A Fairy Tale of New York (14 page)

"Excuse me gentlemen, I hope you won't mind, but I'd like to introduce my associate, you won't object if he sits in."

"No we don't mind. Sure sit him in. Like we said, it's nice to see such a classy staffed operation as you've got, Mr Vine. That's why we come to you. With the kind of all around consultancy we could offer. Like you need a bundle. We got a bundle."

"I 'm fully financed gentlemen.''

"Ok, you know, we understand that too, so you're fully financed. But what operation doesn't need more customers. We can push business your way, isn't that right Zeke.''

"Sure Tony, a trickle or an avalanche whatever Mr Vine wants."

"Now Zeke here, he covers a lot of areas. The big hotels for instance. Some of them got maybe a dead guest a week. Out of ten or fifteen hotels you got a steady supply of a dozen corpses. Maybe minus a few who don't have money. We 're selective.''

"Gentlemen I 'm not short of deceased.''

"Ok, ok, it was only if you was short. Now maybe you don't have the best sanitation service. We got good rates for taking your garbage away. With reverence. Isn't that right Zeke."

''That's right. Removal with reverence. We got good rates.''

"I've got a fine garbage collector already.''

"So all right. We still think you could be benefiting from our service. You know. I mean look at that place you're opening up. I mean let me tell you something Mr Vine, we think you're a pretty successful guy. I mean Zeke here, he's done calculations. With a successful guy we feel we got something to offer. That nothing interrupts him. Extra fire protection for instance. I mean take this place. Gee what a fire could do to this. This ain't no new building.''

"I 'm insured gentlemen.''

''We know you 're insured, isn't that right Carmine.''

"That's right."

"But Mr Vine, sir, what we was thinking was would you be compensated for the loss in momentum of your operation. That's what worries us. You know.'

"It doesn't worry megentlemen.''

"Excuse me Mr Vine, can I ask you just one question.''

"Please do."

"Look at us. There's Zeke there. Some people think he's ugly, call him Two Ton. But he's got a nice house out in Flatbush. He's got neighbors he's proud of. He's got a son already studying to be a lawyer and a daughter who goes to a good school. Just like your two daughters.''

''What do you mean like my two daughters.''

"Nothing, nothing believe me. You know, today there's crime everywhere. It's just like we was all pillars of the community and should stick together. Now take Carmine, he's a credit to his neighborhood. Sure his good friends call him the Slim Wop. They enjoy kidding. But they like him, a good family man from Hoboken. We don't want to give any offense Mr Vine. You know. That's all I was saying. I just wanted to ask you, do you think as businessmen we would waste your time and our time if we didn't feel deep down sincerely that we could assist you, help you. Bender you down to earth honest to god service. Like the sudden need you funeral guys talk about. That you don't know hits you till it's knocking on your doorstep. And here we are. Ready to help. A loan, sure. A big loan, all the better. A fantastic loan. Well as I say, we 're there. Ian't that right Zeke.''

"That's right."

"Hey now what about your assistant.''

"My associate."

"Sorry that's what I meant associate. What's your name again young man. Hey you know I'd swear I knew you from somewhere."

"I'm Mr Peabody."

Tony taking the cigar out of his mouth, putting his hand up to his bandaged jaw. Tilting his wide head with its pair of tiny sunken ears. Brushing a lump of ash off his monstrous knee.

"It's funny I really think I know your face. Anyway that name sounds like you was somebody, ha ha Mr Peabody. But no kidding. Maybe you can see what we drive at. You play baseball."

"No I don't."

"Maybe you play football.''

"No I'm against violent sport.''

"You must play pinochle.''

"Sorry, no."

"I guess guys like you and Mr Vine are really too busy. But sports is what has made this country great. Well we don't want to take up your time. Except Mr Vine we want you to know that sometimes we know certain things. Like when a big funeral's going to happen. When I say big. I mean big. Maybe twenty thousand dollars worth. Now what kind of an operation wants in their sane mind to brush off business like that. To kick such an opportunity in the face. In six months we could line up five like that. Am I right Zeke."

