—I’ve seen them before yes I don’t think the car runs at all, they have to push it back and forth for the alternate side of the street parking it’s kind of their clubhouse, they sit in it with a portable radio and . . .
—Man like I don’t care if it’s their fucking clubhouse I mean who wants to walk past it down there in the dark, man.
—Well you, you can stay here if you . . .
—Like where, in the sink?
—No I meant right, right there you can sleep right there . . .
—Here? So where are you supposed to be on the bottom or on top I mean look man, I didn’t sleep any last night I’m really beat I mean if you think you’re going to grab a handful of . . .
—No no I just meant, I mean you can sleep there I won’t even, I have to stay up and work anyhow if the light won’t bother you . . .
—What, on your cantata?
—Well not, no not yet I’m working on a long piece of music somebody wants for a film, the one those slides are for, you see once I get paid for that finished music up there I can get this done and have enough money to . . .
—Man like I just don’t want to walk past that clubhouse down there that’s all, like I mean I even hate to go down to this cold can in the hall here . . .
—I know yes it’s, be careful of the door . . .
When she came back the blanket was clear, mail stacked on H-O and the diploma protruding from the volume of the Musical Courier for 1903, Moody’s wiped in a stack with Thomas Register of American Manufacturers under the front blind and Hoppin’ With Flavor! drawn up to it.—Like you’re going to work right there?
—Well yes if the light won’t bother you, I have to have it right over me because . . .
—I mean this place is really dirty you know? she brought one foot up, the other, pulling off the moccasins.—Like I don’t want to get my feet black . . . and she stood on the blanket to zip down the denims, a shoulder against the wall as she bent to pull them off leaving nothing behind, pausing up there opposite 2-Ply Facial Tissue Yellow—like wasn’t that picture over in the other place?
—Yes it . . . he coughed staring up,—I, I think Mister . . .
—Like see those are these kind of little bubs they want you for modeling you know? And like where you can see her ass in the mirror with those like dimples like that chick in the back but like look at her belly, I mean it’s this real pot, like I mean mine’s real flat compared to that . . . she drew breath parting the shirt—but like see . . .? she flexed closer reaching below for—this like bulge here? how it . . . listen!
The knock sounded again harder, the voice fainter behind it,—Hello Mister . . .?
—But like who . . .
—No it’s just, it’s just an old man who . . .
—What like Grynszpan? I mean how do you . . .
—No no it’s just, wait he’ll go away . . .
—Hello Mister?
—Beat it, she called out.
—Hello Missus . . .?
—I mean . . . she was down at a bound toward the door,—I said beat it, screw . . .
—My vife Missus, could I . . .
—Just fuck off okay? she pushed the door hard and came back, paused against 24-One Pint Mazola New Improved to raise a foot behind and look back down at it—I mean now look at my feet, she came on to the sofa to cross ankle on knee, looking.
—Yes I . . . he cleared his throat, looking.
—Like man this isn’t dirt it’s like just black . . . and her knees came up and met with a pull at the blanket, Forest Industries to the floor and her face to the crevice where back joined seat, silent until—listen . . .! Her head came up without turning,—like I hear somebody talking, listen . . .
——information on adopting a foster child, call the special dial a child number at Plaza five . . .
—No that’s just, there’s a radio somewhere over under all those books, I can’t find it to turn it off and . . .
She came up sharp on an elbow.—Like you’re staying up?
—Well yes I, as long as I can work on . . .
—Because like watch that sink in there man . . . her head went back down,—I mean if that happens again we might both wake up drownded and nobody would ever know it okay?
—Yes o, okay . . . and he drew a hand over his face and went back to the page, another, cleared his throat muffled.
—Bast?
He started.—Yes I, I . . .
—I mean like can you move that light? she said into the crevice—so it’s not like shining right on me?
