Song of the Silent Snow

Hubert Selby

Fat Phils Day
Hi Champ
Double Feature
Fortune Cookie
A Penny for Your Thoughts
Liebesnacht
The Sound
Im Being Good
Indian Summer
A Little Respect
Puberty
The Coat
The Musician
Of Whales and Dreams
Song of the Silent Snow

Hubert Selby Jr.
Song of the Silent Snow

   To my wife Suzanne who sang the song with me

Fat Phils Day

   I used to get out of Sunday School about 10:30 or so and wake up some of the other guys and we’d wait on the corner for the crap game to start. We had one every Sunday no matter how cold or how lousy the weather was. And Fat Phil would be out by 8 with his shine box and get everyone goin ta church, from the 9 oclock Mass to the 11:30. He’d stand on the corner and look poor and neglected and he’d make out like crazy. If anybody asked him how old he was he’d knock off 3 years and say 10 and tell them he had to help support the family. He had some line and the churchgoers really ate it up. Anyway, after he finished shinin shoes he’d come down to 3rd Avenue and get in the game. Usually me and Fritz would play until we only had a dime left and save that for the movies, but sometimes we’d win a few bucks. But this Sunday Phil got on a hot roll and was cleanin everybody. Danny, a halfassed hustler from 43rd Street, usually came around and bet wrong, but he wasn't there today so the rest of us had to keep goin against the Greek. If Danny was there we could have jumped on Phils hot roll, but he wasnt. Anyway, everytime Phil threw the dice he’d throw a natural or if he got a point he’d hit it anyway. After about 7 or 8 passes he was taking all kinds of bets and winning: gagging his point, the hard way, over and under 7, anythin anybody wanted to lay and he won. We tried everythin to get him off the roll, jonahin against, then with, gaten the dice, but still he’d win. And everytime he threw another pass he’d roar and yell shootit, comeon ya bastads, fade me. Im hot. Comeon comeon, whos gonna fade me—halfabuck still open and somebodyd throw the money down, he’d roll the dice and hit another pass and roar and scoop up the money an we tried gaten the dice every other roll but he still won and everybody was goin broke and we started slappinim on the head and takin the polish from his shine box and he’d run after it and come back and throw the dice and hit another pass and roar that he was gonna take us all to the cleaners and Booby gaveim a shot in the arm and toleim if he didnt crap out he’d break his head and Phil still won but now he didnt laugh so loud and everytime he picked up the money we kickedim in the ass or rappedim off the head, but he couldnt lose. He hit 4 for a point and Sal madeim take an even money bet that he wouldnt do it the hard way and Phil almost cried but he put his money down and threw the dice and two twos came up and Sal toleim he’d break his shine box over his fat Greek head if he didnt crap out and he said hed pass the dice and Sal toleim he’d play until he crapped out or we’d killim and he picked up the dice and threw another natural and we were really punchinim now and he almost cried but still scrambled after the money and we kicked his ass, ya fat sonofabitch. Comeon fellas, leave me alone—rap—comeon. Gimme my brush—rap—please—another pass—stopit guys. Comeon willya? And he covered his head waiting for us to fade him and he hit a point and when he picked up the dice we rapped him and kicked him and he stopped pleadin with us and started pleadin with the dice come 7, please a 7 and he threwim again and again and it finally came up 4-3 and he jumped up and yelled SEVEN! There ya are, a 7. I lose, I lose. A 7–7! and he grabbed his shine box and ran like hell

Hi Champ

   He found a place at the middle of the bar and ordered a drink, smiling at the bartender. The bar wasnt too crowded, yet, but he knew that soon people from nearby offices would be coming in, and then the dinner crowd, and others for pre-theater cocktails. The bartender brought his drink and smiled, How are you tonight?
   O fine. Just fine. Harry picked up his drink and looked around to see if he was there yet, but he did not see him anywhere. But that was to be expected, he never got here this early. He tasted his drink, then put it down. He wasnt too interested in drinking, though he did not mind a few once in a while. Actually he had drunk more in this past week than he had at any time in his life. Maybe in his entire life… or at least in a year. But this was Friday and tomorrow night was his date with Rita so he had to talk to him tonight. It was now or never…
   He really did not know what he was afraid of. It was just a simple request and he could either say yes or no. That was it. He couldnt understand why he was having such a hard time asking. Why he felt so embarrassed. He had been coming here to Jack Dempseys every night this week trying to ask him and somehow he just never got around to it. He would go home and think about it and realize how simple it was and make up his mind to just walk over to him, smile, and ask him, and that would be that. And all day at work he would continue to tell himself that there was nothing to it and look forward to the evening when he would ask him, but then as he stood at the bar, waiting, mentally rehearsing, something inside of him seemed to freeze and he could not walk from the bar to where Jack Dempsey stood greeting people. He knew his request was not unusual, that all he had to do was walk over to him and smile, Hi champ, my names Harry Lewis.
   Hi Mr. Lewis. How are you this evening?
   Great. Real great, champ.
   Good.
   I was wondering if you would do me a favor?
   I can try. What is it?
   Im going to be here tomorrow night, for dinner, with a particular young lady and I was wondering if you would call me by my first name, you know, make a good impression.
   Of course—he was smiling at Harry—I’d be delighted to, Harry.
   Theyd laugh and Harry would go back to the bar feeling elated and then on his way home he would play the tape of him and Rita walking in and Jack Dempsey putting his arm around Harrys shoulder and greeting him like a long lost brother. He was a little surprised that the tape had not worn itself out.
   Every day and every night this week he played that tape, over and over, and still he was standing here waiting. But he could not wait any longer. His date was tomorrow night. He looked around… still nowhere to be seen. He looked at his watch. Another fifteen minutes or so. Tonight what I’ll do is just go over to him as soon as he gets here. Not take any chances of him getting caught up in conversations…. Yeah, thats the best thing. He nodded his head and finished his drink and ordered another.
   He was vaguely aware of bits of conversation around him as the bar started filling, but he directed his attention more and more at the door, smiling as people edged their way to the bar. The more crowded the bar became, and the more people slapped backs, laughed greetings and bought each other drinks, the more isolated Harry felt. I must be the only one here alone.
   And there seemed to be more people than usual, many more people… and more laughter, louder talk, more… more… more energy. Something. He could feel it. It made him nervous and edgy. He looked around the bar as discreetly as possible and no one seemed to be looking at him directly, but he had to admit that it was only logical that they would be talking about him as he was there alone, obviously not part of the in crowd. Maybe they thought of him as some sort of interloper or Johnny come lately… or just some kid who happened to pass by or—Harry suddenly felt hemmed in by the people around him. It was weird but he almost felt like running, well not literally running, but leaving. But he knew he couldnt. He had to see the champ, tonight! His body seemed to become more and more tense and he felt increasingly aware of what was going on in his head, and the combination confused him and forced him to inch away from the others in the bar, and then, when he saw Jack Dempsey walking toward the door, he felt propelled in his direction. Ah… a, a Mr. Dempsey, could -
   Hi. How are you? He stuck his hand out and smiled.
   Harry shook his hand and his head bobbed up and down a few times. Ah okay, a fine… a just fine. He tried to smile but his face kept creasing into a grin. A, how are you?
   Top shape. Couldnt be better.
   Harrys head continued bobbing as he fought his grin into a smile. I was wondering if I could ahh… you know… if I could ask—Harry could feel his face going through all sorts of pinched contortions and he fought desperately to stiffen himself so he would not fall flat on his face…
   Can I do something for you?
   Harry almost screamed with relief as he nodded, then almost screamed in despair as he realized he could not stop his damn head from bobbing up and down. He finally grinned it into submission. Harry took a deep breath, Im going to be here tomorrow night for dinner with someone and I would appreciate it if -
   Dempsey smiled reassuringly, You want to make an impression on a girl, eh?
   Harry refused to allow his head to bob and grinned as little as possible. Yes.
   No problem. Whats your name?
   Harry. Harry Lewis. I really appreciate yo -
   Always like to help someone out. He put a hand on Harrys shoulder, Anytime Mr. Lewis.
   Harry could feel himself grinning up at him.
   I've got to go. See you tomorrow night.
   Harry watched him walk away and just allowed his head to bob…
   Then he was outside. In the air. It felt good. O God it felt good. He wasnt grinning. He hoped. He could see clearly. Head must not be bobbing. Face feels strange… he chuckled. Must be relaxed. He was walking. Stopped. Looked around, Where am I???? O yeah. Okay. He slowed his pace. Plenty of time… plenty of time…
   Saturdays always took care of themselves. No thinking and almost no planning was necessary. He simply did the things that could only be done on Saturday such as the cleaning, the laundry, shopping, and the odds and ends that pile up during the week. The laundromat was just around the corner and he went to one store while the clothes were washing, and another while they were drying, but waiting for the machines to be available took up most of the time. That was when he caught up on his magazine reading.
   When he got back to the apartment he straightened it up a bit and puttered around, listened to a little music and watched an old horror film on TV. It was not until late in the afternoon that he started to think about his date with Rita. Soon it was time to get dressed and leave.
   Rita smiled as she opened the door, Come on in. But dont go too far or youll be out the back door. At least you would if there was a back door. Rita chuckled and Harry laughed. I just have to put on my coat and I’ll be ready. I used to live in a larger place, with a roommate, but I decided I would rather have something like this and have privacy.
   Harry helped her on with her coat. I feel the same way. I like to be free to do what I want when I want… and with who I want.
   She went to the door, Be careful, Im going to open the door. She laughed.
   They stood on the corner waiting for a cab. I thought we’d go to Jack Dempseys for dinner. I havent been there for a while and I suddenly had the urge to see if its still the same.
   She smiled, Thats fine with me. I dont think Ive ever been there.
   Its been quite a while since Ive been there, but I think youll like it.
   Harry made a conscious effort to relax as they entered the restaurant. There was a party of six in front of them and though Jack Dempseys voice could be heard they could only get a glimpse of him. The Maitre'd came over and escorted the party to their table and suddenly Jack Dempsey was standing in front of Harry and Rita.
   Jacks face brightened and beamed, Harry, Harry Lewis, how are you? Jack patted Harry on the back and shook his hand, How have you been?
   Just fine, champ. Moving right along. You know.
   Yeah. I know.
   O Jack, I’d like you to meet my friend Rita. Hi.
   Pleased to meet you.
   Youre looking great, champ.
   You know me Harry. Jack called the Maitre'd, Henry, Mr. Lewis would like a quiet table out of the way.
   Henry nodded, Of course. This way please.
   See you, champ.
   They sat and Harry opened his napkin and felt like opening his arms. He felt expanded and expansive.
   Rita smiled, I didnt know you knew Jack Dempsey.
   Well, we’re not exactly bosom buddies, but… you know.
   I think thats terrific. Im really impressed.
   Harry smiled and nodded in acceptance of the compliment. Hes really a very nice guy you know. I mean a regular guy. I like the way he speaks. I guess I must have been expecting some sort of rough—she shrugged her shoulders—certainly not such a nice, gentle man.
   Yeah, the movies have tended to stereotype certain –
   Would you care for a drink before dinner?
   Harry looked at the waiter for a second… Yes, I think so. I’ll have a dry martini, very dry. How about you?
   Yes that will do fine.
   When the martinis came Harry sipped his… Thats good. I dont like to taste the wine, or even smell it. He smiled. The dryer the better.
   I dont think Ive ever noticed. She picked up her drink, Well heres to you, champ. They both chuckled.
   Everything went smoothly. They enjoyed the food and each others conversation. There did not seem to be any embarrassing lulls in the conversation, or any lulls at all for that matter. They both contributed to the conversation and they went from one subject to another, listening, talking, both feeling relaxed in the others company.
   When they left the resaurant Harry waved at Jack, So long, champ.
   He smiled and waved back, Have a good night.
   Well, what would you like to do now Rita?
   Did you have anything special in mind?
   Harry shook his head, No. Im loose and open.
   Rita had an almost impish smile on her face. Well, theres a horror film festival at that theater on East 12th. I think theyre showing Frankenstein and the Bride of Frankenstein tonight.
   Hey, no kidding. Thats terrific.
   There was a sound of glee in Ritas voice, Would you like to go?
   Love it. I always did like Elsa Lancaster.
   They both laughed and held hands as they walked to the corner to get a cab.
   The theater was filled with afficionados and there was a feeling of excitement. Harry and Rita settled into their seats, enjoying the movies, and each others company, sharing their enjoyment and thus increasing it.
   When they left the theater they both automatically, and almost simultaneously, took a deep breath, almost sighing as they exhaled. They looked at each other and laughed.
   Like to go around to the Cedar for a nightcap?
   No, I dont think so, champ. Im not much for drinking. If you dont mind?
   No, not at all.
   Why dont we pick up a cheese cake, or something, and go up to my place and I’ll make a pot of coffee.
   Sounds terrific. Im all for that.
   Harry put his arm around Ritas shoulder as they walked leisurely down the street.
   When Rita unlocked the door she told Harry to be careful, dont go too far, youll bump into a wall.
   Harry chuckled, I can always go out the back door instead.
   Youd better wait until they build a stairway.
   And a door.
   Rita laughed. In the meantime give me that and make yourself at home. She took the cake from him and went into the kitchen. When the coffee was brewed they sat around the table eating the cake and drinking coffee.
   Hmmmmm, this is good coffee. Whats the secret. Mines terrible.
   Simple. Never clean the pot.
   Harry almost choked as he laughed with a mouthful of coffee, trying desperately not to spit it out.
   Youre terrific, absolutely great for my ego. You laugh at all my bad jokes.
   I didnt know they were jokes.
   Her coffee cup was at her lips when she started laughing and she held it tightly with both hands as she lowered it to its saucer. Maybe we should declare a truce and wait until we’ve finished the coffee before making any more cracks.
   Okay—Harry raised his right hand—scouts honor. But you know, its hard not to be a little silly with you.
   O… Rita raised an eyebrow and smiled.
   Now dont start. We just made a pact. What I mean is—he shrugged—that I feel so relaxed. You make me feel so… so… at home.
   Rita smiled appreciatively. Thank you. Thats a very kind thing to say.
   Well, youre a very nice person—They smiled at each other unselfconsciously, taking pleasure in each others smile, and their own—And your idea of going to the flicks was a stroke of genius.
   Well, to tell you the truth I was scheming all day how I could get you to take me there.
   They laughed.
   Well it sure didnt take much talking.
   Rita stopped smiling and frowned slightly. Im sure that when they made those movies they were just trying to make a movie and nothing else, but I cant help reading things into some of them, especially the Bride of Frankenstein.
   Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, Like how?
   Well… well like every time man interferes with nature he creates a monster.
   Harry nodded, I know what you mean. One of the most touching parts in that flick, for me, is when John Carradine stumbles around saying, Friend, friend…
   She nodded, He didnt want much, did he? Just someone to share what he had with. Funny how simple it seems sometimes to be happy and yet how easily it all gets confused.
   Harry nodded and smiled and watched the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke and got excited, the way her mouth opened wide when she laughed, how all of her seemed to be happy with each laugh and just about everything that happened.
   They continued talking easily, chuckling, smiling, and laughing their way from one subject to another, sometimes taking time out from the amusements to discuss something serious, each one finding they had respect and interest in what the other was saying, feeling uninhibited and speaking honestly about what they believed, enjoying both the smiles and the frowns of the conversation. Then Rita glanced at her watch, Wow, look at the time. No wonder Im feeling tired.
   Harry looked at his, Yeah, youre right. Nothing like enjoying yourself to make time fly.
   Rita nodded, then smiled. Would you like to spend the night?
   Harrys smile was wide and warm, Cant think of anything I would rather do. They got up. But you had better lead the way, I dont want to go out that back door.
   They laughed.
   Almost immediately after getting into bed Harry put his arms around Rita and held her close to him. His mind was incredibly and abnormally quiet and unquestioning. He was absorbed by her and how she felt in his arms… She felt like her smile. They made love and it was completely satisfying for both of them and when they finished they lay on their sides, arms around each other, smiling and kissing, glowing…
   until
   they drifted into the softness of sleep.
   Harry was the first to awaken in the morning. He looked at Rita for many moments, then gently got out of the bed so as not to awaken her. He had showered and dressed and was in the kitchen heating the coffee by the time she awoke. Hi.
   Hi. Want a cup of coffee?
   Rita shook her head, Not right now. Think I’ll bathe first. Isnt that kind of strong? Wouldnt you rather have fresh coffee?
   No. Puts hair on your chest. He smiled and looked at her and wanted to touch her and lean over and kiss her but for some reason the sunlight pouring into the kitchen made it impossible. He tried to push himself forward, but was immobile. Have a good sleep?
   She burst into a smile, O wonderful—she suddenly yawned -how do you like that? Isnt that something—she laughed—but I did. And I feel terrific.
   Good.
   You like lox and bagels and that sort of Sunday breakfast tradition?
   Sure.
   Theres a good Jewish deli on the corner. You could get some while I bathe and I’ll make us some scrambled eggs with lox.
   Great. I ‘ll be careful opening the door.
   She chuckled and Harry watched her as she walked to the bathroom.
   The deli was crowded and by the time Harry got back Rita was in the kitchen. Here you are. I got a Times too. I figured if we’re going to be traditional then we should be traditional. They chuckled and Harry settled himself at the table with a cup of coffee and the Times while Rita started making breakfast.
   When they finished eating Harry leaned back and sighed, My God, that’ll stick with me all day.
   She smiled at him, Im glad you liked it. Im afraid I cant coast on it. I have to have dinner with my folks. She glanced at her watch, As a matter of fact I have to leave soon.
   Thats too bad… Well, I guess I had better get going then.
   If you wait a few minutes we can walk to the subway together.
   Fine. Harry smiled, Why dont you take the magazine section. Something to read on the train.
   Harry had an arm around Rita as they walked along the street, their bodies moving smoothly together. When they got to the subway they stopped. I’ll leave you here. Think I’ll take a bus.
   Rita smiled up at Harry. I had a wonderful time last night. It was the nicest night Ive spent in a long time. Her face was glowing.
   Yeah, me too. I wish it was an old movie. We could play it again anytime we wanted to. Harry chuckled.
   That would be nice. I always was a softie for happy endings. O, you didnt give me your number. She looked through her pocket book, I have nothing to write on.
   Thats alright. I’ll give you a call tonight.
   About nine.
   Fine. O here, dont forget the paper. He handed her the magazine section.
   Thanks.
   He kissed her and she felt soft and vibrant and when he separated his lips from hers he felt like sighing. Have a nice visit.
   I will. Bye.
   Harry watched her go down the steps, then turned and started walking to the bus stop.
   When he got home Harry stretched out in a chair and without consciously directing his thoughts he started reviewing the night, and the morning, and he felt excited all over again. She was as nice as she was beautiful, and the most exciting woman he had ever met. He experienced again how she felt next to him, the softness of her skin under his hands, the warmth that came from her body…
   and the way she smiled all over from somewhere deep within her. And she was so much fun to sit and talk with. It was incredible… And he had not felt awkward, not for a minute. He had never had an experience like that before in his life. There was always a little awkwardness, a little stammering or forcing of conversations, but none of those first-date things had happened. The entire evening, and morning, seemed to simply flow along some natural, divinely appointed course. It almost seemed unreal. God what a night… What a woman… What a joy. Yeah, what a joy. If its like that the first night, what will it be like later???? Things usually get better after people get to know each other, but how could it get better? It didnt seem possible. Everything was so perfect he did not see how it could be improved. Well, we’ll see. Give her a call tonight and then see what happens… Harry suddenly chuckled aloud as he remembered the long nights in Jack Dempseys trying to get up the courage to ask him the favor. How could such a simple thing have been so difficult? It doesnt seem possible. Not now. And he was so great. Its absolutely incredible. The whole week just to ask one little favor. And the whole night could have been ruined just by that. Who knows what would have happened if I hadnt finally asked him???? Might have been just another date. She sure was impressed by that reception he gave me. Yeah… she was really impressed. That probably was responsible for the whole evening. Might have an entirely different opinion of me if I hadnt arranged that. If she didnt think I was a friend of Jack Dempseys she might not have even wanted me to call tonight. Might have spent the night here instead of with her… But I did tell her we werent really close friends. I didnt lay it on too heavy. Just a little poetic license. Its really no…
   Yeah…
   Maybe she isnt going to her parents. Maybe she just wanted to have me leave. That business about my phone number could be just a game. If she really wanted it why didnt she ask for it before? Why did she wait until we were at the subway? There was plenty of time before. And what did she mean about happy endings? Ending what? If she doesnt want to see me again why doesnt she just say so????
   So I dont really know Jack Dempsey. Thats no reason to play games. She didnt have to go through the charade of visiting her parents just so I wouldnt be hanging around all day. I would have left…
   But the whole night wasnt really built on a lie… not really. Its not a real lie. Not like telling someone youre going to visit your parents just to get rid of them. Thats a lie. And telling them you like them when you dont. Thats a lie. And asking them for your phone number when you dont really want it. Thats a lie. The whole evening… night……..and morning…
   a lie.
   Just some-
   thing to torture the loneliness that tries to stay hidden in every heart….
   But maybe she will be there at ni—no… no. She wont… Maybe… Maybe she will
   But whats the point? It wont make any difference. You know what it will be like. The embarrassment… Why bother? There’ll just be another story… another lie. Theres no point in calling. Its always the same…
   Its all over.

