Last Exit to Brooklyn

by Hubert Selby Jr.

  Everyone stared at the new candle and the shadows the jerking flame created, still speaking softly, still smoking, still sipping coffee and gin; watching the top soften and the first little drop of wax seep to the edge and stagger down the side of the candle, the wick glowing brighter and redder in the middle of the flame . . . then another drop rolled to the first; and another started a new stream as the flame bent and the edge sloped away and soon many little drops were rolling down and piling up and flowing down the side of the candle and everyone relaxed even more, calmed by the new flame and slightly enervated by the laughing, and they sat deeper in their seats and the guys stretched their legs even more and the girls became softer and more coy; and their eyes eventually strayed from the flame and everything seemed softer and even Lee felt she was a part of the group and turned in her seat and faced the others and started telling little tidbits about backstage life and soon they all joined in and when someone was not talking they were listening to two or three stories being told at once. Lee told them about how almost all actors are gay (and even most of the church officials—and you know who honey), and how the cast of one of the revues she was starring in were pickedup and the club closed because they were all blasting backstage— and their hands fluttered about and the guys flipped their ashes—and I am telling you it was a scream. Caldonia was just so high—I mean she had been drinking like crazy for hours and she struts around Broadway and 45th st. crowing like a rooster, COCKadoodledo COCKadoodledo—Im not shittinya, he was caught fuckin a stiff. He was in the El witme. He worked inna hospital, you know, in the morgue, and this nice lookin young head croaks so he throws a hump inner—Rosie refilled all the cups and ran back to the kitchen when Harry lunged for her snatch, and sat in the corner with her head on her knees—well, you think you have weird Johns . . . well, I have one that makes me beat him with his belt—O that is just masochism honey— O I know that, but I have to be wearing a bra—ice blue with lace and panties to match, and stockings and a garter belt and he rubs his hands up and down my legs and snaps the garters until I am just black and blue and by the time he comes I can hardly move my arm—we got a weirdy like that in the neighborhood. He owns a beauty shop in the 80s on third and comes around a couple a nights a week— yeah, yeah, I know the guy. Hes got a new Dodge. Green. Yeah. And he picks up somea the kids and takesem for a ride and paysem a quarter ta fart—Tony kept leaning forward more and more, listening, laughing, making certain that each one was aware that she was listening to their story and enjoying it; trying to think of some little anecdote she could tell, some funny little thing that had happened or she had seen ... or even something in a movie . . . she refilled her glass with gin, smiling at Goldie; nodded, smiled, laughed, still trying to think of something funny, even slightly humorous, thumbing through years of memories and finding nothing—Well how about Leslie?—O!!! that filthy thing—she goes through Central Park about 5 in the morning looking for used condums and sucks them. Holy Krist. Well I have a john who makes me throw golfballs— we had a kid upstate who stuck a life magazine up his ass and couldnt get it out. The—O I love the ones who almost cry when they are finished and start telling you about how much they love their wife and kiddies. And when they take out the pic—O I hate those freaks—Hey, how about that guy the Spook met in the Village that night who gaveim 10 bucks for his left shoe. The Spook toldim he could havem both for 10 bucks and his socks too—Goldie kept looking at Malfie and the way his hair waved back into a thick d a; and Georgette leaned closer to Vinnie and everyone seemed so close, as if they belonged to and with each other and everything was wonderful—Did Francene ever tell you about that Arab she met one night? Well honey, he just fucked her until she thought she would turn insideout. O, that must have been divine.—Camille looked nervously at Sal—It is so refreshing to meet a man who will give you a good fucking. Yes honey, but she almost had to have a hysterectomy. O was she—We had this here guy—