Once, twice nearing the bottom of a page he looked back to see a whole bar missing, stopped a hand raised to crumple it and stared at the slow rise and fall on the sofa, standing to slide a foot silently toward the kitchen and past the rush of water over the bank of paper to Appletons’ to stare under the shade into darkness and as silently back, standing over the sofa licking his own lip against a mucous whisper in the crevice bending, once as though to loosen his belt and then as abruptly standing away to blow off a clean scored sheet back under the punctured shade of the lamp, pausing as though to listen, shreds of sound escaping sporadic partings of his lips and he was up, mounting the Musical Couriers, pulling their gap wider with his ear to it.
——just heard the first movement of Anton Dvořák’s sev . . .
He tried to jam the volumes spine to fore edge back together and half lay up there for a moment, to come down blowing at the front of his shirt, looking up abruptly as though fearful to find that sofa empty of its sullen heave as he blew off a fresh sheet under the punctured shade, itself chilled and finally cast into shadow by light separating the slats of the blind that caught him head rested motionless against 24–7 Oz Pkgs Flavored Loops where abruptly he coughed, started, came slowly to his feet to where, now, elbow thrust against the confines of the blanket, a white button had given way.
—Oh wow . . .
—Oh good, good morning, he caught breath from it, standing.
—I mean it’s like camping out at Niagara Falls . . . no effort but in turning on her back to draw the shirt over that red brown diffusion all spread out like on the white mound that quickly gone from sight,—I mean listen . . .
—Did, did you sleep well, enough?
—Are you kidding? I mean . . . knees fallen wide under the blanket a hand plunged down there,—something’s been sticking me like, I mean like one of your fucking pencils . . . she came up with a square of glass,—like wow . . .
—Oh I’m sorry it’s just, it’s just my . . .
—Like man quit being sorry, it’s your picture of your dick dick . . . and her knees came down in a bounce. It was the first time she’d laughed.—Like is there more grape drink?
—Oh, oh yes wait . . .
—I mean look at my feet . . . she reached up for the cup,—like I mean that’s a bathtub in there under all that stuff isn’t it?
—Yes I think so but, we’d have to move all the . . .
—So like move it . . . Knee followed knee from a fling of the blanket,—like let me get . . . she had a foot up to the porcelained edge,—get up here and, wait give me your shoulder . . .
—I don’t know where we . . . her weight came on him,—where we can put it . . . a shirttail brushed his face, hung there, he caught breath and blew gently.
—No come on, like over in that corner there’s still room up to the ceiling, she turned abruptly, shirt drawn up in her reach for 12–2 lb 10 oz Round Pkgs QUICK QUAKER—like I mean what’s in all these, books?
—I . . . I don’t know, he reached up for it.
—Like I mean . . . down came 24–12 Oz Btls Fragile!—like I never saw anything so heavy . . .
—Yes they . . . he said getting breath between trips,—they . . . they are . . . finally,—is that the last one . . .?
—Yes but . . . I mean like I never . . . it came down with a crash.—Like what’s in them!
—Oh these are, these are film cans cans of film, he pursued one rolled
toward the sink—I’ll, I’ll just stack them here . . .
—Man I, I don’t believe it . . . she was down knees and one elbow on half the tub’s porcelained cover lifting the other half.—I mean I don’t believe it man.
—But what, what’s . . .
—Like paper bags. Like I mean the whole fucking bathtub is full of these paper grocery bags.
—Well I, I guess they can go over there with the . . .
—I mean are you kidding? she came up glistening, rivulets coursing toward the undone button—like I mean you’re really going to save them?
—Yes well I, I mean none of this is really mine to throw away and someone might, Mister Grynszpan might want . . .
—Okay but like just don’t explain it okay? I mean here, she came up with an armload and then off to the floor—and here . . . feet planted apart bent over the side of the tub,—here . . .
—I’ll just, just squeeze them over by . . . he cleared his throat stooping close to pick them up two, three at a time, eyes on a trickle gaining momentum,—over there . . .
—There, she stood,—like I mean now I can’t turn the . . .
