Algren at Sea

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The author wishes to thank the following publications for permission to reprint articles: “Rapietta Greensponge, Girl Counselor, Comes to My Aid,” first published in
Harlequin
under the title “Whobody Knows My Name or How to Be a Freedom-Rider Without Leaving Town.” “The South of England,” “The Banjaxed Land: You Have Your People and I Have Mine” (under the title “You Have Your People and I Have Mine”), and “There's Lots of Crazy Stuff in the Ocean” (under the title “The Moon of King Minos”) were first published in
Rogue
; the poem on pages 77-78 was first published in
Rogue
, under the title “The Bride Below the Black Coiffure”; ©
Rogue Magazine/
Greenleaf Publishing Company 1961. “Barcelona: The Bright Enormous Morning” and “Seville: The Peseta with the Hole in the Middle” appeared originally in
The Kenyon Review,
under the title “The Peseta with the Hole in the Middle.” “The Night-Colored Rider” originally appeared in
Playboy,
under the title “The Father & Son Cigar”; © 1962 by Nelson Algren. “Down With All Hands” was first published in
The Atlantic Monthly.
“They're Hiding the Ham on the Pinball King” was first published in
Contact.
“When a Muslim Makes His Violin Cry, Head for the Door” was first published in
Nugget Magazine.
“Almeria: Show Me a Gypsy and I'll Show You a Nut” was first published under the title “Dad Among the Troglodites or, Show Me a Gypsy and I'll Show You a Nut” in
The Noble Savage,
No. 5, a Meridian periodical, published by The World Publishing Company, 1962.

Permission to quote from the following publications has been granted by the publishers: “Cocktails for Two” by Arthur Johnston and Sam Coslow, © 1934 by Famous Music Corporation; copyright renewed 1961 by Famous Music Corporation. Passage from
Green Hills of Africa
reprinted with the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons from
Green Hills Of Africa
by Ernest Hemingway, copyright 1935 Charles Scribner's Sons. Selection from “An Impolite Interview with Hugh Hefner,” in
The Realist,
May 1961. Excerpt (page 54) from Borstal Boy by Brendan Behan, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. “Tricks Out of Times Long Gone” by Nelson Algren first appeared in
The Nation,
September 1962. Excerpts from “Playboy's Number One Playboy” by Peter Meyerson,
Pageant.
Excerpt from
The Hive
by Camilo Cela, Farrar, Straus and Company, Inc. Excerpt from
Chicago Sun-Times
reprinted with permission.

When I recall today what a mark I must have appeared, before Rapietta came to my rescue, I have to smile. It's a wonder somebody didn't take me for a fool.

Legally speaking I have held my own ground ever since. The house that stands on the ground is, of course, in Rapietta's name—but what house by the side of any road could have found a better friend to Man? Bless the day, I say, when first I shook the firm small hand of Rapietta Greensponge, Courageous Counselor: Bless that hour.

“Are you putting that expression on to match the style of your shoes or is it real?” Rapietta inquired of me with a forthright smile, when I first appeared in the offices of Doubledge Deadsinch & O'Lovingly, shaking my hand forthrightly.

“The expression is as completely my own as the shoes,” I assured her, referring to the ankle-high white sneakers I had earned, some years before, by making a bet on a Cuban middleweight. Naturally I call them my Ked Gavilans.

“I don't believe it,” she told me, “but if you can hold it, we'll bury them.”

“Might I ask whom we may be burying, ma'am?” I inquired, watching my grammar as this was my first visit to New York.

Rapietta tiptoed to the door, opened it softly, peered down the corridor, closed it as softly, and tiptoed back to confide in me.

I tiptoed to the door, opened it softly, and peered down the corridor. Sure enough, the jackals had gone into hiding.

“Any jury with eyes in its head can see advantage is being taken of you by
somebody,
so it must be
them,”
she revealed. It was the first time I had seen the judicial mind at work.

“In event of a bench trial before a blind judge,” she explained, making allowances for the fact that I was only a layman, “we'll demand a change of venue.”

It was during my first change of venue that an Indiana sheriff led a motorbike posse to my door and read an eviction notice aloud to me. I did not ask him to let me read it myself as there was not a moment to lose. Excusing myself, I rolled my stamp collection into my G.I. blanket, mounted my British lightweight bicycle made in Duesseldorf and, with the cry of
“Sink the
Bismarck!” broke through the cordon and sped swiftly down the Indiana Turnpike till I came to a tollway. There I abandoned the bike and made my way on foot to Chicago's West Side.

Quick thinking had thus salvaged several valuable items as well as a portion of my dignity.

When the weather turned cold the hallway in which I had taken refuge, pending word from Rapietta, developed a draft. I didn't mind walking up and down swinging my arms until dawn; but when the weather turned icy I began to slip on the frost. I bumped my head just once too often. The suspicion then came upon me that either advantage had somehow been taken of me once more or the hallway was too small for sleeping purposes.

Reluctant as I was to get a representative of law and order into trouble I determined, nonetheless, to advise Rapietta of my situation. I set out for the Eastern Seaboard with my Eastern-Seaboard-English dictionary under my arm.

Exchanging cheerful handwaves with motorists along the Pennsylvania Turnpike was jolly fun, particularly when a light snow was falling. Then I could pelt merry fellows driving to town. One fellow got into the spirit of the thing so well that he stopped and invited me to ride beside him.

I accepted readily and was about to thank him when he struck me with a rubber gearshift handle with great force and pushed me into a snow-bank. As I didn't wish to make a nuisance of myself around a clinic, I waited until the blood from the gash had coagulated before setting out once more.

Six days later I was riding through the Holland Tunnel singing
and in no time at all I was opening the door of Doubledge Deadsinch & O'Lovingly. I simply could
not
remember to knock.

Rapietta Greensponge was with a hearty fellow who looked so familiar to me that I felt I must have encountered him somewhere before.

“Three guesses,” The Hearty Fellow offered, causing me to warm to him. Nobody enjoys playing “Guess Whom” more than I. I guess I'd rather play “Guess Whom” than ride a passenger train.

“Only offer him two,” Rapietta counseled him. I gathered he was her client as well as myself. We already had something in common.

“I don't
need
three!” I boasted, “
I
can guess in one—Have you been in a Bwoadway Pwoduction wecently?” I asked The Hearty Fellow, cleverly emulating Mr. Bennett Surface.

“No,” he confessed, falling into my twap.

“Then you are Zewo Mothtell!”

“You're getting warmer,” my new friend assured me.

“Come
on,
give us a clue, kid,” I cajoled him, for he was a regular fellow.

He turned back the lapel of his coat and revealed a sheriff 's badge.

“Duke Wayne!” I cried.

“You're getting even warmer,” was my hearty friend's hearty response.

“No more guesses,” Rapietta cautioned, “he's
really
getting warm.”

“Oh, tell
anyhow,”
I pleaded.

“Next time I see you,” my mysterious friend promised as he shook my hand, and left.

“Wemember—you pwomised!” I called gaily after him. Then I became my old thoughtful self.

I told Rapietta how I had been evicted and had saved myself by quick thinking and the cry of
“Sink the
Bismarck!”

“Where is the bicycle now?” she inquired.

“I traded it to a tollgate guard on the Indiana Tollway for an extra pair of Ked Gavilans.
He
won
his
by betting on Chuck Davey.”

“You're putting me on,” Rapietta told me, waggling a finger playfully at me.