Are You Listening, Rabbi Löw
‘And I’m disgracing the profession of nursing.’
‘Honey you’re lovely, disgracing nobody and nothing. You’re a fucking wonderful credit to nursing. Wow. Hey shit. Fuck a duck. You can dance, really dance. Magic. Bravo. Just do that pirouette en point once more. Whew. Hey jesus watch it. Fucking Jorricks. Don’t step on him. He’s loose again. Sorry honey. Just go back now. Where you were. That’s it. That’s fucking it. Wow. Fantastic. Son of a bitch. You got control of every single muscle in your body. Like I’ve never seen before even in a prima ballerina.’
‘O my god Mr Schultz. Did I hear my emergency buzzer. Let me look out.’
Go look out honey. But I heard nothing.’
O my god. It’s the General. He’s out of his room looking for me down the hall.’
Take it easy honey. Don’t panic. Just put your uniform back on. Hey christ don’t go without your shoes.’
'O no. O god. I stepped on a pigeon.’
'Holy jeez is he all right.’
Yes.’
Hey lace up your shoes. And tell the old fucking geezer he ain’t the only one in this hospital that needs attention. And fucking come back. Come back. Invite another student nurse. And jeez, why not, the General too. There’s still a whole bloody five bottles of champagne left :o drink. No. Shit. Only four. But who’s counting.’
This is
The gala night
Of Sigmund Franz Schultz’s
Personal
Pigeon party
Going on
In here
8
‘And who are you, sir.’
‘I’m Schultz. Sigmund Franz Isadore. And who are you.’
‘I’m Field Marshal Leathers.’
‘Holy shit. Excuse my French. Not of Alumette.’
‘Well yes. I rather still think and hope so.’
‘My god. Come in, Field Marshal. I don’t believe this is happening. But join the party. Cynthia get a chair. Hey this is an honour. A real honour. Let me tell you.’
‘I hope you’ll excuse my pyjamas, sir.’
‘Hey gee don’t call me sir. Cynthia. Fill up a glass for the Field Marshal.’
‘Well I do appreciate a man who drinks the best champagne. And to drink it myself. Especially while one is in a damn hospital having one’s rear end fixed. Isn’t that right nurse. Didn’t I tell you what you were drinking when I smelled it on your breath.’
‘Yes sir. You did.’
‘And then damn well had to go searching for you down the hall.’ ‘I’m sorry sir. I really do apologize.’
‘Well girl. Off your station. We shoot people in the army for that.’ ‘Holy cow Field Marshal, we’re not going to shoot Cynthia. At least ha ha, not while she’s pouring the champagne.’
‘No sir, we’re not, not while she’s pouring this champagne. And we’ll have done for the moment with discipline. Bad manners to shoot ladies anyway. Much more fun to throw stones at sitting ducks. And by jove sir, you’ll forgive my observing, you’ve got yourself your own private bloody bathroom here. While I’ve got a ruddy bedpan over there.’
‘Jesus Field Marshal any time you want to rush over here and use my bathroom. I’d consider it a privilege. And have a cigar. Best Havanas. Sorry I can’t get out of bed. Cynthia in the humidor. Get the Field Marshal a cigar. Just snap the clips off the jar. Hey and some caviare Field Marshal.’
‘Well sir you’re well outfitted in here I can see that. I’d be delighted to have some caviare. And what on earth are they. Not pigeons.’ ‘Yeah. Pigeons.’
‘Damn useful bird sir, I have always kept a few tumblers. The Sultan of Baghdad had a pigeon post system long back as 1150. Faithful to each other in love they are. Never trusted the telephone myself to send messages. Give me a good racing pigeon all the time. No bloody batteries going flat.’
The room filling with cigar smoke. The Field Marshal munching down caviare on a biscuit and draining off a glass of champagne. Gold braided artillery pieces crossed emblazoned on his black slippers. Cynthia opening the wrapping on the fruits. Schultz popping another cork off another bottle of champagne. The Field Marshal smacking his lips and smiling and brushing a speck of biscuit off the lapel of his woolly dressing gown. Holy shit here I am facing one of the all time living legends only six feet away. Who fought fucking overwhelming enemy armies to defeat in all kinds of terrains including deserts. And who knows every fucking thing there is to know about pigeons. And jesus who likes his caviare, cigars and champagne as much as I do. And now my balls don’t even hurt. Nothing hurts. Holy shit that is if my balls are still there. And talking about deserts, Cynthia gave me such a hard on with her dancing it turned the bedcovers into a bedouin’s tent.
‘Ah but I thank you sir for this but I think it’s enough champagne for the moment and time I got back to bed. Damn nice. Very hospitable of you.’
