Last Exit to Brooklyn - Hubert Selby Jr (21 page)

Ginger strolled around the room, gulping at her
drink, talking with the guys and looking at Harry occasionally and
smiling. Harry made his way back to his chair, filled his glass and
sat, rubbing his hand, wondering just what had happened, slowly
becoming conscious of the noise from the guys and the radio. Somebody
slapped him on the back, whattayasay Harry, laughed and staggered
away, Harry looking at him dumbly and nodding. Ginger came up behind
him and twirled his hair with her fingers and slowly moved around in
front of him and leaned against the desk. I like your party. I hope
the strike lasts for a while, we can have a ball. Harry nodded his
head as he weaved back and forth in his chair, almost falling off
again. Ginger patted his cheek, Youre cute. I like you, smiling and
giggling inside as Harrys eyes once more showed his bewilderment. Its
too bad we cant be alone, we would have such fun. Harry put his hand
on her leg and Ginger lifted it gently. Fresh. My, but you get a girl
all aquiver, crossing her arms against her breast. Harry leaned
toward her, licking his lips, mumbling something, and Ginger patted
his cheek, then turned away, tired of her little game, turned the
radio off and announced that they should go back uptown. I find
staying in Brooklyn too long very oppressive. Yeah, letsgo. Maybe
therell be some action ta-night. Harry tried to grab Gingers arm as
she picked up the gin bottle, but she twirled away from him and
strutted out of the office. Harry leaned forward in his chair holding
onto the edge of the desk and watched her leave, not noticing the
guys as they picked up the other gin bottles and food and left.

Harry leaned against the desk staring at the door in
a semicatatonic state, his head slowly drooping to one side until his
head finally bumped against the desk. He jerked it up, blinked his
eyes then stared again at the door, slowly sliding from his chair
until he was on the floor. Harry curled up under the desk and slept.

Harry slept, curled cozily
under his desk, until late morning. The sun was bright and shone
through the office window, lighting the entire office except for
Harrys snug little cove. Harry sat in the darkness under his desk
with his knees under his chin fighting to squint his eyes open,
peering up at his chair, and its barred shadow on the wall, conscious
only of the pain in his eyes. He attempted nothing, not even closing
his eyes against the brightness of the sun shining on the wall, a
brightness that reflected only on his eyes and not into the darkness
of his cubicle. He sat there for hours not thinking of challenging
his lethargy until the demand to urinate became so intense he was
forced to crawl from his niche. After he urinated he leaned over the
sink and let cold water pour on his head for many minutes then found
his way back to his chair and sat smoking and staring until the pain
in his head prodded him from his chair and he locked the office and
went next door to the bar. He sat alone and silent at the end of the
bar drinking, not thinking or glowing over the fact that he could
spend as much as he wanted then get it back from the union as he had
been doing since the strike started; not even aware that his head
stopped aching after an hour or so. For a short time, after drinking
for a few hours, he started thinking of the previous day and he felt
an excitement in his body but he could not fight through the haze
that obscured the night and soon he was just drunk. It was still
early evening when he left the bar and stumbled home and into bed,
still fully clothed, and curled up in a corner and slept.

* * *

Monday morning the men had regained some of their
former enthusiasm with the possibility of another truck trying to
cross the picket line, a truck that they would be prepared to stop.
The incident of the trucks took on added importance to the men during
the weekend. They had talked about it continually on Friday and by
the time they drank their last beer Sunday night they were convinced
that the fact that the company had to break the line with trucks
meant that they were hardup to fill orders and that soon they couldnt
afford to keep the shop closed. Some even thought, briefly, of going
down to the office Sunday night or early Monday morning to see if the
company would try to sneak trucks in before the men started
picketing, but soon convinced themselves that it wasnt necessary. So,
Monday they were slightly elated as they knew the strike would soon
be over and they could stop haggling with the wife about money. They
were convinced too that the company would try again to break the line
before giving in to the strikers and so everyone, even those who
stayed in the office drinking, were ready to run down 2nd avenue when
the word was given that more trucks were coming and when they did and
were stopped, then the company would have to accept the unions
demands. And so they waited and hoped.

Everytime Harry stamped a book during the morning he
asked the men if they saw the picture in the paper of the trucks
burning, and intimated in every way that he was completely
responsible for burning the trucks. By late morning even Harry was a
little tired of hearing the same thing for hours so he stopped
talking about the trucks and soon, after a pitcher of beer or so, a
few memories and images of Saturday night returned and he remembered
the guys coming in the office, he remembered the music, the gin and
Ginger dancing. He had felt good Saturday night, that he definitely
remembered, and too he remembered how the guys seemed to respect him
because of his position in the union and because he could order any
thing he wanted and have the union pay for it; and he remembered how
Ginger admired him for his strength and how she liked to talk with
him and feel the muscles in his arms and legs. There were still a few
things he could not remember, but they must have been unimportant and
soon the thought that they existed was absorbed and they had never
happened.

The men rejuvenated their
hope through the day but, as the picketing day approached an end, the
effect of all the hopeful efforts was almost negligible. The trucks
that were to prelude the ending of the strike never arrived and
though they tried at first to think that they would not come until
later and that it was natural that the company should wait a day or
so before trying again, the men could not accept these explanations
no matter how hard they tried. They had started the day expecting a
deus ex machina and with its appearance their troubles and the strike
would be over; and though they tried to convince themselves, and each
other, with many arguments, that the company would have to give in
soon they found it impossible to maintain any optimism and when the
day came to an end they put their signs away quietly, nodded to each
other and left. The day had been long and hot. It had been many hours
since anyone had looked up at the clear blue sky. It was still
summertime and there were many more hot days to come.