Double Feature

   There was no tangible reason for feeling so great (unless you believe in astrology, but he didnt and wasnt aware of the positions of the constellations or the fullness of the moon) nor was it entirely due to it being Friday with two workless days ahead and 3 leisurely nights… though this, along with the warm weather of early summer, were partially responsible; but he wasnt attempting to define the reasons for this feeling. It was just there. That was enough. You dont plan it, you just enjoy it; relax and float along with it and laugh. Yeah, thats the secret, and as long as you control it youve got it made, but try to drag it by the arm and you’ll kill it…
   No, he’d play it cool. Just go up to the Avenue and meet Chubby and maybe go to a show and then CHARLIES and listen to the group blow—have a few beers and… who knows? When you feel like this you dont have to go around looking for kicks.
   He walked up 69th Street, smiling, to 4th Avenue and met Chubby in front of the pool room. Whatta ya say Chub, poking his arm and dancing on his toes, sparring. Whats with you Harry, been eatin happy pills? laughing and waving his left in Harrys face. Yeah. Anybody inside? No. A couple of the guys are in Phils talking about the game this afternoon. I bet Phils havin a ball. The Giants really clobbered the Dodgers today. A ball? Hes been roarin since the game ended. Yeah, I bet.
   They laughed and Chubby took out a packet of cigarettes, put one in his mouth and held the match until Harry had gotten one out of his pack and lighted it. Whatta ya feel like doin tonight, Chub? I dont know. Kinda early to do anything now. Feel like taking in a show? I dont know. Whats playin? Theres a musical at the Bay Ridge. I saw the comin attractions last week. It looked pretty good. O yeah, a couple of the guys saw it and said it was great. Jimmy went ape in one scene. A redhead does a real wild dance. Sounds good. How about takin it in? O.K.
   They left the avenue and walked down 69th Street, crossing to the shady side, to 3rd Avenue. Whos going to be at CHARLIES tonight? Im not sure. I met Mitch, the bass player, a little while ago and he said Buck Clayton might sit in tonight. No kiddin? Should be a good session then. Should be. Hes usually pretty cool. He said that kid who blew trombone last week might be there too. Great. He lets it get away from him sometimes, like hes trying to find somethin, but when he doesnt go too far out hes good. He should be real great someday. Remember that solo he took on A Small Hotel? Yeah. Man! He did some fine stuff on that. Never went crazy but blew it cool, real cool. He went way out on How High the Moon though. Yeah, he lost control of his horn on that one; Willie was poundin out the chords like crazy tryin to help him back. Hes good though. I hope he shows up tonight. I’d like to dig him and Clayton together. I guess he will. He probably gets kicks from playing with good boys like that. Yeah, I guess he does.
   They turned left on 3rd Avenue and walked toward the movie. A block away Chubby suggested they stop in for a beer first. They went in to the bar on the corner, had 2 beers and a bag of peanuts, then left and continued toward the movie. A few minutes later Harry grabbed Chubby by the arm and suggested they bring a little something to drink with them. You know, just a pint of wine. For kicks. Chubby smiled, shrugged his shoulders. Why not?
   They were both laughing as they bought the wine and a package of paper cups.We have to play it cool man. We dont want to look like winos. Chubby put the bottle in his hip pocket and walked in front of Harry so he could make sure it was hidden by his jacket.
   The nearer they got to the box office the weirder going to the movies with a bottle of wine seemed. Even a little exciting. They tried to stiffen their faces in a natural expression and Chubby stood to one side as Harry bought the tickets, then walked behind him through the lobby, looking away as the man took their tickets. They climbed the stairs to the balcony two at a time before relaxing; then started looking for seats.
   They found two empty seats on the aisle in the last row and sat quietly for a few moments. Then Harry told Chubby to open the package of cups. He started ripping the cellophane off slowly, the ripping sounding louder and louder. He stopped for a second, then ripped the remaining cellophane off at once and sat back and waited a moment before handing the bottle to Harry. He took the bottle from Chubby and immediately bent behind the seat in front as Chubby looked around, both of them giggling. Harry finally opened the bottle and Chubby passed two cups to him and he filled them, recapped the bottle and put it under the seat, then sat up. They forced their shoulders down, looked at the screen and sipped their drinks.
   Most of the people in the audience were laughing and commenting to each other, but Harry and Chubby laughed as quietly as possible, keeping their comments to a whisper. When their cups were empty Harry ducked behind the seat again, taking fewer precautions, and refilled them. When he filled the cups for the third time the only precaution he took was not to spill any wine. They sat holding their cups loosely, resting them on the seat between their legs; lifting them while still watching the screen and drinking; leaning over toward each other to whisper a comment as a seminaked woman walked across the wide panoramic screen… and laughing. Finishing their 3rd cup they were relaxed and laughing as loudly as the others, but with less provocation, occasionally laughing while drinking, wine spluttering and dribbling down their chins. The woman continued walking and they sat choking, coughing, trying not to make too much noise and not to spill too much wine.
   When Harry poured the last of the wine he put the bottle back with a clink and he and Chubby toasted each other and sipped slowly. When their cups were empty they dropped them to the floor and sat for a few minutes smoking, watching the movie and giggling. Then Chubby said he was getting thirsty. Yeah, me too. How about another bottle? Why not. Think theyll letya back in? Sure. I’ll tellem I want somethin in my car. Hey, how about gettin somethin ta nibble on? You know some popcorn or chips. Maybe youd like some ordurves already.
   Harry started to laugh, then half closed his eyes after Chubby left and stared at the beam of light from the projector, watching the vague smoke drift toward it and then brighten, whirl and float through the ray… drifting deeper into his mood. He wasnt drunk, though he was a little lightheaded, as was Chubby, from drinking the wine rapidly in the warm theater, but he had a fine glow and was relaxed enough not to think or be concerned with just how relaxed he was. He was going to laugh and have one hellofagoodtime. There was no danger of killing the mood either by losing it or dragging it. He just drifted between the light, the smoke, the screen, one of the girls at work, CHARLIES, Clayton and the trombonist… but mainly sinking further and further into his contentment, his mind almost empty (forcing a silly grin of introspection), knowing this was going to be a good night, a good weekend. Not crazy wild. Just a lot of laughs…
   Harry drifted, oblivious of place or time… Then Chubby appeared, sat down and took 2 bottles from his pockets and handed them to him. Thought I’d get an extra one. You know, just in case.
   Harry laughed and took the bottles, put one under the seat, opened the other and filled a cup. While he was pouring Chubby took a full loaf hero sandwich from under his jacket. Harry didnt notice it, being too busy opening the bottle and pouring the wine, so it was just a blur seen from the side of his eye. When he turned to give Chubby his drink, Chubby was holding the sandwich horizontally, nibbling at the liverwurst hanging over the sides, humming claire de lune and waving his fingers like a harmonica player. The people around them were nudging each other and laughing, some tapping those in front of them and pointing to Chubby as he played the hero sandwich, Harry staring at him, holding a cup of wine. The laughter and craning of necks increased until almost that entire section of the balcony was ignoring the screen and watching the playing of the sandwich. Chubby turned to Harry and rolled his eyes and fluttered his lids, still fanning the sandwich and moving his shoulders to the music. Harry, his hand holding the cup of wine still extended toward Chubby, stared, chuckled, then laughed, the wine spilling over his hand and dripping on Chubbys pants, his hand slowly falling and the cup tilting until the wine poured out in a steady stream and splashed on their feet, their laughter growing louder, people turning in their seats, looking and laughing as Harry laughed and Chubby laughed, still playing the hero sandwich (his laughter, muffled by the sandwich, sounding weird), slowly bending over, sinking further down and almost about to double into a ball and roll down the stairs with a steady thump bump, thump bump, still laughing and playing the hero sandwich, when Harry dropped the cup, plop, fell on Chubbys shoulder and put his arms around him forcing the sandwich from his mouth, burying his face in Chubbys jacket.
   They remained embraced until their laughter stopped, not from determination but exhaustion, then parted and sat back in their seats with a series of soft sighs. Slowly the attention of the others returned to the screen and the two sat, silent (except for an occasional involuntary snort), wanting and not wanting to look at each other, sitting slightly angled from each other (the sandwich resting on Chubbys lap), covering their faces with their hands…
   Harry breathed deeply and without looking at Chubby told him to put that damn thing away. Chubby mumbled something, put the sandwich up his sleeve, said, Its o.k. now, and they turned slowly in their seats until they were once more facing the screen. Harry reached under the seat for the bottle and filled 2 cups, handed one to Chubby. They spoke to each other only after emptying their cups and refilling them. The hollowness created by their laughter was filled by the wine and as the warmth of relaxation increased they leaned towards each other and once more were whispering comments and laughing.
   They drank more rapidly (the bottle being replaced with a clink), their heads barely apart, their elbows on the arm rest between their seats, lifting their drinking arms and tilting their heads back… each a reflection of the other. And, as they drank, their whispering, giggling and laughter grew louder, yet still not boisterous or annoying.
   From making comments upon the action on the screen they progressed to prediction and then to direction; urging the girl-shy male star to kiss her, she wont bite… tittering, laughing, reaching for the bottle (clink) watching the wine being poured into the cup (plop, plop, plop), putting the bottle back (clink) -whatzamatta with that guy, is he nutsor somethin? If I had a broad like that runnin afta me I’d—swaying, wine sloshing in the cups; laughing, swallowing, bubbling, choking, wine splashing on their noses, dribbling down their chins, dark spots blotted by pants and shirts—reaching (clink), only a few drops left, watching the last drop plop into the cup, still one left (clink); two empties; good show, eh Chubb? Cups refilled (getting soft and soggy, dented, dont squeeze too tight, please dont squeeza the banana—held by the bottom in the palm of the hand); wheres the otha ones—all gone—no more haha—no (clink) more (bottle resting on his lap)—come fill me with the old familiar juice -HUH HUH—she slinks, semidressed, toward him, hair over the side of her face, hips liquid, rubs his cheeks then pushes her hands thru his hair, down his neck and back, sways in front of him, all virtues and charms (almost all) displayed, the voice throaty, begging… he asks her what she wants—OOOOO whattza matta? ya crazy? HAHAHA–He’d betta go ta Denmark—HUH HUH (cups squashed and dropped to the floor, the bottle passed back and forth), drinking in large gulps, small drops trickling down their chins and adams apples—she forces him back onto a couch, bends over him, gives him the look and kisses him… he kicks and waves his arms—I toldja they was all fruits in Hollywood—the struggling stopped, soft music -dont fight it, enjoy it HAHAHA—holding the bottle up, not much left, get somemore—OOOO please dont squeeza the banana; only a drink left; save me some, a gulp, ahhh… here rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, empty bottle passed back (clink)—no more; all gone, three dead soldiers—HUH-HUHHUH -hey daddy, I wanna ice cream. Shaddup an drink ya beer. HEHEHE, that guys nuts—HUHHUHHUH, I cant HAHAHA—whatz he HEHEHEHE—the screen wavering and blurred… images tumbling about… HAHEHHUHHOHO-HEHHUHHHO…
   Please be quiet, sir. Youre disturbing the others. The usher finished his prescribed speech and duty and was turning to walk away when Chubby suddenly jumped up, whipped out his hero sandwich and started fencing with him, Un Guard!!!! He brandished the sandwich in front on the ushers face, parried thrusts, stepped aside as a lunging sword just missed his chest; parried again and with perfect execution and grace watched another thrust pass, then stooping low, left knee bent and right leg extended behind, he parried the last lunge and thrust home, TOUCHE!!!! piercing the usher, mortally, a little to the left of his second brass button. Chubby watched him slump to the floor, proud of his victory, yet with some regret at having killed so noble an adversary… The sandwich bent slightly with the thrust and a piece of liverwurst fell on the ushers shoe. He stared at it for a moment (all he had intended to do was deliver his speech and leave and now he was standing in front of a drunk waving a hero sandwich and there was liverwurst on his shoe) until his head was forced up by the tip of Chubbys sword. Harry stood up and tried to speak in a high falsetto, but phlegm stuck in his throat causing his words to sound gargled, My HERGGO! Then he roared, leaned on Chubbys shoulder; Chubby roared, the sandwich hanging from his hand, the liverwurst dropping to the rug. Harry tripped over the bottles as he pushed Chubby out into the aisle, and they bounced clinkingly down the steps.
   Harrys eyes were tearing and he bounced off the banister as he went down the stairs, Chubby behind him. They reached the first landing and turned to continue, half bent with laughter, stumbling, falling… Chubby raised himself to his knees, holding his stomach, whining hysterically, saliva dribbling from his mouth—Harry felt sand under his nails, pulled himself up, heard a thump and continued stumbling down the staircase; banged through the doors (turning to look for Chubby expecting to see him roll down the stairs, ass and head, ass and head, ass and head, then careened out to the street. His momentum carried him to the corner where he leaned against the fender of a car, laughing… just laughing… not trying to stop or continue, not wondering where Chubby was; not thinking about the fencing scene or CHARLIES and the group or how he felt; not conscious of the saliva dripping down his chin; not even thinking of having another drink… just laughing….
   Then there were shadows, voices… then people. Thats the other one. O.K. buddy, comeon. A policeman grabbed his arm and they followed the usher and the manager back into the theater, hurried through the lobby and into the managers office. Chubby was sitting on a stool in the corner, another policeman in front of him, smoking and still smiling. Youre sure it was these two? O yes sir. Theyre the ones. Im sure. I dont know which one turned over the cigarette urn, but Im absolutely certain theyre the ones. You see I heard a dis—O.K., O.K. Thanks. You can go now.
   The usher backed out of the office and the cop walked between Chubby and Harry, rubbed the knuckles of his right hand with the palm of his left and asked what-in-the-hell they thought this was, a gymnasium or something? Annoyed at being called and at Chubby's stupid grin (appearing insolent to him), but wanting to make an impression on the manager, knowing he never forgot a favor. He stepped in front of Chubby and slapped the cigarette from his mouth. His aim wasn't perfect and in knocking it out he burned his hand. He grunted, held his hand for a second and when he looked back, Chubby had the same stupid grin on his face. He grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, slammed his head against the wall, slapped him a half dozen times, then shoved him into the chair.
   Harry watched, not unseeingly, but uncomprehendingly, still incapable of forcing his mind to work. Somewhere there was a vague remembrance of a sound, but the only thing definite was laughter, thats all, laughter. He was leaning against the chair, laughing. That wasn't a memory. That must be what hes doing now, and all this is something else. What was wrong? That was Chubby. He recognized him. Hes still laughing; and it looks like wine trickling down his chin. Theres nothing wrong. We’re both laughing… He started to take a step toward Chubby, but the other cop poked him, hard, in the stomach with his nightstick. Go ahead you sonofabitch. Start something. Just start something, tough guy.
   Harry instinctively clutched his stomach, confused and still unable to understand what had and was happening. The cop turned back to Chubby and told him to give them his identification. Chubby handed him his wallet and the cop slapped him on the chest with it and told him he wanted his identification, not his wallet. Who do you think youre tryin to buy off? He grabbed the draft card from Chubbys hand. 19. Another one of those punks who thinks hes a big brave man because he has a draft card. Cant you think of anything better to do than sit in a movie drinking cheap wine and damaging property? The cop growled in the accustomed manner, no longer deliberate, but habitual, and stood in front of Chubby glaring at him as he did everyone else in the same position, expecting the face to be lowered and some sort of apology murmured and then he would yell for him to speak up, and when it had been repeated he would curse him, tell him hes lucky that hes not going to lock him up and then tell him ta get the hell home… yet hoping, looking at the still smirking face, that he would give him some sort of wisecrack and afford him an excuse to slap his face again. Chubbys first attempt at speech was incoherent and slobbering. What? It washnt sheep. He didnt take time to enjoy the fulfillment of his wish, but swung immediately, knocking Chubby over the chair and to the floor. Chubby gradually sat up, his head hanging and rolling. The cop turned to Harry and asked him how old he was. Perhaps Harry didnt understand the question, or perhaps it just got jumbled in his mind. He didnt know (nor would he remember later), but for some reason (if there was a reason) he said, 76 (still a hint of laughter that needed only to hear someone else laughing or for Chubby to turn and smile to revive it, and then theyd be back outside [I dont think we’re there now] and could start over again, go to CHARLIES) he heard the slap, then another. Still nothing, but vaguely aware that now the laughter was gone, yet still not understanding. He thought he remembered a sound. Or was that imagined?
   What do ya want us to do withem, Mark? The manager, upset at the slapping, looking at them on the floor, thinking of the reports that would have to be made, the explanations and reassurances given, if they were arrested… Nothing, Jim. They didnt break the urn. No real damage done. Just kick them out and forget about it.
   They were quickly jerked to their feet, taken out to the street and walked to the corner. They told Chubby to go up to 4th Avenue and Harry down to Ridge Boulevard. And if you give anybody any more trouble we’ll split your skulls open.
   Harry turned when he reached Ridge Boulevard and staggered over to the school steps and sat down. He rested his head on his hands then noticed the small smear of blood on his palm. He couldnt taste it, but it must be real. But it didnt make any sort of sense. There wasnt any fight. Just laughing. We werent even drunk… How? There wasnt even a beginning to go back to. I dont even know what time it is…
   He rubbed his face, the back of his neck, and looked at the tree a few feet in front of him and tried to find the sky. The red and amber traffic lights on the corner were blinking.
   He fumbled through his pockets looking for a cigarette but couldnt find any. O shit! SHIT!!
   He stared at the sidewalk for a moment, then slowly stood up, holding on to the fence, and started walking home…

