J R

  —Wait for the light . . .!

  —Where we going now? I thought we’re going to the movies.

  —That one Mister Bast? His soul seared by the flames of passion, his eyes scorched by the fires of hell . . .

  —Seven, eight, nine, stay in line now.

  —Seven eight nine, stay in line, it rhymes. Seven eight . . .

  —Quietly!

  —Didn’t you pay for me? Gall pursued.

  A child fired a derringer point blank in their faces. Flames climbed curtains and drapery.

  —Quick her tit! Did you see it?

  —That’s her elbow dopey.

  —Shhhh . . .

  Unmade beds, plates, broken glasses, bottles, chairs tipped and candles flaming haphazard, underclothing and sequined smalls, feather boas, a bearskin blanket snatched away.

  —Look!

  —That’s just her under of her arm.

  —Shhhhhhh . . .!

  Dawn, finally, and church bells faded under the hollow clop, clop, clop of horses entering the empty street. Dinner by frontier candlelight, moans and petting in the pea patch, gunfire, the fluttering pennon of the cavalry troop, sunlight, darkness, bonfires, gunfire, crowds filling the streets, milling toward the platform hung with flags and bunting in red, white, and blue.

  ——I’d shoot him down myself but I ain’t carrying a gun.

  —What time is it!

  —Please, it’s almost over . . .

  —Mister Bast please just till he shoots him, please . . .?

  —Shhut up down there!

  —Please . . .?

  They stumbled into each other looking back over their shoulders, erupted into the lobby in a crash of gunfire, the street on a gust of wind.—So when this one guy shot at this other guy this first guy thought he was shooting at him so he shot him.

  —Who.

  —Who shot him.

  —Shot who.

  —We should have went to see those women wrestling those eels.

  —Wait for the light! Here stay together now, this way . . .

  —Look out hey quit pushing . . .

  —Straight ahead, watch those stairs . . .!

  —Wait up hey my shoelace is . . .

  —I said hurry!

  —No but can I just get a newspa . . .

  —Can I get a candy bar Mis . . .

  —No! I said watch the stairs . . .

  —But where we suppose to . . .

  —Anywhere just get on the train! six, seven how many, I said stay together!

  —Boy I almost lost my sneaker back there you sitting here Mister Bast?

  —Look just find a seat anywhere and, there’s one over . . .

  —No that’s okay just let me get my stuff up on my, could you move your foot a second? Just so I can get my knee, there. Who was that guy we took to the movies, is that some friend of yours?

  —I’ve never seen him in my life no, now . . .

  —Boy he squeezed right in like he’s this real old friend of yours what did he . . .

  —I said I don’t know! He thought he knew me and wanted some help with a book or something, now . . .

  —Okay don’t get mad, I just . . .

  —And look, haven’t you got a handkerchief?

  —Me? sure just a second . . . he wedged a sneaker into the seat ahead burrowing the sweater’s burst elbow into the ribs beside him, coming up with a discolored wad—here.

  —No I mean you. Use it.

  —Oh. He blew his nose hard and then wiped the back of his hand across it.—Are you a college graduate Mister Bast?

  —I went to a conservatory.

  —Oh . . . he looked up from the handkerchief’s contents and wadded it back.—What did you learn there, how to be this forest ranger?

  —This what?

  —I mean like now this is all you do is teach?

  —No, no I have my own work.

  —What, like you said before you’re going in the city on business? I mean what business you in.

  —Look I’m not in, what . . .?

  The conductor’s punch tapped the rim of the seat ahead.—These kids all with you?

  —Yes they, here get your tickets out . . .

  —You got them.

  —Didn’t she give you them, Mrs Joubert? Like she kept them so we wouldn’t lose them.

  —But she, no, no you mean nobody has a ticket? But does, did any of you bring any money?

  —Six, seven . . . the punch counted over their heads,—eight . . .

