Last Exit to Brooklyn

by Hubert Selby Jr.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  The laundromat was crowded and Lucy sat on a bench waiting. She sat the children beside her and told them to sit still, but Robert started kicking his feet and Johnny was sliding off the bench, Lucy grabbing his arm and pulling him back and telling him to sit still and be quiet. I dont want you running around like those other kids. Lucy glanced at the machines that had been assigned her by the woman in charge, trying to determine how much longer it would be before she could use them. She wished she had a magazine to look at to pass the time, but if she did she knew she wouldnt be able to concentrate because Johnny was sure to play with some other kid if she didnt watch him. She pulled him back to the bench and told Robert to keep his legs still. O, how she hated waiting in this place. Nothing to do but sit, and listen to those stupid women giggling and talking to each other and heheheheheing all over the place. Always laughing. O, she hated this place. Johnny had slid down again and was standing leaning against the bench watching his Mother to see if she would pull him back. She checked the machines again. Wont be too much longer. Johnny took a step—she hadnt done anything yet and maybe he could walk around now. Lucy pulled him back by the arm and sat him down. He would have to wait. Finally the machines stopped and the woman took her clothes out, Lucy eyeing them. They were still a little dingy. She got her clothes ready for the machines. Johnny, who had slid down again from the bench, was moping around. Robert watched his brother for a moment, then he too slid down and stood, holding on to the bench. Lucy put the soap in the machines, then added just a little more. Finished, she turned away from the machines and saw Robert pick something up from the floor and quickly took it from him, then looked around for Johnny as she put Robert back on the bench. He was playing with a little boy at the other end of the laundromat and Lucy almost yelled, but controlled herself and calmly walked over to get him. Johnny was playing with a spick boy wearing dirty dungarees and filthy ripped sneakers. Lucy wanted to yank Johnny away, but she calmly took his hand and took him back to where they were sitting. Johnny whined and wanted to know why he couldnt play with the other kid and Lucy told him that he must sit down, that he might get hurt by one of the washing machines. Johnny argued, but Lucy was firm. She smiled at him and told him to sit quietly. Then she looked at her machines and frowned as she saw that suds were above the indicated level and were actually visible on the edge of the funnel on the top of the machine where the soap was poured in. She stared at the rising mound of suds, her hand still on Johnnys leg, and watched it foam over the sides and run down the sides of the machine. She didnt know what to do and was too embarrassed to call the woman who worked there. The suds continued to billow over and a stream of water ran down between the machines. Finally someone called it to the attention of the woman and she came over, tinkered with something in the rear of the machines and the suds went down and then she asked who had the machine. Lucy got up and started apologizing and the woman told her she should be careful of how much soap powder she put in the machine then told her where she could find the mop. Lucy got it and wiped up the water self-consciously avoiding every-ones eyes. She replaced the mop and started feeling a resentment and at the same time incapable of keeping from wondering if the woman thought she was no better than the spick at the other end. She went back to the bench and saw that Johnny was not there, but had once again gone to play with the little boy. She yelled at him roughly and Johnny came running and jumped up on the bench, not daring to look at her (remembering the morning), but knowing she was glaring at him. The children sat still and Lucy said nothing, but stared at the machines, burning with embarrassment and resentment. The machines finally stopped and she told the children to sit right there and she emptied the machines then sat back on the bench and waited to use the extractor. While she waited a woman came in with a cart of clothes and asked if she could use the extractor, the one in her laundromat across the way broke down. The woman in charge told her she would have to wait until all her people were finished, that she couldnt let people from other buildings come in here and use her extractor until her people were finished and she didnt know if theyd be finished in time, it was getting late and there were a awful lot of people waiting and she had to close soon. The woman was annoyed at having waited for an hour in the other laundromat and then the ghuddamn thing went and broke down and she was ghuddamned if shed take any lip from anybudy. She said she just wanted to use the extractor and