Fortune Cookie

   Harry sat in a rear booth of the Chinese restaurant, alone and worried, toying with his chicken egg drop soup, occasionally eating a spoonful. The boss had not said anything to him directly, but he knew his time was coming… soon. He had not given Harry an ultimatum, but the looks and remarks—more than that, the feeling Harry got when he was around him, and was starting to get when he stepped into the office, and even over the phone, forced Harry to accept the fact that his time was coming. And he did not mean a feeling of anxiety. Harry knew what that felt like. He should, he had been living with it all his life and lately it had been getting worse by the day… day? Krist, it was getting worse by the hour and right now by the minute. It was more than anxiety, it was a realization.
   A salesman sells. It is that simple. A salesman sells and when he doesnt he is not a salesman and who needs a salesman who is not selling. Firms do not carry non-selling salesmen for long. Actually he was lucky they carried him this long, even giving him his draw. But last week was his last draw and today could be his last chance. No sale today and… he stared at the soup for a minute, then pushed it away from him, the waiter quickly picking it up and replacing it with a dish of food. Harry moved his mouth into a quick smile then took a deep breath and started mixing the soy sauce into his chow mein.
   He had to make that sale today. He had no choice. It was do or die… the knot in his stomach quickly started gnawing its way up to his throat and Harry took a deep breath and tried to relax, at least enough to eat. He ate some food and tried a little positive thinking. After all, he can do it. He can make this sale. He’ll just go in there, smile and relax, and let the product, and the customer, do the selling. Right! Thats all there is—but Ive been doing that for months and still no order. The chow mein looked heavy and soggy. But I lit another candle this morning and prayed and made the stations of the cross and I cant fail with all -but Ive been doing that for months too. He took another deep breath and tried to relax… then took a few mouthfuls of food. Cant get all caught up in superstition—not that praying is superstition, but I mean all that business about a lucky tie or suit… have to forget all about that… Yeah, even if I had a lucky tie or suit. Pretty soon I might not have a suit or tie—this is ridiculous. This suit and tie are just as lucky as any I have. He shrugged, Ive lost as many sales with them as with any other suit and tie… he chuckled inwardly and even smiled and turned his attention to the food for a while, the noodles seeming to be a little crispier. The knot of anxiety started growing and travelling again and he suddenly thought of his shoes, maybe these are my lucky shoes, and he started his silent chuckling again and kept the anxiety enough in control to finish most of his chow mein.
   The waiter quickly cleared away the plates and brought a fortune cookie and the check. Harry played with the cookie for a few minutes, tapping it on the table, then eventually, almost absentmindedly, he broke it open and tugged the fortune out and glanced at it, the words not getting through his preoccupation at first, but a glimmer of something registered and he looked carefully at the fortune: Take courage, today is your day for success. He nodded his head, Yeah… sure. Then he stopped frowning and read it again and straightened, Why not? Why shouldnt it be my day? It has to be somebodys day and Ive had enough losers. Yeah… thats right, Ive had enough losers This can be my day as well as anyone elses…. Thats right… absolutely right. They need our material and they may just as well buy it from us as anyone else. We’re just as good as anyone and better than most. And we can deliver on time. Thats the big thing in this industry, guaranteed delivery as well as guaranteed quality. And we have it… all! Hed be doing himself and his firm a favor to place the order with us. Youre damn right! Harry nodded his head emphatically and reached in his pocket for his money, then stopped and reached instead for his credit cards, the ones he had been afraid to use for many months, and dropped one on the tray with the check and sat back, relaxed, exhilarated. He smiled broadly as he added a generous tip, then signed the slip with a slight flourish. He pocketed his card and stepped briskly from the restaurant.
   His appointment with Mr. Dasher went smoothly and was successful beyond all expectations. Harry seemed to speak at exactly the right time and say exactly the right thing and was quiet at exactly the right time in the right way, listening intently and exuding an aura of relaxation and confidence. His whole attitude was one of having already made the sale and he was here to simply help Mr. Dasher in whatever way he could. At the end of their meeting Mr. Dasher was as happy as Harry and their final handshake and words were extremely cordial. Harry knew he had a lifetime customer.
   Harry of course was elated as he headed back to the office with the signed order, so happy over making the sale he did not stop to figure out what his commission would be. When the thought did enter his mind he quickly shrugged it off knowing he would probably still be behind on his advances anyway. And he did not want to ruin the way he felt by thinking about the state of his finances. He had made a sale, a big sale. That was the important thing. He had broken his losing streak. He was a winner and for that he was grateful.
   As soon as he gave the order to the proper people in the office he called his boss and told him. At first Mr. Wells sounded surprised, but that quickly changed to a tone of delight, Thats wonderful, Harry. Congratulations. I knew you could do it. Harry beamed and leaned back in his chair, nodding his head and thanking Mr. Wells for the compliments. He hung up and just sat for a few minutes allowing that good feeling to flow through him… then called his wife and told her the good news.
   Harry sat quietly for a few more minutes, then looked at his watch, and started calling and making appointments, having no trouble getting appointments with the people and before he stopped his calendar was filled for the next couple of weeks.
   Harry lit a candle the following morning, not wanting to break any part of the routine that led to the previous days success, but his attitude was different. He did not kneel and beg like a condemned man going through a ritual for the sake of propriety, knowing all along that it was useless and he would be led to the gallows anyway, but rather like a friend bringing a feeling of gratitude for the gift he knew he would be receiving.
   Naturally Harry had lunch in the same restaurant. He was even going to order chicken egg drop soup and chow mein, but thought it safe to deviate slightly and have won ton soup and sub gum chow mein. The big difference today was again his attitude. He sat at a small table in the middle of the restaurant, smiling, and ate the food with deep enjoyment and relish.
   When the plates were cleared away and the waiter brought his fortune cookie he leaned back in the chair, one arm over the back of the chair, nonchalantly toying with the fortune cookie and feeling a warm glow inside. He picked the cookie up and smiled as he rolled it around in his hand, tapped it on the plate, spun it around playing spin the fortune cookie and eventually leaned over and snapped it in half and extricated the fortune: Today is a day to assert yourself. He pulled his shoulders back, yeah, thats right. His back was straight as he walked from the restaurant, and self-confidence exuded from him.
   He had scheduled two appointments for the afternoon and both went smoothly and ended in large orders just as he knew they would. He had the right combination now and had the world by the tail. He could not lose. That he knew. He could not lose. He was a winner.
   The following day he started to get a slight premonition, a tremor, when he realized he would have to change his routine, but was steadfast in his refusal to allow it to shake his confidence. He had made a lunch appointment with one of his prospective clients who was across town and so there was no way they could have lunch in the Chinese restaurant next door. So Harry checked the yellow pages for Chinese Restaurants in the vicinity of the customers office and found one listed only a block and half away. When he suggested going there for lunch the other man agreed quite readily.
   Harrys relaxed attitude helped relax his customer and they had a very enjoyable lunch. Harry did not toy with his fortune cookie, but ignored it as long as possible as they continued their discussion, then casually cracked it open and smiled as he read his fortune: Success comes to the successful man. Harry nodded inwardly, thats right, success breeds success and Im for inbreeding. The other man did not bother with his fortune cookie, so when they got up to leave Harry surreptitiously picked it up and put it in his pocket. Just might come in handy.
   When Harry left the mans office 45 minutes later he had another large order. He called it in to his office then walked around for a short time until it was time to go to his next appointment. This one too went exactly as Harry knew it would—the other fortune cookie said it would—so that made two orders so far. Harry knew that sooner or later he would leave an office without a signed order, that was inevitable, but for now he was riding a hot streak and was going to give it all he had.
   He also knew that the fortune cookies did not really have anything to do with the sales, but he was not going to take any chances and so he continued with the candles in the morning and the Chinese restaurant in the afternoon.And business was good. It was great! As a matter of fact his sales were mounting so rapidly that it looked like he would be a shoe in for the salesman of the year award. And as the sales mounted so did his commissions and it was obvious that he would have to start looking for some sort of tax shelter. He smiled and grinned when he thought about it, not exactly a bad position to be in.
   Things continued going almost perfectly for several months. Even the people who did not give him an order were very favorably impressed, telling him they would keep him in mind if their situation ever changed. But eventually the inevitable fly came into the ointment and Harry had to find a way to get rid of the fly without throwing out the ointment. He became a victim of the Chinese restaurant syndrome.
   The first time it struck he ended up being late for an appointment but fortunately no harm was done and he survived the attack and got an order. At first, as he sat on the commode doubled up with cramps and sweat pouring from his pores, he knew he would have to stop going to the Chinese restaurant every afternoon. Then, after he returned with the order and relaxed in his office, he realized that he was being hasty. Its not that he was being superstitious you understand, but it just did not make sense to change a routine that was working so well.
   The following day convinced him. And though he knew that his sales did not depend upon his eating in a Chinese restaurant every day, he still tried to find some way of continuing to do so without getting sick. Or more specifically, to get the fortune cookie he needed—no, no, he didnt really need it, but… well, what the hell, everybody has some sort of good luck charm. Certainly no different than a rabbits foot. He shrugged inwardly, what the hell.
   The next day he went to a small Chinese food take-out store and took the fortune cookie out of the bag and dropped the rest in the first litter can, then went to lunch. He glowed with pride at his ingenuity and the ease with which he had solved the problem. Each day he went to the take-out stand and ordered a few items and threw them away after taking out the fortune cookie.
   One day he noticed a couple of girls from his office at the stand and continued walking, then came back ten minutes later, looking around carefully to make sure no one else from his office was there. Now when he left the office for lunch he glanced over his shoulder to be certain no one who knew him was in the vicinity, carefully looking around again before dropping the bag of food in a litter can as nonchalantly as possible, studying the sky and whistling as he hurried away.
   Soon the pressure of this routine started to create anxieties so he would eat lunch in the area first, then go to a take-out stand some distance from the office to get his fortune cookie.
   After much testing, and some trepidation, he found he could safely eat in a Chinese restaurant every fourth day without fear of an attack. And so he sampled the Chinese food from one end of town to the other. He was in Chinatown one day when he made a happy and astounding discovery: a store that sold fortune cookies by the bag. Now he truly had nothing to worry about.
   He kept a bag of cookies in his desk drawer and rationed them out to himself, one at a time. But then it started becoming a little difficult to understand some of the fortunes. Well, it wasnt that they were hard to understand exactly, it was just that they were ambiguous or simply did not apply to the immediate situation. So Harry was forced to open another… and another, until he found one that was pertinent to the day before going out on his appointments. Soon he had to buy bags by the dozen, wanting to be certain he did not run out, and when he left the office he was covered with cookie crumbs, the old anxiety giving him a slight twinge from time to time.
   One morning Harry was studying reports and getting together information to present to a prospective customer. This was an international corporation and if Harry could close this particular deal it would be the largest in his firms history and would open undreamed of vistas for the firm and for Harry. Among other things it would mean an appointment to the Corporate Staff.
   He had been working on it for six months, putting in endless hours and tremendous energy and creative imagination, and the final appointment, the yes or no appointment, was for tomorrow afternoon. He had everything together and was starting to review it again when he received a phone call advising him that his appointment for the following day would have to be cancelled, Mr. Ralston had to leave the country unexpectedly, and could Harry make the appointment for this afternoon at two, Mr. Ralston having no idea when he might be otherwise available.
   Harry quickly agreed and automatically reached into his drawer for a fortune cookie. He read the fortune, frowned and threw it away. Who needs that: He who hesitates is lost, but it is better to be lost than dead. What kind of nonsense is that? He opened another… and another and another, becoming increasingly anxious and annoyed. He had been bothered by the ambiguity of some of the previous fortunes, but now they were being downright negative. He reached for the last one and it too was the same. If he took the advice of the cookies he opened today he would go home and lock himself in a closet. Right now he wished he could do just that. He hated the idea of trying to close this deal feeling so nervous and negative. He frowned and looked at the pile of cookies and fortunes in his waste paper basket. What the hell was going on? Why was everything suddenly against him? Krist, he wished he could cancel the appointment! But if he did it would be all over. He would never get another chance. Not like this. He would not get the Corporate appointment. He had to see him today. But why was everything going wrong? He had lit his candles this morning. Why should this be happening to him? He looked through all his drawers for the third or fourth time hoping to find a stray fortune cookie, one that he had somehow overlooked, but to no avail. There just wasnt any left. He was completely out. And there was no way he could get anymore before going uptown. Unless he had an early lunch in the Chinese restaurant next door. He brightened, Yeah. Thats what I’ll do. Thats where it all started anyway. I’ll have a quick lunch and get uptown in plenty of time. He brushed the cookie crumbs from his suit and left his office.
   Something told him that he was not being too wise having lunch here today, having had lunch in a Chinese restaurant yesterday, but he was forced to dismiss the thought. He would be careful. He wouldnt eat much. He wouldnt take a chance on being victimized by the Chinese restaurant syndrome. Not today, and a faint voice way in the back of his head said: Famous last words.
   He ate the soup and a little of the chop suey and quickly grabbed the fortune cookie when the waiter brought it and crushed it and read the fortune, then stared at it: There are times when the wisest thing to do is nothing. He could not believe it. This was insane. He waved to the waiter and asked him if he could bring him another fortune cookie. He nodded and when he brought it Harry cracked it open and almost moaned aloud as he read the fortune. Another one. I must be dreaming. Somebody must be playing some sort of trick.
   He called the waiter again and asked for a dozen fortune cookies. The waiter looked at him for many seconds, Harry said excitedly that he would pay for them, breaking into a forced smile and explaining that it was for a joke. Eventually the waiter shrugged and brought another dozen fortune cookies. Harry stared at them for a moment, the waiter glancing at him from time to time, talking to the other waiters, then shrugging and shaking his head. Harry took a deep breath and relaxed as best he could and got ready to open the first one, girding his loins as if he were about to dive off a hundred foot tower into a tank of water through flaming oil. He opened the first one, read it quickly, tossed it aside and went to the next, repeating the same routine, his knot of anxiety growing with each one, becoming more and more sick, until he had opened them all (all the waiters were watching by this time, scratching their heads) and he sat staring at the pile of broken cookies and crumpled fortunes. Harry was on the verge of tears. He could not believe this was happening to him. All the way to the very brink of something great and then the entire world suddenly turns on him. He hadnt done anything to anyone. He lit his candles every morning. Why should this happen to him? It wasn't fair. Goddam it, it wasnt fair! Im not going to put up with it! I’ll be damned if I will! NO!!!! He spoke the last word aloud as he brought his fist down, hard and loud on a pile of broken cookies, the plates and little bottles jumping and clanging, people suddenly silent, sitting still, forks suspended in air, looking first at each other, then turning around to find the source of the disturbance; the waiters too stopping in mid-motion, looking at Harry and blinking as Harry ground his hand into the cookies and shouted, Im not going to put up with it! Thats it! Harry continued to mutter to himself as he paid his bill, unaware that everyone was staring at him, commenting that he was as mad as a hatter.
   Harry was full of energy when he entered Mr. Ralstons office. The first thing Mr. Ralston did was to inform Harry that he was very busy and did not have time for superfluities. That was just fine with Harry as he was well prepared and wanted to get on with it too. He presented all the figures quickly, giving Mr. Ralston a copy of everything, noting the salient points, answering all questions easily and succinctly and when the meeting was concluded he left Mr. Ralstons office with the order.
   When he got back Harry went directly to his office and plunked himself in his chair. By now his body was wet with perspiration and his insides were a turmoil of confusion and disbelief. He had the signed order right here but the fact seemed to be somewhere outside him. He knew it was real but it did not seem to have any pertinence to him, and the reality of the entire situation became increasingly vague the more he pondered it because he just could not believe it happened. How did it all come about? He could barely remember being in Mr. Ralstons office. He thought and thought and simply ended up increasing his confusion.
   And what made it even more perplexing was the fact that he knew this would change his life. Every aspect of it. A house in Connecticut with trees and a garden. A summer place in Marthas Vineyard. Cars. A boat. Yeah… maybe a forty foot sloop and he would sail before the wind feeling the spray and breeze on his face…
   But he would be functioning on the Corporate level now….
   The thought was frightening. How could he possibly function on that level? How could he possibly make a speech before the Board of Directors (the mere thought sent tremors through his mind and body) giving them progress reports… advising them of projected sales… O krist, thats right. I’d have to continue making deals like this. I’d have a position to maintain! How could I do it? This one was a fluke. Theres no way I can do this again… Jesus, the Board wouldnt be satisfied for long theyd want it done again and again and again…
   O God, I cant do it. I could never take the pressure—he glanced at the pile of broken fortune cookies in his wastepaperbasket—I wouldnt know what to do. Being a salesman is one thing, but Corporate Staff… the responsibility…
   and he’d be stuck with the house in Connecticut and the summer place in Marthas Vineyard and the boat and cars… O God, no… no…
   He felt icy cold and shivered as panic twisted itself through then around him, squeezing him tighter and tighter, making it almost impossible to breathe… He struggled to gulp air into his lungs, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk and held his head, sinking deeper and deeper into his despair…
   Then he noticed something in the newspaper on his desk At first it was a blur but something forced his attention to that area and he found he could not move his gaze away from it. He blinked his eyes until his vision cleared and he realized he was staring at the daily horoscope, his horoscope for today: Today is the day to assert yourself. Great opportunities are yours if you just take the bull by the horns. Dont take no for an answer. He read it over… then again… at first just the words got through, and then their meaning, his body becoming more and more erect as he read, his face relaxing into a smile…
   then he slammed his hand down, hard, on the paper and jumped to his feet, Of course! Thats it! I knew it! I just knew it! I knew today was my day!!!! Thank God Im not superstitious or I might have let those damn cookies ruin my life. Now I know how to do it—tapping the paper—right there all the time. Haha, theres no way I can be stopped now! He snatched the signed contract from his desk and went to the Executive Wing to advise the President in person that he had wrapped up the deal. After all, he may just as well start getting used to his new neighborhood!!!!