  —That’s all you’ve got hey? a dollar? Wait a second . . . the handkerchief wad surfaced again bringing with it a tangle of bills, paper scraps, a pencil stub—five, six, seven how much do you need hey . . . the bills came up damp and separate,—that’s nine is that, no you take the change that makes it easier to figure when you pay me back, okay?

  —Well thank you yes but, but is all that yours?

  —What this money? Sure why, you want one more to make it ten even? A single came off freed in a wad of its own—I mean that makes it easier to figure up the interest and all, you know?

  —Yes but, all what I . . .

  —No I just mean the interest like, I mean that’s what we’re having now these percents could you move your knee a second? I mean this here portforlio the zipper never hardly worked right even when I first got it you know? he tugged at the battered thing—holy shit look at that it’s already ripping, I mean that’s why I need this here professional carrying case you know . . .? he got it opened on his lap extended now with both feet dug into the hinge of the seat ahead,—see? I mean like here it costs thirty-four million dollars to equip this armored division and it costs like ten million dollars to equip this here infantry division see so what you have to find out is . . .

  —Yes well look I don’t know anything about armored div . . .

  —No that’s okay see it’s just about equipping them like you’re equipping anything just to figure up these different percents, I mean here’s this Mister A with this here business which he owns thirty percent of it see it doesn’t matter what business it’s just this here business, see so anyway it says he sells this forty percent of his thirty percent for fifteen hun wait, thousand I mean, fifteen thousand one hundred twenty dollars so you have to find out how much is the whole thing worth see?

  —Fine yes, now I . . .

  —No but see I wanted to ask you . . .

  —Look if you need help with this you should talk to, to Mrs Joubert or . . .

  —No that’s Glancy, I mean this is just our math homework where you wanted to know about these percents see but I got this other real stuff which wait a second . . . he tugged at the heap,—holy . . .

  —Here be careful you’re spilling the whole . . .

  —I know boy this train it’s like you’re riding some rolycoaster how it stops could you pull that corner sticking out there?

  —What this, fingerprint and identi . . .

  —No that’s just crap for trading see I had this thing about import export where you get to wait hey could you hold this stuff a second till I, see this here proxy thing we got today I wanted to find out where it says what’s that wait . . .

  —Unretouched pages in swinging color, finger licking good look will you get all this off my . . .

  —Wait no his crap’s always getting mixed up with mine there’s this thing where I wanted to ask you here, look.

  —Well what, what is it what’s . . .

  —No well see it’s just these here opportunities I pasted up see where it says we act as your . . .

  —Look will you just get all this off my lap? I just said I couldn’t help you I don’t . . .

  —Okay don’t get mad I was only . . .

  —I’m not mad I’m, I’m just tired I’ve been . . .

  —No but see I thought like where ljust helped you out on these here tickets you’d maybe . . .

  —All right! but, thank you look thank you for the loan I appreciate it but what makes you think I know
anything about these, this girdle and bra business or a coin op laundry and dry cleaner I don’t even . . .

  —But you said before you have your own business.

  —My work, I said I have my own work.

  —I know. What is it.

  —Composing.

  —What?

  —Music. Composing music.

  —Oh. You mean teaching it like?

  —Writing it.

  —You mean like making it up?

  —Yes.

  —Oh. The train drained to another standstill and he came forward over the heap on his lap to add another to the succession of knots in the sneaker’s lace.—Are those the only shoes you’ve got hey? Mister Bast?

  The foot propped in the far hinge dropped from sight.—Why.

  —Nothing I just wondered, see I got this thing where you send away for this here selling outfit which . . .

  —Look J R would you mind I’m, I just want to close my eyes for a minute.

  —What, like go to sleep . . .? he wedged a sneaker more tightly into the seat ahead bringing the heap higher with his knees, sinking slowly until a nostril came in reach of his thumb, finally—I just wondered, I mean can you make much doing that? writing this here music I mean? he paused, his elbow grinding against the arm hung limp beside him.—I guess not or like why would you teach, right . . .? and then he twisted abruptly bringing the burst elbow over the back of the seat—where’s that magazine hey.

