REQUIEM FOR A DREAM.

A NOVEL BY HUBERT SELBY, JR.

FOREWORD.

When I was in high school, I thought you had to be dead to be a novelist-dead, and from somewhere else: England, the Midwest, France.

One of the more profound, if peripheral, epiphanies. .h.i.tting me upon reading Last Exit to Brooklyn Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby, Jr., was that my working-cla.s.s Bronx world was valid material for Art; that the voices, the streets, the gestures that I knew so well were as human, as precious, and as honorable as any found through the centuries and civilizations of literature. by Hubert Selby, Jr., was that my working-cla.s.s Bronx world was valid material for Art; that the voices, the streets, the gestures that I knew so well were as human, as precious, and as honorable as any found through the centuries and civilizations of literature.

Which is to say that I set down Last Exit to Brooklyn Last Exit to Brooklyn with the terrifying realization that if I had the will and the talent to go with the eye and ear, I could grow up to be a writer. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized that talent and material mean nothing without something else that Selby possesses and projects on every page of every book he has written: Love-a forgiveness and compa.s.sion that elevate all the bottom dogs that populate his world, the lost, the depraved, thsse coldblooded, and the insensate. His art is his ability to humanize the seemingly inhuman, and by extension to humanize the reader. with the terrifying realization that if I had the will and the talent to go with the eye and ear, I could grow up to be a writer. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized that talent and material mean nothing without something else that Selby possesses and projects on every page of every book he has written: Love-a forgiveness and compa.s.sion that elevate all the bottom dogs that populate his world, the lost, the depraved, thsse coldblooded, and the insensate. His art is his ability to humanize the seemingly inhuman, and by extension to humanize the reader.

No one can convey the visceral experience of the suffering of people like Selby-the cruel hallucinations of grace, of peace, of love, of Easy Street; the wracking ache of junk sickness; the choking rage of parental/marital/s.e.xual claustrophobia; the tightening screws of paranoid delusion; the pathetic grandiosity of walk-around dreams; and the dread of the inevitable dawn. Selby burrows under the skin and into the brains of the urban undercla.s.s to deliver infernal monologues seething with tragically skewered delusions, short-term ecstasies, and obsessive furies that crash and boil across the page, ceaselessly. At his best, he can literally stun us into empathy. Requiem for a Dream Requiem for a Dream tracks the destruction of four people-three young, and one older. Here, Selby reports from the marrow of those addicted: to dope, to hope, to tragically childish visions of heaven on earth. Even as its characters ascend to the heights, their nightmarish plummet can be foreseen, but this file:///D

/Doc.u.ments and Settings/Rene/Bureaublad/Selby/SELBY_JR.,_Hubert_-_Requiem For A Dream.html (2 of 132)9-4-2005 20:39:44 tracks the destruction of four people-three young, and one older. Here, Selby reports from the marrow of those addicted: to dope, to hope, to tragically childish visions of heaven on earth. Even as its characters ascend to the heights, their nightmarish plummet can be foreseen, but this foreknowledge doesn't protect the reader from experiencing the almost unbearable suffering, the degradation and oblivion, that is the price of dreams among the powerless. Requiem for a Dream Requiem for a Dream is quintessential Selby, fueled by moments which make the reader feel like the unwilling newscaster witnessing the is quintessential Selby, fueled by moments which make the reader feel like the unwilling newscaster witnessing the Hindenburg Hindenburg disaster who sobbed, "Oh, the disaster who sobbed, "Oh, the humanity humanity!" It is Selby's gift to us that once again we find ourselves aching for his people-which is to say we find ourselves loving the unlovable.

-Richard Price New York City January 1988

PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION.

Requiem for a Dream was originally published in 1978. It is extremely gratifying to know that it is still in print and going into another edition. Also, it is being made into a film, production scheduled to start the middle of April this year. So the book still lives and breathes (as do I). For me there is something beautiful and ironic in the fact that all this is happening now, during a time of was originally published in 1978. It is extremely gratifying to know that it is still in print and going into another edition. Also, it is being made into a film, production scheduled to start the middle of April this year. So the book still lives and breathes (as do I). For me there is something beautiful and ironic in the fact that all this is happening now, during a time of "unparalleled prosperity." The Great American Dream is coming true for many. Obviously, I believe that to pursue the American Dream is not only futile but self-destructive because ultimately it destroys everything and everyone involved with it. By definition it must, because it nurtures everything except those things that are important: integrity, ethics, truth, our very heart and soul. Why? The reason is simple: because Life/life is giving, not getting.

I am not suggesting we need to give everything to the poor and homeless-the millions of them who are still here in the midst of plenty-put on a hair shirt and go through the streets with a begging bowl. This, in and of itself, is no more nurturing than the pursuit of "getting." I am not afraid of money and what it can buy. I would love to have a house full of stuff-of course I would need a house first. I have been hungry and see nothing n.o.ble m hunger. Neither do I see anything n.o.ble in eating high on the hog though eating is certainly better. But to believe that getting stuff is the purpose and aim of life is madness.

It seems to me that we all have a dream of our own, our own personal vision, our own individual way of giving, but for many reasons we are afraid to pursue it, or to even recognize and accept its existence. But to deny our vision is to sell our soul. Getting is living a lie, turning our back on the truth, and Visions are glimpses of the truth: Obviously nothing external can truly nurture my inner life, my Vision. What happens when I turn my back on my Vision and spend my time and energy getting the stuff of the American Dream? I become agitated, uncomfortable in my own skin, because the guilt of abandoning my "Self/self," of deserting my Vision, forces me to apologize for my existence, to need to prove myself by approaching life as if it's a compet.i.tion. I have to keep getting stuff in an attempt to appease and satisfy that vague sense of discontent that worms its way through me. Certainly not everyone will experience this torment, but enough do and have no idea what is wrong. I'm sure the psychologists have a term for this free-floating anxiety, but the cause is what is destroying us, not the cla.s.sification. There are always millions who seem to get away with doing the things that we think abominable, and thrive. It certainly appears that way. Yet I know, absolutely, from my experience, that there are no free lunches in this life, and eventually we all have to accept full and total responsibility for our actions, everything we have done, and have not done.

This book is about four individuals who pursued The American Dream, and the results of their pursuit. They did not know the difference between the Vision in their hearts and the illusion of the American Dream. In pursuing the lie of illusion, they made it impossible to experience the truth of their Vision. As a result everything of value was lost.

Unfortunately, I suspect there never will be a requiem for the Dream, simply because it will destroy us before we have the opportunity to mourn its pa.s.sing. Perhaps time will prove me wrong. As Mr. Hemingway said: "Isn't it pretty to think so?"

-Hubert Selby, Jr.

Los Angeles 1999.

FOREWORD TO THE NEW EDITION.