A Penny for Your Thoughts

   He didnt think of her breasts at first. He simply noticed how attractive she was. And too it was extremely unusual to see a young girl without makeup. She probably was no more than 18. He was waiting for the subway after work and she was standing among the crowd with a few friends. She wore a black coat and a black kerchief. Her skin appeared very white and her eyes were dark and sparkled. He kept glancing at her. He stood near them on the train and was surprised when they got off at his stop. He walked slowly and tried to listen to their conversation, but the only thing he heard distinctly was her name: Marie. A block from the station she said goodbye to her friends and turned along the avenue and he continued home.
   The next morning he saw her on the station. He stood near her trying to determine the color of her eyes, but couldnt (at least not without being obvious) and was amazed again at her natural beauty, not glamorous, but quiet, exciting. They got off at DeKalb Avenue and he walked slowly up the stairs behind her and her girl-friends hoping he might see a bit more of her legs, but she held her coat tightly around her and with straining and falling behind as she climbed the stairs he was still only able to see her calves. They were very attractive though. Even with those flat slippertype shoes on. She turned at the exit and walked off in a different direction than the one he had to take, so he stood for a moment watching… then turned and went to his office.
   He didnt see her that night on the platform. He looked around and had almost convinced himself that he should wait for another train, one that would be less crowded, but there was an area that was big enough for 3 or 4 people and the train remained there for a few seconds with the doors open and he felt guilty and conspicuous standing there when there was all that room and suppose someone he knew should ask him what he was waiting for or what if there should be some kind of a police investigation for some reason what could he say? And there are witnesses to prove there was room in the train—he stepped forward quickly just before the door closed.
   After dinner he stretched out on the couch and tried to conjure up an image of Marie. All he could see was a vague outline, his wifes voice making it impossible to flesh out the image. He stopped trying and got up from the couch, went out to the kitchen and helped his wife with the dishes, his wife surprised, but saying nothing.
   About 10 oclock he said he was going to bed as he was bushed from the extra work in the office and was relieved when his wife said, no, she wouldnt come to bed now, but would finish the ironing first. He lay in bed and thought of Marie. He thought of her dressed in a beautiful tight sheath with dark stockings, but the image continually blurred. He had never seen her with her overcoat off and without a kerchief around her head. Actually he didnt have the slightest idea of what her body looked like, only what he assumed from looking at her legs and face. She obviously wasnt fat, but he still didnt know exactly how she looked. How about her tits? She might be flatchested.… Cant really tell with that overcoat. NO NO! She must have a nice pair. Large and firm. Sure… She must…
   He ate breakfast just a little faster the next morning wanting to be certain to get to the station in time to get the train she always took, but not too fast so his wife wouldnt ask questions. Marie was there on the platform and he got on the train with her and her friends and rode to work trying not to stare, but listening to her voice and watching from the side of his eye and hoping her coat would fall open when she reached up to adjust her kerchief, but it didnt. While still watching her coat and hoping, he looked at her face and noticed the small blemish on her right cheek, but it didnt bother him. It didnt affect her beauty. And anyway it was just a small spot. Probably temporary and nothing that would scar her skin. He did wish that she didnt go to work with her hair in curlers, though she does look much prettier than Alice with her hair set. Actually it was only the front she kept set. The back hung loose. It was long, wavy and very pretty. If she put something on it to make it blacker and shinier it would really be something, but it was very nice the way it was. Really nicer than Alices, but that was something else. He was just curious about this girl. She must be 10 years younger than him. It's just that shes unusually attractive. Good Lord, cant a guy look at a girl and find her attractive without something being made of it. Alice certainly wouldnt mind… It was their stop and they got off and he turned looking once more, then went to work.
   When he mentioned the girl he saw on the platform to Alice he tried to do so with an in passing attitude, but he wanted to be certain he didnt overdo it. He was sure she didnt think twice about it as the conversation drifted to a natural tangent after he mentioned how attractive this girl was and it was a shame she didnt put her makeup on properly instead of smearing it all over. You know how these kids do it, and then they were talking about high school or something and he felt better, much better. Now when he thought about Marie he wouldnt feel guilty. And anyway, why should he?
   He saw her every day, twice, for the next 4 days and he watched her the whole time from the moment he saw her on the platform until they parted at 3rd Avenue… still he didnt see them. And this was January. So long before spring and lighter coats that would be allowed to fall open and so much longer to summer when only dresses and blouses were worn– and he stared and stared… Hello. I hope you dont think Im too forward, but Ive seen you every day for quite some time now and I am sure you have noticed that I have been staring at you. I suppose it is a little unusual to just speak to a girl on the subway like this, but it is just that you are so attractive–a train came in and they got in and he tried to reach her, but couldnt get through the crowd or continue his imagined conversation; and then the train stopped and he got off and stayed a few feet behind and watched her and tried to go back to where they were on the platform and he was telling her how beautiful she is and she was about to smile (shyly perhaps) and tell him he was right, that she had noticed him looking at her and he would be able to understand (from her tone and attitude) that she was flattered—but he couldnt get back there and whenever he tried to isolate just them, alone, he suddenly tried to remember the color of Alices eyes. He tried pushing the thought from his mind, shoving it away with his hand, but there was felt no resistance and it just flowed around like an amoeba, an enormous amoeba; he tried gripping it; kicking it; dragging it; but the thought just floated and flowed. He even closed his eyes for a moment as he stood on a corner waiting for the light to change, but the thought wouldnt move so he stopped trying to keep it out of his mind and conjuring up his wifes eyes it slowly disappeared; then he tried to make his wifes eyes bigger and bigger so he could see what color they were, but he failed. It was impossible. But they must be blue. Shes so fair. They must be. They have to be. Blue Blue BLUE!!! Still he couldnt believe they were. But that doesnt mean anything. You know yourself how you forget things like that. But Maries eyes are brown. A deep dark brown. And they sparkle. Dont they? But thats different. How can you doubt I love Alice? I really know the color of her eyes. Its just trying to force it like this. Thats why I cant remember….
   Hello sweetheart. He bent and kissed Alices hair (of course theyre green. Its ridiculous. I knew) and asked her whats for supper.
   He went to bed early again, giving some excuse about not feeling well, smoked a few cigarettes and thought of her. He wondered what would happen if he werent married, not that Im not happy after 4 years of marriage or anything, you know, but I just wonder. Academically so to speak. Id have a car of course -but I wouldnt be living here and would never have seen her anyway—have to start again. I live here—he put the cigarette out and rolled over on his side dismissing all the meaningless things that were ruining his thoughts. He was single and he had an apartment of his own near Fort Hamilton with a nice hi-fi, indirect lighting and even a small bar (Id have the money) and he knew her from work and they went out and stopped at his apartment for a nightcap—maybe they went to the Casino or some place on the Island—and he put on the radio and played soft music and when he gave her her drink he held her hand and kissed her and he slowly began to undress her and she was bashful and flushed slightly and he kissed her and reassured her and told her he loved her and she grabbed him and kissed him hard and he led her, gently, to the bedroom and they lay down and he felt her skirt under his fingertips and he played with her skirt for a few moments then the smoothness of her thigh and she turned, sighing, and the train came in and he held up his hand and pushed at it and tried to punch the hundreds of motormen, but it ran right through the room and through the bed and he held her and whispered, still trying to push the train, and all those damn people were walking by… O Goddam it! he slammed the door! slammed it again and again and again, running back to her and kissing her and slamming the door again, I love you, I LOVE YOU, frantically trying to unbutton her blouse and a large trailer truck went by and he struggled to get her blouse off and Alice asked him if he felt alright, Youre turning and tossing so much. Are you sure you feel alright honey? and he turned and mumbled something and lit another cigarette and she continued to talk as she undressed and he nodded and mumbled and smoked, hoping he hadnt blurted out something, and anyway its not like it was real and he didnt love Alice… o well… But its not really wrong. This is not at all like those guys who have girlfriends on the side. This is something different. Ive never been untrue to Alice. I even told Alice about her—goodnight sweetheart—Alice reached up and pulled the cord and the room was dark again and he put out his cigarette and tried to keep his mind blank, not wanting to fall asleep thinking about her and perhaps say something in his sleep… He couldnt get her out of his mind and kept waking with a start, listening for something and when he awoke about 3 or 4 he was so excited he tried waking Alice, but she didnt awaken when he touched her lightly so he stopped trying, afraid he might say something with his excitement and sleepiness, so he just lit another cigarette and thought about work or something… anything, until he felt calmer, then put out the cigarette and finally fell asleep.
   He was exhausted in the morning and he told Alice to call the office and tell them he wouldnt be in, that he wasnt feeling well. He told her he might be getting the virus and thought it better to take it easy for a day or two than take a chance on getting sick. He stayed in bed all that day and the next, which was Friday, and just lolled around most of the weekend. On Monday he said he felt better and Alice suggested he wait an hour before going to work in order to avoid the rush hour, but he said that was ridiculous. Theres no need for any such thing. I can go at the regular time. Alice was stunned by his brisk manner and stared for a moment, then continued setting the table when he lowered his eyes.
   He rushed to the station and didnt slow down until he saw Marie at the end of the platform. It seemed as if weeks had passed since he stood on the platform next to her and he was certain she had been aware of his long absence and probably wanted to talk to him. There certainly wouldnt be any harm in speaking to her -the train came in and it was unusually crowded and he pushed his way in and Marie and her girlfriends just did get in, the door hitting one girlfriend on the shoulder, and they screeched slightly at the difficulty and he smiled and almost spoke, but caught himself—yes, yes of course. Alices eyes are green and her hair is cut in a sortofa d.a. More people got on at the next stop and he was jabbed against her side and he thought it would be easy to simply let his arm rub against her breast or he could lower his hand and the next time there was a push his hand would rub against her ass and he looked and looked but he couldnt see. Incredible, but he still couldnt see. Still didnt know if she had a big pair or not. Not that that mattered either. Just a case of curiosity. No, no. Nothing like that. Dont be silly. I wouldnt really do it. Would be easy enough though. Especially in a crowd like this. It really would be an accident. But if I could just see how big they are. I mean….
   There seemed to be no way he could find out. Would he have to wait until spring or even summer? It was ridiculous. Why in the name of Krist didnt she stop clutching her coat. It isnt that cold. She could let the goddam thing open in the subway. It was warm enough. If only it was a tight one, a fitted coat, then at least there would be an outline to see and allowing for the thickness of the coat you would have some idea of just how big her tits are. He didnt expect them to be gigantic (theres nothing wrong with Alices. Theyre not too small. Ive said that before. I dont really mind. That has nothing to do with it) just large and firm. She seemed to have nice wide hips. If she has a slim waist and a big pair… all white and smooth and when she lays on her back theyd probably fall to the side slightly and her nipples will probably be rosy… and the trains and people and trucks kept forcing him away from her and they parted at 3rd Avenue each night and he thought about it in bed, 4, 5 maybe more times he thought of waking Alice in the middle of the night, but he smoked, turned on his side and his thighs cramped and his stomach twinged… and he kept looking and looking and they parted at the corner each morning after the light changed and she clutched that goddam coat and he looked and looked and he couldnt see and he didnt sleep and he was always keyedup and tensed and Alice knew it was the job and she didnt want to let him know she was upset worrying about him so she tried to ignore it and talked to him during mealtimes so he would relax enough to eat (he really wasnt eating much lately and lost weight) and she smiled and tried to be casual when asking him about work and his evasiveness confirmed her thoughts about the job fraying his nerves and still he looked and looked and Alice worried and he continued to lose weight and she thought of suggesting a visit to the doctor, but was still fearful of seeming alarmed and didnt want to upset him so after supper she suggested a movie. Its Friday and theres a good feature playing tonight. Its supposed to be very funny and you know how hard youve been working lately honey. Yeah, I guess I have, not knowing what she was talking about, but afraid to ask. It might relax you to sit in a movie. He nodded and they went to the movie and he sat watching and smoking and then he started chuckling, then laughing and he relaxed and stretched out his legs and Alice leaned against him and held his arm and glanced at him occasionally, and they laughed.
   And then Marie was standing in the aisle, in front of him, looking up at the rear of the balcony and then seeing her friends she smiled and walked past him, up the aisle. At first he was a little surprised, but of course there was no reason why she shouldnt go to this movie. Then, of course, when she started to open her coat he tried to see her tits, but couldn't. All he could make out was that she was wearing a black sweater. And her hair wasnt straight and looked nice in the darkness of the movie. Then she was gone. Sitting somewhere behind him. He wondered if she noticed him. Dont imagine she saw the ring on Alices hand. Might be alright if she knew. Married men are more attractive to some women.
   He concentrated on the movie, laughing and whispering to Alice and then Marie walked by with another girl. He really didnt notice until she had passed and was on her way down the stairs. He continued watching the movie but watched the staircase from the side of his eye. He felt his muscles tensing and made an effort to relax. He didnt want Alice to get any ideas. He fought his muscles. Watched the movie. The staircase. 15 maybe 20 minutes. He thought perhaps she had left. But of course that was silly. She just got here. And anyway, he did notice that she wasnt wearing her coat. He waited. And waited. Finally he heard their voices and they came to the top of the staircase, stood for a moment then walked past him and up the aisle. He looked, but the railing in front of him was on a level with her chest as she walked by and he was too amazed to try to look as they walked past him up the aisle. It was fantastic. Unbelievable. All he wanted to do was see how big her goddam tits were and this railings in the way. Howinthehell…
   Maybe theyll come by again. If we were sitting back a row. How could I ask Alice to move. I insisted on sitting here to stretch out my legs. There might be something I could say. Better not. She might think it strange. Theyll come by again and when they go up the aisle I’ll be able to see. Maybe I should tell Alice thats the girl I told her about. She may have noticed me staring No, I dont think so. A good kid that Alice. He looked at Alice and smiled and she smiled back and asked how he liked the show and he said good. Very good. Her smile broadened and she squeezed his arm and he waited for Marie to go by again trying to look behind him but they were all the way up and he couldnt see that far without turning completely around and looking deliberately and being obvious. He just sat, smoked, watched the movie and waited. He heard faint footsteps and voices and 3 girls passed and went down the stairs and Marie was one of them. He sat up higher in his seat and started turning his head slowly toward the aisle and adjusting his eyes, testing to see how large an area he could see without moving his head too far. He reached a point where he could see more than necessary while still, apparently, looking at the screen. He froze himself in the position and waited. His neck muscles started to stiffen and his eyes burned but he didnt move. He closed his eyes briefly then opened them and waited. When she came by he wouldnt have to move and he would see…
   Then Alice tugged at his arm and pulled him toward her slightly. Would you go down and get me a pack of cigarettes honey. Im all out. He glared for a moment (after spending all that time getting ready and she might come at any minute) and almost yelled at her to get her own damn cigarettes. You should have made sure you had enough before we got here, but then he thought perhaps they arent in the Ladies Room and are downstairs at the candy counter. He mumbled a quick o.k. and dashed down the stairs to the candystand. They were standing around a soda machine talking. He bought the cigarettes then stood to one side and looked at them. She did have a nice pair. Not gigantic, just right. And her waist was beautifully slim and when she turned he could see that they were firm, really firm, and not just held up with a brassiere. Of course they might hang a little without a brassiere. Thats only natural. But they wouldnt sag. And her mouth was lovely. O, I bet she'd bite. Her thighs must be so smooth…
   The girls dropped their cups in the bucket and started walking toward him. He turned and climbed the stairs two at a time and dropped back in his seat and handed the cigarettes to his wife, trying to breathe normally, and fixed his eyes on the proper spot. He sat and waited and when they climbed the stairs to their seats he watched them bounce -just slightly—and she passed so close he could smell the soap she had washed with and he could reach out and pat her ass. He stretched out and lit a cigarette and struggled with a conductor, a train and an usher that kept coming through the room but he kept closing doors and pulling down shades and she was naked on the bed and he kissed her and he turned in his seat and sat up and crossed his legs and was motionless and without thought for just a second then put his arm around Alice and rubbed his nose against her ear. She looked at him and smiled, kissed his cheek and snuggled closer to him and rubbed his arm, singing inside at seeing him relaxed and smiling and loving the way he caressed her cheek. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his fingertips. He put his arm around her, kissed her neck and said lets go home. But we havent seen the cartoons silly. I know hon, but lets go anyway. I want to talk to you. He caressed her neck with the tips of his fingers and looked into her eyes. Ah Harry, dont. Please dont. You know I cant do anything now.
   He dropped his hands and stared at her for a moment then slammed back into his seat. O for Krist sake. Whats wrong Harry? Nothings wrong, goddam it. Nothing. Why don't you just leave me alone…

Liebesnacht

   I dont want to talk about it anymore Harry.
   What do you mean you dont want to talk about it anymore? Just like that the discussions over, wham, goodbye?
   Her expression was stiff; her body as rigid as her attitude. She held the phone a few inches from her mouth and closed her eyes slightly and looked across the room at the wall and spoke very matter-of-factly. I see no reason to continue talking. You absolutely refuse to see my point of view and are unreasonably arbitrary about having your own way.
   His eyes snapped open as wide as possible and he twisted and turned and paced back and forth as his arms flew in all directions forcing him to almost pursue the phone from time to time to be sure he could be heard. My way? Whatta you talking about? Ive taken you to see Star Wars twice already and now youre bugged because I dont want to see it again tonight. How in the hell does that make me arbitrary? Im willing to do anything you -
   You see—her expression frozen in sternness—there you go again, trying to put the blame on me, trying to -
   Blame, blame—he spun around and leaned so far back that he was looking at the ceiling over the mouthpiece of the phone -whats this blame? Im not looking for blame. Im just trying -
   Youre just trying to make me feel like a fool for wanting to see the -
   No no, I dont care how many times you see the goddam flick, I just want to take you -
   You dont have to swear at me just to prove youre a man.
   Prove Im a man?—shaking his head and rolling his eyes—all I wanted to do was take you to a party and you come on with this crazy bullshit about Star Wars and -
   O now Im crazy. Thank you. Thanks a lot. Whats the matter, I attack your male ego?
   I dont believe this—slapping his head—I dont believe it. Having the rag on is one thing but this is ridic-
   Thats right, lets hide behind that and try and make me feel guilty or ridiculous or -
   Holy Krist, every time I talk to you lately its the same thing, the same nonsense.
   O now its nonsense if I dont want to constantly give in to you and your whims -
   Whims? What kind of whims? I just want to take you to a party and you -
   Harry, I dont want to talk about it further. You absolutely refuse to see my point of view.
   Refuse to—CLICK—What? What?—staring at the phone, holding it at arms length—whatta ya doin? Youre out ya head you crazy bitch, you… you… ah, who needsya. He slammed the receiver on the cradle and then slammed the phone on the table and left the house.
   He stomped his way up the street trying to pound his anger into the pavement, clenching and unclenching his jaw and fists, shaking his head and almost yelling out loud as his head continued the battle, trying to force a semblance of sense into Marys head with the sheer energy of his anger because it didnt make any sense. No matter how you slice it it just doesnt make any sense. She must have some kindda bug up her ass. I call and ask her if she wants to go out to dinner before the party and she suddenly says she doesnt want to go—his mind assumed a falsetto voice—I want to see Star Wars. I mean whats with this Star Wars? and whats with all this contrary shit lately? starting arguments over nothing. Make a date and then cancelling at the last minute or complaining about where we go and what we do after I ask what do you want to do???? If you dont like this and you dont like that then what in the hell do you wanna do?—the falsetto again—O you decide Harry. I cant make up my mind. Yeah, an everything I decide is no good. We go to a restaurant and all of a sudden the lighting is no good. The lighting, right? Who cares about the food? all of a sudden its the lights that are important. You hungry go to Nathans, they got nice lights. We go to Fire Island for a weekend and its too far to the beach. Can you believe it? Too far to the beach!!!! The whole fucking island is only 3 feet wide and its nothing but beach. Its crazy, crazy. I dont get it. All she wants to do is break my balls—falsetto squeaks in—If I break them its because you put them on the chopping block for me. Harry started waving his hand then selfconsciously stopped and jammed it in his pocket. Eh, who needs it. I need this like I need a hole in the head. I must be crazy to bug myself over that broad. How did I ever get hooked into her anyway???? Forget it. Who needs it. Almost a year. One broad. I must be nuts. Harry quickened his pace even more to outdistance any reply his mind might make, falsetto or otherwise, and continued to try to outdistance his head as he automatically eased his way between the traffic as he crossed the avenue, then started to slow his pace as he neared STEVES, a neighborhood bar where his friends hung out.
   It wasnt until he stopped, just inside the door, and felt the wave of cool air that he realized he was hot and flushed. He suddenly became aware of the sweat rolling down his sides and back and burning his eyes. He wiped his face quickly with his handkerchief as he looked around for a second, then walked toward his friends.
   Hey Harry, whatta you doin here?
   Whatta ya say Ron—he looked at Larry and Kelly—whats happening? Larry shrugged, Wanna beer? Sure, why not. Larry leaned over the bar, Hey Bob, give lover boy a beer. They all chuckled.
   Kelly drained his glass and put it on the bar, May just as well put a head on this. He turned to Harry, How come youre here? Its—squinting at the clock on the wall—about 8:03 and its Saturday night.
   Yeah, wheres Mary?
   Harry tossed his head back, Eh, forget it.
   What happened man, she split?
   Dont ask. You wouldnt believe it—Harry grabbed his glass and gulped half of it and sighed as he put it down.—Krist thats good. I didnt realize how thirsty I was. He finished his beer and put some money on the bar, Hey Bob, giveus another round.
   The door opened and Wally, Artie and Matt came in and stopped halfway down the bar. Harry barely noticed them out of the corner of his eye, and then Wally put his hands on the bar and Harry frowned and turned his head and looked at the cast on Wallys thumb and around his wrist and the wire going across the tips of his fingers. What happened to Wally?
   O man, it was somethin else. His brother.
   Mikey no legs?
   Yeah. Drunk outta his mind. You know how he gets.
   Yeah—nodding his head.
   It happened just a coupla hours ago. No legs comes in an hes bouncin off the walls and knockin people all over and Wally tries to takeim outside and Mike is blitherin about the Nuns and arithmetic—they all start chuckling and nodding their heads -You know, when he goes off he goes off. He dont know nobody.
   Yeah you aint kiddin. Hes really fuckin crazy when hes bombed.
   So he suddenly grabs Wallys thumb and just bends it back, real quick, and you could hear it snap a block away.
   It was really weird because he looked like he was pushin down on a lever or somethin. I mean you could see that he didnt know what he was doin.
   Or who Wally was. Just a quick snap. And he just walks out and Wally and Matt and Artie are staring at Wallys thumb, an then everybody in the joint is staring at it until Bob pours him a good stiff shot and after he drinks it Wally almost falls on his ass. He grabs his wrist and starts rockin back and forth and Matty runs out and grabs a cab and they went down to the emergency.
   I guess it wasnt too crowded, they got back pretty fast. At least for that joint.
   Yeah, well its early yet. The night is young. And youre so beautiful. Kelly pinched Larrys cheek and they all chuckled and reached for their beers.
   Mikey no legs was in the cellar of his apartment building. His parents had lived there for 10 years before he was born, and for 5 years before Wally was born. And they lived there still. The four of them. And they were still the supers, a job that was much easier since the furnace was converted to oil quite a few years ago: no coal to shovel, no ashes to carry out, no fire to shake and bank and worry about. But there was still the garbage cans to put out, a job Mike had been doing for almost 20 of the 28 years of his life.
   Mike started by helping Wally with the cans, always wanting to follow his big brother. He idolized Wally and begged him to let him help with the cans, and he did. At first Wally took most of the weight, patting his brother on the back and telling him he was a real good helper. Then Mike was taking one up all by himself, tugging on the handle as the can banged against the stone steps. Eventually he was able to pick up the can and carry it up the steps, and then with the passing of a few more years, he simply picked up one in each hand and almost ran them up the stairs.
   The same occurred with the much heavier cans of ashes, Mike developing incredible strength.
   Now there were no ashes. But they were still the supers and Mike carried the garbage cans up the same immortal steps only slightly worn by cans and shoes.
   Although he was called no legs, it was not an accurate description. It was simply that he had a large barrel chest that carrying the cans had made even larger, and his legs appeared too short for his body.
   He wasnt exceptionally violent or quiet, just sort of unobtrusively there, except when he got crazy drunk. Fortunately he only got drunk periodically, and then it was only occasionally that he got violent, when some twisted message tripped through his drunken body to his brain and voices burned his head and he couldnt scream them quiet, and, from time to time, things would appear either without or within his head that he had to defend himself against.
   Mike sat on the floor leaning against the wooden wall of a storage room, a bottle of wine on the floor beside him and a small transistor radio. From time to time he would take a drink, then turn the dial from one end of the band to the other trying to find the ballgame. He knew there was one somewhere, but where???? He looked at the radio, his head swaying back and forth, eyes half closed, barely able to see the radio in the dimness of the cellar, Where are ya ya son of a bitch? Eh? Wheres those fuckin Mets? He continued spinning the dial eliding from one station to another, one song to another, one announcer to another, the rock rolling into the pop as his finger continued pushing the small wheel and suddenly a soprano screeched and he twisted the radio, Shut up bitch. He squeezed the radio and pulled his hand back, but then lowered it slowly and put the radio back on the ground. Fuck it. Who needs this shit. He took another drink of wine then slowly curled onto the floor, pillowing his head on an arm, and slept.
   The game was on in STEVES and the guys at the bar looked at it from time to time. Harry and his friends decided they would chugalug a beer every time there was a double play or a home run. After two innings of neither one they extended it to include strike outs, stolen bases, runners caught trying to steal, bases on balls, scoreless half innings, and every third out. After six innings they also included the seventh inning stretch. Half an hour after the game ended, they had forgotten the score and werent too certain who won or who had played.
   To Harry it seemed like the best game he had ever seen. He couldnt remember when he had laughed so much or so hard. The Mets were always good for a laugh, but tonight was something special. He felt loose, relaxed. He hadnt realized it until now, but this was exactly what he needed, a night out with the boys… drinking beer, watching a ball game, swapping stories and having some good laughs. He was feeling good… great. He staggered slightly, but only for a second, when he pushed himself away from the bar and started toward the mens room… again. One thing about that fuckin beer, it sure goes through you. He slowly worked his way to the mens room and leaned against the wall and looked down at the cake of ice in the urinal. The flushometer never worked and so everyone in STEVES indulged in the art of ice writing. He had started to carve his initials on his previous trips but his efforts had been obliterated by others who had no respect for his artistic endeavors and were happy to just piss indiscriminately on the ice while sighing, Ahhh, this is the pause that refreshes; or just trying to cut the piece in half (half a piece is better than none, hahaha) or just chip away at an edge. No class. No fucking class. Harry was determined that he would carve at least one clear, clean, recognizable H in the ice before the night was over and so, although there was a pressured urgency to his need to urinate, he squeezed his joint so just a thin stream of urine came out and carefully carved an almost near perfect (to him) H in the ice, still leaning against the wall with one hand and ignoring the splashing and splattering. When he finished he leaned back and looked with satisfaction at his initial and started to shake the final drops but stopped and moved so they would not fall on the results of his work and directed them to the corner of the urinal, a series of elipses going directly down the drain, not passing Go, not collecting two hundred dollars. He zipped his fly and stood swaying slightly in front of the urinal, smiling and nodding to the compliments he was hearing in his head. He wished he had a Polaroid camera so he could take a picture of it. Never see it again. Nobody’d believe it. Between the heat and all those assholes pissin all over it it wont be here long. Maybe he should just stay here and watch it slowly melt and stand in front of the urinal so nobody else could fuck it up. Naaa… shit, that aint no good. Anyway, Im fuckin thirsty an—
   Ya finished?
   Yeah. Harry took another few steps back.
   Thank Krist. I gotta piss like a bandit.He sighed as there was a sudden flood of urine on the rocks, Ahhhhh, the pause that refreshes.
   Harry stood for a moment, then blinked and shrugged and left, Dont get ya feet wet.
   Yeah, hahahaha.
   A fresh beer was waiting for Harry when he rejoined his friends. Comeon Harry, chugalug.
   What for this time?
   Who the fuck knows.
   They chuckled and laughed, then controlled it just enough to drain their glasses, Harry having visions of a beautiful gothic H engraved in the ice.
   Mike stirred, twisted his body, his head, then slowly sat up and looked around the darkened cellar, unable to see more than a foot or two away. He carefully moved his hand along the floor until he found his bottle, then picked it up. He tried to look at it but could see nothing of the contents so he shook it slightly and was relieved and happy to hear something splashing around inside. He took a long drink and closed his eyes and concentrated on the warm glow spreading within him, and smiled because he knew there was at least one good drink in the bottle, maybe more. He licked his lips and took another drink and when that had settled in he finished off the few remaining drops. He leaned against the wall as the wine continued on its journey and slowly a few things clicked into place. He knew where he was. He didnt have to be able to see to know he was in the cellar. He sat quietly for a few minutes listening to the sounds of the street, the sounds telling him that it wasnt too late, there were still people walking and talking so the bars must still be open. He jammed his hand in his pocket and felt some money. Thank Krist. He rubbed his head and his face. Must still be Saturday. Probably Saturday night. Yeah. Must be. Hope the fuck the bars are still open. He slowly stood up, leaning against the wooden wall, tested his legs, then paced himself to the stairs, feeling his way through the dark, able to walk just as freely and rapidly in the dark as in daylight, having spent so many hours, and having made so many trips, from where he was to the stairs that led to the street. Faint light from the street lamp near the top of the stairs cast a slanted shadow across the sidewalk and he stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, blinking, looking around, seeing lights on in most of the houses and feeling secure that there was still time to have fun.
   He rotated his shoulders a few times as if loosening them up from heavy work, or getting ready for it, then started walking down the street, his pace quickening as he felt steadier on his feet.
   Kelly was squinting slightly as he spoke to Harry, One thing you cant do is let a broad break ya balls—everyone was nodding -Thats right man. Ya gotta keepem in their place or they’ll shove it in and break it off.
   Yeah, yeah, I know man—they were all unsteady on their feet and leaned heavily against the bar for support while trying to look nonchalant—gettin laid aint worth all that bullshit.
   Ya goddamn right. Ya gotta letem know whos the fuckin boss—they were nodding wisely—hey, I aint bullshittin man—I know man. Im right withya Larry—they start comin on with that, do it my way or else, bullshit an ya gotta givem their walkin papers.
   Hey, right on man. Take it from me, ya either slapem down or cutem loose.
   Harry straightened as much as possible while still supporting himself on the bar and looking cool, Hey, I tolder where to shove her bullshit—shaking his head—I dont understand why shes runnin these fuckin games down all of a sudden.
   O man, you know how these fuckin broads are, shes probably ballin some other cat but wants to keep you around in case it dont work out—they all nodded very wisely.
   Yeah, thats their schtick man.
   Well, I’ll tellya one thing—grabbing his crotch—this is one pair a balls she aint gonna put no strings around, or any other broad!
   Hey!
   Right on!
   They all laughed and poked each other on the shoulder and finished their beers and banged their glasses on the bar for Bob. Their laughter quickly dropped to faint chuckling as Mikey no legs came into the bar, stopped just inside the door and looked around.
   Mike was feeling pretty good by the time he pushed the door open. The rest had refreshed him and the wine he drank before leaving his cellar had revitalized him. He was in the mood for fun, and did not notice that there was a sudden and prolonged decrease in laughter and conversation immediately he entered, the juke box suddenly seeming very loud. He smiled and walked to the bar and waved at Bob who started gingerly toward him, watching Mikes eyes for any hint of trouble. Whatta ya say Bob, giveus a beer, eh? Bob smiled and relaxed when he realized Mike knew who he was and seemed to be alright. He put the beer in front of Mike, smiling, picking up the proper change. Wally been in tonight?
   Bob looked at him for a moment, having been behind the bar when Mike had been in earlier in the evening and broke Wallys thumb. He had seen Mike crazy drunk many times and knew he never remembered what happened so he just shrugged, He was in earlier but left.
   Yeah? Who was he with?
   I dont know—shrugging—maybe Matt and Artie.
   Mike nodded and Bob went to the other end of the bar and the men resumed their previous conversations, the laughter growing in volume and the juke box receding to its proper place. The tension continued to decrease, rapidly, as Mike drank his beer He looked around and noticed Harry and the others and smiled at them and picked up his glass and walked toward them.
   They were leery of drinking with Mike after what had happened earlier that evening. O shit, no legs is coming over.
   Thats okay Ron, just cool it.
   He looks pretty straight, maybe he slept it off.
   I fuckin well hope so, I dont need anymore shit tonight.
   Whatta ya say guys, whats goin on?
   Eh—shrugging—you know Mike.
   Same ol thing. The Mets lost again.
   No shit? Krist, whats with those guys? I missed the game tanight—shrugs—big deal, eh? He chuckled and the others smiled cautiously. Mike finished his beer and put the empty glass on the bar, Comeon, drink up. I’d rather buy one than be one, eh? Mike laughed and the others relaxed and finished their beers.
   They continued drinking and laughing, getting a little drunker with each round, everything that had happened earlier in the evening dissolved by the alcohol and unable to dim the increasing joy that each drink brought.