—Oh here wait . . . the five or six bags dropped,—it’s, it’s probably just, there.
—Like you think I’m getting in that? Man I’d come out looking like some rusty nail I mean . . .
—No, no if you let it run, he was down embracing an armload of paper bags.
—Till like when, I mean I’m supposed to stand here cooling my ass like till Christmas?
—No it shouldn’t take . . . he was forcing bags behind the Morning Telegraphs, back for the last of them—it shouldn’t take that long no, he said jamming them down with his foot, getting his shirt off coming back to the sink where he tilted the cookie tin top, reached down the razor and held the cracked yellow soap bar in the dwindled torrent.
—Like you’re going someplace? she said from the edge of the tub, looked in it and leaned in to press down the plug,—finally . . .
—Yes I, I have a business appointment with a Mister, Mister something, he drew blood—is that towel any, that old shirt I mean, he came after it past her, back blotting red.
—But like when’s your appointment, I mean like how can you have appointments when you don’t even know like what time it is here.
—No there’s . . . the razor raked down,—there’s a clock on the floor right there under the . . .
—Are you kidding? I mean I just saw it it says like one o’clock.
—Yes it’s . . . electric and it runs backwards, someone . . .
—Man like don’t try to explain it to me okay?
—No it’s very simple it . . . there’s a little conversion chart I made beside it you add whatever number to what it says to get ten except when it says . . .
—Man like I just don’t want to know! I mean are you done with the soap?
—Oh I’m, yes, yes . . . he turned to her shirt suddenly empty dangling from the dishcloth rack and she reached from the short tub knees drawn up failing to cover the circles gone pink from the edges somewhere the wrong way down the spectrum toward hollyhock.
—Like, man like this is laundry soap.
—I know but it’s the only . . .
—I mean like this will take the skin right off my, like I didn’t see this since my grandmother.
—Yes I’ve been meaning to get some but . . .
—I mean you’re not wearing that shirt are you?
—Yes well I, it’s the only clean . . .
—Clean? Like man look at the front of it where you were climbing around back there, like that should be some business appointment.
—Yes well, but there’s nothing I . . .
—Like just turn it inside out, I mean like then where the collar’s dirty it’s inside the collar you know?
—Oh, oh I never thought of that, he came out of it pulling its sleeves through.
—And like where’s there a mirror here.
—Well I, there isn’t really one but I’ve been using this . . .
—Man . . . she dropped a knee to reach for the cookie tin top,—like it looks it. I mean you’re leaving right now?
He paused there swallowing—I, I have to yes, yes I’d hoped I could wait for the mail but . . .
—Oh wow.
—No there’s something I’m waiting for . . .
—Like what, she had an arm up soaping under it,—the new issue of Forest Industries? I mean it already came didn’t you hear it? she called over the water tumbling at her feet,—like there was this tremendous thud out in the hall like it’s the next fifty volumes of . . . he came past her without even looking up, got the door open and balanced with a heel against it dragging a box over the sill and then envelopes, envelopes, grabbing one up addressed Edwerd B ast and tearing it open to pocket the crumpled bills inside before he stood.—Like you’re not opening your present?
—Oh, oh no I’ll look at it later, he dragged it under the sink, picked up his case and a soiled manila envelope.
—Wait like before you go, like right over the sink there’s some pins there, like I saw these rusty pins in a crack there.
—You, want one? he dug one out with a thumbnail.
—Just one like and I mean like turn around . . . she reached up for the hem of his jacket, folding it in working the pin—and then like where’s a towel when I’m done.
—I thought you, I mean all there is is this shirt, I . . .
—Like man if I use that I’ll be worse than when I got in here.
—I’m sorry I thought you, I didn’t think of it . . . he stood over her knees drawn up again there, looking slightly off balance.—When you, if you leave I don’t know how you’ll lock up, I only have this one key and if I lock the door now you . . .
—Are you kidding man? I mean like you think I’m going to get locked in this place? Like I mean I could drownd and nobody would know it, she said, the tumbling water still rising around her.