I was a public school kid from Brooklyn facing my first exams during freshman year of college, and I was terrified. High school was a joke. The only thing I learned was how to get away with cutting cla.s.s. So, when college came around I wasn't very prepared. I hit the library and tried to learn. But Selby f.u.c.ked everything up.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the word "Brooklyn." Now when you're from Brooklyn and you see anything related to Brooklyn you're immediately interested. I pulled a worn copy of Last Exit to Last Exit to Brooklyn Brooklyn off the shelf. This was before the movie, and I had no clue what I was holding. From sentence one I was done, and so were my finals. I blew them off and I read. I read and I read and I screamed and I connected and I recited and I rejoiced. This was storytelling. This was understanding. This was a deep yet simple examination of what makes us human. I now knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to tell stories. off the shelf. This was before the movie, and I had no clue what I was holding. From sentence one I was done, and so were my finals. I blew them off and I read. I read and I read and I screamed and I connected and I recited and I rejoiced. This was storytelling. This was understanding. This was a deep yet simple examination of what makes us human. I now knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to tell stories.

Storytelling took me to L.A. and film school. Before school started they told us to prepare three short scripts for projects to be executed during the year. So, I figured I should read short stories from my favorite authors. That led me to Selby's "Fortune Cookie," which I shot right away. The story follows the rise and fall of a door-to-door salesman who gets addicted to the fortunes in fortune cookies. After film school I figured it was time to make a feature, so I turned to novels of my favorite authors. I found Requiem for a Dream Requiem for a Dream in a book store on Venice Beach. I was excited to start it. I did, but I never finished it. Not because it wasn't good. Rather, the novel was so violently honest and arresting that I couldn't handle it. in a book store on Venice Beach. I was excited to start it. I did, but I never finished it. Not because it wasn't good. Rather, the novel was so violently honest and arresting that I couldn't handle it.

It was on my shelf for a long time. Then, years later, my producer Eric Watson was heading off for a ski trip with his family in Colorado. He needed something to read, and he grabbed the book off my shelf and asked if he could borrow it. When he returned he said Requiem, for a Dream ruined his vacation and that I must finish it. I did, and I knew we had to make it next.

This book is about a lot of things. Mostly it's about love. More specifically it's about what happens when love goes wrong.

When it was time to write the script I rented an apartment in South Brooklyn, out by Coney Island. The novel had amazing structure and it translated very well into three acts. But something was strange. While breaking it down I realized that whenever something good was supposed to happen to a character, something bad happened. Because of this, I couldn't figure out who the hero of the novel was. After sketching out all the character arcs I realized they were all upside down. So I flipped them over, and suddenly I had a "Eureka!" The hero wasn't Sara, it wasn't Harry, not Tyrone, not Marion. The hero was the characters' enemy: Addiction. The book is a manifesto on Addiction's triumph over the Human Spirit. I began to look at the film as a monster movie. The only difference is that the monster doesn't have physical form. It only lives deep in the characters' heads. Ellen Burstyn, who knocked it out of the park as Sara Goldfarb, told me Hinduism has two main G.o.ds- Shiva and Kali. Shiva is the G.o.d of creation and Kali is the G.o.d of destruction. They exist as a team. One cannot exist without the other. Just like the Christian G.o.d and the Devil. Good and evil. There is a balance. Selby writes about Kali. He writes about the darkness.

It is in this darkness where Selby flips on his flashlight and searches for our humanity. It is that tiny but priceless diamond of love lost in a universe of evil that he cherishes. And by leading us to it he reveals everything-our beauty and our vanity, our strength and our weaknesses. He shows us what makes us tick, what makes us hate and what makes us love. He reveals what it is to be human. I needed to make a film from this novel because the words burn off the page. Like a hangman's noose, the words scorch your neck with rope burn and drag you into the sub-sub-bas.e.m.e.nt we humans build beneath h.e.l.l. Why do we do it? Because we choose to live the dream instead of choosing to live the life. You won't ever forget this read.

-Darren Aronofsky May 1, 2000 Except the LORD build the house, they labor in vain that build it. ...

Psalm 127:1 Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. Proverbs 3:5,6 Proverbs 3:5,6 Harry locked his mother in the closet. Harold. Please. Not again the TV. Okay, okay, Harry opened the door, then stop playin games with my head. He started walking across the room toward the television set. And dont bug me. He yanked the plug out of the socket and disconnected the rabbit ears. Sara went back into the closet and closed the door. Harry stared at the closet for a moment. So okay, stay. He started to push the set, on its stand, when it stopped with a jerk, the set almost falling. What the h.e.l.ls goin on here? He looked down and saw a bicycle chain going from a steel eye on the side of the set to the radiator. He stared at the closet. Whatta ya tryin to do, eh? Whats with this chain? You tryin to get me to break my own mothers set? or break the radiator?-she sat mutely on the closet floor- an maybe blow up the whole house? You tryin to make me a killer? Your own son? your own flesh and blood?

WHATTA YA DOIN TA ME???? Harry was standing in front of the closet. YOUR OWN SON!!!! A thin key slowly peeked out from under the closet door. Harry worked it out with his fingernail then yanked it up. Why do you always gotta play games with my head for krists sake, always laying some heavy guilt s.h.i.t on me? Dont you have any consideration for my feelings? Why do you haveta make my life so difficult? Why do- Harold, I wouldnt. The chain isnt for you. The robbers. Then why didnt you tell me? The set almost fell. I coulda had a heart attack. Sara was shaking her head in the darkness. You should be well Harold. Then why wont you come out? Harry tugging on the door and rattling the k.n.o.b, but it was locked on the inside. Harry threw his hands up in despair and disgust. See what I mean? See how you always gotta upset me? He walked back to the set and unlocked the chain, then turned back to the closet. Why do you haveta make such a big deal outta this? eh? Just ta lay that guilt s.h.i.t on me, right? Right????-Sara continued rocking back and forth-you know youll have the set back in a couple a hours but ya gotta make me feel guilty. He continued to look at the closet-Sara silent and rocking- then threw up his hands, Eh, screw it, and pushed the set, carefully, out of the apartment. Sara heard the set being rolled across the floor, heard the door open and close, and sat with her eyes closed rocking back and forth. It wasnt happening. She didnt see it so it wasnt happening. She told her husband Seymour, dead these years, it wasnt happening. And if it should be happening it would be alright, so dont worry Seymour. This is like a commercial break. Soon the program will be back on and youll see, 6 theyll make it nice Seymour. Itll all work out. Youll see already. In the end its all nice. Harrys partner, a black guy name Tyrone C. Love-Thas right jim, thats mah name an ah loves n.o.body but Tyrone C.- was waiting for him in the hallway, chewing a Snickers candy bar. They got the set out of the building without any trouble, Harry saying h.e.l.lo to all the yentas yentas sitting by the building getting the sun. But now came the hard part. Pushing that d.a.m.n thing the three blocks to the hock shop without it getting ripped off, or getting knocked over by some dumb a.s.s kid, or being tipped over by running into a hole in the ground or b.u.mping into a lump of litter, or just having the G.o.dd.a.m.n table collapse, took patience and perseverance. Tyrone steadied the set as Harry pushed and steered, Tyrone acting as lookout and warning Harry of the large hunks of paper and bags of garbage that might prove hazardous to the swift and safe completion of their appointed mission. They each grabbed an end as they eased it off the curb and up onto the other side of the street. Tyrone tilted his head and looked the set over. Sheeit, this m.u.t.h.a startin to look a little seedy man. Whats the matta, ya particular all of a sudden? Hey baby, ah dont much care if its growin hair just sos we gets our braid. sitting by the building getting the sun. But now came the hard part. Pushing that d.a.m.n thing the three blocks to the hock shop without it getting ripped off, or getting knocked over by some dumb a.s.s kid, or being tipped over by running into a hole in the ground or b.u.mping into a lump of litter, or just having the G.o.dd.a.m.n table collapse, took patience and perseverance. Tyrone steadied the set as Harry pushed and steered, Tyrone acting as lookout and warning Harry of the large hunks of paper and bags of garbage that might prove hazardous to the swift and safe completion of their appointed mission. They each grabbed an end as they eased it off the curb and up onto the other side of the street. Tyrone tilted his head and looked the set over. Sheeit, this m.u.t.h.a startin to look a little seedy man. Whats the matta, ya particular all of a sudden? Hey baby, ah dont much care if its growin hair just sos we gets our braid.

