Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit (4 page)

 

(For Jane, with love)

 

we came out of the bar

because we were out of money

but we had a couple of wine bottles

in the room.

 

 

it was about 4 in the afternoon

and we passed a fire station

and she started to go

crazy:

 

 

“a FIRE STATION! oh, I just love

FIRE engines, they’re so red and

all! let’s go in!”

 

 

I followed her on

in. “FIRE ENGINES!” she screamed

wobbling her big

ass.

 

 

she was already trying to climb into

one, pulling her skirt up to her

waist, trying to jacknife up into the

seat.

 

 

“here, here, lemme help ya!” a fireman ran

up.

 

 

another fireman walked up to

me: “our citizens are always welcome,”

he told

me.

 

 

the other guy was up in the seat with

her. “you got one of those big THINGS?”

she asked him. “oh, hahaha!, I mean one of

those big HELMETS!”

 

 

“I’ve got a big helmet too,” he told

her.

 

 

“oh, hahaha!”

 

 

“you play cards?” I asked
my

fireman. I had 43 cents and nothing but

time.

 

 

“come on in back,” he

said. “of course, we don’t gamble.

it’s against the

rules.”

 

 

“I understand,” I told

him.

 

 

I had run my 43 cents up to a

dollar ninety

when I saw her going upstairs with

her
fireman.

 

 

“he’s gonna show me their sleeping

quarters,” she told

me.

 

 

“I understand,” I told

her.

 

 

when her fireman slid down the pole

ten minutes later

I nodded him

over.

 

 

“that’ll be 5

dollars.”

“5 dollars for

that?”

 

 

“we wouldn’t want a scandal, would

we? we both might lose our

jobs. of course, I’m not

working.”

 

 

he gave me the

5.

 

 

“sit down, you might get it

back.”

 

 

“whatcha playing?”

“blackjack.”

 

 

“gambling’s against the

law.”

 

 

“anything interesting is. besides,

you see any money on the

table?”

he sat down.

 

 

that made 5 of

us.

 

 

“how was it Harry?” somebody asked

him.

 

 

“not bad, not

bad.”

 

 

the other guy went on

upstairs.

 

 

they were bad players really.

they didn’t bother to memorize the

deck. they didn’t know whether the

high numbers or low numbers were left. and basically they hit too
high,

didn’t hold low

enough.

 

 

when the other guy came down

he gave me a

five.

 

 

“how was it, Marty?”

“not bad. she’s got…some fine

movements.”

 

 

“hit me!” I said. “nice clean girl. I

ride it myself.”

 

 

nobody said

anything.

 

 

“any big fires lately?” I

asked.

 

 

“naw. nothin’

much.”

 

 

“you guys need

exercise. hit me

again!”

 

 

a big red-headed kid who had been shining an

engine

threw down his rag and

went upstairs.

 

 

when he came down he threw me a

five.

when the 4th guy came down I gave him

3 fives for a

twenty.

 

 

I don’t know how many firemen

were in the building or where they

were. I figured a few had slipped by me

but I was a good

sport.

 

 

it was getting dark outside

when the alarm

rang.

 

 

they started running around.

guys came sliding down the

pole.

 

 

then she came sliding down the

pole. she was good with the

pole. a real woman. nothing but guts

and

ass.

 

 

“let’s go,” I told

her.

 

 

she stood there waving goodbye to the

firemen but they didn’t seem

much interested

any more.

 

 

“let’s go back to the

bar,” I told

her.

 

 

“ooh, you got

money?”

“I found some I didn’t know I

had…”

 

 

we sat at the end of the bar

with whiskey and beer

chaser.

“I sure got a good

sleep.”

 

 

“sure, baby, you need your

sleep.”

 

 

“look at that sailor looking at me!

he must think I’m a…a…”

 

 

“naw, he don’t think that. relax, you’ve got

class, real class. sometimes you remind me of an

opera singer. you know, one of those prima d’s.

your class shows all over

you. drink

up.”

 

 

I ordered 2

more.

 

 

“you know, daddy, you’re the only man I

LOVE! I mean, really…LOVE! ya

know?”

 

 

“sure I know. sometimes I think I am a king

in spite of myself.”

 

 

“yeah. yeah.
that’s
what I mean, somethin’ like

that.”

 

 

I had to go to the urinal. when I came back

the sailor was sitting in my

seat. she had her leg up against his and

he was talking.

I walked over and got in a dart game with

Harry the Horse and the corner

newsboy.

 

 

Foch was a great soldier, he said, Marshal Foch;

listen, I said, if you don’t keep it clean

I’ll have to slap you across the face with

a wet towel.

 

 

I’ll write the governor, he said.

the governor is my uncle, I said.

 

 

Marshal Foch was my

grandfather, he said.

 

 

I warned you, I said. I’m a

gentleman.

 

 

And I’m a Foch, he said.

that did it. I slapped him with a wet towel.

 

 

he grabbed the phone.

governor’s mansion, he said.

 

 

I slapped a wet rubber glove down

his mouth and cut the wire.

 

 

outside the crickets were chirping like

mad: Foch, Foch, Foch, Foch!

they chirped.

 

 

I got out my sub-machine gun and blasted

the devils

but there were so many of them

I had to give up.

 

 

I pulled the wet rubber glove out.

I surrender, I said, it’s too much:

I can’t change the world.

all the so-called ladies in the room

applauded.

 

 

he stood up and bowed gallantly as

outside the crickets chirped.

 

 

I put on my hat

and stalked out. I still maintain

the French are weak

and no

wonder.

 

 

I smoked 2 packs of cigarettes today and

my tongue feels like a

caterpillar trying to get out for

rainwater

somebody is working over

Pictures at an Exhibition

while tiny pimples of sweat

work their way down my

fat sides.

too sick today and told the man

over the phone

it was stomach pains.

the pains in the ass too and

the soul?

the gophers are underground

staring at pictures on mudwalls

machineguns are mounted in the

windows.

40 cigarettes.

what’s walking around

chewing grass,

4 legs, no

hands?

it’s not the

politburo
.

it could be a

donkey. how’d you like to be in a

donkey’s head for a

while? your body in a donkey’s

body? you’d only last

ten minutes

they’d have to let you

out

you’d be so

scared

but who’s going to

let you out of that

dismal bluepurple notion

of what you are

now? and I’m the one who’s

scared.

 

 

he was a good one

say 18, 19,

a marine

and everytime

a woman came down the train aisle

he seemed to stand up

so I couldn’t see

her

and the woman smiled at him

 

 

but I didn’t smile

at him

 

 

he kept looking at himself in the

train window

and standing up and taking off his

coat and then standing up

and putting it back

on

 

 

he polished his belt buckle with a

delighted vigor

 

 

and his neck was red and

his face was red and his eyes were a

pretty blue

 

 

but I didn’t like

him

 

 

and everytime I went to the can

he was either in one of the cans

or he was in front of one of the mirrors

combing his hair or

shaving

and he was always walking up and down the

aisles

or drinking water

I watched his Adam’s apple juggle the water

down

 

 

he was always in my

eyes

 

 

but we never spoke

and I remembered all the other trains

all the other buses

all the other wars

 

 

he got off at Pasadena

vainer than any woman

he got off at Pasadena

proud and

dead

 

 

the rest of the trainride—

8 or 10 miles—

was perfect.