‘Field Marshal let me tell you, you made this one of the great moments of my whole life.’
‘Well sir, you’ve improved mine as well. I’ll just swallow back this little remaining bit of champagne and have done with it. And smoke my cigar back in my room. Got a few papers to attend to. And Cynthia. You be on the job. You know Matron wouldn’t like it one bit, would she, patients having to run down the corridor.’
‘No sir, she wouldn’t.’
‘Come back again. Field Marshal. Any time. Feel free.’
‘I shall sir. Especially when you’ve vacated and I can use a nearby toilet. Thank you. Goodnight.’
Door closing. Schultz sitting straight up in bed. Cynthia rewrapping the pigeons. Echoing alarm of the fire brigade somewhere out in the London streets. Jesus the stripes down the Field Marshal’s pyjamas are identical to mine. Shit imagine having a confrontation like this with a living legend who’s been my idol for years. Got to give him half price tickets any time he wants to go to the show.
‘Hey Cynthia, let’s finish off what’s left in the bottle. Jesus we were for that few minutes sitting in on world history.’
‘How.’
‘Hey don’t you know who that was.’
‘Well I don’t know. I may have heard of him.’
‘Heard of him. Hey honey you just had sitting two inches from you one of the greatest military commanders who ever lived. I mean even fucking Caesar would have to take his cap off to him. Christ he can shit in my toilet bowl any time. This I swear has been the biggest most wonderful night of my entire life. I know verbatim that guy’s battles. I studied them. He was a genius with guts. Hey jesus imagine, he was chasing you down the fucking hall. Something you could tell your grandchildren. Honey, there’s just us now. And look. They’re all of them. Fucking sweet looking. The pigeons. Hey what time is it. Christ around now the curtain is just due to go down at the theatre. Hey. How about a few more of those steps you were doing.’
‘You heard what the Field Marshal said. That I should be on the job.’
‘I heard honey. But he’s on our side now. And you are on the job. Come on. Just give us a tiny little treat. You got a fantastic figure there all hidden away by that uniform. Just a few pas de deux.’
‘All right. But it’s got to be fast. I’m keeping my friend on duty for me at my desk.’
‘Jesus, honey that’s swell. But don’t rush things. Bring her for a glass of champagne.’
‘O god I’m breaking nursing rules of this hospital enough as it is.’ ‘Beautiful honey. That’s beautiful. What lovely gorgeous tits you’ve got. Gems hidden. My god. Where did you learn to do that. Jesus honey you’re too expert for words. Doing a turn like that you fucking well could be earning money in a stripper club.’
‘I was.’
‘Holy christ, will wonders never cease. You mean you were a stripper. Did your mother and father let you do that.’
‘They didn’t know.’
‘Well boy honey their darling daughter is one big surprise. Wonderful, wonderful body. Right down to your bloody insteps.’
‘Do you really think so.’
‘Honey I got something here in bed with me that’s living upstanding proof. The Field Marshal just left here is the world’s greatest expert on battles and pigeons. And you honey are performing right now in front of the world’s greatest expert on female bodies. Especially those that dance. Holy shit. Who’s that. At the door. Where christ the chair ain’t propped anymore. Who is it out there. Don’t come in.’
Cynthia grabbing up her uniform, slip and underwear from the floor. Hopping in and closing the bathroom door. Opening it again and reaching out to grab her shoes. A pigeon cooing from a towel. ‘It’s me sir.’
‘Who’s me.’
‘I am the hospital porter sir with whom you were previously acquainted.’
‘Holy shit. Well I’m previously engaged in here, fella.’
‘I was wondering your honour if I could be of any further assistance to you.’
‘Yeah jesus come to think of it, just hold it a minute. In fact you’re just the man I’m looking for.’
The grinning porter entering, buttoning up his soiled once white coat, and tugging at a forelock. His eyes quickly darting around the room.
‘Ah your honour I don’t want to intrude upon your peace and quiet but I thought it was you I saw passing in the corridor.’
‘Yeah you did. But don’t expect to come back and haul me out of here with your cart.’
‘Now with the optimistic looks of things and the perfume of the roses in here there’s no worry about that, your honour. By the way me name’s Daniel, your honour. And lo and behold. What do we have there your honour.’
‘You have pigeons there, Daniel. You take them and keep them for me.’
‘Right your honour. Fine fat pigeons they are too. But by god now. What’s this, they can’t stand up.’
‘Jesus keep them in the towel. They’re drunk.’
‘Ah god now, I thought I’d seen everything in this hospital. Except fluthered pigeons. Sure I’ll sober them up in a nice warm comfortable spot down in the basement.’