  —Which.

  —With all the tits, give it here a second.

  —Here take it, you coming back to finish trading?

  —Just a second . . . net stockings, parted lips, hams, breasts fled under his thumb—hey Mister Bast?

  —Look I told you I . . .

  —No but wait a second I just remembered something, it’s back here someplace wait . . . his thumb stopped on Unusual Poses, ran its black crescent down Strange Pleasures, I Have What You’re Looking For, Honeymoon Love Drops—here look, you want to send it in? Song writers wanted. Send no money now. Our master tunesmiths will put your song to music that will, hey . . .? He turned to the profile riding severed down a cheekbone in the cracked pane beyond,—look I’ll just stick it in your pocket then . . . it came out torn the length of the page—for if you want to send it in okay? and he crushed it with the back of the page out displaying a graveled nipple in the breast pocket beside him, freed his feet from the seat ahead for an ungainly step to the one behind.—Here.

  —What did you rip out hey.

  —Nothing something Mister Bast wanted and look, take this here fingerlooking good thing your crap’s always getting into my stuff . . . he got the sneakers wedged into the seat ahead, brought his knees up under the heap.

  —Crap boy look at yours I never saw such crap look, Investments Facts, A Glossy of Investment Terms who wants to trade that crap.

  —Who said I’m trading it . . . the hand burrowed beneath him paused to scratch, came up with the pencil stub—look hey I’m trying to figure up some stuff okay?

  —I thought you came back to finish trading but who wants that bunch of crap, I mean where’s Break exciting cases Solve vicious crimes.

  —Under here, you want it?

  —Keep it, I can send for it too.

  —Go ahead.

  —You got it free.

  —So? you got dinner invitation free.

  —What do you want with it, you can’t even go.

  —Either can you. B . . . the pencil stub smudged down the glossary’s margin—no wait d, it was d . . .

  —What was.

  —This here word I’m looking for where I’m sending away to find out what they are g, h, no wait d’s before wait, c . . .

  —How come you want them if you don’t even know what it is.

  —Because they’re real cheap wait, d . . .

  —Boy no wonder you get so much crap look, for fingerprint and identification plus bona fide reports of private investigators plus Green Book of Crime plus break exciting cases okay? For you’re getting rare coins plus dear law student plus this here surplus book and three cosmetic samples plus gala dinner okay?

  —Okay plus spot bid sales where’s that.

  —No well then I get powerful muscles plus rush me K’ung p’a in plain wrapper plus renowned Oriental doctors okay? You want this here defenders of wildlife or this cutting up these Jews thing?

  —Who wants all that crap no look, just these whole six surplus books plus reference guide and spot bid sales plus gala dinner that’s all, watch out for your foot . . .

  —My foot! Boy I can’t hardly move with all this crap what’s that, you even stole that yellow pad off them?

  —What do you mean stole . . . his dangling thumb moored at the nearest nostril,—we’re this here owner aren’t we?

  —Owner shit, boy . . . the hand beside him brought up its crew of fingers for a siege of nailbiting,—go ask that old fart that caught us in the toilet you’ll find out you don’t own shit.

  —Oh yeah . . .? he said in a tone so low it was lost before it reached his image on the dirty pane where he stared now as though staring through at something far beyond.—That’s what you think.

  A lighted platform loomed past the windows and was gone.

  —We went right past the station hey. Mister Bast? wake up . . .!

  —Quick hey, hurry up . . .

  —Look out for my stuff . . .

  —Hurry up before it starts again . . .

  —I can’t get this, hey Mister Bast can you get this door open?

  —One at a time now, one more car back don’t push!

  —Look out hey, it’s full of teachers . . .

  —Aggressive and action-oriented . . .

