Last Exit to Brooklyn - Hubert Selby Jr (4 page)

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The door closed. A hundred times. Closed. Even as it
swung open she heard it bang shut. Closed. Closed. Dozens of doors
like many pictures jerkily animated by a thumb, tumbling mistily like
shadows. . . . and the click, click, the goddamn click click click of
the latch and it banged shut. SHUT. Again and again and again it
BANGED SHUT. A thousand miserable times. BANG BANG. BANG. Always
banging shut. Never a knock. Think it. Force it. A knock. A knock.
Please, please. O Jesus a knock. Make it a knock. Make it someone
knocking. To come in. Why cant it be a knock. Goldie with bennie.
Anything. Anybody. Closed. Closed. Bang. BANG. BANG! SHUT!!! O Jesus
SHUT! And I cant get out. Only roll in bed. This dirty freak of a bed
(VINNIE!!!) and that rotten fairy of a doctor wouldnt give me
anything. Not even a little codeine. And it throbs. It does. It does.
It throbs and pains. I can feel it squeezing up my leg and it hurts.
It hurts dreadfully. It does. It really does. I need something for
the pain. O Jesus I cant stay down. And I cant get out. Not even
Soakie. She might have something. Let her in. I cant get out. Out.
Up—(the door banged and her Mother looked up and noticed first the
strange look on her sons face, the staring eyes; then the blood on
his slacks and as she ran to him she collapsed on Mothers shoulder,
crying, wanting to cry on Mothers shoulder and have her listen and
stroke her hair (I love him Mother. I love him and want him. ) ; and
knowing that she must scare her Mother so she would be protected by
her sympathy, and perhaps Mother would get her to bed (she wanted to
run to the bed, but she knew she had to hobble to impress her), get
her to bed before her brother came in the room. She might be able to
hide the bennie. She had to try! Her Mother staggered and they
hobbled toward the bed (mustnt run), wanting her Mother near, wanting
the comfort; and feeling calmer, safer, as her Mothers face paled and
her hands shook; yet calculating just how far she could go with the
scene so Mother would be properly concerned yet still capable of
protecting her from Arthur . . . and she may yet be able to hide the
bennie) ...

Why couldnt he be out. Why did he have to be home. If
only he were dead. You sonofabitch die. DIE (Whats the matter with
mom-mys little girl. Did ooo stub oo little toesywoesy Georgieworgit?
Dont touch me you fairy. Dont touch me. Look whos calling someone a
fairy. Aint that a laugh. Ha! You freak. Freak FREAK FREAK FREAK! Why
you rotten punk-Georgette leaned more heavily upon Mother and swung
the injured leg from side to side, groaning. Please Arthur. Please.
Leave your brother alone. Hes hurt. Hes passing out from loss of
blood. Brother? Thats a goodone. Please— Georgette groaned louder
and started sliding from Mothers neck (if only she could get to the
bed and hide the bennie. Hide the bennie. Hide the bennie); please,
not again. Not now. Just call the doctor. For me. Please. ) If he had
stayed out. Or had just gone to the kitchen . . . Georgie porgie
puddin n pie . . . Why do they do this to me? Why wont they leave me
alone??? (Arthur looked at his brother and grunted with disgust then
went to the phone and Georgette tried frantically to get the bennie
out of her pocket but her slacks were so tight she couldnt get her
hand in and she was afraid to move away from her Mother so she could
get her hand in her pocket. She fell on the bed and rolled on her
side and tried to get them out and under the mattress or even the
pillow (yes, the pillow) but her Mother thought she was rolling with
pain and held her hands trying to comfort and soothe her son, telling
him to try to relax, the doctor will be here soon and you will be
alright. Dont worry darling. Youll see. Everything will be alright .
. . and then her brother came back, looked at his Motiier then the
ripped slacks and blood and said they had better take the pants off
and put a little mercurochrome on the leg and Georgette tried to yank
her hands free, but her Mother gripped tighter, trying to absorb her
sons pain, and Georgette fought furiously, trying to hold her slacks
and keep her brother from pulling them off. She screamed and kicked,
but when she did the pain really throbbed through her leg, and she
tried biting her Mothers hands but her brother pushed her head down
(the G string! The bennie!!!). Stop. Stop! Go away. Dont let him.