she/d wait ghuddamnit, but she was gonna use it and she didnt want no argument, glaring at the whitewoman and ghuddamn mad at her for talking like that at her. Well, youll just wait until all my people are finished and if theres still time you can use it and dont be so damn snotty. Look, ah didnt come here to take any of yo shit, ahm just gonna use the extractor and thats all, yo hear? The woman wanted to tell her to get her black ass the hell outta her laundromat, but she didnt dare. She turned her back on her, suddenly deciding to help a woman (colored) take her clothes out of the machine, then told the intruder (the nigga bastard) that this laundromat was only for the people in this building, and anyway, the woman in the other laundromat never lets any of my people use her extractor. The other woman walked over to her and told her not to give her any of her shit, that if she wanted to use the mothafuckan extractor that she/d use it ghuddamn it. The operator stood straight, put her hands on her hips and beamed. You can just get the hell outta here sister. We have ladies here who arent used to that kind of language (you filthy nigga whore). Dont chuall tell me what to do mothafucka. This heres for usali to use an ghuddamnit Im gonna use this mothafucka if ah gotta break yo fuckin haid. Dont you swear at me you sonofa( black)bitchen scum—Lucy grabbed Robert and the cart, and rushed from the laundromat, up the ramp and out into the air, rushing from the laundromat as she did from the elevator, Johnny running to keep up with her.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Abraham opened the door of his bigass Cadillac and looked smugly around at the people sitting, the people passing and the people washing their cars, children running back and forth with clean buckets of water, before getting in and closing the door with a flourish. He stretched his legs, pushing back against the seat, and smiled. It was his. Ghud-damn right. All his. He looked at the dashboard with all its knobs and patted it. Every ghuddamn hunk of chrome belonged to him, Abe. He started the motor and let it idle, then turned on the radio and opened the window on his side. He tuned in the station he wanted, tapping his foot as a sax screeched and wailed, took a cigarette out of the pack, placed it slowly and carefully between his lips, pushed in the dashboard lighter, leaned back, still tapping his foot and smiling, until the lighter popped out then pulled it from the socket and lit his cigarette, blowing the smoke at the windshield, watching it drift out the window. He looked again at the poor studs washing their cars by hand and sneered. You didnt catch this cat washing his own car. Not ol Abe. He rested his elbow on the door, stretched his legs again and adjusted his genitals (I/ll fuck the lightskinned ass ofener). Ol Abe always felt relaxed and great in his Cadillac and today he felt betteranever. Ghuddamn if this wasnt a real fine day and he looked at the back seat, at the floor (seems to be a little messy, but the boys always clean it out after theys finished washin), rubbed his hand along the fine upholstery, patted the dashboard again ( ghuddamn if it didnt shine like a babys ass), turned up the radio and once more dug the cats washin their cars with buckets of water, soap and sponges. Ghuddamn if it dont look like every ass in the Projects is out today washing his car. Thats not fo me. Ah pays to have that shit done. Ah, it was great, real great man, to just sit and dig the radio and smell the car, that special CADILLAC smell and not have those ghuddamn houserats arunnin all ovuhya, and that ghuddamn bitch yellin. Abe inhaled deeply and flipped his cigarette out the window. Betta get mah ass movin. He threw the car into reverse and backed out, made a screeching u-turn (haha, looka those cats diggin me) and drove to Blackies garage. He stepped forth from his Cadillac and Blackie came over to greet him. How yodoin
man? Great Blackie. Hows mah man? O K pops. Want the usual job? Youknow me, ah knows how to treat a Cadillac. Ahll be back afta awhile for it. Abe strolled down the block to the barber shop and when he opened the door everyone greeted him and he smiled and walked to a vacant seat, beaming at everyone and waving his hand, his popularity making him feel great, real great cause everyone knew he was a great guy, a real swing-in cat, and everyone dug him the most. As soon as he sat down the bootblack came over and started shining his shoes. He wisht that chick could see him now and how everyone knew he was a great guy, but she/d know that tonight. Man, would she know it. She/d know she wasnt messin with no farm boy fresh from the south, but 01 Abe, and he was one stud who really knew the score ( caressing his genitals ) and she/d damn sure know it soon enough. The radio was playing and Abe sang along with the vocalist, singing much louder, and he knew he was a damn sight better than the cat on the radio, although he was good