"Right."

"And our commission would be hardly nothing. Like five percent. Real low. Of your gross operation. And everything's protected. I mean we heard right away, about this woman suing who says you made a whore out of her husband. That's horrible. What kind of operation wants that kind of publicity. Which is avoided when we explain to her lawyer the back breaking inconvenience he's going to find in his way. Satisfaction guaranteed service that nobody bothers you. Isn't that gospel Zeke."

"That's gospel."

Clarance Vine quietly smiling. Tony removing and wiping sun glasses. Zeke protruding in his chair. Huge bull neck bursting out of a white starched collar. Gold chain across his light brown waistcoat. Upon him all things bulge. Knees elbows and eyes. Chair creaks and squeaks as he moves. Carmine shining his fingernails back and forth on his blue jacket. Spreads out his fingers in the window light and blows lightly on each nail one by one. Turning to look every minute or so behind his head at a photograph of Vine shaking hands with the mayor of New York.

"Well Mr Vine. Mr Peabody. I thank you for your valuable time. I only naturally hope that our endeavours here today will put our service working for you making those extra meaningful dollars. Take the wife to Florida for the weekend. And I know the nicest place. You just go in and say Big Tony sent you. On a free scholarship."

"Mr Peabody and myself are widowers.''

"O hey I'm sorry to hear that, that's too bad. Well maybe two healthy distinguished looking men like yourselves. Well what girl wouldn't be proud to stand next to you in any lobby you want to mention along Miami Beach."

"Thank you for all you've said Mr—''

"North. Tony North."

"Mr North."

"And Mr Bast and Mr West. Easy to remember just like we do business. In all directions."

' "Well thank you for coming gentlemen.''

"Our pleasure believe us. And goodbye Mr Peabody it was real nice you could sit in. Still think I've seen you somewhere. Hey you wasn't by any chance ever flying airplanes like an airline pilot or something.''

''No. I can hardly ride a bicycle.''

Blue suited Tony standing, adjusting his sun glasses. As chocolate suited Zeke rises. And with him the whole chair, four legs sticking out from his arse. Tony and Slim Wop reaching out to grab. Tugging at the antique's legs and arms. Vine rapidly coming from around his desk. All three pulling. As Two Ton Zeke holds the edge of Vine's desk. One leg snaps. Tony crashing backwards. Breaking the glass in Vine's photograph with the mayor.

"O gee whiz I'm sorry to break everything Mr Vine. Hey Zeke what the hell's the matter with you. Couldn't you see you shouldn't sit in that chair.''

"What do you want me to do stand everywhere I go."

''No I just want you to look before you sit.''

"Gee Mr Vine we'll fix that picture and send you two new chairs tomorrow.''

"Well that chair happens to be Louis Quatorze.''

"Loui. We know a Loui makes furniture right down the avenue here. Don't worry, a chair exactly like that. We'll have it tomorrow, at the latest.''

"Hey come on Tony. Don't stand talking about two new chairs. Get this old one off me.''

Zeke's ass wedged. Thighs straining at the sides of his trousers. A tug. As he shouts don't kill me. The chair yanked off. Floor trembling. Clarance Vine wiping his brow with a dark green silk hanky. And these gentlemen of the compass picking up their cigars from the ash tray, plunging them back in their mouths as they wave at the door goodbye.

"Nice meeting you mister. Your name just slipped my mind, had a nice clean sound to it."

"Mr Peabody."

"O yeah, Peabody. You sure are familiar from somewhere. And sorry about the busting up, Mr Vine.''

Clarance standing over his gilt embellished chair. Bending to look at the broken back and one leg wrenched off. Shaking his head back and forth.

"Well Cornelius, or should I call you Mr Peabody. You just saw what is sometimes described as muscle. Flexing in one of my chairs. Sit down. I 'm glad you 've come around like this.''