Please dont let him. It will be alright son. The doctor will be here
soon. Nobody wants to hurt you. You rotten fairy, stop. Stop! You
queer sonofabitch. STOP, but brother loosened the belt and grabbed
her pants by the cuffs and Georgette screeched and her Mothers tears
fell on her face, begging Arthur to be careful; and Arthur pulled
them slowly yet still tore loose the clot from the wound and blood
started oozing, then flowing down the leg and Georgette fell back
crying and screaming, and Arthur let the pants fall to the floor and
stared at his brother . . . watching the blood roll to the sheet, the
leg jerk . . . listening to his brother crying and wanting to laugh
with satisfaction, and even happy to see the misery on his Mothers
face as she looked at Georgette and lifted his head in her arms and
stroked his head, humming, shaking tears from her face . . . Arthur
wanting to lean over and punch his face, that goddamn face covered
with makeup, wanting to tear at the leg and listen to his fairy
brother wail . . . He straightened up and stood silently at the foot
of the bed for a moment halfhearing the sobs and his thoughts, then
stepped around to the side and started yanking at the Red Spangled G
String. You disgusting degenerate. In front of my Mother you have the
nerve to lay here with this thing on. He yanked, and slapped
Georgette across the face, Mother pleading, crying, soothing, and
Georgette rolled and clawed as the tight G String scraped along her
leg, and Mother begged Arthur to leave his brother alone—BROTHER?—
but he tugged and yanked, yelling above them until it was off and he
flung it from him into another room. How can you hold him like that.
Hes nothing but a filthy homosexual. You should throw him out in the
street. Hes your brother son. You should help him. Hes my son (hes my
baby. My baby) and I love him and you should love him. She rocked
with Georgettes head cradled in her arms and Arthur stormed out of
the house and Georgette rolled over on her back trying to reach the
slacks and the bennie, but her Mother held her, continuing to tell
her son that it would be alright. Everything will be alright. )

O please, please, please, please .. . why are you
torturing me? The bitches. The dirty bitches. O let me out. Let
someone come in. I dont want to be alone. Please let them come.
Anything. Im down. Let them come. For christs sake. Im down. DOWN! I
cant stay in this room. This dirty room. Let Vinnie in. Let him take
me away. Vinnie. O Vinnie, my darling. Take me away. Its ugly in
here. Ugly. And I loved the carousel. Puddin n pie. Vinnie—(the
doctor looked at her eyes, said nothing, then examined her leg. He
washed the wound, probed gently, and Georgette groaned, hoping hed
write a prescription, and rolled on the bed trying to hang over the
side and reach the slacks and the doctor mumbled; her Mother watched,
shaking, and Georgette looked pleadingly at her, wanting her caresses
and protection, but she couldnt reach the slacks. Jesus, why cant I
reach them? She stopped rolling and cried. Her Mother stroked her
forehead and the doctor bandaged the leg and told her to stay off it
for a few days and come in to see him when she felt better. He closed
his bag (shut. Shut. It banged Shut!), smiled and told Mrs. Hanson it
would be better if George didnt have any visitors for a few days. She
nodded (Georgette leaned slowly to the edge of the bed—when they go
to the door) and thanked him. Dont bother to walk me to the door. I
can find my way out) )— not even a little codeine. Nothing. If that
fucking Harry wasnt there. That freak. And those rotten bitches. Two
cent cunt. Not even a nebbie. He could have given me one at least.
Not much of a cut. Just stay in bed a few days. Days. Days. Days . .
. DAYS. DAYS!!! The walls will faU. Theyll crush me. Mother? O
Mother. Mother? Give me something. Please. Anything. Try to relax
son. Your leg will be better soon. My leg?—(Stop. Arthur, for the
love of God stop. Stop? You see these? You see them? More of those
goddamn dopepills. Thats what they are. Dopepills. Well, you will
never see these again dear sweet brother! Give them to me. Give me
them. Mother, make him give them to me. Shut up or I/ll kill you. Do
you hear me? I swear I will kill you. Always crying. Mommy this and
Mommy that. Every time you get a little scratch—Arthur. Stop! He
stood shaking, clutching the end of the bed watching brother crawl
and squirm on the bed, hiding behind his Mommy, wanting Mommys love
and kisses . . . then shoved the pills in his pocket, spun around and
dragged out the boxes in the back of the closet and dumped them on
the floor—Mommy this and Mommy that—ripping and tearing
Georgettes drag clothes, her lovely dresses and silks, stamping on
her shoes . . . You see these Mother? You see them? Look. Look at
these disgusting pictures. O Arthur—Look at them. Just LOOK! Men
making love to each other. It isnt pretty is it? Arthur, please.