Mr. Rabinowitz shook his head as he watched them push the set into his p.a.w.n shop. So look, the table too already. Hey, what do you want from me? I cant schlep schlep it on my back. You got a friend. He could help already. Hey mah man, ah aint mah lepers it on my back. You got a friend. He could help already. Hey mah man, ah aint mah lepers schlepper schlepper. Harry chuckled and shook his head, Whatta jew. Anyway, it makes it easier to get it home. Thats mah man, always thinkin of his moms. Oi, such a son. A goniff goniff. Shes needing you like a moose needs a hat rack. Come on Abe, we/re in a hurry. Just give us the bread. Hurry, hurry. All the time in a hurry, shuffling around behind the counter, inspecting the pencils carefully before picking one out to use. You got such big things to do the voild is falling apart if everything isnt dont yesterday. He clucked his tongue, shook his head, and slowly counted the money . . . twice . . . three times- Hey, comeon Abe, lets get with it. You dig this dude jim? Hes lickin them fingers and countin that braid ovah and ovah like its gonna change numbers. He dont even trus his ownself. d.a.m.n.

Mr. Rabinowitz gave the money to Harry and Harry signed the book. Do for me a favor and veel it over there?

Sheeit. You know somethin jim, evertime I see you I work mah pretty little a.s.s off. They pushed the set to the corner and split.

Mr. Rabinowitz watched, shaking his head and clucking his tongue, then sighed, Somethingks wrong ... it just aint kosher already, it just aint kosher.

Sheeit. Why you wanna go there man? Why do I wanta go there? Because they give blue chip stamps with the dope. You know somthin Harry? You is simple minded. You shouldnt f.u.c.k aroun when you talkin about somethin serious like dope man. Aspecially when you be talkin about mah dope. Yours I'm not carin about. Just mine. And whats so great about the dope here? O man, what you mean? Theys just as many connections right here as there. We could even try somebody new. New? Yeah baby. We could jus ease on down the street and see who have the most fingers up their nose and noddin out an we know where the good good dope be, ah mean the outta sight s.h.i.t jim. An anyways, we save the cab fare. Cab fare? dope be, ah mean the outta sight s.h.i.t jim. An anyways, we save the cab fare. Cab fare?

7 Who died and left you rich? This moneys goin for dope man. It aint goin for no cab. Ya gotta take care a necessities before ya f.u.c.k with luxuries.

Sheeit. You aspect me to ride them m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.kin subways with all them poiverts and winos? d.a.m.n. You outta your mine. They rip you off before you gets anywheres. Hey man, dont go pulling that lazy a.s.s ol black joe s.h.i.t on me. Tyrone chuckled, Man, if ah gotta do some travelin then let me call mah man Brody and see what he got. Gimme a dime. G.o.dd.a.m.n it man, since when do you need a dime to make a call. Hey baby, ah dont f.u.c.k with no phone company. Harry leaned against the phone booth as Tyrone hunched himself around the phone and spoke conspiratorially. After a minute or so he hung up the phone and stepped, forth from the booth, a huge grin on his face. Hey man, close ya mouth, its hurtin my eyes. You pale-a.s.sed m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.ka. You shure wouldnt make it in no cotton fields. Tyrone started walking and Harry fell in alongside him. So whats happenin? Mah man got some dynamite s.h.i.t baby an wes gonna get us a spoon. They walked up the stairs from the subway separately. Harry looked around for a moment as Tyrone continued down the street, then went to the coffee shop a few doors away. The neighborhood was absolutely and completely black. Even the plain-clothesmen were black. Harry always felt a little conspicuous in the coffee shop sipping light coffee and eating a chocolate doughnut. This was the only drag about copping from Brody. He usually had good s.h.i.t but Harry couldnt go any further than the coffee shop or they would blow the whole scene, or what was almost as bad, he might get his head laid open. Actually the smart thing to do, the really smart thing to do, would be to stay uptown, but Harry couldnt bear to be that far away from the money and the s.h.i.t. It was bad enough sitting here feeling his stomach muscles tighten and that anxiety crawl through his body and the taste twitch the back of his throat, but it was a million times better than not being here.

He ordered another cup of coffee and doughnut and turned in the stool slightly as a cop, blacker than his doughnut and bigger than a G.o.dd.a.m.n Mack truck, sat next to him. Jesus krist, just my f.u.c.kin luck. Try to relax and enjoy a cup of coffee and a f.u.c.kin baboon has to sit next to me. s.h.i.t! He sipped his coffee and looked at the gun in the holster wondering what would happen if he suddenly yanked the gun out and started shooting, pow, pow, and blow the mother f.u.c.kers head right the f.u.c.k off then toss a bill on the counter and tell the chick to keep the change and stroll out or maybe just ease the gun out and then hand it to the cop and ask him if it was his, I just found it on the floor and I thought maybe you misplaced your gun, or what would really be a ga.s.ser would be to sneak the f.u.c.kin thing out and mail it to the commissioner with a little note how a couple a guys got burned with it and maybe he should take better care a his toys . . . yeah, that would be a ga.s.ser and he looked at the huge son of a b.i.t.c.h sitting next to him as he fat mouthed with the chick behind the counter and laughed his big black a.s.s off and Harry chuckled to himself and wondered what the cop would think if he knew that his life was in Harrys hands and then Harry noticed the size of the hand holding the coffee cup and realized that it was bigger than a f.u.c.kin basketball and he stuffed the rest of the doughnut in his mouth and swished it down with the coffee and strolled out of the coffee shop, slowly, still feeling that mountain of a fuzz behind him, as Tyrone bebopped his way down the subway steps.