Daniel exiting, the pigeons hidden under his coat wrapped up in a towel. Cynthia peeking and tiptoeing out of the bathroom, all her curvaceous ample proportions, in another towel. As she twirls unwrapping herself spinning like a top across the floor and plucking and taking two roses to hold up in each hand in a shimmying grand finale.
‘Ole honey. Ole. Jesus baby, the beautiful bloody way you did that. You must have some artistic parents.’
‘Well I do, one half. My mother is a violinist. And plays the harp too.’
‘Hey. That’s swell. What’s the other half.’
‘My father is an income tax inspector.’
‘What’s that you said honey.’
‘My father is an income tax inspector. O Mr Schultz are you all right.’
‘Holy jeez sorry honey. I just swallowed my champagne the wrong way and jesus blew it all over the room, and on you.’
‘I don’t mind. My skin’s waterproof.’
‘Come over a second I got the towel. O christ honey. Let’s stop talking. And jesus wiping. Lean over and let me plant a kiss or two on those sweet young gorgeous tits of yours. You’re built beautiful. Jesus honey have you got a boyfriend.’
‘Yes I have two.’
‘Now you got three, but who’s counting. And hey honey. I like anonymity. If we get to know each other better like we’re doing, let’s use code names for each other. You can call me, say, something cheerful like Sunningdale. Yeah exactly that. Sigmund Sunningdale who’s in the lingerie trade. You know if you ever want to discuss me with anybody.’
‘O Mr Schultz. Like everybody you’re terrified out of your wits that my father is an income tax inspector. You needn’t worry, ha ha, if you behave yourself.’
‘Well shit honey I’m not, right now am I. Behaving myself. Nor are you. And by the way jesus, be careful of my balls.’
‘I love your hair, Siggy I wish mine were long black and silky like yours. It’s sticky too from the champagne.’
‘You know honey you’re a fucking bloody surprise I never thought I was ever going to get in a million years.’
‘I can give you plenty more. Let me pull down the covers.’ Cynthia lifting down the covers. Unbuttoning Schultz in his striped pyjama top. Her fingers touching his rigid prick sticking up out of its bundles of white bandage and gently slapping it back and forth. Schultz slumping down on the pillows, and holding on to the sides of the bed. A roller coaster. I feel I’m on. Hey honey and now. I may not be able to fuck. But I sure have got something for you to kiss. Because don’t hold it it’s too hot. Ha ha. The nice irreverent way you are with patients. Honey. Why the fuck do I, right smack in the middle of my big income, have to get mixed up with you, of all people. With all the kinds of jobs for fathers in this world. And now have to spend the rest of my paranoid life telling you to forget my name is Schultz. And that my middle initials are H.D.P.A.T. Which stands for he don’t pay any taxes. And the initials after my name are B.H.D.B.I.T. Which stands for because he don’t believe in taxes. Fuck taxes a second. Fuck them for two seconds. Jesus just fuck them. Don’t pay them. They’re too high. Because the way things are going on in here how the fuck do I know this sweetie pie wasn’t taking care of fucking Al and giving him his premature ejaculations in this bed. Because never in the ancient long history of blow jobs, even Jewish ones, have there ever been any like this. Holy christ this is nursing down to a fine art. No wonder cocksucking is rampant backstage. Where did this tender young girl learn what she’s doing to me. On the slightest invitation. Comes a visitation without hesitation. The only hindrance is my poor old balls. Not only does she dance, but she must be a genius on the saxophone. Fuck the Field Marshal. Much as I admire him and have sympathy for his comfort, I’m never moving out of this wonderful place. My last magic time like this was back in Woonsocket with a childhood love I called my campfire girl. Out ice skating in the moonlight on a lake. Roasting marshmallows by the shore. We were so fucking innocently idyllically in love. And she broke down in tears when I made her blow me. And I broke down in tears because she said she never wanted to do it again. Except to a new boyfriend she just met. Always the fucking girl you think you’ve got, you ain’t got. O christ Cynthia honey. Talk about the bliss of vespers. Where the two of us could go to Farm Street Church to listen. Even that stab of pain your elbow just gave me feels like good pain in my bandaged balls. This is the worst day of my life I now don’t want ever to end. Honey talk about a cobra’s tongue. Or any tongue. Lift your head up here a second. Kissing your mouth. Is liquid excitement. Now go back down there. And kiss you later. Even the smartest wife of the wisest rabbi who ever lived couldn’t teach you such perfection in sucking. Although maybe Rabbi Low’s wife could. Meaning no disrespect to rabbis’ wives centuries ago. Jesus I can’t even remember if