Last Exit to Brooklyn - Hubert Selby Jr (7 page)

The door banged open and a young woman with a bruised
face and an enormous belly stumbled in and called to Tony. Tony
looked at the others apologetically then crossed the room to her
sister, led her into the kitchen and helped her lie down, took the
pot off the stove and turned up the flame. Rosie looked at them, at
the pot, but when Goldie said nothing she lowered her head to her
knees. Tony knelt beside her sister, embarrassed because she knew
Goldie and the others didnt like Mary, and asked her what was wrong.
She raised her head slightly then let it fall back and it seemed to
bounce on the floor (Goldie and Lee turned their heads, disgusted.
Camille stared and shook), then rolled it from side to side, moaning,
jerking up with a scream, clutching her moundish abdomen, banging her
head and arms on the floor, jerking her legs up then jutting and
spreading them out, grabbing Tony by the shoulders as another pain
ripped her and Tony clawed at her hands. Let go! Let go! O youre
hurting me, and the hands finally fell and she lay still and Tony
looked into the other room, hoping they wouldnt hold her responsible
for all this; and the queens turned their heads and the guys looked
blankly, taking another drag or another drink, a little curious, and
Tony asked if she should call the police so they could take her to a
hospital. You aint callin no cops. Not with us here—What am I going
to do? Why dont you just throw her out, the dirty slut. Shes going to
have a baby—O is she? I thought perhaps it was gas. They roared
with laughter (Rosie opened her eyes, her head on her knees, then
closed them) and Tony almost cried. (O why did she pick now of all
times? They would have asked me upstairs and we could have been
friends) Why dont you get the slob shes living with? After all, he is
the father, not us. I assure you. They roared again—how do you know
he is. It could be almost anybody. (Camille still felt a little
nauseous but she was determined to ignore it and be one of the girls.
) Hey, did she swolla a watermelon seed. Even Harrys belching brought
forth laughter, but everyone was becoming tense, especially the
queens. This could ruin a perfectly delightful evening. If this were
prolonged much longer it would bring everybody down and all the
plans—Mary bolted up! Screaming! Not just one short scream, but one
after another after another. Her face darkened and threatened to
burst. The welts on her face oozed and she sat as if propped from
behind, screaming, screeching, wailing, screaming . . . Tony leaned
back and banged into the wall (Rosie still sat with her head on her
knees) and Camille covered her face with her hands. The screams
scraped through their ears and her eyes bulged, her arms still lifted
toward Tony, her face becoming darker . . . then she stopped and fell
back, her head smashing on the floor and the screams and the sound of
her head hitting the floor resounded through the room and jammed in
every-ones ear and wouldnt leave like the sound of the sea in a
shell... O O OOOH! She broke water. She broke her water. The queens
jumped up and Harry stared at the spreading moisture. Get her out of
here. Get her out Get her out! Comeon yafuck, geter outta here before
the law comes. O shes bringing me down. That dirty slut. That filthy
whore. Rosie ROSIE! Get her out. Get her out! Rosie grabbed an arm,
but it was wet with perspiration and it slipped from her grip. She
pulled Marys skirt up and wiped her hands and Marys arms, then
noticing her face wiped it too and told Tony to get the other arm.
She tugged and Tony kept falling under the weight and looking
pleadingly at Goldie and Rosie screamed at Tony to pull, pull, and
Rosie yanked and Marys body jerked with each yank and shuddered with
each shock of pain and the sweat burned her eyes and blinded her and
all she could do was moan and moan and Harry got up and walked over
to them and said hed help. He got behind her and put his hands over
her tits, smiling at the guys, and lifted her up and Rosie yanked
again almost pulling them over, and they slowly raised the
mountainous Mary and dragged her to the door. Harry told Tony to get
a cab and he and Rosie would get her to the door. Tony left, and
Rosie held on to the arm, watching Harry, and they dragged her along
the hallway, water and blood dripping down her legs, to the door.
Harry asked Rosie how she was doin and she didnt move. Just held on
to the arm and watched Harry. He laughed and dropped Mary on the
floor and waited for the cab.

When Harry and Rosie came back everyone was silent,
shadows jumping on the walls, and Harry asked what was wrong, this a
morgue or some-thin, and sat down and lit a cigarette. Man, shes some
ton of a dame. She had a nice pair though. Couldnt get my hand
aroundem they were so big . . . The others remained silent, not even
smoking, and Rosie put the pot back on the stove and waited. Lee was
simply repulsed at the entire scene— thats a real drag though man.
Whatta yamean Sal? You know, havin a kid and some guy lumps
yaup.—Camille still frightfully upset—the others agreed with Sal
that it was a real drag to be havin a kid like that and a guy lumps
yaup. A guy like that should be dumped, the sonofabitch, even if she
is a pig—and Goldie and Georgette were anxious. They had been
planning and anticipating all evening and things were going so well
that it just wasnt right that everything should crumble now . . . now
when it was coming close to the time . . . and Georgette frantically
searched for something to say or do . . . something that would not
only save the moment and the night, but something that would make it
her moment and night . . . something that would once more make her
the nucleus of the night. She looked around the room . . . thought .
. . then remembered a book and yes, it was still there. She picked it
up, opened it, looked at it for a moment then decided to say nothing
but to start to read

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I
pondered, weak and weary,...