  —to demand duty-free lunch periods, I didn’t go to college to learn how to teach kids how to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or . . .

  —say career oriented, and making less than an average construction worker . . .

  —with insurance for cars damaged in the school parking lots and . . .

  —when the plumbing in the junior high gets stopped up with contraceptives, if you call that . . .

  —creative tension, creating creative tension they call it . . .

  —mass resignation, you call it mass resignation, with the antistrike law if you call it a strike you . . .

  —call a spade a spade.

  —Try that and they’ll burn down the school.

  They milled past Debbys cespool freshly annotated We kick ass yours too toward the stairs, crowding down, pairing off to seek parked cars in the rising wind that caught up leaves and bits of newspaper.

  —Mister Bast did you see my sweater . . .? The bus door shut in her face and he watched it bully its way into traffic before he turned back for the station, shook a locked door, finally swung open the one beside it.

  —I want to report a lost sweater, he said at the grating.—Red. A girl’s red sweater.

  The agent looked up at the clock. Then he thrust a form under the sign on the grating Agent on Duty J Teets.—Fill out this, hey buddy! You want to bust that?

  —Too God damned late, beat me to it . . . a crash came from the shadows.

  —What do you think you’re trying to do?

  —Think? another crash,—know God damned well what I’m trying to do . . . and another,—get the cigarettes I paid for out of your God damned machine here.

  —Kick it like that again you’ll have trouble.

  —Like that? another crash,—already got trouble what the hell do you think I’m kicking it for.

  —You want me to call a cop?

  —Police! Like that? the figure recovered balance from a final kick.—Police . . .! he broke from the shadows waving a rolled newspaper—call them myself sue your God damned railroad for theft of services, witness right here saw the whole thing.

  —But, but Mister Gibbs what . . .

  —Who? he caught a hand at the window grating,—Bast! what the hell are you doing here.

  —Well I,
I just got off the train and . . .

  —So did I God damned lucky we’re alive.

  —But I thought you were with Mrs Joubert was she, is she here?

  —Where! where!

  —No, no I meant . . .

  —Better get him out of here buddy, came from behind the grating where the hand slid down to rest on the sign promptly followed by a sagging scrutiny.

  —Teets. Want to give you a message for Agent Teets, Bast.

  —Get him out of here buddy.

  —Next time you see Agent Teets Bast God damned eavesdropper watch out for him, loyal friend but a cunning and dangerous enemy walk over his God damned grandmother why they got him behind bars here theft of service Bast, civilized conversation get over here where he can’t hear us God damned eavesdropper, watch out for him . . .

  —Yes but, Mrs Joubert is she all right?

  —Momentary recovery Bast, got inhaled each momentary recovery thought I had a newspaper.

  —It’s under your arm yes but was she, what happened . . .

  —Got lost in the dark caverns of her throat Bast, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles ought to be ashamed of myself, told me I should apologize to you how’s that.

  —Well no but that’s not what I . . .

  —Told me you’re talented sensitive purpose Bast sense of purpose need help and encouragement lock yourself in write nothing music, take defeat from any brazen throat get to be like Bizet only not Bizet where the God damned doors . . . he hunched as though with cold, hands buried in pockets—dum dum dedum . . .

  —Over here yes, but . . .

  —Don’t spit upon the, garden path lead the whole God damned wait, Bast? Something I’m supposed to give you these right here she forgot to give me wait, forgot to give them to you here.

  —But what are they, why . . .

  —Kiddies’ train tickets here.

  —But, no but this one says combined number five, seventh race what . . .

  —Call that train tickets?

  —No that’s what I . . .

  —Eight to one broke at the God damned gate here, what are these.

  —Wait you’re dropping, they’re train tickets but what . . .

  —Just told you they’re train tickets didn’t I? Told you she said give them to you forgot to give them to you didn’t I?

  —Yes but, but you were on that same train with these tickets?