   Then Wally came in. Larry nudged Ron and nodded toward the door as Wally stopped and looked at Mike who had just finished a beer and was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He saw Wally and his face opened in a quick, wide smile and he waved at him, Hey Wally, comere, Youre just in time for Harry to buy a drink. Mike laughed and walked to meet his brother and put an arm around his shoulder, Where ya been? ya missing all the fun, Bob was in the process of bringing beers for everyone and they all quieted and waited to see what would happen. Mike was happy and chuckling and pushed the beers along the bar to everyone, then picked up his and looked at his brother, Drink up, the brewery needs the barrels. Mike laughed, then took a drink and when he put his glass back on the bar he looked down and noticed his brothers hand. His face fell into a look of bewilderment and he stared at the cast and wire, What happened Wal? What the fuck happened? He finally looked up into Wallys face, his concern bringing tears to his eyes.
   Wally knew that he would be seeing his brother sooner or later and had been trying to prepare himself for the confrontation, but even now did not know what he was going to say. Mike always looked to him for answers, for help, and Mike loved him. Mike had never hurt Wally before, but he had gotten into fights when he was crazy drunk, and never remembered them, and when he came to Wally was always there to help Mike through the remorse and guilt when he found out what he had done, or to protect him from the truth. But now Wally didnt know what to do. If he told him somebody did it to him he would want to know who, and if Wally didnt give him a name sooner or later Mike would decide that somebody walking the street did it and might try and kill them. Sooner or later Mike was bound to get crazy drunk again. And he sure as Krist couldnt tell him he just fell, even Mike wouldnt buy that. Wally didnt know what in hell to do. What would happen if he told Mike the truth? Shit! Wally loved his kid brother. He had told him a thousand fuckin times not to drink and Mike always swore he never would again, but eventually Mike had a beer with the guys, and sooner or later that led to another crazy drunk and trouble, and Wally felt that this would lead to the kind of trouble no one could get Mike out of, that some day he would kill somebody and wouldnt even know he did it. Wally looked into his brothers eyes and saw tears behind the sadness in them and felt Mikes pain, a pain so much more terrible than the pain Wally had felt in his thumb, and that would grow each time he looked at Wallys hand.
   Mike lowered his gaze and once again stared at the cast and the tip of the thumb sticking in the air, the wire going from the tip of one finger to the other. It not only pained him to look at it, but it confused him too. The only thing Mike could see or think about was his brothers hand. He slowly reached down and touched the cast with the tip of his finger, gently, tentatively, as if it were alive and had feelings, like a child touching a turtle for the first time not knowing if he might kill it by pushing too hard on the shell. He stroked and patted it then held it gently in both hands and lifted it—the juke box suddenly went silent and those who knew Mike and Wally watched them until the music once more blared from the multicolored machine—and held it as if he were holding a baby for the first time, Who did it Wally? Who did it? Its nothing Mike. Forget it. Wally took his hand out of Mikes and smiled at him reassuringly. Who did it Wally—his voice louder and more anxious—I’ll killim. Take it easy Mike for Krists sake—Wallys anxiety mounting—its nothin ta get fucked up about. Mike put his arm around Wallys neck, I swear ta God Wally—his voice full of tears—Aint nobody gonna fuck with ya. Aint nobody gonna hurt ya. Wally put his hands on Mikes shoulders, then quickly yanked his injured one down. Im tellin ya Mike ta drop it. Just drop it, okay? Mike was crying and almost hanging on Wallys neck, I cant. I cant let somebody hurtya like that an get away with it. I dont give a shit how fuckin big he is or how fuckin many, I’ll getem. I swear on our Mothers head Wally I’ll—Wally shook his head and finally looked Mike in the eye and spoke as gently as he could through his confusion and fear, You did it Mike. Mike just stared, mouth hanging open, head shaking no. Yeah Mike. Earlier. Right here. Mikes mouth was still hanging open and his head shaking, I couldnt Wally, I couldnt—he looked at Wallys hand and more tears rolled down his cheeks. The tension and apprehension of the evening and the years, the worry and concern for his kid brother knocked down all the walls Wally had built and he almost cried as he shook Mike with his good hand, Jesus Krist Mike, I keep tellinya not to drink like that but you wont fuckin listen to me, I keep tellin ya every fuckin time—Mike was still shaking his head and crying, Wallys voice cracking with an occasional sob—to just take a couple a drinks an cool it but you gotta get stoned an go fuckin crazy and worry the shit outta me until I dont know whats comin down sometimes—Wally shook Mike again as he sobbed—I dont wanna see ya fucked up like this, Mike, Jesus Krist, I dont know what the fuck ta do for ya—Mike was once again staring at Wallys hand, his tears falling from his cheeks onto the cast -listen to me for Krists sake Mike, eh? ya listen to me this time???? Mike slowly raised his head and blinked his eyes, his expression so sorrowful Wally wanted to cry and just hug his brother—Does it hurt Wally, I mean did it,—Mike shrugged—hurt… real bad? Wally was smiling and shaking his head, Naw, naw, I dont feel nothin Mike. They fixed it up one, two, three and—Im sorry Wally, Jesus Krist Im sorry—agony ringing in his voice -I’ll break my own—grabbing his thumb—if thatll help, I—Wally grabbed his hand, No Mike, for Krists sake comeon, eh? Wally smiled and tried to look reassuringly at his brother who stared soulfully at him, I really did it Wally? Wally nodded, Yeah Mike. But its alright. I—I honest ta God did it? Wally nodded his head and gently touched his brother on the shoulder. Mike looked at Wallys hand, head shaking, then put his arms around Wally and hugged him and cried into his shoulder, the others shuffling awkwardly, some averting their eyes trying to ignore the scene, those who didnt know them assuming they were just a couple of maudlin drunks. Mike suddenly turned from his brother and started pounding the bar with his hand, I cant believe it, I cant fuckin believe it -the others stiffened until Mike stopped and just leaned over the bar, head hanging. Wally put an arm around his kid brothers shoulder, Why dont we go out an get some air? After a few seconds Mike raised his head, nodded, and continued to look at the floor as they left the bar, their friends automatically following.
   Mike sat on a car fender, Wally standing next to him. The others stretched. I forget what fresh airs like after a few hours in that joint.
   Yeah. Its the fuckin air conditioner.
   Yeah, it smokes too much. They all chuckled.
   Man, its some night, eh?
   Yeah, its really nice out.
   Why dont ya leave it out?
   Because I dont want anybody steppin on it—they started horsing around and Wally suggested they walk and put his hand on his brothers shoulder, Mike still looking at the ground, shaking his shoulders occasionally in response to the voices that were constantly dinning in his head. From time to time he would look at Wally and tell him he was sorry and Wally would tap him on the shoulder and tell him to forget it, its alright. No more Wally. I swear. No more. And they continued walking, leaving the avenue and walking along the path in the park area bordering the parkway, Harry, Ron, Kelly and Larry, once more feeling the effects of the nights drinking, joking and kidding around as they walked, Mike hearing their laughter and resenting it, not because he didnt want them to be happy, but because he wanted their laughter to somehow ease his pain, the pain that grew in gnawing knots within him, twisting his body and mind with tension, pain that was magnified by his guilt and overwhelming remorse, a pain that increased as he fought accepting the truth that he had broken his brothers hand, yet deep within him he knew he had. The truth continued to settle in and grow and be accepted and as it did Mikes agony increased because he didnt want it to be true. He didnt want to have done that to his brother. He had gotten into fights and didnt remember them, but he didnt give a shit about that. What the fuck did he care about those hardons? But how could he have done that to Wally? How?—hitting his head with his hands—How? How???? How could it happen? He didnt want to hurt his brother and the more he tried to figure what happened the more intense the pain and confusion became, and the more the pain grew the more he tried to figure out what happened and he kept getting deeper and deeper into a black nausea that twisted itself from his gut up to his throat threatening to make him puke, and up to the top of his head until it felt like it was about to be fuckin ripped open, and he was powerless to do anything about the pain or the cause of the pain, all he could do was be victimized by it and be a part of the process without having any control, flailing impotently at the process and pain and trying to wish it all away: everything that had happened, the entire evening, and he kept telling himself that if he could only remember what had happened he could somehow change it, make believe it never happened, but then he would look at Wallys hand and the truth would descend on him like a dull and rusty guillotine and all he could feel was the crushing pain of dying without the release of death, and so he continued walking along the path, watching his feet and the shadow of Wallys hand, hearing painfully the laughter of the others and then he became vaguely aware of another sound that worked its way through their laughter and the sounds of their walking, the sound of cars passing along the parkway, and the screeching in his head; it was the sound of chuckling and giggling and words that were barely audible but the sound was undeniably happy… yeah, thats what the voices said, they said they were happy. He couldnt figure the words out for shit but the voices said they were happy. He raised his head and noticed a young couple in the distance walking in their direction across the grass that sloped to the parkway. They passed through the cone of light from a streetlamp and he could see a guy and a girl, his arm around her waist, slowly walking, their voices happy, happy, and when they passed from the relative brightness near the lamp to the misty aura of the light they stopped and kissed and were quiet for a few moments… and then their happy voices started up again and saying Krist knows what to each other. Mike watched them from the corner of his eye for a few minutes, then raised his head slightly, not wanting anyone to see what he was doing, and kept his eyes trained on them as they approached, ten feet or so off the path, and as he watched, seeing them more and more distinctly as they got nearer, his head got quieter and the grinding pain started to subside and a new excitement wormed its way through his tensed body, and as they drew abreast of them he stopped and watched them, Wally and the others stopping and looking at Mike.
   Mike continued watching them then suddenly turned and looked around and ran to the fence and found an old, splintered piece of 2 x 4, and holding it like a club he walked toward the young couple and as he passed the guys he told Wally, Comeon, youre gonna get laid—and continued down the slope toward the couple. Wally and the others stood still for a moment, Mikes words not registering until they heard him yell at them -COMEON, IM GONNA GETYA LAID WALLY—the couple stopping and turning and looking at Mike as he descended on them waving the 2 x 4—Ya betta get outta here asshole unless ya wanna get ya head bashed in. Were gonna fuck the ass off that cunt—and Mike laughed a sick laugh and the guy stepped forward in front of the girl and started looking around for a way to run when he noticed the other guys running toward them, screaming, MIKE! MIKE! ITS WALLY! Comeon Wally, Im gonna get ya fucked—and the girl started screaming and her boyfriend pushed her and told her to run but she could only hold on to him and scream as Mike stood in front of him waving the 2 x 4 and a couple of guys came up behind him and grabbed the club and a guy with a cast on his hand stood in front of the guy with the club saying something and someone else came over and told him to take his girl and beat it, and the guy put his arms around the trembling girl and they trotted then ran up the slope to the path and to the street and Wally continued to try to reason with Mike who seriously wanted to get a piece of ass for his brother, I mean, what the fuck Wally, it’ll take your mind off ya hand, right? and Wally nodded and did his best to smile as the others stood nervously around wondering if the cops would be there soon and if they would all suddenly end up in the fuckin slammer and wanting very much to get the fuckin hell outta there but didnt want to leave their friends so they stayed and Wally told Mike that he was tired, Its late Mike. I dont feel like gettin laid, okay? But she was a real doll Wally. She probably give ya a good blow job. Yeah, yeah, Mike, but not now, okay? Im fuckin beat Mike an Im tired of all this fuckin shit, ya hear me—his voice getting louder and angrier—I just want to go fuckin home and sleep and forget about this whole fuckin night—Mike nodding his head, Okay, okay, Wally, I didnt mean nothin—Good because Im goin home and I dont give a shit what you do—Wally turned and started walking rapidly—Ive had it with your bullshit. Okay Wally, no offense. Mike quickly caught up with Wally, the others following a few feet behind, hoping to Krist they could get rid of Mike and go back to STEVES and pick up where they left off before Mike fucked up the night. Mike had to almost run to keep up with Wally who refused to look at him or talk to him, and once again the pain and the voices started twisting him, creating a pressure inside that threatened to blow the top off his skull and he tried to vent it by pounding his feet on the pavement but it not only did not relieve the pressure, it seemed to increase it, and soon Mike was having trouble seeing properly as the anxiety caused his head to shake and his vision to blur and he kept telling his brother he was sorry and Wally kept walking rapidly and when they turned a corner they passed a newsstand and Mike suddenly screamed and yanked and tugged the hundreds of pounds of newsstand and eventually wrestled it off the ground and heaved it through the plate glass window of the store, still screaming, his screams piercing through the sound of the broken glass that thundered to the street in the late night stillness, and when the glass had stopped falling Mike still screamed and when he ran out of breath he inhaled and screamed again and the guys stopped and stared, wanting to run like hell but afraid to leave Wally alone with Mike and finally Mike stopped screaming as a head occurred in the window above the store and Wally grabbed Mike and they quickly disappeared around the corner as a voice from the window wanted to know what the hell was going on and the others went around the corner and ran along the avenue as Mike quietly followed Wally home.
   Harry and his friends continued walking rapidly, toward STEVES, but just before they got there Harry said he didnt feel like drinking anymore and left them, wanting to be alone.
   Harry walked down the street not certain where he was going or what he was going to do. He didnt feel like going home so he thought he would just walk around and maybe get his head cleared a bit. He had gone through so many emotions in the last few hours that he wasnt sure how he felt about anything. He wasnt even sure he knew what had happened. He walked along the quiet, tree-shadowed street and suddenly became aware of an urgent need to pee. He stood in the shadows of a tree between two cars and sighed with relief, then chuckled as he remembered the Gothic H he was going to carve in the ice. Shit, it was good to feel his face smile. That crazy Mikey no legs got him so fucked up it seemed like years since he laughed even though he knew it was just a short time ago they were laughing and having a ball… Yeah, I dont need her to have a good time. I had more laughs tonight then Ive had in a long time. He continued walking down the breezeless street, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, suddenly aware of the humid heat. He took a deep breath, Yeah, a lot of laughs…
   No breeze.
   Not even a hint of one. His place would be like an oven. Even with the fan. Maybe I shouldve gone back to STEVES with the guys. A lot cooler. Couldve had a few more laughs. O well… shit…. He heard the sound of a tugboats horn and then another vessel answering and thought of the pier. Yeah. It’d be cooler there, a hell of a lot cooler. And quiet. Probably deserted this time a night. Yeah, good idea. There was a slight spring to his step now, now that he knew where he was going, a destination clearly in mind, a purpose to his walking.
   He walked to the end of the pier and sat down. He was heated from the walk, but there was a breeze, faint but refreshing on his face and arms. He sat quietly and allowed his body to cool down, enjoying the breeze and looking across the bay at the splotches of light on the shore lines, and the little dots of lights of the small harbor craft. He could only make out two ships anchored. Only two. And not much happening on the piers. Not like it used to be. He could remember when the harbor was always active and full of all kinds of ships but now there aint much goin on. Even the 69th Street ferry is gone. Even the old slips are gone. He looked down the pier where the ferry slips used to be, then at the Veranzanno Bridge that made the ferry a memory. Krist, what a gasser that was. Especially on a night like this. Ride to Staten Island, then over to the Battery and back all the way around again and just lean on the rail and feel the breeze and watch the water roll away from the sides of the ferry… Jesus that was great. Natures air conditioning. And they had the guy playing the accordion and singing songs and that bootblack. Jesus, he mustta been there for ever. Wonder what that son of a bitch is doin now. Shit. Aint the same anymore. All changed. Ah, what the hell. She wants to play it that way what do I care. She has a bug upper ass that one, a bug upper ass. She’ll get over it. Probably… How can you be so goofy for a movie??? Yeah, I guess ya cant. Must be something. He shrugged and looked again at the shorelines of Manhattan, Jersey, and Staten Island, watching a ferry going to the Battery. They should bring back the ferry for the summer. Everybody and his brother would want to ride it on a night like this. Just for July and August. Ah well, at least the piers still here. For now. Good ol 69th Street pier. Wonder how old the son of a bitch is? Had a lot of fun here. Right around this spot too. Learned to fish here. Tommy cods, eels, some crabbin. Had a lot a fun here when we were kids. Yeah, some good times…
   Yeah, good times.
   O, what the fuck—his stomach suddenly felt hollow and sick—Rons right, shes ballin some other guy. So its over, whats the big deal? She aint the first… or the last. Got myself in a little too deep. Big deal. Fuck it. He looked down at the dark water and the bits of debris floating out on the ebbing tide, the undertow creating sudden and ephemeral whirlpools around the end of the pier. He looked out a few yards from the corner of the pier. Used to be a mud hole out there. Get your line in there an you always got a bite. Pop used to be able to cast right there and always got a good sized eel. Probably still a good spot… Maybe. Might even be the same water… goes out and comes in, out and in… back and forth… Ah screw it. In a month I wont even remember her name… Probably.
   He stared at the water and the currents eddying around the pilings. Probably the same
   water
   probably