Tyrones pad wasnt much more than a room with a sink. They sat around the small table, their works in a 8 gla.s.s, the water tinged pink with blood, their heads hanging loose from their necks, their hands hanging loose from their wrists, their fingers barely holding their cigarettes. Occasionally a finger probed a nostril. Their voices came low and weak from their throats. Sheeit, thats some boss scag baby. I mean dyn a mite dyn a mite. Yeah man, its really somethin else. Harrys cigarette burned his fingers and he dropped it, s.h.i.t, then slowly bent over and looked at it for a minute, his hand hanging over it, then finally picked it up, looked at it, then gradually worked a fresh cigarette out of his pack and into his mouth and lit it with the old one, dropped the b.u.t.t in the ashtray, then licked the burned spot on his fingers. He stared at the tip of his shoes for a moment, then another . . . they looked good, sort of soft the way they-a huge roach attracted his attention as it belligerently marched by, and by the time he thought of trying to step on it it disappeared under the molding. Just as well, that sonofab.i.t.c.h mighta put a hole in my shoe. He tugged his arm up and then his hand and took a drag of his cigarette. Harry took another long drag on his cigarette and inhaled it slowly and deeply, tasting each particle of smoke and savoring the way it seemed to t.i.tillate his tonsils and throat, krist it tasted good. There was something about smack that made a cigarette taste so f.u.c.kin good. Ya know what we oughtta do man? Huh? We oughtta get a piece a this s.h.i.t and cut it and off half of it, ya dig? Yeah baby, this stuffs good enough to cut in half and still get you wasted. Yeah, we/d just take a taste for ourselves and off the rest. We could double our money. Easy. Thas right baby. An then we buys a couple a pieces an we got somethin else goin man. It sure would be righteous baby. All we gotta do is cool it with the s.h.i.t, you know, just a taste once in a while but no heavy s.h.i.t-Right on baby-just enough to stay straight an we/d have a f.u.c.kin bundle in no time. You bet your sweet a.s.s. Those bucks would just be pilin up till we was a.s.s deep in braid Jim. Thats right man, and we wouldnt f.u.c.k it up like those other a.s.sholes. We wont get strung out and blow it. We/d be cool and take care a business and in no time we/d get a pound of pure and just sit back and count the bread. No hustlin the f.u.c.kin streets. You G.o.dd.a.m.n right m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.ka. We get it right from the eye eye talians and cut it our ownselves and get us some runy nosed dope fiens to hustle it for us an we jus sit back countin them bucks and drivin a big a.s.s pink m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.kin El Dorado. Yeah, and I/ll get a chaufers uniform and drive your black a.s.s all over town. An you better hold that m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.kin door jim or I/ll burn your a.s.s. . . . O yeah, mah names talians and cut it our ownselves and get us some runy nosed dope fiens to hustle it for us an we jus sit back countin them bucks and drivin a big a.s.s pink m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.kin El Dorado. Yeah, and I/ll get a chaufers uniform and drive your black a.s.s all over town. An you better hold that m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.kin door jim or I/ll burn your a.s.s. . . . O yeah, mah names Tyrone Tyrone C. Love and I loves C. Love and I loves n.o.body n.o.body but Tyrone C. Well, it ain't no Tyrone C. Im gonta love. Im gonta get me a fine pad by Central Park man and just spend my time sniffin all that fine quiff walkin by. Sheeit . . . what you gonna do with that man. You done doogied out your dong. Im just gonta lay down beside it and pet it man and maybe just sort of nibble on it once in a while. d.a.m.n. Now aint this a m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kin shame. This dudes gonna lay up in some fine pad with some fine fox and hes gonna go stickin his nose in that nasty thang. So what do you want from me, I like to knosh. A little chopped liver, a little smoked fish, a- Gawdd.a.m.n, but you a nasty m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.ka. Thas the trouble with you ofays man, you dont know what to do with a fox. s.h.i.t man, we know what to do. Its you f.u.c.kin Africans who dont have any table manners . . . why do ya think the Jewish guys get all the broads? It aint got nothing ta do with money. Its because we/re knoshers. Sheeit, you just a missin d.i.c.k fool man. Afta ah has mah tailor measure me for a few more suits ahm goin back to the pad and have me a stable of foxes jim that make your knees buckle. Ah mean theys gonna be real fine. An Im gonna have a different color for everyday in the week. How long ya figure itll take us before we can go for a pound of pure? Sheeit man. That aint nothin. We get out there an hustle up a couple a yards for a piece an we on our way. By Christmas we be sittin back countin those bucks and talkin that trash. Merry Christmas man. Harrys cigarette burned his fingers, s.h.i.t, and he dropped it, son of a b.i.t.c.h. 9 but Tyrone C. Well, it ain't no Tyrone C. Im gonta love. Im gonta get me a fine pad by Central Park man and just spend my time sniffin all that fine quiff walkin by. Sheeit . . . what you gonna do with that man. You done doogied out your dong. Im just gonta lay down beside it and pet it man and maybe just sort of nibble on it once in a while. d.a.m.n. Now aint this a m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kin shame. This dudes gonna lay up in some fine pad with some fine fox and hes gonna go stickin his nose in that nasty thang. So what do you want from me, I like to knosh. A little chopped liver, a little smoked fish, a- Gawdd.a.m.n, but you a nasty m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.ka. Thas the trouble with you ofays man, you dont know what to do with a fox. s.h.i.t man, we know what to do. Its you f.u.c.kin Africans who dont have any table manners . . . why do ya think the Jewish guys get all the broads? It aint got nothing ta do with money. Its because we/re knoshers. Sheeit, you just a missin d.i.c.k fool man. Afta ah has mah tailor measure me for a few more suits ahm goin back to the pad and have me a stable of foxes jim that make your knees buckle. Ah mean theys gonna be real fine. An Im gonna have a different color for everyday in the week. How long ya figure itll take us before we can go for a pound of pure? Sheeit man. That aint nothin. We get out there an hustle up a couple a yards for a piece an we on our way. By Christmas we be sittin back countin those bucks and talkin that trash. Merry Christmas man. Harrys cigarette burned his fingers, s.h.i.t, and he dropped it, son of a b.i.t.c.h. 9 Two young kids from the neighborhood went to the hock shop with Sara. Mr. Rabinowitz shuffled around the counter, Good evening Mrs. Goldfarb. Good evening Mr. Rabinowitz, though I'm not so sure how good it is. And you? Uh, he half closed his eyes, hunched his shoulders and tilted his head, so vat could I say? Im alone in the store all day and mine wife is shopping mit our daughter Rachel for little Izzy something and still not home yet. For lunch Im having cold tongue, mit out da rye. . . . Im having some mustard and ha.r.s.eradish, but mit out da rye already, oi . . . he shrugged, tilted and peered again, but for supper maybe Im having cold soup if she still not home, are you vanting your TV? How old is little Izzy now? O, hes so cute I could just take hunks and bits out of those chubby little legs. Yes, if you dont mind. I have these nice young boys to push it home for me-such nice boys to help a poor mother- thank G.o.d he took the stand too so it makes it easier to get back. I only have three dollars now but next week Im- So take it, take, shrugging and tilting his head, and veal hope he doesnt take it again before you pay for this time, not like the time he stole already the set three times in vun month and it vas how long before youre paying it off? Izzy is being a whole year next week, Tuesday. Oooo, Sara sighed long and deep, it seems like only yesterday Rachel was playing dolls and now . . . Sara gave the three dollars, that had been folded and carefully tucked in the corner of her blouse, to Mr. Rabino-witz, and he shuffled behind the counter and put it in his cash register and carefully made an entry in a small book with the t.i.tle, SARA GOLDFARB'S TV, on the cover. There were endless pages of entries and dates, covering the last few years, of money given Harry for the set and the payments his mother made after redeeming it. The two kids had started pushing the set, and the table, out to the street. Mrs. Goldfarb, can I ask of you a question, you vont be taking git personal? Sara shrugged, How many years we know each other? He nodded his head up and down up and down up and down, Whos to count? Vy dont you tell already the police so maybe they could talk to Harry and he vouldnt be stealing no more the TV, or maybe they send him somewhere for a few months he can tink and ven hes coming out hes already a good boy and takes care of you and no more all the time taking the TV? Oooo, another long and deep sigh, Mr. Rabinowitz, I couldnt, clutching her breast most fervently, Harolds my only child, and only relative. Hes all I have. Everyone else is dead. Theres only Harry and me . . . my son, my b.o.o.bala. And who knows how much time I have left- Ah, a young voman-she waved away his remark, to help my son. Hes the end of the line. The last of the Goldfarbs. How could I make him a criminal? They would put him with such terrible people where he could learn such terrible things. No, hes young. Hes a good boy my Harold. Hes just a little mischief. Someday he/ll meet a nice young Jewish girl and he/ll settle down and make me a grandmother. Goodbye Mr. Rabinowitz, waving as she walked toward the door, say h.e.l.lo to Mrs. Rabinowitz. Be careful going out the door boys. Abe Rabinowitz nodded as he watched her go out, the two boys pushing the set, then watched them go slowly up the street, past his cloudy windows, and then out of sight. He stopped nodding and shook his head, Oi, such a life. I hope she gets home already. Im not vanting cold soup. A man my age is needingk hot food for his stomach and hot water for his feet. Oi mine feet. Ahhhhhhh . . . such a life. Tsouris . . . tsouris . . . After the young boys left Sara Goldfarb chained the TV to the radiator again. She turned on the set, adjusted the antenna, then sat down in her viewing chair and watched a series of Proctor and Gamble commercials and parts of a soap opera. She pulled her lips back as people brushed their teeth and ran their tongues over their teeth to be sure there was no telltale film, and felt a joy when that cutie pie little boy didnt have any cavities but he seemed so thin, he needs more meat on his bones. He shouldnt have any cavities, thank G.o.d, but he should have more meat on his bones. Like my Harold. So thin. I tell him, 10 eat, eat, I see your bones. Fa krists sake, thats my fingers. Whatta ya want, festoons of fat hanging from my fingers? I just want you to be healthy, you shouldn't be so skinny. You should dring hamalted. Malted, schmalted, eh? I wonder if Harold has any cavities? His teeth didnt look so good. He smokes so many cigarettes. He pulled his lips back from his teeth again. Such nice white teeth. Maybe someday he/ ll grow up and smoke and have yellow teeth like my Harold. They should never have cavities, and she continued to stare at the set as boxes of detergent exploded into dazzling white clothes and bottles of household cleaner exploded into exotic f.a.g characters who wiped all evidence of humanity off walls and floors and the tired husband comes home from a tough day on the job and is so overwhelmed by the dazzling clothes and sparkling floor that he forgets all about the worries of the world and he picks up his wife-O, is she thin. Youd have to be careful she doesnt break. But shes so sweet looking. A nice girl. Keeps a clean house. My Harold should find such a girl. A nice young Jewish girl like that. The husband picked up his wife and spun her around and they ended up stretched out on the sparkling and dazzling bright kitchen floor and Sara leaned forward in her chair thinking that maybe something interesting was going to happen but all they did was look at their reflections in the linoleum; and then the TV dinners were artistically arranged on the table and the wife smiled at Sara, that sly, we have a secret kind of smile, when the husband exclaimed enthusiastically what a great cook she is and Sara smiled and winked and didnt tell that it was a TV dinner and the happy couple looked into each others eyes as they ate their dinner, and Sara was so happy for them, then checked her money and realized she would have to go without lunch for a few days, but it was worth it to have the TV set. It wasnt the first time she gave up a meal for her set; and then the scene changed and a car drove up to a hospital and a worried mother hurried through the antiseptic and quiet corridors to a grave countenanced doctor who discussed the condition of her son and what they would have to do in order to save the boys life and Sara leaned forward in her chair looking and listening intently, empathizing with the mother and feeling more and more anxious as the doctor explained, in painful detail, the possibilities of failure, O my G.o.d, thats terrible ... so terrible. The doctor finished explaining all the alternatives to the mother and watched her as she wrestled with the decision of whether or not to allow the doctor to operate and Sara was leaning as far forward as she could, clutching her hands together, Let him. .. . Yes, yes. Hes a good doctor. You should see what he did for that little girl yesterday. Such a surgeon. A crackerjack. The woman finally nodded her a.s.sent as she wiped at tears streaming down her face, Good, good. You have a good cry dolly. He/ll save your son. Youll see. Im telling you. Such a surgeon. Sara stared as the womans face got larger and larger and the fear and tension were so obvious that Sara trembled slightly. When the scene changed to the operating room Sara quickly looked at her clock and sighed with relief when she saw that there was only a few minutes to go and soon the mother would be smiling and happy as she looked at her son with the doctor telling her its all over and hes going to be alright, and then a minute after that we would see the outside of the hospital again but this time the boy would be walking with the mother-no, no, he would be in a wheelchair-to the car and everybody would be happy as he got into the car and they drove off, the doctor watching them from the window of his office. Sara sat back and smiled, and relaxed with the inner knowledge that everything would be alright. Her Harry is a little mischief some times, but hes a good boy. Everything will be alright. Some day he/ll meet a nice girl and he/ll settle down and make me a grandmother.

