d get up. If he could get up in forty five minutes why not get up immediately? Muscles didn’t rejuvenate by the clock, they didn’t knit by stopwatch.

  But he had to hold on to that belief. He had to keep stalling it. And convince himself that he wasn’t stalling but was actually doing the only thing possible, the sensible thing. Sure. Me and my overcoat and my hat and the money. And I’ll, oh, I won’t forget the money, never fear. I’ll be—California here I come. He found himself humming it, straining to be composed and easy.

  The inside of his throat felt as if it were rattling as he hummed. A lump moved up into his throat. He had to cut short the humming and gulp down the lump. He began again. The lump came again. Oh, this is silly, he thought, this goddamn humming. What’s the matter with me, am I off the trolley tracks humming goddamn songs to myself?

  He stopped and swallowed the lump. It felt like a different lump. He wondered if it was the same one. It might be a different one, suggested his other mind, weary of being serious. No, it must be the same one, he argued seriously, what the hell have I got, a lump factory in my throat?

  Of course it was the same one. He swallowed it. It came back. He swallowed it again. It popped up again.

  He kept swallowing until it stayed down. Eight times he had to do it before it stayed down. It made him shiver at its mute ridiculous insistence.

  I wonder if, just for now, he thought, I can reach out and get hold of the glass and get myself a sip of water. Oh, I realize full well that it’s stale water but that makes very little difference under the circumstances, that is really immaterial to me, really I don’t mind so what do you say now, may I have a little sip of water just a tiny little…

  A croaking sob of rage puffed out his cracked lips.

  God damn it! Stop this puerile, idiotic monologue up there!

  He forced his mind to blank itself as well as it could. He concentrated on darkness. He made himself think of the time he’d gone to a lecture on hypnotism at college and had gone up on the stage at the request of the lecturer to see if he could be put under hypnosis.

  The man had said that it would be as refreshing as a good night’s sleep. And Erick was exhausted. So he went up there.

  It didn’t work.

  His mind was trying. He did exactly what the man said but nothing happened. He never even came close to being hypnotized. He thought maybe he could do it now.

  Yes! The idea suddenly occurred to him. He saw Jose Ferrer in a movie do it. Ferrer hypnotized himself to walk after a major operation. Maybe he could do the same thing.

  Remembering what the hypnotist had said he told himself that he was in a strange theatre whose walls were all black velvet, whose ceilings were black velvet, whose every seat and whose rugs were black velvet, whose curtain was black velvet…

  Velvet.

  Watches hanging head down in the pawn shop. Silent, unticking watches. Lost men. The shop and the robbery. He saw himself there again shouting and yelling at the old man, calling him vile names, striking his old dry face. He felt the sensation of his bunched fist striking the hard bony cheek. He felt the bullet digging into him.

  He was paralyzed. He couldn’t move. God, isn’t there another road, he thought. Doesn’t any pa
th of thought lead away from this room? Why does every train of…

  “I can’t wait.”

  His cracked, dried up voice announced sudden intention. He couldn’t wait like a lump of mushroom on a rotting log.

  He tried to clench his right hand and almost cried out in joy.

  It closed easily!

  He flexed it suddenly, opening and closing it rapidly, thinking that it was the most beautiful muscle action he had ever felt or seen in his entire life. He did it again and again until he began to realize that he was almost in the same mental condition that before required him to wait forty-five minutes before trying to get up. He was flexing the hand just to stall, to put off the inevitable moment when he must attempt to move the rest of his body.

  He shut his right fist abruptly at the realization. And kept it shut.

  He tried to lift his arms.

  His lips drew back in a rasping inhalation of breath as he struggled. Violent heart beats began throbbing in his ears. It felt as though the opening to his eardrums were expanding and contracting sharply, almost fluttering like window shades in a gale. The beating seemed to shake his skull and, slowly, his head began to ache. It began to feel hot and swollen. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t stop trying. A feeling of now or never beset him and he was sure that if he slipped back now he would be lost forever.