  The door banged open and a young woman with a bruised face and an enormous belly stumbled in and called to Tony. Tony looked at the others apologetically then crossed the room to her sister, led her into the kitchen and helped her lie down, took the pot off the stove and turned up the flame. Rosie looked at them, at the pot, but when Goldie said nothing she lowered her head to her knees. Tony knelt beside her sister, embarrassed because she knew Goldie and the others didnt like Mary, and asked her what was wrong. She raised her head slightly then let it fall back and it seemed to bounce on the floor (Goldie and Lee turned their heads, disgusted. Camille stared and shook), then rolled it from side to side, moaning, jerking up with a scream, clutching her moundish abdomen, banging her head and arms on the floor, jerking her legs up then jutting and spreading them out, grabbing Tony by the shoulders as another pain ripped her and Tony clawed at her hands. Let go! Let go! O youre hurting me, and the hands finally fell and she lay still and Tony looked into the other room, hoping they wouldnt hold her responsible for all this; and the queens turned their heads and the guys looked blankly, taking another drag or another drink, a little curious, and Tony asked if she should call the police so they could take her to a hospital. You aint callin no cops. Not with us here—What am I going to do? Why dont you just throw her out, the dirty slut. Shes going to have a baby—O is she? I thought perhaps it was gas. They roared with laughter (Rosie opened her eyes, her head on her knees, then closed them) and Tony almost cried. (O why did she pick now of all times? They would have asked me upstairs and we could have been friends) Why dont you get the slob shes living with? After all, he is the father, not us. I assure you. They roared again—how do you know he is. It could be almost anybody. (Camille still felt a little nauseous but she was determined to ignore it and be one of the girls. ) Hey, did she swolla a watermelon seed. Even Harrys belching brought forth laughter, but everyone was becoming tense, especially the queens. This could ruin a perfectly delightful evening. If this were prolonged much longer it would bring everybody down and all the plans—Mary bolted up! Screaming! Not just one short scream, but one after another after another. Her face darkened and threatened to burst. The welts on her face oozed and she sat as if propped from behind, screaming, screeching, wailing, screaming . . . Tony leaned back and banged into the wall (Rosie still sat with her head on her knees) and Camille covered her face with her hands. The screams scraped through their ears and her eyes bulged, her arms still lifted toward Tony, her face becoming darker . . . then she stopped and fell back, her head smashing on the floor and the screams and the sound of her head hitting the floor resounded through the room and jammed in every-ones ear and wouldnt leave like the sound of the sea in a shell... O O OOOH! She broke water. She broke her water. The queens jumped up and Harry stared at the spreading moisture. Get her out of here. Get her out Get her out! Comeon yafuck, geter outta here before the law comes. O shes bringing me down. That dirty slut. That filthy whore. Rosie ROSIE! Get her out. Get her out! Rosie grabbed an arm, but it was wet with perspiration and it slipped from her grip. She pulled Marys skirt up and wiped her hands and Marys arms, then noticing her face wiped it too and told Tony to get the other arm. She tugged and Tony kept falling under the weight and looking pleadingly at Goldie and Rosie screamed at Tony to pull, pull, and Rosie yanked and Marys body jerked with each yank and shuddered with each shock of pain and the sweat burned her eyes and blinded her and all she could do was moan and moan and Harry got up and walked over to them and said hed help. He got behind her and put his hands over her tits, smiling at the guys, and lifted her up and Rosie yanked again almost pulling them over, and they slowly raised the mountainous Mary and dragged her to the door. Harry told Tony to get a cab and he and Rosie would get her to the door. Tony left, and Rosie held on to the arm, watching Harry, and they dragged her along the hallway, water and blood dripping down her legs, to the door. Harry asked Rosie how she was doin and she didnt move. Just held on to the arm and watched Harry. He laughed and dropped Mary on the floor and waited for the cab.

  When Harry and Rosie c
ame back everyone was silent, shadows jumping on the walls, and Harry asked what was wrong, this a morgue or some-thin, and sat down and lit a cigarette. Man, shes some ton of a dame. She had a nice pair though. Couldnt get my hand aroundem they were so big . . . The others remained silent, not even smoking, and Rosie put the pot back on the stove and waited. Lee was simply repulsed at the entire scene— thats a real drag though man. Whatta yamean Sal? You know, havin a kid and some guy lumps yaup.—Camille still frightfully upset—the others agreed with Sal that it was a real drag to be havin a kid like that and a guy lumps yaup. A guy like that should be dumped, the sonofabitch, even if she is a pig—and Goldie and Georgette were anxious. They had been planning and anticipating all evening and things were going so well that it just wasnt right that everything should crumble now . . . now when it was coming close to the time . . . and Georgette frantically searched for something to say or do . . . something that would not only save the moment and the night, but something that would make it her moment and night . . . something that would once more make her the nucleus of the night. She looked around the room . . . thought . . . then remembered a book and yes, it was still there. She picked it up, opened it, looked at it for a moment then decided to say nothing but to start to read

  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,...

  The first few words were low, tentative, but hearing her voice above the breathing of the others, ringing through the room, thrilled her and she read louder, each word clear and true

  As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

  "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door . . .

  and the others hushed and Vinnie turned his face toward her

  Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

  And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

  Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow . . .

  they were all watching her now (could Rosie be watching too?). They were all looking at her. At HER!

  Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

  But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, . . .

  the drama of the moment swelled her breast and the poem came forth with beauty and feeling and the waves from her

  mouth caused the candle flames to flicker and she knew that everyone saw a Raven in the shadows

  Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

  Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

  'Tis the wind and nothing more!" . . .

  and she was no longer merely reading a poem, but she was the poem and every word was coming from her soul and all the wonderful shadows whirled around her

  Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

  By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

  "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

  Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore . . .

  The guys were staring and Vinnie seemed so close she could feel the sweat on his face and even Lee was listening and watching her read and they all knew she was there; they all knew she was THE QUEEN.

  Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

  Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before—

  On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

  Then the bird said "Nevermore." . . .

  Vinnie was staring at Georgette and the shadows that highlighted her eyes, then her cheeks, then her eyes . . . thinking

  it was a shame she was gay. Hes a good lookin guy and real great, especially for a queen . . . being honestly moved by Georgettes reading, but even with the bennie stimulating his imagination it was impossible for him to get beyond the weirdness and the kick

  Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

  What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

  Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

  This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

  To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

  This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining