Last Exit to Brooklyn (25 page)

He let the phone drop from his hand and left the bar and staggered home. Mary was in bed and he stood over her. Slowly he started leaning toward the bed. The covers were held tightly around her neck with a hand. Her hair was spread over the pillow. Ya ballbreakin cunt ya no good sonofabitch – Mary stirred then rolled over on her back and opened her eyes – Yeah, you bitch, grabbing an arm, twisting it and yanking her up to a sitting position, ya fuckin cunt. Whats the matta with you? ya gone crazy or somethin? trying to pull her arm lose. Yeah, Im crazy, crazy fa lettin ya break my fuckin balls – the baby rolled over and started whimpering then crying. Ya better let me go or I’ll killya. Ya aint pushin me around ya drunken slob. Drunken slob, eh? I’ll showya. I’ll showya, twisting harder and slapping her face.
Drunkin slob, eh? howya like that, eh? howya likeit, twisting and shaking, slapping her face. YA FILTY BASTAD. I’LL KILLYA. YA CANT SLAP ME AROUND LIKE THAT, scratching his hand. YA LOUSY CUNT, IF IT WASNT FOR YOU ITD BE DIFFERENT. ITS ALL YAFAULT – Mary bit his hand and he let go of her arm shaking his hand and still yelling – the baby banged against the side of the crib still crying. Harry went out to the bathroom and Mary sat in bed yelling after him and cursing him then lay down and covered her head with the pillow to drown out the noise of the kid crying. Harry let water run on his hand then sat at the kitchen table, rested his head on his arms and still muttering, soon fell asleep. After a while the baby started to fall into an exhausted sleep, still whimpering.

The men felt strange and uneasy the first day back on the job. They had been on strike so long they almost got lost trying to find their machines. The first day of the strike was a warm spring day and the men had joked, cleaned their cars, drunk beer … now there was snow on the ground and it was a new year. It had been months since they were even capable of hoping. The executives and foremen were rushing about distributing jobs, getting them set up, getting the proper tools and supplies to the right places; and the men stood by their machines, waiting until they had everything necessary to start a job, then worked without enthusiasm, stopping occasionally as the reality of being back on the job startled them.

Harry fumbled around his machine doing little, looking around at the men rushing from one bench to another, one floor to another, watching Wilson, thinking of Harrington, hearing the noise of the machinery, the piece of stock in his lathe and the prints on his bench annoying him. The foreman set up the job for Harry and turned the lathe on. Harry watched the thin spiralling strip of metal unwind from the stock. He watched the fuckin stock spin and the shavings twirl. He thought may be he should take a look around, make his rounds, but didnt feel like moving. When one cut had been made on the stock he didnt reset the machine, but just stood there until the foreman came over, reset it and left. Eventually Harry left. He didnt
turn his machine off or tell anyone he was leaving. He just turned, took a step, then continued walking.

He sat in the bar all afternoon drinking whisky; called Regina a few more times, but she either didnt answer or hung up when she heard his voice. Coulda been uptown. Ballbreakinbastards.

He left the bar a little after 8. He leaned against the wall as he walked, unable to stand, slipping on the icy ground. He leaned against the window of the empty store that had been used as the strike office. He lit a few matches trying to see inside, but he still couldnt see anything. There was nothing to see anyway. He had already taken the radio home. It was once again an empty store with a for rent sign on the door.

He walked to the corner, slipping several times, finally having to crawl to the lamppost to help himself stand. He clutched the post for a few minutes catching his breath. A kid, about 10 years old, from his block walked over to him and laughed. Youre drunk Mr Black, Harry touched him on the head, then stuck his hand down under the large collar of the kids jacket and rubbed the back of his neck. It was very warm. Even slightly moist. The kid laughed again. Hey, your hands cold. Quit it. Harry smiled his smile and pulled him closer. Where yagoin Joey? Up the corner to see the fellas. Harrys hand was warm now and Joey stopped squirming. Howya like a soda. You buyin? Yeah. OK. They started slowly up 57th street, Harrys hands still on the back of Joeys neck. When they had walked a few feet Harry stopped. They stood still a second then Harry started walking into the empty lot. Hey, where yagoin. Over there. Comeon, I wanna show yasomethin. What yawant ta show me? Comeon. They crossed the lot and went behind the large advertising sign. Whats here? Harry leaned against the billboard for a moment then lowered himself to his knees. Joey watched him, his hands in his jacket pockets. Harry reached up and opened Joeys fly and pulled out his cock. Hey, whatta yadoin, trying to back away. Harry clutched Joey by the legs and put Joeys small warm cock in his mouth, his head being tossed from side to side by Joeys attempts to free himself, but he clung to Joeys legs, keeping his cock in his mouth and muttering please … please. Joey pounded him on the head and tried to kick him with his knee. LETME GO!
LETME GO YA FUCKIN FREAK! Harry felt the fists on his head, the cold ground under his knees; felt the legs squirming and his hands starting to cramp from holding them so tight; and he felt the warm prick in his mouth and the spittle dribbling down his chin; and Joey continued to scream, squirm and pound his head until he finally broke loose and ran from the lot, still screaming, to the Greeks. When Joey broke loose Harry fell on his face, his eyes swelling and tears starting to ooze out and roll down his cheeks. He tried to stand but kept falling to his knees then flat on his face, still muttering please. A minute later Joey, Vinnie and Sal and the rest of the guys from the Greeks came running down 2nd avenue to the lot. Harry was almost standing, holding on to the billboard, when they reached him. THERE HE IS. THERE HEIS. THE SONOFABITCH TRIED TA SUCK ME OFF. Harry let go the billboard and started to extend his arms when Vinnie hit him on the cheek. Ya fuckin freak. Someone else hit him on the back of the neck and Harry fell to the ground and they kicked and stomped him, Joey squeezing in between to kick him too, and Harry barely moved, barely made a sound beyond a whimpering. A couple of the guys picked him up and stretched his arms across and around one of the crossbars of the sign and hung on his arms with all their weight and strength until Harrys arms were straining at the shoulder sockets, threatening to snap, and they took turns punching his stomach and chest and face until both eyes were drowned with blood, then a few of the guys joined the two pulling on his arms and they all tugged until they heard a snap and then they twisted his arms behind him almost tying them in a knot and when they let go he continued to hang from the bar then slowly started to slide down and to one side until one arm jerked around the bar and flopped back and forth like a snapped twig held only by a thin piece of bark and his shoulder jerked up until it was almost on a level with the top of his head and the guys watched Harry Black as he slowly descended from the billboard, his arms flapping back and forth until his jacket got caught on a splinter and the other arm spun around and he hung, impaled, and they hit and kicked him until the splinter snapped and Harry descended to the ground.

Harry lay still, sobbing. He cried then screamed a long loud
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA that was muffled as his face fell back into the dirt of the lot.

He tried to raise his head but could not. He could only turn it slightly so he rested on a cheek. He was able to open his eyes slightly, but was blinded by the blood. He yelled again. He heard the sound loud inside his head, GOD O GOD, he yelled but no sound came from his mouth. He heard his voice loud in his head but only a slight gurgle came from his lips. GOD GOD

YOU SUCK COCK

The moon neither noticed nor ignored Harry as he lay at the foot of the billboard, but continued on its unalterable journey. The guys washed up in the Greeks, drying their hands with toilet paper and tossing the wet wads at each other, laughing. It was the first real kick since blowing up the trucks. The first good rumble since they dumped that doggy. They sprawled at the counter and at the tables and ordered coffee and

CODA

Landsend

How much less in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which are crushed before the moth?

They are destroyed from morning to evening: they perish for ever without any regarding it. Doth not their excellency which is in them go away? They die, even without wisdom.