11 The sun was down which made it night time, but Harry and Tyrone were bugged with all the lights that stabbed and slashed and skewered their eyeb.a.l.l.s. They hung tough behind their shades. Daytime is a drag, when the sun is shining, the sunlight bouncing off windows and cars and buildings and the sidewalk and the G.o.dd.a.m.n glare pushing on your eyeb.a.l.l.s like two big thumbs and you look forward to the night when you can get some relief from the a.s.saults of the day and start to come alive as the moon rises, but you never get the complete relief you look forward to, that you antic.i.p.ate. You start to feel the apathy of the day start to seep away as the lames and squares all make it home from the 9 to 5 and sit down to a dinner with the wife and kids, the wife lookin like the same beat up broad with hair in her face and her a.s.s saggin, dumpin the same old slop on the table and the G.o.dd.a.m.n house apes yelling and fightin about whose piece of meat is bigger and who got the most b.u.t.ter and whats for dessert and after dinner he grabs a can a beer and sits in front of the tube and grunts and farts and picks his teeth thinkin that he oughtta go out and get a good piece a a.s.s but too tired and eventually the old lady comes in and flops on the couch and says the same thing every night. Never changes. Watch ya watchin, hon???? By the time that scene is played all over the apple there's a little life in the streets, but theres still those d.a.m.n lights. Yeah, the lights are a drag, but its a lot better than the sun. Anythings better than that. Especially in the middle of summer. Now you have just said a mouthful, mah man. Ah feels like slidin mah pretty little a.s.s to some nice dark corner and groove behind some fine sounds and maybe lay a bad d.i.c.k on some groovy fox, and ah mean a bad m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.kin d.i.c.k jim. Jesus krist man, you really got p.u.s.s.y on the mind. Cant you ever think above your navel fa krists sake? Sheeit. What the f.u.c.k you talking about man? Jus cause they cut the bone outta yours dont mean diddly to me. Mines still moren just a pee pole. Gahd d.a.m.n, give me five. Harry slapped the palms of Tyrones hands and Tyrone slapped Harrys. Well man, we gonta stand here all night and count the cars goin by, or should we try to drum up a little action? O man, what you mean? you know ah caint count. O krist, man, why dont you cool it, eh? You think they cut that s.h.i.t with laughin gas? Anyway, lets go where theres some life. Whatta ya say? Hey baby, Im down. Why dont we make it crosstown to the morgue? Hey, yeah, Angels on duty tonight. Theres always a little action at the morgue. Lets make it baby.