Well? is it? Are they? ARE THEY??? Filth. Thats what they are.
FILTH!!! Why dont you die Georgie! Why dont you go away and die.
Stop. STOP! For the love of god Arthur, stop. I cant stand it
anymore. Well, neither can I. You saw those pictures. Now you should
know what he really is. A degenerate. A filthy degenerate! Arthur,
please, for my sake. I know. I know. Leave your brother alone.
Please. Brother???)—O god, theyll bug me. They know I cant stay
down. They know it. Nothing to see. To look at. Why me? Why wont
somebody help me. I dont want to be alone. I cant stand it. Please
help me. At least Goldie has bennie. I cant stay down. Always alone.
O jesus, jesus jesus . . . why me??? Mommy? Mommy? O god I need
something. Those sick johns. Always? I dont want to be straight. I
just need something. I/ll go crazy. Theyre keeping me down. Down. Why
do they want to kill me? and the near shadowless room continued
shrinking and she looked for dark corners, but there were none, just
a penumbra as the closet door partially blocked the light from the
living room. Georgette called . . . looked around the room. At the
bed. Sat up and called again . . . then slowly swung her legs over
the side and tentatively touched the floor . . . stood . . . hobbled
to the door and looked at Mother sleeping in a chair. She dressed,
took money from Mothers pocketbook and left. When she stood on the
stoop she realized she didnt know the day or time. But the sun had
set. Leaning against parked cars she limped to the corner and hailed
a cab, praying that Goldie was home. She gave the driver the address
and thought of Goldies and bennie.

When she got to Goldies one of the girls helped her
upstairs and to a chair. She asked for someone to light her a
cigarette and leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, allowing her
hand and body to shake, extending her leg stiffly in front of her and
groaning. The girls stood around, asking, wondering, thrilling to the
scene and exulting over the sudden breaking of the monotony; the
monotony of the last few days that dragged them even with bennie and
pot and forced them to sit, just sit, and bitch about the heat like
tired johns, and remember beatings by punks, and stares of squares;
but Georgette twisted her face with pain, not too much though, and
they wondered and thrilled. Goldie handed her half a dozen bennie and
she swallowed them, gulped hot coffee and sat silent . . . trying to
think the bennie into her mind (and her room and the past few days
out); not wanting to wait for it to dissolve and be absorbed by the
blood and pumped through her body; wanting her heart to pound now;
wanting the chills now; wanting the lie now; Now!!! The others
jabbered and squealed as she opened her eyes, shaking her head
tragically, her arms hanging limply . . . speaking in whispers and
shaking away questions, nodding and slowly raising her cigarette to
her lips and taking shallow asthmatic puffs. They gave her more
coffee and then the tingle, the pounding of the heart and she Ht
another cigarette and straightened slightly in the chair. Goldie
asked her if she was feeling better and she said yes. A little
thanks. Would you like some pot? O, do you have any? Of course honey.
Goldie gave her a stick and Georgette sucked the smoke refusing,
absolutely refusing, to cough; and they watched and waited until
Georgette had chewed the roach & put her makeup on before
bubbling forth with their questions. Well, I must say you look much
better now. You looked simply frightful when you came in. I have been
down for days. Days? What happened. Yes, dishus honey. Do you have
another stick Goldie. Of course. Well for gods sake, you just going
to sit there all night or are you going to tell us what happened. O
really Miss Lee. Cant you see the poor girl is overwrought. You dont
have to yell Miss Thing. Im simply dying to know what happened, thats
all. Thats alright honey—O thank you Goldie—I understand. Just
let me get myself together and I/ll tell you the whole story. She
smoked the second stick and told them how she was stabbed; how the
freak Harry started the whole thing; how the doctor wouldnt give her
anything, not even one little nebbie; and how they kept her locked in
her room not allowing her to have one visitor, and I heard Vinnie at
the door a couple of times and they wouldnt let him in; and how she
defied her brother, the freak, and how she laid him out and walked
right out of the house. And I mean right past him honey, right past
him, and you should have seen his face! he was agog, simply agog. O I
laid him out but good. O how wonderful. How simply wonderful. O how I
wish I had been there. I would have adored seeing you lay that big
freak out. I/ll never forget that atrocious scene he pulled on us.
Never. All those straight creeps are like that. They clapped their
hands, twittered and aaad and decided to have a party in honor of
Georgette and the laying out of Arthur.