Job 4: 19–21

Mike Kelly told his wife ta go tahell and rolled over, covering his head with the blanket. Comeon, gut-up. We need milk and bread. He said nothing. Comeon Mike, I’ll be late for work. Still silent. Aw please get up Mike, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently pushing his shoulder. Wont yago to the store while I get dressed. Comeon. Mike turned over, knocking her hand from his shoulder, and leaned on his elbow. Look, go tawork and dont bother me, willya? turning back and falling on the bed, pulling the covers back over his head. Irene jerked up and noisily walked to the chair, yanked her clothing off it and started dressing. Youre a bastard Mike. Yahear me? a bastard, slamming down into the chair and putting her socks on. Get lost bitch before I break yahead. Irene continued to mumble as she dressed then stomped off to the bathroom and banged the door shut. Ya better stop the shit Irene or I’ll rapya. She faced the closed door and stuck her tongue out then turned both water faucets on quickly, the water splashing out of the basin. She jammed the stopper into the hole, still cursing Mike (the bastard), wrenched the faucets closed and threw the face cloth into the sink. She scrubbed her face, still muttering and Helen, her 3 year old daughter, knocked on the door. Irene jerked the door open. What do
you
want? Helen put her thumb in her mouth and stared at her mother. Well? Have to go peepee Mommy. Well, go ahead. Helen went to the bathroom and Irene rinsed then dried her face. Im going to be late. I just know it. She attacked her hair with a brush and Arthur, almost 18 months old, started crying. O god-DAMNit. She threw the hair brush into the tub (Helens thumb was still in her mouth and she waited until Irene left the bathroom before sliding off the seat, flushing the toilet and running in to the living room) and raged into the bedroom. The
least yacan do is take care of the baby. Mike jerked up and shouted for her to get thehellout and leave him alone. Youre his mother you take care of him. Irene stamped her foot and her face flushed. If youd go out and get a job I could take care of him. He pulled the covers back over his head. Dont bother me. You bastard you. You – she yanked a jacket off a hanger, Arthur still wailing for a bottle, Helen sitting in the corner of the living room waiting for the argument to stop. Irene thrust her arms into the sleeves of the jacket. Give me some money for breakfast. He threw the covers off and reached over to his pants and took a dollar out of his wallet. Here. Now get thehell outtahere and stop breakin my balls. She snatched the dollar from his hand and stomped out of the apartment, hoping Arthur would cry louder and make Mike get up, the bastard. Every morning the same thing. Never gives me a hand. Wont even fix the baby a bottle. I come home from work and
I
have to fix supper and
I
have to wash the dishes and
I
have to wash the clothes and
I
have to take care of the kids!!! O, the dirty bastard!!! – rushing along the street to the store. She went in, ignoring the clerks good morning Irene, and picked up a dozen eggs then put them back and took a half dozen as she needed cigarettes, a quart of milk and 2 rolls. She took the cigarettes out of the bag and put them in her pocket so she wouldnt forget them and leave them for Mike (the bastard). When she got back to the apartment she kicked open the door then slammed it shut. Arthur was still crying, Helen standing alongside the crib talking to him, and Mike yelled out ta shut the kid up. Why dontya take care of the kid before yago to the store, truly and honestly indignant at the manner in which she neglected the children. If youre so concerned why dontya get up and take care of him, bastard? He sat up in bed and turned toward the open door. Youd better watch your mouth or I’ll shove a fist init, falling back on the bed and covering his head with the blanket. Irene shook but all she could do was stamp a foot, still holding the bag of groceries, and OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO … Then she noticed the time and put the bag on the table, put on a pot of water, ran to the kids room and grabbed Arthurs bottle, filled it with milk, heated it enough to take the chill off; poured some corn flakes and milk in a bowl while the bottle was heating, rushed back to the crib with the bottle, Arthur
taking it and stopping his crying (Mike moaning a thank krist); then Irene called Helen to eat her corn flakes and made herself a cup of instant coffee, buttered a roll, dunked it, ate it and rushed to the bedroom. Give me some money. O for krists sake, you still here? Hurry Mike. I’ll be late. He threw her half a dollar. Hey, how about the change from the dollar? There isnt any (at least she got an extra dime and a pack of cigarettes). Irene gulped the last of her coffee and rushed out. She ran to the bus stop hoping she wouldnt have to wait too long and still cursing Mike, the bastard. If he doesnt clean the house today I’ll quit the job. Thats what I’ll do. Let him get a job. She saw a bus coming and ran faster, just getting to the bus stop in time. The bastard.