Harry Goldfarb and Tyrone C. Love got on the crosstown bus. Harry started to sit in the front, just behind the driver, and Tyrone grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the seat and shook him, his eyes Step-n-Fetch-It wide, yawl outta yoe mine man? shaking Harry as his body shook, darting glances everywhere at once, yawl tryin to get us killed? Yawl tryin to get us lynched from the lamppost? Yawl outta your gawd-d.a.m.n mine? Hey man, lighten up. Whats with you? Whats with me-the bus lurched to a stop and they knocked into the railing around the driver and Tyrone jerked them back as he tried to hide behind his shoulder and peer at the people boarding the bus-whats with me? Is you crazy? This here is the south Bronx man, ah mean the south, SOUTH, you dig? O s.h.i.t. Lets make it man. They slunk down the aisle, bouncing off the seats, bowing and sc.r.a.ping, Sorry, sorry. No offense man. . . . The other pa.s.sengers continued reading their papers, talking, looking out the window, reading the advertis.e.m.e.nts, straining to see the street signs, blowing their nose, cleaning their gla.s.ses and staring straight ahead at nothing, as they lurched by. When they reached the rear of the bus they sat down with a long, loud sigh. Hey ma.s.sa Harry, how come you is a sittin back chere wit us black foke? Well, ahll tell you brother Tyrone, cause under it all ah feels that we is all brothers and under this white skin beats a heart just as black as yours, hahahaha, lay it on me, and they gave each other five. Sheeit baby, you aint white, youse just pale ... and you got to remember baby, beautys only skin deep, but uglys to the bone, and they gave 12 each other five again. Harry made a telescope with his hands and peered through it at the ads along the side of the bus. What the f.u.c.k you doin man? Its the only way to look at an ad, man. You really get to peep the broads without distractions. Harry deepened his voice: Dont be half safe, put Arried under both your arms. Sheeit man, Mums the word. You think Im putting ya on, eh? Go ahead, try it. Its the only way, man. Im tellin ya. All those lovely ads up there and you never noticed them. Harry scanned the ads as a lookout the horizon. Hey, look at that one. I bet you missed it. Does she or doesnt she? Only her gynecologist knows for sure. What he doin peepin at her thang. Yeah, it dont mean a swing if you aint got that thang. They stretched out and continued rappin and gooffin on their way to the morgue. They eased themselves out of the bus and stood on the corner for a moment as the bus roared slowly away and the diesel fumes floated unnoticed around them. They lit cigarettes and savored the deliciousness o the first drag as they looked around before crossing the street. They went down the dimly lit street, around the back, over the low fence and quickly dropped down to the runway leading to the tunnel, then quickly through the tunnel and off to the right in a small, narrow recess and rang the bell with the opening movement of Beethovens Fifth, DA DA DA DAAAAAA. There was an old serial named Spy Smasher, and the opening music for each chapter was the beginning of Beethovens Fifth as a huge V appeared on the screen and the morse signal for v appeared under it, dot dot dot dash. Angel loved that serial. He thought it was real hip havin Beethoven help them win the war. That was his secret signal for everything. Angel peeped at them for a moment, then opened the door slightly, Hurry up before fresh air gets in here. They slid in and Angel closed the door, shut. The warm, humid summer air was left behind and it was suddenly cool, very cool. They walked past the machinery, up the steel staircase to an office. It was dense with smoke that whirled as the door opened and closed and looked exotic in the blue light. Tony, Fred and Lucy were sitting on the floor, listening to the music from the radio on the desk. Whatta ya say, man? Hey baby, whats happenin? Hows it going sweetheart? Hey, mah man, what's happenin? Things are pretty good Harry. Whats happenin baby? Groovy baby. Harry and Tyrone sat down and leaned against the wall and started to move slightly in time to the music. Any action tonight Angel? Hey man, theres always action here. This is a lively joint when the Angels around, eh? You straight? Not yet. Itll be here soon. Gogit is on his way. Hey, groovy man. He always got some good stuff. The Spy Smasher ring got Angel to his feet and out of the office. He came back in a minute with Marion and Betty. Hey, whats happenin man? Im cool baby, what goin on? Whatta ya say?

Whats shakin baby? Makin it, makin it. You know, same old thing. They joined the others on the floor, Marion sitting next to Harry. Tyrone looked at Fred, You lookin good man. You know me man, strength and health. Watch you do, change embalmers? Sheeit man, theys got stiffs out in them boxes that looks betteran you. Ooooo, thats some deep s.h.i.t man. O sheeit. That dude walk in that room an he scare them stiffs outen here. O man, thats rank. Dont letim s.h.i.t all overya man, open ya mouth. You know somethin baby, yawls a degenerate. The giggling was becoming laughter and becoming louder and louder. Hey man, who let you out without a leash. Oooo, thats-DOT DOT DOT DAAAA-AAAASH. Angel spun around and out of the room and the silence maintained itself as effortlessly as it had started as everyone felt that it was Gogit and waited to see him bebop his way through the door. He did. Hey mah man, whaz hap-penin? Hey baby. Lay it on me jim- slap slap. You straight baby? Sheeit, ahm ah straight? What the f.u.c.k yoe think ahm doin here, lookin at the scenery? Yeah, its kindda dead, eh? Ah got some boss s.h.i.t, man. Ah mean its dy no mite, right from the eyetnlians. Everybody started taking their money out 13 and Gogit put the heroin on the table and scooped up the money. Lets go git it on. Everyone left the office and started roaming around the dimlit refrigeration room, reaching down cracks, crevices, under floorplates, behind machinery, between loose bricks, for their works. No matter how many other sets they might have stashed around town, everyone always had a set stashed in the Bronx County Morgue. They went back to the office, got paper cups filled with water and each one staked out a small portion of the floor for themselves. The radio was still playing but the concentration was .so intense that no one heard the music or was aware of anything but their own cooker as they carefully dumped the heroin in it, then added the water and heated it until the dope dissolved, then drew the liquid up through the cotton in the cooker into the dropper, then tied up. Each knew they were not alone in the room, but paid absolutely no attention to what was going on around them. When their favorite vein was ready they tapped the needle into it and watched the first bubble of blood pulse through the fluid and streak to the surface, their eyes glued to it, their senses aware only of the fact that they got a good hit and that their stomachs were churning with antic.i.p.ation and then they squeezed the bulb and shot the s.h.i.t into their vein and waited for the first rush and then let the dropper fill with blood again and squeezed that in and then booted again and went with the flow as they flushed and felt the sweat ooze from their skin then filled their droppers with water and let their works set in the cup of water while they leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette, their movements slow, their eyes half closed, everything inside them quiet and mellow; the air smooth, their lives free from all concerns; their speech slower, quieter. Harry started picking his nose. Hey man, this s.h.i.t is somethin else. Gogit mah man, you is alright. Yoe gahdd.a.m.n right ah is. Yoe seen the rest now you sees the best. The laughter and giggling was low and slow, and oooo, so cool. Hey man, pick me a winner. Harrys right pinky was still buried deep in his nose, his brows knit in deep concentration as he probed, his entire being involved in the sensuous pleasure of the search, the near o.r.g.a.s.mic satisfaction of finding a solid substance to be picked and pried from the drying sides with the nail, then extracted with care from the darkness of the cavern to the caressing blue light to be deliciously rolled between the tips of his fingers. The sound of his voice was soothing to his ears as it reflected an inner peace and contentment. Be cool man. Different strokes for different folks, eh man?