enough. The bootblack finished with Abes shoes and he flipped him a half dollar. Before Abe sat in the chair to have his hair cut he carefully combed it again, adjusting each wave until it was in precisely the proper position, then he sat down and said, the usual. He crossed his legs and checked the barber in the mirror as he cut. He supervised the cutting of each and every hair, having the barber lift a mirror to the back of his head every few minutes, making certain the back was absolutely straight across and not too short, checking the length of his sideburns, watching how he shaved around the ears and telling him to cut the tips of the few hairs that were sticking out on the left side just behind the second wave. The chair was leveled and Abe was shaved, the barber working carefully so there wouldnt be any irritation or danger of a slight rash, and Abe told him which way to go as he shaved the different parts of his face, telling him to be careful of that pimple. When he was finished the barber wiped his face with a towel, not too hot but just the way Ol Abe liked it, then carefully rubbed in skin cream and a special after shave lotion. Then Abe had his mustache trimmed and the hair in his nose cut. He stepped out of the chair and looked at himself in the mirror, combing his hair and adjusting the waves, and flashed a couple of bills into the barbers hands. He stayed for a while with the boys, listening to and singing along with the music, telling the boys about the fine chicks hes got after him and the cool brown-skinned chick that was givin him the eye last night and how he dumped some big mothafucka on his ass a few weeks ago in MELS, and ah mean he was big Jim, and he had a blade that long, but ah laid one onim and pow, he went down jus lake that, and showed them his fist and smiled and they all laughed and he waved again as he sauntered out the door. Yeah, they all liked Ol Abe. He looked at his watch, but it was still too early to pick up the Cadillac. Itll takem a few more hours to do a good job. Too bad, cause this was the kindda day you lake to take a ride and just cruise around and dig the music on the radio and maybe pick somethin up. Too bad that chick wasnt around now. They could go for a little drive . . . yeah, man, a little drive, hehehe . . . well, maybe we do a little drivin tonight . . . He snapped his fingers, sheeeit ... He stopped outside the movie and studied the signs advertising the movies being shown. Two cowboy pictures were playing so Ol Abe decided hed kill the afternoon in the movie and sheeit, he always did dig cowboy pictures and when he got out the Cadillac would be ready.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  THE PLAYGROUND

  Most of the kids were out now, running around, knocking or being knocked down, depending upon their size. Some picked up a few bags of garbage that were lying around the halls and started a fire, running around it yelling, picking up pieces of burning garbage and throwing it at each other until a few doors opened and they were told ta get the fuck outta there ya little mothafuckas and they kicked the fire around the hall, yelled fuck you, and ran down the stairs, screaming, and out of the building. Others put strips of paper in the mail boxes with mail, then lit the paper and jumped up and down gleefully as the mail burned and the flames blackened the wall. When all the mail had been burned they rang as many bells as they could reach then ran screaming from the building. Heads popped out of windows and the kids were told theyd get their goddamn asses kicked if they didnt stop that shit and a bag of garbage and an empty bottle were thrown at them and the kids laughed and said up yur ass and ran to the playground where the smaller ones climbed up the sliding pond, knocking off the even younger kids, stamping on the hands of those who tried to climb the ladder, yanking another one off, kicking another in the face; then they made the rounds of the seesaws, flipping kids off, banging one in the face with the seesaw, the younger kids lying on the ground crying until a few parents, sitting in the sun, looked over and yelled, then the kids ran away to another part of the playground; and some of the bigger kids took a basketball away from the kids on the court and when the owner of the ball started crying for his ball they finally hurled it at him smashing his nose and making it bleed and one of his friends yelled at the fleeing kids calling them black bastards and they came back and told him he was blackeran shit and the other kids said they had black bedbugs and the other kid said his mother fucks for spicks and the kid pulled out a nailfile and slashed the other kid across the cheek and then ran, his friends running with him; and in the far corner of the playground a small group of kids huddled quietly, keeping to themselves, ignoring the fighting and screaming, their arms of comradeship around each others shoulders, laughing and smoking marijuana.