* * *

The union and management met regularly to arbitrate
their dispute. Each side was more arrogant and noisy than usual the
first meeting after the incident of the trucks, but the resuit of the
meeting was the same as all the previous ones. The union could not
allow anyone to administer the welfare plan but, even if their books
had been in order it was far too late now for them to concede to the
companys demands. After being on strike this long they could not
settle for the same contract that had been offered before they
started the strike. There was still ample money in the strike fund,
enough to continue to give the men their 10 dollars bag of food each
week, to last a year if necessary; and other unions throughout the
country had pledged assistance any time it was needed. The union
officials were indignant about the companys attitude in being so
rigid and in sending trucks through the line and left Mondays meeting
declaring they would not meet with them for a few weeks, not until
the company reconsidered its arbitrary stand and realized that the
men were willing to stay on strike for a year if necessary in order
to get a decent contract. The recording secretary remained in the
city and the other officials went to Canada for a rest. They needed a
rest from the pressures of the strike and the oppressive heat.

Mr. Harrington told the other company representatives
that they had to remain firm. Except for the oversight that
necessitated their hiring a freight forwarding firm to cross the
picket line and deliver the much needed parts to the upstate plant,
everything had been running smoothly. Their other plants, and
subcontractors, throughout the country had been geared in ample time
to handle all existing orders and any that might come in during the
immediate future. All their government contracts were being fulfilled
and no new ones would be forthcoming before February of the following
year. At least none of any quantity. And too, the manner in which the
contracts had been distributed to other plants, and the manner in
which the transfers had been noted on the books, meant a substantial
tax saving would be effected. Of course a few of the younger
executives had a burdensome amount of work to do because of the
strike, but a substantial bonus at Christmas and a pat on the back
would not only satisfy them but would encourage them to work even
harder in the future. And the cost of the bonuses would only amount
to a minute percentage of the money saved in unpaid wages. Perhaps
they would be prevented from taking a vacation now, but Mr.
Harrington did not care if no one went on vacation for years, he was
determined to try and get rid of Harry Black. After all, what did he
have to lose.

Harry did not notice the change in the men as they
carefully leaned their signs against the wall and left. A few minutes
after five he was the only one in the office so he just hung around
for a while, drinking beer, his mind wandering over what had happened
lately, and he remembered Ginger mentioning Marys on 72nd street. He
thought about it for a while then decided to go. He got a cab and
when they got to 72nd street he told the driver to go down the street
and when he saw Marys he told the driver to stop at the next corner
and he walked back.

It wasnt until he approached the door that he started
to feel uneasy, that he became conscious of being in a strange
neighborhood, outside a strange bar. He went in and moved immediately
to the side and tried to melt in with the others standing at the bar.
There were so many people in Marys and so much noise—the jukebox in
the rear clashing with the one at the bar—that Harry was able to
lose himself in the chaos and his selfconscious-ness faded before he
finished his first drink. Eventually he was able to work his way into
a spot at the bar where he could see the rest of the bar and most of
the back room. At first he was surprised at the way in which the
women acted, but after listening to them talk and watching them move
he eventually realized that most of them were men dressed as women.
He stared at everyone as they moved and talked, never certain of
their sex, but enjoying watching them and enjoying too the thrill and
excitement he felt at being in such a weird place. The people in the
back room fascinated him more than the others as he imagined what
they were doing with their hands under the table, and was
particularly amazed when he saw a big, muscled, truckdriver looking
guy lean over and kiss the guy sitting next to him. The kiss seemed
to last for many minutes and Harry could almost feel their tongues
touching. He stared. He noticed the tattoos on the big guys arms. He
looked quickly at his own dirty fingernails then back at the lovers
in the booth. Their mouths slowly separated and they looked at each
other for a moment then reached for their drinks, the big guys arms
still around his lovers shoulder. Harry continued to stare until his
uneasiness forced him to lower his eyes and he picked up his drink
and gulped it down. He ordered another, sipped at it, lit a cigarette
and continued to lookaround.

Occasionally someone smiled at Harry, brushed against
him or spoke to him and a few times he smiled his smile but it ended
the scene rather than continued it, so Harry stayed alone drinking
and looking until he noticed Ginger come in. She walked quickly to
the back and was out of sight before Harry could move. He stared
after her for a moment wanting to go after her, but he knew if he did
that the guys from the Greeks would find out so he finally decided to
finish his drink and leave before she saw him.

The next morning Mary wanted to know where Harry went
last night and where he was last Saturday night and if he was going
to be home tonight and if he thought this was a flophouse and he
could come home any fuckin time he felt like it and ever since the
strike started he was goin around like he thought who he was and she
wasnt gonna stand for any shit like this . . .

Harry continued to throw water on his face as she
talked and ignored her as he walked past her into the bedroom and got
dressed and when he finished and was ready to leave he told her ta
shut-thefuckup or hed raper in the mouth. Mary stared at him
determined not to tolerate his complete indifference. She looked
Harry in the eye, expecting, waiting, for him to lower his eyes or
turn his head and told him she wasnt going to stand for any more of
his shit. Harry stood where he was, still staring at her, but
becoming more and more conscious of her eyes, of her, and starting to
waver inside, starting to think of spitting in her face, of walking
out of the house, becoming more conscious of his thoughts and
indecision and almost starting to fear her when her voice pushed
these things down in his mind. It wasnt what she said—her words
undefined, only one long penetrating sound heard—but just the
movement of her lips and the sound providing something tangible to
stop his faltering. She had just stopped talking and was still
staring at him when he slapped her across the face. Go fuck yaself.
Mary continued staring at Harry, her mouth open, touching her cheek
with the tips of her fingers. Harry left the house and walked
quickly, smiling his smile, to the office ready to start another day
of the strike.