Marion kissed Harry on the cheek, I think youre beautiful Hare. I like to see a man enjoy himself. There was a little more intensity to the laughter, but still low and, ooooo, so slow. Sheeit, whyent chuall leave the dude alone and letim do his thang in peace. It got to be a drag, man, to be a booger freak. Yeah, anytime he wants to lose ten pounds he just picks his nose. I should tell my sister that. She makes two of me. She really gets up tight when she sees me. Well baby, yawl just turn her on to some smack and her b.u.t.ter ball a.s.s go right down the drain and ah mean right now. Hey man, you sure you aint finger f.u.c.kin yourself? Hey Harry, yawl wanna borrow a finger? Sheeit, whyent chuall get offen his m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kin a.s.s? Sheeit, thats as good as p.u.s.s.y, right Harry? Go git it on man, git it on!!!

Harry grinned as the others laughed and took time out to take a poke on his cigarette, then rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. I should have you all locked up for interferin with religious freedom. Betty made the sign of the cross at him, In the name of the father, the son and the holy booger. Harry joined the laughter and Angel turned the radio up a bit and they gradually started nodding and finger poppin in time to the music. Hey Angel, any interesting customers out there? Na, theyre all a bunch of stiffs, har, har, har. Angels head was nodding up and down as he continued to laugh, and when he spoke the words sputtered through his laughter, theyre all a bunch of dead beats. Sheeit, I bet they look better than you baby. Dont say that. I think Angel is cute. Yeah, haha, like Count Dracula. I bid you 14 velcome. Drink you blood before it clots. Lucy giggled for a few seconds, shaking her head, Ah wonder what that dude would do here, hehehe, hed be one hungry m.u.t.h.a. You aint s.h.i.tin man. Alls he gotta do it bite into Gogit and hed o.d. Thats a funny scene, a strung out vampire. Harry put his arms around Marion and pulled her close to him, Be cool baby, or I/ll biteya on the chroat, and started nibbling her neck. She giggled and squirmed and soon they both tired and just leaned against the wall, smiling loudly. No kiddin Angel, do ya ever get anything special in here, like some young good lookin heads?

Sheeit, this m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kas a ghoul man. Everyone was giggling and scratching. Thats okay man, I understand. Some likeim hot and some likeim cold. Hey Gogit, watch you put into Freds stuff? Marion was giggling and gagging on a mouthful of smoke, Hey Fred, go over to the other side of the room. Id feel a lot safer. They were all laughing and gig-glin an rubbing their noses between taking pot shots at Fred and drags on their cigarettes. The smoke was becoming so thick that the blue light made the room look as if a small part of light blue sky had somehow fallen into the room. Sheeit, ah dont care what was in the stuff, ah wants to know whats he gonna do with it? He got to find it first. There was one here yesterday that was a real doll, man. I mean gorgeous. A real knockout. A redhead. A real redhead, and built like a brick s.h.i.thouse. She had a pair like this and a a.s.s that didnt quit. Fred looked and spoke as eagerly as the dope allowed him, No s.h.i.t man? How old was she? Hey, what could I tellya? About nineteen or twenty. Sheeit, aint this a b.i.t.c.h? This m.u.t.h.a worryin how old she is. Hes got scruples man, he dont wanna get caught with anyone underage. Right Fred? Everyone was grinning as broadly as possible and chuckling, their heads bouncing and bobbing. Where is she? Maybe Fred/d like to meater, MEAT? Betty was shaking her head and chuckling, You know something, you guys are sick. Hey, dont knock it. Its ecologically sound. Ya gotta recycle everything man. The faces still grinned and the heads still bobbed and the laughter got a little louder. Sheeit, yoe honky a.s.s m.u.t.h.a f.u.c.kas is weird jim, ah mean weird. Yawl sound like a bunch a guhd-d.a.m.n cannibals. Hey man, whats all the static? I was just askin a friendly question. The laughter was getting a little louder and a little more energetic. Watch she die of? Who said she was dead? She was a visitor, har, har, har. The heads stopped bobbing and started shaking. Thats pretty good, eh?