The Sound

   His eyes opened and he stared at the wall. The nightlight flickered and shadows jumped eerily around the 9 x 6 room. He lay still and listened. What woke him? He listened for a sound… Nothing. He looked up at the window. Darkness. There was no hint of dawn. Moving only his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling light. Only the flickering nightlight burned. What time was it? Had he slept one hour? Five hours? No way to tell. He lay on his side and slowly, unconsciously, pulled his legs up to a foetal position as he desperately clutched his pillow. His eyes started to tear as he continued staring at the flickering light, feeling the shadows float through the room. He blinked. His eyes filled with water and when he opened them the light shimmered and the room rolled slowly like a small boat on deep swells. The walls pulsated and undulated, threatening to close in on him. He shivered and blinked rapidly until his eyes dried. The room stilled. Still he heard nothing… the silence hostile.
   Something awakened him, but what? A dream? He tried remembering… Nothing. It couldn't have been a dream…
   He stared at the wall and the leaping shadows, straining to hear something… anything. There was only silence, heavy, ominous. Suddenly he became aware of painful cramps in his hands. He forced his hands open. At first they resisted and continued clutching his pillow. But slowly, painfully, his fingers straightened as he concentrated on the effort. He looked at his hands as the pain slowly subsided. Suddenly he jerked his head up, his vision blurring, wondering why he had bolted up. His body tensed even more as he listened intently…
   Then he heard it. Or did he? It was so faint he couldn't be certain. Was this a dream? Was he still sleeping???? No. He must be awake. The pain in his hands; the flickering light and eerie shadows were real. They had to be real! He had heard that sound. He was sure of that. Wasn't he? It must have been real He straightened his legs slowly and slid them over the side of the bed and sat up. He turned his head until he was looking at the locked door. Or was it locked???? He strained so hard to hear the sound that his body was gradually leaning toward the door. Fearfully he raised his eyes to look through the small window in the door. He sighed audibly, shocked at the unexpected sound. All was dark and shadowless in the hallway. All was normal. Then the sound once again pierced his ears. It chilled him. Why was he so frightened? It didn't make sense. The sound must be real. It couldn't be his imagination. He was safe. There couldn't be anything to fear. And anyway, the door was locked. Locked? He stared at the door. An unbelievable chill, deep within his body, making him shiver. Locked? What could he do if it was open? Where could he hide? There was no place in the small room he could hide, nothing to crouch behind. Just the bed and a small stainless steel stand next to it. If it wasn't locked he could shove it open, look away from the sound and run… Where??? Where? Where was he???? Didn't matter. Couldn't go out there anyway. He shook his head. He knew he couldn't go out there. He had no idea what was out there in the darkness… in the darkness with the sound. He shivered again. He must get to the door and try to see what was out there… Goddam that light! The way it flickered he couldn't be sure the door was closed. He had to find out if it was locked! He lifted his head slightly and leaned further toward the door. No—no, there was no sound. How long had it been since the last time he heard it??? He had no idea. He tried to think about time. He floundered and quickly abandoned the attempt. Then he realized he had no idea what day it was. Month? O God. It's October, isn't it? Yeah. That's right. It's October. Yeah, I'm sure of that. It must be—never ceasing to stare at the door and small window. But it's been so long since the last time he had heard the sound. Too long? Was it outside his door waiting for him? It? It what? It was nothing. Why should anyone… anything… be out there in the dark waiting for him? O God. Please. Please—a whimpering sound coming from a clenched mouth. The fear that there might be something beyond the door was stronger than the fear that kept him on the side of the bed and forced him to silently slide off and stand leaning against it, his eyes never leaving the door. A spasm jerked his body and thrust him forward. He padded, barefoot and silent, to the door. He stopped abruptly just a foot away. He stared. It must be. It has to be. He closed his eyes. O God—O God! GOD!! With his eyes still closed he thrust his arms forward. The sound of the door banging against the lock broke the silence like the clanging of a steeple bell. He eyes popped open and he stared at the door for a moment, fully assimilating the meaning of the sound. He almost collapsed as his tensed body suddenly relaxed with the realization that the door was locked. Locked! He was safe. Safe. Thank God—startled by the sudden sound of his voice. Then his face slowly relaxed into a smile… then a frown. Safe from what? Who? He shrugged. What difference does it make now? The door was locked. He was safe. But what was the sound he had heard? How long ago was it now? Had an hour passed? Or was it only minutes? O well, it didn't make any difference now. He smiled securely as he pushed the door, lightly at first, then harder. Securely locked. And nothing… no one… could break down that door. And anyway, what… or who—could be out there? Not important now. His room was impenetrable. He looked through the window but could only see about 10 feet down the narrow and darkened corridor. He put his face against the glass, his face filling the small recess. He shielded his eyes with his hands. Soon he could make out the shapes of the dirty linen baskets against the opposite wall and then the signs above them. He strained his eyes yet could see nothing else. Nothing. He turned his head and looked down the wide, main hallway running perpendicular to the corridor. Nothing. No one… His head jerked around as he once more heard the sound. It seemed louder this time. Was it closer? Was that why it was louder? Or was it simply because he was closer to the source? Or was it closer to him? The door? The old, undeniable fear returned. Then slowly the terror subsided. Whatever else might be, he knew the door was locked. That was the only important thing. He was safe. He stared down the corridor for many endless minutes, a vague thought disturbing him. Suppose they had a key. They could get in. But no one was after him. He didn't have to worry about that. He was—there it was again! He peered harder. Nothing. Was it louder? He wasn't certain. If it was moving up the hallway it was moving slowly. Very slowly. He tried to think what it sounded like, but nothing came to mind. It was just a sound. That was it. Of course. That's all it was. It was only a sound. Nothing to fear. Didn't something have to cause a sound? He shook his head, fighting against the logic of this new idea as it tried to force itself and the consequences upon him. No! No! Again he pushed against the door and felt comforted as it resisted the pressure. He leaned even harder against the glass, eyes still shielded with his hands, trying to see a few more feet, a few more inches down the hallway. Then he leaped back from the door and fell over the end of the bed as the lights suddenly went on. He twisted around and stared at the door. He felt his pajamas stick to his sweaty skin. Then he heard the sounds of voices and footsteps coming from the brightly lighted hallway. Faint light slanted through the window over his bed. He looked around the brightly lighted and shadowless room, then fell back on the bed and slept.
   Chow time. Chow time.
   His sleep had been dreamless and so deep it took many seconds for him to open his eyes. He heard the sound of the large food trays and pans being banged around in the dining hall.
   Chow time. He raised his head and looked into the hallway. His door was open and two other inmates walked past on their way to breakfast. The normal sounds of morning were loud and made him jump from the bed. He staggered slightly as he joined the others on their way to the dining hall. Their voices and laughter weren't loud, but the sound of other voices and the activity around him helped prevent any thought of the previous night from disturbing him.
   He joined the others standing in line against the far wall in the dining room. The six seats at each of the three stainless steel tables were occupied. He leaned against the wall as his legs threatened to collapse. He wasn't conscious of what anyone was saying, but the sound of voices and the presence of the others was comforting. It helped keep his mind blank. When a seat was available he was given a tray of food, and as he walked to the table he noticed the coffee spilling over the side of the cup. The few feet to the table seemed endless and he gratefully sat down sighing deeply. The sugar was pushed to him and he automatically poured some in his coffee and cereal. He stirred his coffee staring at his tray for several seconds. Then he noticed bread on the tray of the man opposite him. There was none on his. He looked behind him where the food was handed out and he noticed the bread. He looked at the bread for a few seconds, then started to stand, but sat back down. Somehow it didn't seem to be worth all the trouble of walking the few feet to the bread. He turned back to his coffee cup and choked it with both hands, then lowered his head to it. The coffee spilled over into his eggs, but he managed to drink half of it. He put the cup down and sat up straight. He stared at his shaking hands.
   Give it up fellas. Give it up. It's been fun, but it's time to run.
   The man opposite him got up and carried his tray over to the garbage can, dumped what was left into it, then put the tray on the small cart. He followed, automatically doing the same, then wandered back to his room.
   He stood just inside the door and looked around the room—at the bed, the stainless steel stand next to it, then up at the window over the bed. A small bare room. Nothing unusual, yet, at the same time, nothing familiar. He felt as if he had never been here before. But it was only a short time before that he had left this room. He had been in this room before. How long? The thought was vague and rushed through his mind. He glanced at the commode, the wash basin and mirror over it. He looked in the mirror. His face was haggard and bearded. He rubbed his chin with a shaking hand. If he could remember when he shaved last, he might be able to figure approximately what day it was. He tried to think but no matter how hard he tried to force his mind it was useless. A thought would almost start to form, then be quickly smothered by a thick haze. He blinked and continued staring at the mirror.
   He turned as the door was closed and locked. He glanced at the door, stared at it quizzically for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and sat on the side of the bed. He opened the drawer of the bedside stand. It was empty except for a few grains of tobacco. He stared at it a second, then closed it and lay down. He looked at the light on the ceiling, then furtively at the wall. He frowned, nodded his head then sat up and looked at the door and the small window in it, his frown deepening. What was it he should remember? What was it that was stuck in his mind… that was struggling to make itself known? He shook his head and lay back down. He closed his eyes and drifted through a half sleep. It was a good bed. And a thick comfortable pillow. The covers were up around his neck, his hands clutching the edge. He snuggled into the bed, the comfort of a bed and clean sheets almost forgotten, bringing ancient memories vaguely to mind. His bearded face relaxed into a smile as he felt the cool water of the stream on his feet as he stretched out on the grass, his pole beside him. You will never catch any fish like that son. I know Dad, but I just feel like hanging my feet in the stream. I can always get some fish later. The older man looked at his young son and smiled. Maybe you're right Roy. It is a nice day. He continued to look at his only child with, perhaps, a slight hint of envy as the bright sun seemed to make his son's face and blond hair glow. The stream moved with the smallest of sounds, the slight rustling of the leaves on the trees barely audible. Birds flew to and fro deep within the branches and chirped and sang contentedly as they floated and fluttered from tree to sky and sky to ground. Butterflies hovered over groups of buttercups shining amidst green grass.
   The boy let his feet hang still as the cool water flowed over them. The warmth from the sun penetrated deep within him. The father smiled, he too responding to the surroundings—the bright sun and the pleasant sounds of a summer's day. It's nice to just lie in the sun and look at the blue sky. He looked back at the stream and the reflection of sky and trees rippled by the movement of the warter. An image drifted into sight and he looked up as a bird reached the apex of its climb—hesitated—sharply defined against the cloudless sky, then banked to the left, glided a few feet, then beat its wings and flew from the man's sight. He looked back at his line where it angled into the water.
   The ground felt soft and warm to the boy as he looked straight up, not really conscious of the sky, but vaguely aware of the smell of the earth and grass, hearing the sounds that floated pleasantly through the air. He wiggled his toes and put a blade of grass between his teeth. Maybe in a little while he'd fish. Maybe.
   The clanging of the lock dragged him from his reverie. Come and get your medication, Mr. Rawls. Huh? – What? Your medication. Here, extending the small paper cup. He got up abruptly and stepped quickly to the door. She emptied the cup into his hand. Go ahead and take them. He filled a cup with water then swallowed the pills. He looked at her quizzically as she started to close the door. Aaa, how long have I been here? Do you feel alright Mr. Rawls? He thought for a second. I think so. A little shaky. Well the medication will help. He nodded his head and went back to bed as the door was once again locked. He plopped on the side of the bed, then jerked his head toward the door and started to speak. His mouth remained open for a moment, a deep frown on his face, then he shrugged and lay back down on the bed.
   He stared at the ceiling, blinking his eyes, then felt something in the pocket of his pajamas as he scratched his shoulder. It was a brown envelope He opened it and took out a yellow form. The first thing he noticed were the words COUNTY JAIL. He gazed at it for a moment, then looked up, his eyes half closed as he tried to think… There were many small boxes on the form with printed titles at the'top and handwritten numbers and words in them. He stared for many minutes at the box: DATE BOOKED. The date was clear. There was no mistaking it, but what was today's date? If he knew that he would know how long he had been here. He continued to stare at the date thinking as hard as he could, then suddenly, as realization penetrated his mind, started counting on his fingers. So that's what month it is. And it's almost over. Again he forced his memory, trying to recall what month he could last remember. The only thing he was certain of was that it was warm. How many days… or months had he forgotten? Trying to remember upset him so he simply let his mind go blank and started to relax. He curled up and drifted through a half slumber until he once again heard the lock clanging and the door opening.
   Chow time.
   He sat up slowly, then slid from the bed and followed the others to the dining hall.
   Automatically falling in line he shuffled along with the others, hearing the sounds of feet, voices and the banging of pans and trays. His tray shook as his cup was filled with coffee. He walked slowly and carefully to the table, but still the coffee spilled over on to the tray. He toyed the food with his spoon then scooped it up and raised it toward his mouth. Halfway up the food fell off the shaking spoon and splattered on the tray. He stared at the empty, wavering spoon, then tried again. He heard faint laughter as he tried again and failed. There seemed to be sound all around him, but he ignored it and concentrated on the elusive food. It was hard, but he did manage to eat some of the food and drink some coffee. By the time he got back to his room he was exhausted and again fell on the bed. There was something he wanted, but it was many minutes before he realized it was a cigarette. He sat up and noticed the door was still open and the other men were slowly walking back to their rooms. He went to the door and asked each man for a smoke, his voice weak, sounding distant. One of the men gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. Feel better today? He half nodded and grunted an answer. You were in bad shape when they brought you in yesterday. Yesterday? Looking at him. Don't you remember? He tried to grin. The man smiled. Yeah, that wine can get to you after awhile—OK. Back to your room. The man left, and he backed into his room as the door was closed and locked.
   He sat on the edge of the bed as he smoked. Been here since yesterday. County Jail. Yeah, that's right, I remember. County Jail. Must have been arrested the night before last if I got up here yesterday. By the time they finish booking you and everything it's a long time. His face flashed into a smile. Yeah. I remember this place. The County Jail Hospital. Self-satisfaction beaming from his face as he congratulated himself for remembering so much. He still couldn't remember being arrested, or where it had occurred. Many months still forgotten, but that knowledge was easily avoided by continuing to think about what he could remember. It was a rare accomplishment lately to remember with such clarity.
   Suddenly he looked at the door and strained, for a second, to remember something. But what? The hell with it. Not important. He took a final drag on the cigarette and tossed the butt in the commode.
   Once more he luxuriated as he stretched out on the bed. The sun still warm on his face and the water cool on his bared feet. But some clouds drifted through the blue sky and then seemed to fall to earth. Or did a mist rise from the rapidly cooling earth? And what happened to the soothing sounds that had floated through the air, and the gentle breeze that had feathered his face? Then the silence was disturbed with an unfamiliar sound. It seemed to come from the clouds, or somewhere. It couldn't be traced or identified. It was just a sound. Slowly raising himself he lifted his feet from the now silent and cold water, his fishing pole still beside him. He looked toward his father but he seemed to be dissolving in the rapidly increasing mist. He jumped up, wanting to run to Daddy, but he barely moved, his body floating slowly up, then taking many minutes to float to the ground. He called to his father, tears streaming down his cheeks, trying to extend his arms to reach Daddy, but his arms took hours to start to raise and when they did they suddenly were straight down by his sides. Daddy! Daddy! The mist didn't whirl, it was simply there, as was the sound in the air, getting thicker and more impenetrable. The sound didn't get any louder, but it seemed to be more piercing, seeming to remain in his head, increasing and increasing… DADDY!!! An endless screech, the arms still refusing to respond, Daddy becoming vaguer and vaguer… tears still flowing down his face, panic making breathing difficult… A deep agonizing groan dragged him from sleep. He shook his head and sat up, his face slightly stiff from dried tears. He thought hard trying to identify the sound that woke him. Panic spun his head—he looked at the light, the window, the door, vague memories tormenting him, yet never defining themselves. The light burned bright and constant; the corridor outside his door still illuminated. It's ok. Everything's ok. The sound of his voice startled him slightly. The panic subsided, but the vague uneasiness still pervaded him. He sat still, staring at the wall, on the verge of tears…
   The sound of the door being opened forced his head around. Medication, Mr. Rawls. She put the cup of pills on the sink. The door was slammed shut. He stepped over to the sink and picked up the cup. The sound of the pills rattling in the cup brought a frown to his face. He stared at the jumping pills for a moment before he put them in his mouth, filled the cup with water then slowly raised it, lowered his head and drank the water. Turning, he started to go back to the bed, then stopped and put the cup on top of the sink, nodding his head with satisfaction at the cup before going back to the bed.
   His preoccupation with the vague feeling that there was something he should remember lasted through dinner and the remainder of the evening. He tried so hard to remember what was on the fringe of his consciousness that it was painful, the effort so enervating that shortly before the lights were turned out he fell into an exhausted sleep.
   The sweat prickling his sides and burning his eyes forced him to rub them and shake his head. He turned slightly and fell back against the door, a fearful cry forced from his throat as his reflection leaped at him from the mirror, the staring eyes burning back at him unfamiliar. Many moments passed before he realized that the sound frightening him came from his throat as he fought to get air in his lungs… the recognition eventually registering as he stared at his image. He tentatively touched the red spot on his forehead, marked by pressing his head against the window in the door. He leaned against the door, vaguely aware of the leaping shadows and the sound from the flickering night light. Then slowly he became aware of where he was. He stared at the empty bed and crumpled linen—then swiftly turned around, his head hitting the door. Quickly he turned around again, again falling against the door. The sound from the stuttering light more frightening than the spastic shadows rolling through the room. The crawling sweat stung, yet he couldn't move his hand to wipe his eyes. Eventually the pain in his chest and the feeling of suffocation forced an end to his paralysis. He deliberately took a few deep breaths until his breathing was almost normal. Many times he looked at the short space between his bed and where he leaned against the door. He felt sure he was leaning against the door—he must be, he had to be—but the only thing he could remember was sitting on the edge of the bed. Maybe he was still there—somehow—yet he could feel the door against his back. He couldn't be sitting on the bed. Slowly he reached back, his eyes closed, and touched the door. He opened his eyes. He looked at the bed. It was empty. He must be standing here leaning against the door. THE DOOR! THE DOOR!
   His body jerked spastically. Something was familiar. He whimpered as a battle screamed in his head and something fought to be remembered. He wanted to get back to his bed, pull the sheet over his head and blank the sound and mayhem from his mind, but movement was impossible. He tried leaning forward to force himself to move, but fear continued to paralyze him. If only he could.
   ooohhh… ooohhh, the whimpering cry wrenched pathetically from his twitching mouth. He stumbled around, fell against the wall and slid to the floor never ceasing his whining as he curled in a corner, the shuffling sound still resounding in his head, trying to disappear in the corner as the memory of the previous night suddenly saturated his mind. A blubbering, simpering NO slobbered from his lips. He wanted to dissolve as he pushed harder into the corner; yet, too, he tried desperately to reach to someone unseen for comfort, but his arms remained wrapped tightly around his chest.
   He remained huddled in the corner until the sound stopped reverberating in his head. Then all was silent. All was silent save the flickering light. Even his breathing. The distraction of watching the shadows tumble about the room helped calm him, as did the sound clicking from the light. Time was meaningless, non-existent, as his arms slowly loosened from around him and ended up resting on his crossed legs. He sat thus for many minutes……
   Eventually he raised his head and looked up toward the small window in the door. As terrified as he was of standing and looking through the window, he was more terrified of not knowing what might be out there. He continued to sit in the corner weighing his fears—then his eyes brightened slightly with remembrance. He pushed against the door tentatively—looked at it—shoved it again, harder, then leaned his weight against it as he slowly and fearfully raised himself to his feet and approached the window.
   Oh please God, Please. Don't let it be there. It has to be silent out there. It just has to be. The shadows mottled his face as he got closer and closer to the window, not stopping until his face was pressed hard against the glass. Sweat continued to trickle and the light flickered noisily.
   He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tighter until they ached. He listened… listened…
   the only sounds that of the light and his breathing. His lids slowly separated and he became conscious of the gloom of the darkened corridor. Soon his eyes were accustomed to the darkness and familiar objects and the silence eased some of the tension in his body. Maybe he hadn't heard it. Heard what? If he had, what did it sound like? If he couldn't remember anything about the sound then maybe it didn't exist. The empty bed was reflected in the window. It's still empty so he must be leaning against the door. Yeah, he was here looking through the window trying to see down the corridor. But that doesn't mean there's a sound out there. No matter how real this is, it doesn't mean it's out there. But what was he doing here?
   He knew he had been in the bed. Of this he was certain. Of course he was. Just look at the way the linen was all messed up. Yeah, it's only a few feet, a few steps, from the side of the bed to the door, but that doesn't mean anything either.
   But how—Uhhh—Pain shocked him as the sound once again reached his ears and his body stiffened. Then all was silent. Not even the clicking of the light could be heard. Holding his breath he remained pressed against the door, conscious of nothing, not even the pain in his stiffened body. He listened intently, his body starting to twitch. His vision blurred as his head vibrated violently. His muscles cramped so painfully that he instinctively forced his body to relax before it shattered from the tension.
   Then it came again, a little louder. And a little closer? It seemed to be. His body trembled as he tried to figure just how close it was. Or how far away. Yes. Away. He would think of it as far away. But that would mean it was huge if it was far away and he could still hear it so plainly. No matter how he thought of it, he could find no comfort. His whimpering was louder than the flickering light.
   He stood petrified against the door. Again time was suspended until it was moved by the sound piercing the dark silence. Tears dropped from his eyes and he clutched at the door. This time there was no doubt about its being louder. And too he started to recognize it, but he fought desperately against this recognition. His head was shaking as he continued to fight and blubber. He tried to speak, but only an incoherent groan was agonizingly wrenched from his throat.
   The glass in the window was wet with his tears as the sound shuffled closer and louder, his pleading increasing in intensity and volume in his mind, only a wet blubbering coming from his mouth.
   His arms were stretched above him, his hands still tapping pathetically against the door as he slowly, still whimpering, folded to the floor, slowly stretching out on his back as tears rolled down his cheeks, spittle dribbling from his mouth. He fell into the release of unconsciousness.
   Light stabbed his eyes and he moved slightly and smiled for a moment. Then he frowned as the sun failed to warm him. And why was the ground so hard and bare of grass? And the sounds that should be floating through the air were missing.The silence was startling.
   He opened his eyes, then closed them immediately as they focused on the ceiling light. He turned his head and opened his eyes again. His vision was filled with the grayness of the door. He looked up and saw the sink. He could feel the coolness of the concrete floor and understanding slowly seeped into his mind. He sat up, hesitated for a second as he looked at the bed, then stood up. He looked all around the room—once, twice, then satisfied he sat on the edge of the bed. He shook his head… shook it again, harder, as if shaking off a blow. Yeah, this was his room. He remembered it. Yet something was wrong. But what? He remembered being in the room and it hadn't changed. But he had been on the floor…
   The hell with it. He had awakened so many times in unfamiliar places with no memory of how he had gotten there that he just shook it off. Yet he felt something was different this time. What in the hell was it that kept nagging at him???? It couldn't be anything. He was in a locked room and he wasn't drunk. No, there couldn't be anything wrong. He went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He wiped at his face with a towel, then sat back on the edge of the bed until the door was opened and he went to the dining room.
   All through the day he responded automatically and un-questioningly to the calls for medication and food. In between he sat on his bed still feeling uneasy about something. Usually his mind was blank, or at least he couldn't remember thinking about anything. But now there was something bothering him. O hell, it's nothing. Better to concentrate on the goddamn itch that was bugging him. He looked at the red streaks and blotches on his hands and arms. He looked at his legs covered with the same angry red streaks. He examined them carefully. Ain't a damn bug anywhere. The sound of his voice startled him for a second, but he simply shrugged and continued speaking aloud, as if he were talking to someone sitting opposite him. Again and again he tried to find the lice that he knew were crawling all over him, always without success. He scratched—hands, arms, chest, every part of his body he could reach. He scratched so hard he drew blood from the back of his hand. What the hell is that? The sons of bitches bit me so hard I'm bleeding—looking at the small drop of blood. Ain't never had nothing like this before. Can't even see the bastards. Go ahead you bastards, crawl your asses off. I don't give a good goddamn. And what the hell you laughing at you lousy bastard? Yeah, that's it. You better leave I dont need any of your shit. At least I know what a clean bed is. That's more than you can say… Oh bullshit. Go on. Get the hell out of here -waving his arm. Wise ass. It's just an itch. That's all. Just a damn itch—scratching and scratching, the back of one hand smeared with blood. He rubbed his face with both hands, pressing hard on his burning eyes, and shook his head.
   He lay down, frowning for a moment, thinking, but nothing defined itself so he let his face relax and closed his eyes. He continued scratching as he drifted toward oblivion. He tossed and mumbled as an image started to form in the mist over his head. The features weren't distinct, but he was aware of a full thick beard and felt accusation burning into him. The image started to become more distinct as he gradually penetrated the fringe of unconsciousness. He mumbled louder and struggled back and forth on the bed as he fought the accusing eyes of the image. He screamed again and again, the sound of his terrified voice loud in his head, but no sound passed his lips. He continued to fling his body from side to side, his screaming voice continuing to pierce his mind, until he hit the corner of the bedstand, hard, with the back of his hand, the pain quickly yanking him awake. His breathing was rapid and shallow as he waited for the fear to drain from him.
   After many minutes he became aware of the pain in his hand and sat up and started rubbing it. Soon, he didn't know when, he stopped rubbing and was scratching. Later he was still trembling, unaware that he was scratching all over with both hands. There was no attempt at thought, remembering or understanding. Only the sound of his pleading voice preventing a complete collapse. Was it sweat or tears that moistened his face? Or both? He covered his face with his hands, then looked at his moist palms. I don't know why it's raining. Every time I want to do something it rains, the rain suddeny turning into a downpour and roaring from the heavens drowning his screams. He watched as the young boy ran from the brook into the trees. He heard nothing as he ran and stumbled toward the swaying trees. He felt his pounding heart and saw his father vaguely through the cascade of rain, his arms waving and yelling to the fleeing boy to stay away. He continued to run through the trees, then suddenly seemed suspended as lightning cracked and flashed, a huge oak splitting and groaning to the ground, his father disappearing in the fiery flash and smoke.
   He rocked back and forth on the side of the bed, face covered with reddened hands, trying to whine away the image. He lowered his hands, still rocking, and stared at the wall until he saw the floating shadows and the sound of rain and lightning faded away. He scratched harder and harder. It's just that my skin's dry, you stupid son of a bitch. I ain't got no damn bugs. And anyway it's none of your damn business. Get lost. He nodded at the wall. He's nothing but a big mouth. I'm not afraid of the rain. I'm not afraid of nothing. You just watch. I'll show them. And anyway, I don't care. Let them say what they want. I don't care. The back of both hands were seeping blood, his head continually nodding, as he rambled on. What do you want… the shadows suddenly started sliding down the wall as the lights went out and the night light flickered. He watched the shadows and faint splotches of light floating from one form into another. He scratched a thigh with one hand, a cheek with the other. Ha -hehehe -hahahahaha—Yeah. That's it. Go getim.
   HA HA HA HA HA HA
   His laugh dissolved into a giggle as Mickey Mouse butted Donald Duck with his antlers. Then Donald fell to the floor and jumped on a motorcycle and roared under the bed. Mickey leaped from the wall onto his motorcycle, but it wouldn't start. He leaned over, anxiously watching Mickey kicking the starter. Comeon Mickey, comeon, Hurry up. Getim, Getim, bouncing up and down.
   BA ROOOMMM
   ROORMMMM
   BRRUPPPPP
   UPPPP
   A ROOMMMMM
   That's it Mickey. He's under the bed, getim, getim. Mickey roared off with a screech of burning tires. He leaned all the way over, clapping his hands as Mickey disappeared under the bed. Then Donald roared out from under the end of the bed and leaned into a sharp turn, just missing the door. Mickey quickly followed. They raced around the room, under the bedstand, the bed, up one wall, down another, and across the ceiling. He fell back on the bed, twisting in all directions as he watched the pursuit with bouncing glee.
   Abruptly there was silence as they disappeared under the bed. He leaned over and waited for a few minutes, then slid off the bed, kneeled on the floor and looked under it. Come out. Come on fellas. Come on out. He stared into the corner, then slowly scanned the entire area, reaching under the bed as he flattened himself on his stomach. Where are you? What happened, Mickey? Why did you stop? We were having fun. Please come… he froze, his body rigid as he lay motionless on the floor, his head and arms under the bed listening… listening…
   then he scrambled under the bed as the sound once again shattered the stillness. He huddled under the bed, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. A low wail bubbled in his throat as the sound shuffled closer and closer… louder and louder. He rolled on the floor trying to compress himself into an invisible ball and disappear into the wall. He scrambled so desperately that he banged his head into the wall again and again and crashed into the underside of the bed, the sound shuffling closer and closer.
   Then he heard it. Distinctly. And everything suddenly started strangling him: the previous nights; the dreams; the warm sun and cool brook; the song of birds and gentle breezes; the sudden stinging of the flooding rain, the lightning and the groaning splitting of the tree and the gagging smell of smoke. It all descended on him as the sound threatened to crush the door. And with it a new sound, a pelting sound of rain falling on leafy trees.
   The bed bounced wildly as he continued to scramble until he once more froze and just screamed, then suddenly bolted up, the bed falling over on its side, as the sound was no longer one of rain on leaves, but that of dirt falling on a wooden box. His piercing screams grew louder and echoed through the corridors…
   The orderlies and nurse rushed to his room and looked through the window, then quickly opened the door.
   His screeching became louder as he saw the sound peering at him through the window. He curled into the corner behind the overturned bed, tears streaming from his eyes as the door opened and the sound started in.
   They stood looking at him for a moment, then one of the orderlies rushed away, returning quickly with a restraining sheet.
   His feet scratched madly against the floor as he once more screeched hysterically and cringed into the wall as the sound came toward him, partially hidden by a white mist. . .
   Then it was silent. Its work accomplished.