—Yes well, but if you leave can you fix the door so it . . .
—Look man like don’t worry, okay?
—Yes well, yes well, well it was nice to meet you maybe I’ll get back before you go if you, I mean, I mean you’re welcome to stay if you . . . he cleared his throat as her head went down, knees went down, hand seeking deep for the soap.
—Man like all I want is to get in over there and get my stuff okay?
—Well, well yes okay and, goodbye then . . . he hesitated, and then the door came into place behind him, shuddered once or twice and was still, leaving only the rush of water at her feet. She spread her elbows up to the tub’s sides and came back slowly to rest against its slope, one foot then the other rising prehensile at the opposite end as the water slowly climbed pink to hollyhock, closed over deep magenta at the tips and mounted to her armpits before her feet came down and she forward to reach the tap. Her knuckles went white. Her other hand came up, did the same, and she held there long enough to whisper—oh wow . . . before she grabbed the sides and stood over the rush of water at her knees in a pose broken only by a sharp knock on the door.
—Come in, is that you? Like quick . . .!
—Telephone company . . .
—I said come in will you!
—Telepho . . .
—And like watch the door but quick . . .! The door shuddered open, came to abrupt rest at an angle—man like quick, turn this thing off or we’ll drownd . . . He was there in the step it took, no strain discoloring the rich dark of his hand as he reached the tap and broke it off.—Oh wow . . .
—Wow.
—Well like do something quick man or we’ll . . .
—Maybe first just pull out the plug . . . his arm plunged past her knees, she reached the shirt and stood there holding it pendant, watching the water slowly reveal her calves.—Going out faster than it’s coming in, no problem just leave it run.
—I mean that was close man, like where’d you come from.
—Telephone company, I . . .
> —Are you kidding? Like I mean there’s no telephone here so don’t give me . . .
—No I came to install one if, this is, Bast? I mean are, you’re the lady of the house?
—Like what do I look like the fucking butler? She started to dry a shoulder with the shirt, and stopped.—Look man if you came to install a telephone install a telephone.
—If you just ah, he looked around,—just tell me where you’d . . .
—Come off it man, I mean like you’re this telephone man okay? Like how am I supposed to know where you install a telephone, I mean just install it like they taught you how to install a telephone in telephone man school okay? And she got a foot up on the side of the tub to dry a knee as he turned to hurry a box through the door and knelt beside the film cans opposite her to tear it open.—Man like wait a minute, she paused on a dry knee,—I mean like that’s supposed to be a telephone?
—Call that a picturephone . . . he raised his eyes slightly to her face.
—Are you kidding? She got the other knee up.
—Talk to somebody you see their face right there . . . and he stood as though seeking a vantage point.—Somebody walking the walls here, must have been some great grass.
—Like man there’s nothing here but like Chesterfields, I mean like I have this stash next door but I can’t get in there.
—Why not.
—Like I don’t have the key man.
—Old place like this what do you need a key? He picked up a coathanger.
—Oh wow . . . she stood, reached down her shirt from the dishcloth rack—like I mean could you get in there and get it for me? Wait, like right in past those boxes throw me these shoes, they’re these moccasins like, she said getting into the shirt, buttoning it—I mean like I don’t want to get my feet black again you know? And she stood away from the tumbling water to put them on, stepped out and closed the tops of the tub.—Like go get it man, I mean I don’t want to go in there.
—But you have to show me where . . .
—Man like I just said I don’t want to go in there okay? I mean there’s like this big bed you just reach way in under the mattress and I’m not going in there okay? And like knock, I mean there was this chick in there last night balling somebody you know . . .? And she turned back past the sink to step carefully up the Morning Telegraphs to Appletons’ and blow off Vol III GRIN-LOC before getting to her knees on it motionless there peering under the shade till where she looked nothing moved, and she came down to fit the door closed behind him with—I mean like now I don’t have any papers man.