Really had ya goin, didnt I? Yoe know somethin jim? youse got the right job cause yoe haid is daid baby, an ah means daid. A hand reached up and turned the volume of the radio up and the music worked its way through the blue smoke and over the chuckling and laughter. Hey, that's mah man wailin. Everyone was nodding at the lyrics. Yeah, tellem baby, we sure do need someone to lean on. O, lean on me baby, lean on me! lean on me! You dig what that m.u.t.h.a say about her breas be always open? What kind a weirdo is that, she close her legs? Hey Angel, why dont you be cool man. Everyones eyes were half closed from the smoke and dope, and their faces kept twisting and grinning as they leaned into the words. Hey baby, you got some s.p.a.ce for me in your parking lot? Fred grinned and made a few clacking noises, and Lucy continued to keep her attention on the stream of smoke bending up from her cigarette, digging the difference between the color of the smoke coming out of the lit end and the other end. Lay some of that c.o.ke and sympathy on me an fine out sucker. There was some giggling, Oooooo, that one bad b.i.t.c.h jim. They were all suddenly silent as they listened through the You dig what that m.u.t.h.a say about her breas be always open? What kind a weirdo is that, she close her legs? Hey Angel, why dont you be cool man. Everyones eyes were half closed from the smoke and dope, and their faces kept twisting and grinning as they leaned into the words. Hey baby, you got some s.p.a.ce for me in your parking lot? Fred grinned and made a few clacking noises, and Lucy continued to keep her attention on the stream of smoke bending up from her cigarette, digging the difference between the color of the smoke coming out of the lit end and the other end. Lay some of that c.o.ke and sympathy on me an fine out sucker. There was some giggling, Oooooo, that one bad b.i.t.c.h jim. They were all suddenly silent as they listened through the dream on dream on lines, each in their own way thinking they didnt need anyone to dream on, that this boss s.h.i.t did the job just fine. . . . Then they all twisted into the next lines and giggled and snickered and grinned, Yeah, now youre talkin man, I need someone to cream on. Yeah, do it to me baby, uh huuuu. Lucy squinted in Freds direction, 15 lines, each in their own way thinking they didnt need anyone to dream on, that this boss s.h.i.t did the job just fine. . . . Then they all twisted into the next lines and giggled and snickered and grinned, Yeah, now youre talkin man, I need someone to cream on. Yeah, do it to me baby, uh huuuu. Lucy squinted in Freds direction, 15 Doan look at me baby, betta see your mammy. The others worked into a slight giggle. Oooooo, she bad jim. Fred giggled as loud as he could, but still couldnt hear it himself. He tried to look at Lucy but couldnt raise his head, saving his energy to poke at his cigarette. The singing continued and they listened and savored each word and rolled it around in their heads. Harry put a new cigarette in his mouth and reached over to take Tyrones to light it, but Tyrone moved his head away and tossed him a pack of matches. Harry looked at them for a moment, then slowly picked them up and went through the process of taking a match out, igniting it, raising it as high as he could and lowering his head as much as possible, then lighting his cigarette. O yeah, take it all baby, jus doan f.u.c.k with mah haid. O what pleasant com pan eee com pan eee. Hey man, play that again. Why, who do you want to bleed on now? Sheeit, ah doan care just sos it aint mah blood. Man, the only blood I wanna see is in my dropper just before I shoot the son of a b.i.t.c.h back in my vein. Sheeit, you got a one track mine jim. Yeah, and the tracks are all up and down his arm. The giggling and snickering was approaching laughter as they nodded in time to the up tempo music, taking an occasional drag on a cigarette, seeing the drab gray of the concrete floor they were sitting on but not noticing it, involved with how they felt, and baby they felt gooood. The last notes were still in their heads when another tune started. Hey, you dig what they playin? d.a.m.n, ah aint heard this since befoe I started shootin stuff. Sheeit, aint no record that ol jim. Marion leaned comfortably into Harrys shoulder, her eyes and face soft in a smile. Remember when we used to dig this cat downtown? Yeah . . . The voice so filled with nostalgia that you could almost see the memories floating through the blue smoke, memories not only of music and joy and youth, but, perhaps, of dreams. They listened to the music, each hearing it in his own way, feeling relaxed and a part of the music, a part of each other, and almost a part of the world. And so another swinging night in the Bronx County Morgue slowly drifted toward another day. The phone rang a second time and Sara Goldfarb leaned toward the phone as she continued to adjust the rabbit ears on her set, torn between the need to know who was calling and to get rid of the lines that darted, from time to time, across the picture, and she ooood as she tensed and squinted, leaning more and more toward the phone as it rang again, one hand reaching for the phone while the tips of the fingers of the other hand continued to tap the antenna over one centimeter at a time. Im coming, Im coming. Dont hang up, and she lunged at the phone, almost falling down in the middle of the sixth ring and flopping on the chair. h.e.l.lo? Mrs. Gold-farb? Mrs. Sara Goldfarb? Its me. Speaking. The voice was so bright and cheery and so enthusiastic and real that she turned toward the TV set to see if the voice was coming from there. Mrs. Goldfarb, this is Lyle Russel of the Mcd.i.c.k Corporation. She looked at the phone. She knew for real that his voice was coming from there, but it sounded just like a television announcer. She kept at least one eye on the television as she listened and spoke to Lyle Russel of the Mcd.i.c.k Corporation. Mrs. Goldfarb, how would you you like to be a contestant on one of televisions most like to be a contestant on one of televisions most poignant poignant, most heartwarming heartwarming programs? Oooo me? On the television???? She kept looking from the phone to the television, and back again, trying to look at both at the same time. Hahaha, I thought you would Mrs. Goldfarb. I can tell just by the warmth in your voice that you are just the kind of individual we want for our programs. Sara Goldfarb blushed and blinked, I never thought that maybe I would be on the television. Im just a- O haha, I know how you feel Mrs. Goldfarb. Believe me when I say I am just as thrilled as you to be a part of this fantastic industry. I consider myself one of the luckiest men in the world because every day I get a chance to help people just like yourself, Mrs. Goldfarb, to be a part of 16 programs? Oooo me? On the television???? She kept looking from the phone to the television, and back again, trying to look at both at the same time. Hahaha, I thought you would Mrs. Goldfarb. I can tell just by the warmth in your voice that you are just the kind of individual we want for our programs. Sara Goldfarb blushed and blinked, I never thought that maybe I would be on the television. Im just a- O haha, I know how you feel Mrs. Goldfarb. Believe me when I say I am just as thrilled as you to be a part of this fantastic industry. I consider myself one of the luckiest men in the world because every day I get a chance to help people just like yourself, Mrs. Goldfarb, to be a part of 16 programming that not only are we proud of but the entire industry-no, the entire nation is proud of. Harrys mother was clutching the top of her dress, feeling her heart palpitate, her eyes blinking with excitement. O, I never dreamed . . . Lyle Russels voice became earnest. Very earnest. Mrs. Goldfarb, do you know what programs I am referring to? Do you have any idea? No ... I a ... Im watching an Ajax and Im not sure . . . On the television???? Mrs. Goldfarb, are you sitting down? If not, please sit down immediately because when I tell you what programs I am talking about you will be dizzy with joy. Im sitting. Im sitting already, Mrs. Goldfarb I'm talking about none other than . . . his voice suddenly stopped and Sara Goldfarb clutched even tighter at the top of her dress and stared wide-eyed at the phone and the television, not sure from which instrument his voice would come. When he spoke his voice was deep, low and full of feeling-Mrs. Goldfarb, we represent the quiz shows on television. Ooooooo . . . He waited dramatically as Sara Goldfarb composed herself, her breathing audible over the voices from the television. Lyle Russels voice was authoritatively dramatic, Yes, Mrs. Goldfarb, plus- plus the brand new, I said, brand new, shows that will be on next season; the shows millions of Americans want to be on; the the shows that are looked forward to anxiously by millions- Me ... me ... on the-O I cant- Yes, Mrs. Goldfarb you. I know how you feel, you are wondering why you should be so lucky when so many millions would give anything to be on one of these shows- O, I cant tell you . . . Well, Mrs. Goldfarb, I cant tell you why you are so lucky, I guess its just that G.o.d has a special place in his heart for you. Sara Goldfarb fell against the back of the viewing chair, one hand clutching desperately at the phone, the other the top of her dress. Her eyes bulged. Her mouth hung open. For the first time in memory she was unaware of the television. You will receive all necessary information in the mail Mrs. Goldfarb. Goodbye and . . . G.o.d bless. Click. shows that are looked forward to anxiously by millions- Me ... me ... on the-O I cant- Yes, Mrs. Goldfarb you. I know how you feel, you are wondering why you should be so lucky when so many millions would give anything to be on one of these shows- O, I cant tell you . . . Well, Mrs. Goldfarb, I cant tell you why you are so lucky, I guess its just that G.o.d has a special place in his heart for you. Sara Goldfarb fell against the back of the viewing chair, one hand clutching desperately at the phone, the other the top of her dress. Her eyes bulged. Her mouth hung open. For the first time in memory she was unaware of the television. You will receive all necessary information in the mail Mrs. Goldfarb. Goodbye and . . . G.o.d bless. Click.

Visions of heavenly angels pa.s.sed before Harrys mother as the psalmist sang so soothingly to her, before the buzzing of the phone in her hand, and the exploding of a bottle of cleaner into a white tornado, dispersed them. She breathed. Then exhaled. The phone. Yes. The phone goes on the hook. Gets hung gup. Aa haaaaaaa. Clunk, clunk. She missed the cradle. She looked at the phone for a minute then picked it up and put it gently on the cradle. On television. O my G.o.d, television. What will I wear???? What do I have to wear? I should be wearing a nice dress. Suppose the girdle doesnt fit? Its so hot. Sara looked at herself then rolled her eyes back and up. Maybe I/ll sweat a little bit but I need the girdle. Maybe I should diet? I wont eat. I