Last Exit to Brooklyn (17 page)

They continued drinking and talking, Harry telling them about the union and what he was doing. From time to time he picked up the empty pitcher and refilled it and set it on his desk, being sure to push his chair back and let it roll to the wall before getting up. After a few hours a few more of the guys came in and by the time the sun set Harry was getting drunk and entertaining about a dozen of the neighborhood guys, feeling like a patriarch because he was in charge of the strike. The guys drank the beer and ignored Harry, talking to him only when necessary; yet Harry was happy, enjoying having them around him and excited with anticipation. He asked Vinnie, laughing and slapping him on the shoulder, who that fruit was that was with
them the othernight and Vinnie told him she was just one of the queens from uptown, onea Georgettes friends. Why, ya wanna meeter? Naw, slapping Vinnies knee, what the fuck I wanna meet a fuckin fruit for. I dont know, maybe ya go for that stuff, laughing and peering at Harry. Haha, leaning back in his chair, pushing with his hands against the desk, the chair rolling back to the wall. I was just wonderin what ya guys were doing with a fruit. I didnt think yahung around with those kindda fucks. Theyre OK sometimes. Theyre always good for loot when they got it and they getya high when yawanna. Stick around. She may be around later, smiling. Hahaha, rolling the chair back to the desk. I dont go for that shit. Im strickly a cunt man myself. I was just wonderin how come he hung around with you guys is all. I got more cunt than ya could fuck in a year. Shit, last night I had ta chase one away, a good looking bitch too, but I promised the old lady Id throw a fuck inner, you know how it is. Ya gotta – Vinnie turned his head and started talking to Sal and some of the other guys, but Harry couldnt stop: he soliloquised about the babe who picked him up a few weeks ago and took him home and she had a new car and the blond and how many more women who damned near fucked the ass offim, but they couldnt do that, he could out fuck any woman around and he never did like queers, everytime he saw one he wanted ta rapim in his mouth and whenever he throws a fuck inta the old lady she creams all over the place and Vinnie and the guys got up and walked away and Harry leaned toward a few of the other guys near by, his voice still working, the words still spilling, his laugh blurting out occasionally and he stopped for a second, drank his beer, filled the glass again and continued talking, lower, walking around telling the guys he could fixem up anytime they wanted ta get a good piece a tail and a few nodded, one or two even smiled, and soon Harry was able to stop talking and he went back to his desk and drank beer, more rapidly, keeping all the pitchers full, telling the guys ta drinkup, theres plenty more, the unions gonna keep the beer flowin, hahaha, and he emptied another glass, refilled it and soon was unable to move without staggering and he sat at his desk, pushing his chair back and forth from time to time, spilled a glass of beer on his desk and laughed as it trickled off the edge, someone yelling that it was a good strike and a
few others yelled, yeah, and Harry laughed his laugh and pushed the beer off the desk with the palm of his hand and said theres plenty more and the guys laughed and soon tired of hanging around with Harry and told him goodbye, we’ll seeya, keep the beer cold, and Harry asked them not to go, hang around a while. We’ll getus some pussy later, but the guys said they had business and left.

Harry looked at his desk, the glass and pitcher of beer. Haha. No work tomorrow. Gotta piss. He stood, bumped against the desk, shoved his chair back and laughed when it banged against the wall, leaned on the desk looking at the beer then staggered to the yard and pissed, sighing. Thats what I needed. A good piss, haha. Nothin like a good piss. Maybe the guysll come back tomorrow, ahh … thats betta. He turned off the lights and went home.

He left the house the next morning as soon as he dressed and went to his office. He filled a pitcher with beer and sat at his desk. He leaned back and put his feet on the desk. It was kindda nice to sit alone and drink beer for a while. He could use the relaxation. Hed been working hard on the strike and tomorrow would be another busy day. It was kindda nice to sit alone in his office. He really liked it. It really wasnt so bad. He picked up the pitcher to refill his glass. It was empty. Didnt think hed been there that long, but I guess maybe I have. He laughed and got up and refilled the pitcher and then his glass. Somea the guys should be around soon. Must be late enough. He sat back and put his feet back up on the desk. It wasnt bad being alone though. For a while.

A car stopped in front of the Greeks and he got up from his desk and went to the door and yelled across to the guys going into the Greeks. They looked and strolled across the street, Vinnie carrying a package. Harry stood at the door as they walked in and the guys flopped around after filling glasses with beer. Vinnie put the package on the desk and tore the paper off. Here yaare Harry. We toldya we’d getya a radio. Hows this? pretty good, eh? If we wasnt so desperate for loot youd never get it. Harry walked over to the desk and looked at the radio, turned the knobs and watched the needle move along the dial. Youre lucky we’re beat man or we’d never giveit toya for a lousy 30 skins. Now at least we can have some music around here. This joints like a morgue, unwinding the cord and plugging it in. It
even has short wave man, turning the dial and stopping when a voice singing in a foreign language came from the radio. See. I wish ta fuck I could keep the thing. Yeah, it sounds pretty good, turning the dial again, stopping as the sound of different languages reached them. Hey Vin, get some music, yeah? Vinnie switched it back to the standard band and Harry reached over and started toying with the dial. He watched the needle move slowly across the lighted numbers and when a screeching sax wailed someone yelled, thats it man, and a hand pushed Harrys from the knob and tuned in the sax. The volume was turned up and someone told Harry ta fill up the pichas and someone slapped him on the back, great set, eh man? and Harry nodded and picked up a pitcher and refilled it and he watched and listened to the guys snap their fingers and yell with the music and Harry felt their friendship and felt too, again, spasms of expectation and everything seemed sortofright and Harry felt comfortable.

When Vinnie told him to give him the money now Harry took the thirty dollars from his wallet and handed it to him and told the guys ta drink up, the brewery needs the barrels and laughed and toldem theres plenty more and once more started blithering and babbling about the union and women and the guys just ignored him and continued to drink until they got bored and left Harry with his beer and radio. Harry sat alone for a while listening to his radio, toying with the dials, drinking the beer, laughing his laugh, gripping the knobs tighter and twirling them fast then slow, moving the dial where and as he pleased, listening to a station for a few minutes, changing it, tuning in shortwave and feeling that he could drag the foreign countries in as he pleased.

He stayed at his desk drinking beer and listening to his radio until his head started to hang toward his chest. He emptied his glass, unplugged the radio, put it under his desk, put out the lights, locked the door and started walking the few blocks, which would only take a few minutes and was only a short distance away, home.

Harry was sick the next morning but dragged himself from the house to his office. His entire body was twitching and Harry forced down a few beers to straighten himself out before the men came. He got a couple of glasses down and a half dozen aspirin, his headache
slowly leaving and the turmoil in his stomach subsiding, yet he still felt a tension, an apprehension, and he cursed the bars for not being open yet so he could get a shot and get rid of his hangover. When the men started coming, a little before 8, their joking and laughter, as they grabbed signs and had their books stamped, annoyed Harry. When all the signs had been distributed and fresh coffee made, Harry went to the bar for a couple of fast shots and came back convinced he felt better. When he got back to the office he turned the radio on and sat behind his desk drinking beer and joking with the men. When one of the officials called Harry told him he had bought a radio for the office, figured the men’d like a little music or maybe hear a ballgame when they come off the line, and the official told him to send a bill to the union and he would be reimbursed. Harry hung up the phone and sat back in his chair feeling very official and important; and although the morning passed slowly for Harry until he got over his hangover, the afternoon passed rapidly, especially after his phone conversation (strike headquarters, local 392, Brother Black talkin) with the union official.

When the last of the men left that night Harry sat at his desk drinking for a while then went across the street to the Greeks. He ate slowly until a few of the guys came in and then ate rapidly, talking and laughing. When he finished they went back to the office and drank and listened to the radio, the guys ignoring Harry as usual, just nodding or mumbling an occasional answer. A few more of the guys came in but they didnt stay too long and once again Harry was sitting behind his desk alone with a pitcher of beer and a glass. The sun had set and the street was quiet and cool and though Harry had been drinking beer all day, and had been feeling relaxed for hours, the butterflies in his stomach started again as he walked home.