"Those men trying to blackmail you Mr Vine.''

"If I let them. Yes. If I don't. No. I can tell you one thing though. Guys are trying to get into this business like it was some kind of sawdust sausage factory. Nobody gives a good god damn about the dead anymore.''

"Mr Vine, I really am sorry for what's happened. Is Mrs Silver really suing.''

"Here's the letter from her lawyer. But don't worry about it. That's my problem.''

Christian leaning forward. Sunlight flashing on the white sheet that rattles in his hand. A spear of pain flaring up one's bowel. Clang of bells and sirens as a fire apparatus roars by down in the street.

Dear Sir,

We communicate with you on behalf of our client Mrs Silver, concerning the extensively damaging outrage (hereinafter referred to as The Outrage) regarding her late husband Herbert's funeral arrangements, who, as numerous people know held an honorable position in the business community of this city for many years.

The Outrage upon our client occasioned grievous ego injuries and an outbreak of warts over her entire body. We are holding your firm accountable as well as your employee Cornelius Christian who prepared the remains.

Further concerning The Outrage, my client has complained bitterly regarding the cavalier manner in which she was treated in her interview with you with a view to rectifying the matter to the satisfaction of all concerned. We fail to understand your refusal to discipline your employee and to require him to apologize to Mrs Silver. The menacing comment, "I'll pump you full of formaldehyde,"was a direct threat to do grievous bodily harm to my client, to maim, spiritually grieve, and abusively imperil her life. The malicious slandering of the words, "sell you as a bloody monster, "and other words too offensive to mention has rendered my client to total incapacitation since, and her disfigurement by warts has forced her to withdraw from the outside world.

What the hell, yes, I use the word hell, kind of mental scourge do you think innocent people should be subjected to these days when laying to rest their loved ones. We are sure you would prefer that the matter not be litigated with the attendant publicity. And in such event, my client, to compensate for her acute and prolonged suffering, would consider the matter closed upon payment of adequate damages.

Yours,

Wartberg & Blitz

"It was all my fault Mr Vine. O my god. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt your business.''

"I know that Cornelius, I know that. But it could have happened to anybody. You put your heart and soul into doing the best you could. George told me that. And you got a snarl in your face for thanks. There are no hard feelings here."

Vine's eyes. They go through you. Seeing every layer both living and dead. Knows every thought you think. Both funny and sad, serious or glad.

"And by the way Cornelius, if you don't mind telling me. How the hell do I shift that guy with the sandwichboard outside the east side branch. Says he's a friend of yours waiting for you. Has a god damn new sign every day. Ok, I understand. You'd like me to leave him alone."

"I guess so Mr Vine."

"Sure. Somehow there's not much left of the soft and loving. Like the shape of an ear. The ear of a beautiful woman. That you know is going to melt away. I wish you luck Cornelius. I have a feeling your name is going to be on our lips someday. And I hope I can say then without being presumptuous, that we were friends. I don't know Christian. But that's what's most precious to me."

In all

The dark dooms

Where courage

Must live

If life

Is not

To die

15

Cornelius Christian strolling away up the street from Vine's west side branch. Staring into the sunshine pouring upon this wide long teaming avenue. Trucks cars and buses at the traffic lights. Stand with folk collecting to cross the road. Easy to look good in such a sea of ugly people.

Christian pausing on the sidewalk. Big smiling picture of a man sitting chained to an egg. Inside the window of a bank. Above which the flag of this country flies red white and blue with stars and stripes. Over the passing heads decorated with faces. In which Vine said he could read a whole life. During the secondary flacidity when the rigor mortis passes off. And just up here is an automat. Have some milk and apple pie while I worry. About how I find another job.

A tanned dirty hand placed on Christian's arm. A ragged pedestrian, his coat clutched closed at his throat. Soup stained silk blue tie hanging out, white streaks of lightning down it. Shoes bent and broken. Dark red gums holding yellow teeth as he speaks.