The first few words were low, tentative, but hearing
her voice above the breathing of the others, ringing through the
room, thrilled her and she read louder, each word clear and true

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at
my chamber door.
"'Tis some
visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door . . .

and the others hushed and Vinnie turned his face
toward her

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the
bleak December;
And each separate
dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly
I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow . . .

they were all watching her now (could Rosie be
watching too?). They were all looking at her. At HER!

Deep into that darkness peering, long I
stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting,
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But
the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, . . .

the drama of the moment swelled her breast and the
poem came forth with beauty and feeling and the waves from her
mouth caused the candle flames to flicker and she
knew that everyone saw a Raven in the shadows

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and
this mystery explore—
Let my heart
be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
         
'Tis the wind and nothing more!" . . .

and she was no longer merely reading a poem, but she
was the poem and every word was coming from her soul and all the
wonderful shadows whirled around her

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad
fancy into smiling,
By the grave and
stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though
thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven
wandering from the Nightly shore . . .

The guys were staring and Vinnie seemed so close she
could feel the sweat on his face and even Lee was listening and
watching her read and they all knew she was there; they all knew she
was THE QUEEN.

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a
feather then he fluttered—
Till I
scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have
flown before."
         
Then the bird said "Nevermore." . . .

Vinnie was staring at Georgette and the shadows that
highlighted her eyes, then her cheeks, then her eyes . . . thinking
it was a shame she was gay. Hes a good lookin guy
and real great, especially for a queen . . . being honestly moved by
Georgettes reading, but even with the bennie stimulating his
imagination it was impossible for him to get beyond the weirdness and
the kick

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this
ominous bird of yore—
What this
grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
         
Meant
in croaking "Nevermore."
This
I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To
the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at
ease reclining
On the cushions velvet
lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, . . .
         
She, shall press, ah, nevermore! . . .

and the Bird was blowing (can you hear him Vinnie?
Listen Listen Its the Bird. Can you hear him? Hes blowing love.
Blowing love for us) and the incongruent rhythms of the Birds whirled
and rang . . . then reconciled and O God it is beautiful

". . . Quaff, oh quaff this kind
nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
         
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!
prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether
Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this
desert land enchanted . . .

and through a rip in the black shade she saw dancing
points of gray and soon light would streak the sky and the shadows
would soften and dance and the soft early morning light would seep
through the room pushing the shadows from the now darkened corners
and the candles soon would be out

And the Raven, never flitting, still is
sitting, still is sitting
On the
pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And
his eyes have all the seeming of a demons that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his
shadow on the floor;
And my soul from
out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
         
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

and the Bird was blowing a final chorus, high, and
the set wouldnt end, but the Bird would slowly fade and you would
never know when he really stopped and the sounds would hang and roll
in your ear and all would be love—Quoth the Bird Evermore—and the
flames bowed and licked the edge of the candles and even Harry didnt
fight his lethargy and try to break the spell and Georgette lowered
the book to her lap with full dramatic presence and the final words
still whirled with the light and stayed in the ear as the sea in a
shell and Georgette sat on a wondrous throne in a wondrous land where
people loved and kissed and sat silent together, holding hands and
walking through magic nights and Goldie got up and kissed the Queen
and told her it was beautiful, simply beautiful and the guys mumbled
and smiled and Vinnie struggled with the softness he felt, trying
honestly, for a second, to understand it, then let is slide and
slapped Georgette on her thigh, gently, as one does a friend, and
smiled, at her—Georgette almost crying seeing the flash of
tenderness in his eyes—he smiled and groped for words, battling
with his boundaries then saying, Hey, that was alright Geòrgie boy,
then the knowledge of his friends being there, especially Harry,
forced its way through the bennie and the mood and he sat back
quickly, took a drink and grubbed a smoke from Harry.

The light forced itself through the many holes in the
shades . . . the candles slowly becoming anonymous. Goldie opened the
box of bennie slowly and proffered it to Georgette. She took two,
just two thank you, smiled and laid them on her tongue and sipped her
gin. They spoke quietly, smiling, sipping their drinks, at peace with
all and Georgette leaned back in her chair speaking softly with
Vinnie, and the others when addressed, all her movements: smoking,
drinking, nodding, soft and regal; feeling extremely human; looking
upon her world (kingdom) with kindness, softness; waiting, excitedly
yet not nervously, for the time, soon, for her to nod to her lover .
. . but the sun continued to rise and the room became brighter and
the girls became conscious of the perspiration streaks in their
makeup, hoping the boys would not notice it before they got upstairs
and had a chance to fix their faces. Goldie kept glancing at her
watch and listening to hear Sheila and her john leaving, wanting to
get out of this ugly room and upstairs with the boys before the light
brought them down and they lost what Georgette had given them; afraid
if a bennie depression set in that the boys would simply become rough
and not trade. She watched the room becoming brighter, too bright,
and listened, listened . . .