rabbis have wives. But all the best rabbis are supposed to know everything there is to know about fancy fucking. Even though it says nothing about it in the Talmud. So who shouldn’t believe them if they teach too about fancy sucking. Like it was meant to be oral law. Torah by mouth. Right in the old Jewish cemetery of Prague I had one of the most important insights of my life. Loneliness is a step towards death. Rabbi Low hello. It’s Schultz here speaking in a delirium. I got a problem. A special situation. Supposing you tell me the answer. If I ever let Cynthia and her fleshly assets into my life would her father come too. And give me paranoia. And worse, start smelling and tracing my hidden tax free resources. Hello Mr Schultz. This is Rabbi Low speaking. The answer is. Money before pleasure. Or you could get no pleasure. Cynthia. I’m going to take a risk. Momma meeo. With lips like yours. Who needs a mouth. Or with such a mouth. Who needs a throat. Or with income who needs tax. But this special night I’m glad Cynthia you have all three working. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s pigeons. Holy shit there’s a stray thought. Flew wings flapping right across my brain. O jesus, holy cow. Out the window. Three fucking more of the pigeons are keeled over drunk. Sorry guys or ladies I can’t do anything about it n
ow. This is the fucking countdown that’s begun. In ten, nine, eight, seven seconds from now it could be goodbye to weeks of celibacy. And hello to a tornado coming to tear my head off with rapture. Cynthia, welcome into my life. And hello to paranoia. My name is not Schultz it’s Sunningdale. Fucking christ a chair ain’t there to hold the door closed for five, five seconds more. Honey you are a magic genius. Poetry in motion. Holy shit. What. The fucking phone is ringing. Jesus this is a disaster. On the verge of my gorgeous apoplexy. It could be Hollywood. With an offer so fucking big for the movie rights that I could buy a two hundred foot yacht to go sailing back and forth for the rest of my life on the Riviera with tits wagging everywhere. Honey don’t let me disturb you. But I just got to answer this. Holy shit. Wow. Get my mind back to doing business on an even keel. Thirty percent of the profits off the top. Twenty down the sides. And five off the bottom. Holy jeez honey. Don’t stop. Just slow down a second while I answer this phone.
‘Hello.’
‘O Sigmund.’
‘Who’s this.’
‘It’s me. Louella. I am sorry. I really am. I simply couldn’t believe it was true and I just rang the hospital. What’s wrong, are you in awful pain. You really were in an accident.’
‘Yeah. I’m in awful pain.’
‘O dear. Forgive me for not realizing.’
‘It’s OK. Sure. Everything. Oooo. Sorry. It’s the pain. Comes in waves. I’ll call you back. O god. Oooo.’
‘O dear Sigmund. Can I come over.’
‘That’s all right. I can stand it. Oooo. I better hang up. Don’t come over. Call you right back. Goodbye.’
The women are back in my life now faster than I can handle them. One at a time unless they want to come two at a time, is the principle. And you first Cynthia. Because you you little delicious honeybun are fucking well going to kill me. And my Hebrew epitaph will read when it is translated in big capital letters into English. He died of a gorgeous sensation while the balance of his mind was beautifully disturbed. It’s the first time since the show opened that by the final curtain I didn’t know what the night’s gross is. So who’s going to concentrate counting. When a mouth like hers is sucking like gossamer silk. O jesus my balls are going to explode the suture loose. Leave blood everywhere. Like a rabbi does after a botched circumcision. In the old Jewish cemetery in Prague the wise old rabbis they lie in death wide awake. Rabbi Low tell me. How many of my Czech ancestors had a blow job. Sigmund what a silly question. There’s always strife in marriage. How else conveniently could you shut a nagging wife up. Touche Rabbi. And now let me tell you something. Tonight is going to lengthen my life. Or end it altogether. Cynthia. You should be studying for final exams. Let me ask you a question. What’s a young lovely gorgeous girl like you doing this at the end of my prick. Answer that when you’ve finished. Because you passed already with flying colours. The top of my head is exploding off. Brains throbbing out of my temples. And voom. Cynthia. I’m in orbit. Up in this wonderful place. Hey holy shit. The world’s way down there. There’s Woonsocket. Those fuckers who called me a Jew after I called them Irish are welcoming me back to main street for the biggest July fourth parade they ever had. But you’re making me feel a bigger hero. O Cynthia. I’m only an impresario. But you honey are a living and breathing doll. Who instead of out of fear and loathing as a wife. Is just one gorgeous tit bouncing dancing girl. And fuck a duck honey. At this pigeon party. Where a star is born.