''Buddy can you spare a dime.''

"Sorry, no."

''Just a dime. Hey come on, give me a break.''

"I need it for myself."

"Well at least you 're honest. But I really need a dime.''

"What for."

"For a cup of coffee.''

"Sorry."

"Buddy it's just a little charity, make you feel a better person."

"I feel good enough already.''

"Buddy believe me if I had something to give you I'd give it to you."

"All right. You can give me your life's story.''

"What for."

''Because I 'm paying for it."

"Who said I was selling.''

"Do you want a dime or don't you.''

"I want two dimes for my life story.''

"Ok, two dimes."

''Buddy, what do you want my life's story for.''

"What do you want two dimes for.''

"So I can get a cup of coffee and a roll.''

"Well I want your life's story because it will make my hair stand on end."

"What are you fella, some kind of pervert. Anyway for that I charge a dollar."

"I'll give you two quarters.''

"What, fifty cents for my whole life story. It could be worth a fortune."

"Ok, goodbye."

"Hey wait a minute mister what about a quarter and I'll tell you where I was born.''

"No I want the whole story.''

"It could take me nearly an hour to tell it.''

"I'll wait."

"It's too public to stand here while I tell it."

"Ok. Let's go into the automat. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

"Hey mister I go in and have a cup of coffee with you I could be missing making dimes from guys who don't want to know my whole life's story, be reasonable will you. I mean what's to pay for my time and overheads.''

"Take a risk."

"Buddy in my life every risk is like wearing a noose round the neck while you jump the Grand Canyon. I mean what's with you. What do you want with my life story.''

"I don't know yet. I'm taking a risk."

"Fella why don't you take an option. Be a sport. Just give me a dime. Meet you here tomorrow same time.''

Christian looking into these eyes. Only need a token bit of touching up. Easy to flesh out his cheeks. Hair shampooed and combed, a close shave and he'd look good in his coffin. Hire mourners. Maybe a cockroach would come running out of him. Like the one George said once scampered along the edge of the antique embalming table and sent Vine into a rage, smashing bottles on the marble slab as he missed the scurrying bug, drenching himself in embalming fluid.

"Hey look, see what's happening. While I'm talking to you. Look at all the handouts I might be missing. People walking by who could be giving me maybe quarters. And here I'm stuck making no money talking with you. Good way to go broke.''

"You mean you 're not broke.''

"Hey now buddy wait a minute. Why should I tell you a stranger my finances.''

"Why not."

"Gee whiz fella, already two dozen possibilities I've seen walk by. Hey look, for Christ's sake. Forget I ever asked you. Why don't I give you a dime, and you go your way and I go mine, how about that."

"O k."

"Jesus Christ, it's crazy, what the hell kind of a world would it be if every guy was like you. Here. Take it.''

"Thanks."

''O boy fella, don't thank me, thank you.''

Christian slipping the thin coin into his dark tweed waist coat pocket. Passing a vegetable shop, green peppers, bulging red and yellow tomatoes, purple egg plants and fruits stacked out on the pavement. Buy myself an apple. With one nickel. Make a phone call with another.

Christian entering this drugstore. Glass cabinets jammed from floor to ceiling. Smells of soap, pastes and powders in all their glossy wrappings. Mustached man in his white jacket. Smiling behind his glasses. Happy at his little counter where he mixes the cures. From his storehouse of knowledge. Come in looking yellow and he gives you a blue pill and you go out green. Helps you soak up the sunshine. Now tells a woman examining a toothbrush that last year dentists said brush up and down and now this year they say brush back and forth so maybe it's better to brush in a circle till they make up their minds.

Christian in the telephone booth passing a finger up and down the names. Write the number on the back of a Vine business card. Pop in the coin, hear it go clink and bing down into the black box. Bell ringing far out over the tenement cliffs of the Bronx to where on the northern borders of the city it's wooded and green again. At the other end of all the miles of wire. Hello.

Hello. Hello.

"May I please speak to Miss Graves. Charlotte Graves."

"Speaking."

"This is Cornelius Christian."

"O hi, how wonderful to hear from you. You know, really amazing only a minute ago I was thinking of you. Of my first date I ever had. It was with you.''

"Could I take you out. Again. Tonight."

"Gee, I'd really love to but I'm sorry I've got to go to a party."

"O."

''But wait, why don't you come.''

"I'd be imposing."

"O no. You wouldn't be. Please. Come. I can bring someone if Like."

"O k."

"Why don't you call for me. It's on the way. You remember where I live."

"Fine. What time."

"Eight."

"Gee I'm really looking forward to seeing you Cornelius, gosh so good to hear from you, just out of the blue like this.''

''Well fine. Tonight then.''

"Yes."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Walk now a street. Empty houred. Till eight o'clock. Fill it with Fanny. She'll be waiting. For me to come back. To lie twinging a little in fear. As I did when she said again about all the pricks up her throats at once. That she wanted all the guys to blow their tops together. And in her own hysteric rapture she would supremely shudder. The white soft liquids pouring over her hands. Gently up and down into her throats. That strange sad tired look brooding over her elegant face. Two darkened eyes afloat on her placid sperm silkened skin.

Cornelius Christian crossing the street into Central Park. Look down and see all the bottle tops embedded in the asphalt. Pair of fat grey squirrels running up a tree chased by a dog. This whole massive country. One vast incitement to the appetite. One monstrous insult to the delicate spirit. Go up to every seemly lady on a bench. And ask. Awfully politely. May I make use of your service entrance madam. Deliver you a catastrophic fuck. From your local supplier.

Saunter up the winding path to the top of this stone hill. Hands folded behind back. Sun warm on my face. Silent men cluttered around the concrete chess tables. Fingers tapping, lips pursing over the death and slaughter drenched chess boards. And sitting there ready to checkmate a sour opponent, the man who valued me as a gentleman as I sat in the automat. Enveloped in my doom. In a sea of silent suffering. One little word of comfort saves you drowning.

Down beyond another little rocky hillside, mothers fathers and kids on the merry go round. Boys and girls lifted on the wooden ponies. Big platform turning to the trumpeting music. Few sneaky parents trying to get a ride too. Stand here, out of the funeral business forever. Done enough to Vine already without asking him to take me back on the job. Walk here homesick. With a hard on. For the soft carpets upon which sadness treads. The cool skinned mounds of Miss Musk's arse floating by two cheeked. Where in there between them I had so hornily deeply planted my pole. With nothing else to say after orgasm. Except let's do this again real soon.

Four o'clock by the bronze glockenspiel in the zoo. Musky smells and random roars of the big cats. Keeper looking so god damn confident in his faded dark green uniform, leaning against the wall. Finished hosing away all the shit. After the tiger's meat dinner. The clock tower bell chiming its tune for an audience of balloon toting kids. Stand with them alive in peace. Till some new fucker comes gliding out of the shadows to tell you he's got some oral rapture for sale for five bucks. And as you rush that much poorer to consummate he trips you up, cuts your trousers off with a razor and lifts your wallet. Dear god. Got to fight. Claw my way up through all the grey brains and heads, shrunken cocks and shrivelled balls, flat asses and hanging bellies. Who say no to me. That you can't run wild across the plateau. Where the dollars swarm like autumn leaves. Deep under foot. And falling everywhere.

Christian in the blue balmy splendor of this afternoon strolling eastwards. Stepping into a marble townhouse filled with paintings. Natty gentleman with a watch chain sporting the recent hot shit look. This picture gallery where folk come sniffing the profit lurking in the contours and colors. Drawn by innocent bastards looking for beauty. Sold to rich cunts craving esteem. Make a murmur in my best accent.

"Shit"

"I beg your pardon sir.''

"I said shit."