Im Being Good

   Jan. 6
   Dear Harold:
   we get pills 4 times a day and it makes me very drowsy. I am having trouble writing, we have to stay awake all day and its hard, my eyes hurt all the time. I dont know how long exactly Ive been here but they dont let you lay down during the day. the place is locked where they keep the beds. Its all sort of like a big long room with small rooms, they get us up early in the morning, the trees are bare and there are lots of birds I can see them from the window, they almost look like funny leaves.they make a lot of noise bird noise. I think I saw a doctor sometimes but I dont know, he talked funny, the birds are very noisy I think before daylight they make a lot of noise, when they wake us up a woman comes and yells and I worry the sun wont come up. Im so tired, the sun will come up wont it harold?
   Jan. 10
   Dear Harold:
   I dont think Im so confused today. I wish I didnt have to take the medicine it makes me so tired I feel so sick in my stomach all the time. O I wish I could sleep for a long time, but Im not hungry, but sometimes a little bit I feel like eating but I cant chew it hurts my jaws or something to chew, they ache and the ears. I cant seem to hear so good, was I hearing good when you visited? I hope I was hearing good and heard you and the children together, they looked so nice in their dresses and roberts new clothes. I hope they get nice things for Christmas, they could use some clothes. O it makes me sad they dont have new clothes. I mean brand new clothes for the holidays, but we had a nice visit, but I miss everyone. I wish the children could come and see me. but they wont let them why wont they let them visit me? Im their mother I know I am. they look like me dont they? they call me mommy, but we had a nice talk didnt we harold? it was a nice visit and we talked, and you looked so nice, and I liked the candy bars you brought I think I ate them all already. O harold you did visit? I know my eyes hurt so much and Im so tired but you did visit didnt you harold? didnt you please.
   Jan. 12
   Dear Harold:
   I feel very cold, the birds were so loud today they chased the sun away, its still dark so dark I can feel it in my stomach, and in my bones its so cold because the sun didnt come up. I wish it would come up and be warm. I dont like it so cold.
   Jan. 16
   Dear Harold:
   We cant sleep during the day. theres no chairs. I sneaked into a corner and I think I sleeped but they caught me and made me get up. you see theres lots of us in the room. Its big and has some great big wooden benches, you cant pick them up or even hardly move them I dont think. They let us out sometimes to go pee pee but I dont think some people go there, we are in this room all day. I think they play music. Theres a couple of girls they walk around all day. I think Ive been in this room before. I dont think this is the first day. Maybe for lots of days. I dont know they dont tell me but its warmer today, and the birds were noisy this morning very noisy but its warmer anyway. Why is that harold? how come its warm and theres day light when the birds screamed this morning? I think they scream every morning, its so terrible its like a million zillion monkeys or little babys making funny noises only its not the same but every morning when its still dark they make a terrible racket and then this woman comes around and screams to get up and sometimes bangs the bed. but we dont have to walk far to the eating place its just outside. I think and the showers too sometimes. I can get by the window for a while and I see people walking around outside, it looks cold.
   Jan. 26
   Dear Harold:
   Im pretty sure Ive written other letters. I cant seem to remember too well. I think I have some from you which I read today, but I dont seem to remember them but Im glad you wrote. I dont remember the holidays but I hope the children had fun and liked the tree and santa. I wonder how come I dont remember the holidays? I guess maybe I was in here I dont think I know how long. I think they said I came here the day before the day before Christmas eve. I know it was something about Christmas or Christmas eve but I cant remember if it was Christmas eve or the day before. O Harold I didnt want to miss Christmas eve again I really didnt. I wanted to be home I honestly to goodness did want to be home with my family with you on Christmas eve so we could fill the stockings and put up the tree and put the presents around, and the lights I love the lights on the tree with the big white angel on top and the blue light under it. O remember how Bobby clapped his hands the first time he saw the angel, he thought it flew to the top of the tree and wanted it to fly down, and he waited and waited and Im sorry harold please forgive me for not being home on Christmas eve. how are the children? are they alright? did they have a good Christmas? did the gramas and granpas make big over them? I hope it was a good Christmas, did you eat lots of nice pies and stuff. I hope the children had a good time, are they alright? O Harold I wish you would write, how are you?
   Jan. 28
   Dear Harold:
   There are so many of us in this room. Have you seen it! when you were here? I dont think so I think they dont have visitors here only in the visiting room where you sit with your visitors, there are a lot of us in the room and some of them are so angry and growl and sometimes hit. I think maybe some of them are bad. but Im being good, the attendants call them bad and take them out someplace and sometimes they scream but I guess youve never seen this room, theres a window on the door, its always locked, we are put in here right after breakfast except if we have a shower and sometimes we can brush our hair, sometimes I get up early enough to brush my hair, the birds are always making noises before sunrise, its an awful racket and sometimes I get up before the attendant comes and screams to get up and brush my hair, at least I know I did it this morning, they dont let you have a comb but I dont like one anyway. I think maybe Ive gotten up a couple of times and brushed my hair before breakfast. Im trying to eat like they tell me so I can get some strength and go home. Im sorry I missed the holiday but they said if I eat and get strong I can go home and even if I wasnt home for Christmas eve and the holidays. I could maybe be alright to go home for easter. If not for good maybe at least anyway on a pass. I wish I wasnt here. I dont like it here. Im scared. I wish I was home. I think its the pills that make me so tired. Im being good, its different ones now. theyre green. Im not so tired but sometimes I just wish I could lie down and take a nap even just a little nap. its so hard to move I can hardly lift my feet sometimes. I just sort of shuffle and these funny slippers they give us keep coming off. O how are the children? I miss them so much. I wish they didnt run around so much. I hope mother doesnt let them run around so much back and forth all day. tell them I miss them and give them a big kiss from me and make sure theyre quiet, they wont bother you to get upset.
   Feb.4
   Dear Harold:
   There was a terrible big fight here last nite. after they opened the doors to the dormitory where we sleep, they open them I think about 8 oclock and you can go to bed after night time pills, one of the women walks around the room all day, the room we're locked in all day, and growls and swears and they dont seem to growl at anyone but just sort of to themselves, they frighten me. I wish they were somewhere else. I try and watch them all day so they cant hurt me but sometimes Im so sleepy I cant keep my eye on them, and sometimes they just scream out loud and slap the air like windmills or maybe its not all of them but only the one, the one I was telling you about who started the big fight, she suddenly grabbed another woman and accused her of taking her Sunday shoes and started to strangle her and the woman started hitting her and we all screamed and some of them started pounding on the door but they wouldnt open the door and it was really terrible and I was scared to death but I was good, and the woman kept choking her and finally the attendants came in and grabbed the women and dragged her away but the strangling lady wouldnt stop screaming about her Sunday shoes and she starting hitting the attendants, and so the attendants dragged her into a room and kept her there for awhile and there was an awful commotion and when they brought her out she was in a straightjacket and couldnt stand and they dragged her down the hall but they wouldnt let us watch, they put us all back in the room and locked the door. I didnt see her today, a lady whispered to me that they put her in a dungeon way way down under the building. I dont think I believe that.
   Feb. 10
   Dear Harold:
   They let me watch television for a while last night. It was nice, its a nice room with regular chairs, you know, lounge chairs and those other plastic ones. I sat in a plastic chair, but if I get to the t.v. room earlier I might be able to get a regular sitting chair, it was kind of relaxing. I mean everyone seemed to be quiet and some of the ladies were sleeping, mostly the ones in the easy chairs, it didnt seem fair that they took up the really good chairs and slept. I wish they would let them go to bed and then maybe I could have one of those chairs but maybe if I get there earlier tonight, theyre going to let me go every night, most of the people there are from the open wards, were in what they call the locked ward because were locked in all day. theres only 3 of us allowed from the locked ward, were being good, the people on the open wards have a lot of places they can walk around. I think they can even go outside but its cold now. theres a canteen where you can get things and they can go there. I think they also have a movie sometimes and other things, a library too. maybe if I keep being good theyll put me on an open ward and I can get one of those nice big easy chairs to sit in. during the day too. how are you?
   Feb. 15
   Dear Harold:
   It was a nice visit, thank you for coming on Valentines Day. you look so handsome in your suit, and thats my favorite tie. Im so glad you wore it. I was really sorry when the visiting time was over, its always so sad to see all those people walking down the path to the cars and buses, we stay by the window when they let us and watch the visitors go. sometimes we stay there a longtime afterwards, they tell us its not good to do that, that we upset ourselves but its so hard to leave the window even after theres nobody there anymore. I watched a candy wrapper blow down the walk and across the street. I watched it all the way to the fence. I couldnt see if it went through the fence. Im still allowed to go to the open ward at night, now right after supper, we sit in the chairs and talk or just sit. I like the television too. there was some funny programs on last night, we laughed a lot. at least some of us did. I guess its not such a loud laugh but we do laugh, sometimes some ladies just sleep. I dont seem to be as sleepy as I was. Im only getting 2 little pills a day now. I hope you can visit soon. I miss you. its been so long since Ive seen you. I know its hard with kids yelling and screaming and running around, maybe in a bigger place, they wont upset you. are you feeling better?
   Feb. 20
   Dear Harold:
   I was going to wait until your visit to tell you the good news but I cant wait so Im writing, theyre letting me out on the open ward during the day. I still have to come back here to the locked ward to sleep but during the day I can stay on the open ward, its sort of a trial basis and if Im good it will become permanent, isnt that wonderful? Im really excited, today was my first day. I walked around and its so nice, nobody was growling or screaming like those other ladies and there are chairs to sit in and books to read if you can stay awake, they have jigsaw puzzles too. And you can go to the bathroom any time you want to. anytime, and I am going to go to occupational therapy too. I promise not to make any more wallets or book marks, maybe just a new belt for Bobby. I know O.T. doesnt seem like much but its something to do to break the boredom, it gets so tedious, but they have something new theyre going to try starting next week, its some kind of writing class. I dont know what kind of writing but theyll provide all the supplies. I think lm getting better. I hope easter hurries up and gets here, maybe you can come see me soon.
   Feb. 27
   Dear Harold:
   It seems like so long since We written, has it been? I havent kept track. I am looking forward to your visit, it will be good to hold hands though I must confess I feel embarrassed in the visiting room, youll look so sexy in your 3 piece suit and my favorite tie. and just like I promised Im doing everything they tell me and being real good. Im sure theyll let me home for easter maybe for a couple of days. Im really feeling stronger and stronger each day. I cant wait to see my little darlings and give them all a big hug and kiss, thousands of them, like I promised Im not doing any leather work, just needlepoint, and its not a home sweet home, its a nice picture of a kitten and a ball, youll like it when its finished, we can always give it to your mother for Christmas.
   The writing class, its called OT-III-writing, is kind of fun. its co-ed and there was a lot of moving around as the men tried to get to sit near the pretty girls, and some of the girls did some moving around too. it looked like there was going to be fooling around all day for a while, but the woman leading the class got things under control fast enough, theres only about a dozen of us so its not too bad. some people read a few things and then we talked about writing something during the week and then reading it at the next class. I thought I'd write something about ice cream cones. I know it sounds silly but it might be fun. you know when you were a kid how you had to push the ice cream down right away without breaking the cone, and then how you had to lick the edges and be careful how you bit the cone, and how you kissed it up to God if you dropped it on the ground before you started eating it again, no matter how dirty it got. I think its a fun idea. What do you think? anyway, it gives me something to think about for the next week, how are you? I no I'll be seeing you soon.
   March 7
   Dear Harold:
   I've been spending most of my time writing that piece about ice cream cones I mentioned to you. its so much fun. it brought back a lot of memories about my childhood and especially the summer time and the times we all went to the beach and Coney Island and the rides, it was a marvelous time of my life, so happy and carefree, nothing to do but run around and play games, we used to go to the park a lot when we were kids, you couldn't get a real ice cream cone there, but there was always an ice cream truck of some kind, usually a good humor. I remember there was always a breeze on the top of the hill, and I used to love the feel of the air on my face as I ran down the hill screaming and screeching, kids love to scream and screech dont they, but I was a good girl, I really was. I was quiet.
   We had a good time at the writing class this week, we got down to work much faster this week and there was less maneuvering. It looked like a couple of them were playing a little more then kneesees in the back of the room, some people had written some things and read them and they were nice, one girl wrote a real nice poem and she let me copy it. Here it is.
   I walk along a quiet shore,
   And look at the ocean still,
   Whilst thinking of the one I adore,
   And wondering does he love me still.
   I close my eyes and kiss his hand,
   And bathe in the light of his eyes,
   And sink my feet into the sand
   And wonder where does his heart lie.
   And then I know where heart and love
   Can blend and be soothing and warm,
   As I gaze into his face above,
   Then surrender into my lovers arms.
   Isn't that nice? I guess its not a great poem, but I love it. it has such a nice feeling, we're all so lonely here. I've been really good, you can visit now, can't you?
   March 9th
   Dear Harold:
   I'm sorry you still cant get to visit. I no the kids bother you and you cant stand them but Im here, no kids, and Im being really good and doing everything Im told. Im sure I can get a pass for easter if you would come get me. probably the whole weekend, we could go some place alone. I could meet you. where would you like to go? I dont care, if we could just be together. I miss you so much, it seems like forever since I saw you. I wish you would hold me and everything, lots of fathers get upset by their kids. Ill make sure they wont bother you. we wont see them, just the two of us for the whole weekend, we could be happy, if you could just write. O I hope easter comes early this year.
   Mar 14
   Dear Harold:
   Im in the writing class and cant stop crying and Im afraid to let them see me or theyll put me back in the locked ward and I dont want to go back there I cant let them see me cry but I cant seem to stop. I want so much to see you I miss you so much and the doctor said I shouldnt go home for easter but should wait a while maybe next month when the weathers nicer and I was looking forward to being with you and snuggling in your arms and everything but now they wont let me out even for a day and if they see me crying I just know theyll put me back in that ward. O I wish you could come see me or write or something now instead of worrying about those little monsters whore always interfering in everything O just let us be alone for a second and no matter where they are it could be a hundred miles and they would no it and come running to make sure we dont have any time together. O I know they chased you away but what about my attention? I cant get out to even take a walk and you cant come to visit, and in the writing class when I started to read my peace I only got to read about a page when one of the men started yelling and screaming at me that I had no right to write such silliness when children all over the world were starving and dying like flies and all kinds of horrible things he said to me and accused me as if I were some sort of monster and Im trying to be so good I honestly am Im even eating all the food. I love my children honest honest true I love them and dont want them to go to a home or some place O I wish I could stop crying. I dont want them to see me crying so Im trying to write something for the class pretty soon itll be dark in the tv room and no one will see my eyes I cant let them know Ive been crying O harold please where are you please
   SYLVIA WILSON
   O.T.-III WRITING
   MY RETURN TO LOWELL STATE HOSPITAL
   I had spent 7 months here between 1978 and 1979. when I left I said I hope I would never have to return again, not knowing that god has ways that we become sick to the point that only hospital care would be the only way out. In august of this year my children and myself were living in Sheepshead bay on welfare. I was told to go to court because my husband was back on payments toward our support, not that this has anything to do with this but it seemed that my voices started with a court house, one week after going there I started to hear voices that seemed to be having a large court session on all the past friends and people that I had known from a little girl, hearing their voices and debating on putting me in a institution, for things that I was falsely being accused of. these voices continued night and day for about three weeks and then it ceased, then there was a group of men and women who said they were a hired mind readers organization speaking to me mental telepathy and had picked my mind up on the beach, they were telling me we had only until xmas to live and to either commit suicide or they will come up on xmas eve in santa clause uniforms and kill us. so through the strain of it all for my childrens sake I gave up and came willingly back to lowell state hospital for my cure, the voices remained with me for 2 or 3 weeks and then they just politely walked out of my life, the peace and quiet is wonderful. I hope they dont come back. O please dont come back.