The baby was asleep when he got there and Mary was watching TV, waiting for him. She called him in the living room and Harry sat in a chair, Mary leaning over to rub his ear, Harry too confused and not drunk enough to shove her hand away. After rubbing his ear for a few minutes without Harry twisting his head away Mary sat on the arm of the chair and put an arm around his neck. A short time later she coaxed him into the bedroom and Harry undressed and lay beside
her until she pulled him on her. Harry continued to drift, as he had through the day, only silently and lethargically, still experiencing the sharp depression that overcame him when the guys left and he was alone with his radio, beer, desk and chair, the depression of disappointment after a long wait. When Mary pulled him over on her he allowed his body to move in the directed direction and she put her arms around him, breathing on his neck, rolling under him. Harry just lay on her until he became conscious of her voice then rolled off, lit a cigarette and lay on his side smoking. Mary rubbed his back, kissed his neck and Harry continued to smoke, still immobile, still silent and Mary rubbed his ear and rubbed his arms until Harry eventually shook her hands off. Mary lay on her back for a while, mumbling and rolling slightly from side to side, Harry still silent, until Harry finally put his cigarette out and adjusted himself to go to sleep. Mary looked at his back for a while then rolled over on her side, pulled her knees up toward her chin and eventually fell asleep.

Mary told Harry tagotahell when he told her to fix breakfast. He told her again to fix breakfast or hed break her fuckin head. Do it yourself and dont botha me. Harry called her a fuckin slut and left the house. Harry couldnt remember how he had felt the night before, but he did know he felt different this morning, the usual resentment against Mary filling his thoughts. She was once more responsible for his misery as were the bosses for the fact that he didnt make much money. Between them they tried to make his life miserable; they tried ta fuckim everytime he moved; if it wasnt for them things would be different.

Harry slowed down in his bustling around the office as the days passed until, after a few weeks, he just sat, most of the time, behind his desk except for an occasional walk to the line to relieve the tension of just sitting in the small office. The men too slowed and while on the picket line moved just enough not to be standing still. When they spoke with each other it was with comparatively quiet voices and when they spoke with the police it was just a word or two, or, more usually, a nod. There was no desperation in their appearance or action, but the novelty of being on strike was over and now it was just like a job like any other job only they werent getting paid for this. What
little lightheartedness remained after the first full week of picketing slowly vanished with the forming of each Saturday food line and when the men went home with $10 worth of groceries. They had to report to the meeting hall and before the food was distributed the President gave a speech and the first Saturday he told them what a fine job they were doing on the line and especially praised brother Harry Black for the way in which he carried out his duties as organizer and administrator of the strike field office. He told the men that they had met with the companies negotiating committee each day the past week, but they were offering starvation wages and that their committee refused to give in to them even if they had to stay on strike a year. When he finished speaking the clique stamped, cheered and whistled and soon most of the men were applauding the President as he jumped from the platform and walked among the men slapping them on their backs and shaking their hands. Then the men lined up for their food bags. There were many comments, jokes and laughter as the lines slowly moved forward and each man was handed his bag, but when they were alone the bag looked small. The second Saturday the Presidents speech was even shorter, the applause quieter, the men more silent as they stood on line. Only a few could think of something funny to say. And so each week ended.

When the men first started picketing the plant they would make jokes about the few executives who were going to work, greeting them occasionally with jeers and boos, but soon they cursed them each morning and each night, the police telling them to shut up and keep moving. After the first few weeks had passed the men stood still as the executives entered the building and started threatening them, the police waving their clubs in their faces and telling them to be quiet and keep the lines moving or they would pull them in. Each day the voices, curses and threats of the men were more vehement and after a few weeks more police were stationed at the entrance of the building in the morning and evening; and when they told the men to watch themselves and keep moving the men spit in front of the cops or mumbled something about goons; and each day the routine was the same except that it grew more intense and the men were continually looking for an excuse to hit someone, anyone; and the police were
just waiting for someone to start something so they too could find relief from the boredom by cracking someones skull. And as the boredom increased so did the resentment: the resentment of the men toward the cops for being there and trying to prevent them from winning the strike; and the police toward the strikers for making it necessary for them to stand around like this for hours each day when they werent even allowed to go on strike if they wanted more money. The men moved as slowly as possible, sneering at the police when they passed them; and the police stood facing them all day swinging their clubs by the leather thong and telling the men to keep moving if they stopped even for a second; and the men would stand still for a moment, staring, hoping someone would say fuckyou to one of the cops so they could wrap their signs around their heads, but no one said anything and as a cop took a step forward the men started moving again and the strike and the game continued.