''I thought that's what you said, sir.''

"Yes that's right, that's what I said.''

"Might I ask are you referring to any particular piece sir. If you are, perhaps I might be of help. You see I quite agree with you. With one or two exceptions."

This smiling, chap steps forward on the marble. In a nicely tapered brown suit. To conduct Christian throughout the gallery. As if I had a platinum pot to piss in. Must think I'm in Who's Who. Or exdirectory in the monstrous volume of who aint. Opens mirrored doors into private enclosures. Treasures calmly leaning against tapestried walls. Awaiting my nod. A frisson of recognition. Gee what a swell painting.

Back on the street. New hope out of elegance. Man of a private female means. Socked in on Park Avenue. With the pale limbed Fanny Sourpuss. Calm eyed mother and daughter pass. Means a husband and father somewhere sweating. Heads of people wave along in swathes of sunshine rippling like fields of flowers. If you don't look too close. And see the vampire faces.

There it is. Vine's edifice goes up. Floor after floor. Six red hatted men. Stand round a long sixteen wheeled truck. In yellow tough shoes. They hold guide ropes in gloved hands. A huge tank hoisted. Clarance will use it to hold his formaldehyde. Down deep he'll be shaving the dead in barber chairs. As if life didn't matter at all. It doesn't. Once you blast your head off. And find out. Or wait awhile. Alive. And maybe someone will give you a smile. Shoot him dead instead. To keep the dying up. And the courtesy down.

Christian threading through the pedestrians. Who stop to look up. None of you realize I know Vine. Personally. And when God taps you on the shoulder. I'm ready. To christen his new building. Embalm a body right out up on that girder. Tubes hanging down like seaweed. And balance puncturing my trocar. What about you madam. Repose that arse. Face down, two cheeks up. Nude deceased. Revolutionize the industry.

Window of a delicatessen store. Caviars and cheese. Delights Fanny put out for my devouring. First hours I've had of utter peace in this new world. To watch a man with a dog going by. A canine breed I knew in childhood. Who jumped on my dog and bit him while he was still a puppy. And the dirty rotten owner laughed.

Christian stepping in a doorway. To peruse this man in his lightweight grey flannel toting his curly blue dog on a fancy braided leather lead. Waiting to cross the street. A woman sits just starting her car. Which roars suddenly into life and motion. Smashing another parked in front and bouncing backwards, engine racing, crashing into another behind. Step deeper into my doorway. Like any good New Yorker. Man with blue curly dog shaking his fist at her. Shouting abuse in the window. Driver already out of her mind with panic. As she begs silently for help. Man with his dog, his hand raised shouting, rushing to stand in front of the car she smashed, just as she tears forward again with screaming tires smoking on the asphalt and gives it another slam. Sending the light green empty vehicle rolling over the grey suited man. With his blue dog, both prostrate in their separate puddles of blood. After this automotive rampage. Fire engines come, ambulance and police. A group of strong citizens lifting off the car. Doctor shaking his head over the man and dog dead. Caught in the jaws of a random justice. In a few more months Clarance could handle them both. Right across the street. In a coffin for master and pet.

Suddenly gloomy afternoon. To go slamming punching bags in the athletic smells of the Game Club. The Admiral popping farts as he practiced his corkscrew left hook that paralyses. After a shower in ivory suds took a glass of beer. Walked east. Through the furred and gold plated men and women. Descended into the Lexington Avenue subway. The rush hour crush of tired silent faces. Breathing all over each other. Someone's hands trying to open my fly. Basing fingers in under the foreskin. All the way to the Bronx, didn't know who to punch. For borrowing my privates without permission.

The last stop overlooking the golf course and the wroods. Went down the shadowy iron steps and waited in the line of people for the bus. A face. Pair of blue eyes. A girl who sat in front of me at school. Loved her. For two solid months. Tempted myself thinking I could have her as a girl friend anytime I wanted. And all we ever did was smile. Now she stands nine years away.