Nova Express

by William S. Burroughs

  “Are you sure they are not for protection or perhaps too quick?”

  “Quite sure—Nothing here but to borrow your body for a special purpose”:: (“Excellent—Proceed to the ice”)

  He dies many years ago—Screen went dead—The smell of gasoline filled straw hat and silk scarf—Won’t be much left—Have to move fast—Wouldn’t know his name—No use of them better than they are—You want to?—Right back to the track, Jack—The Controller at the exits—

  WIND HAND TO THE HILT

  White sat quietly beaming “humanity’s condition”—Wise Radio Doctor started putting welfare officers in his portable—The Effects Boys to see if they can do any locks over the Chinese—Told me to sit down—Gave me Panorama Comfortable and then said:

  “Well? Anything to go by? What are we going to do?”

  What weighted the program down was refusal to leave—

  “Well what are you going to do? Perhaps alone?”

  “You’d like to do half of it for me would you?”

  He slung me out and Worth and Vicky talked usefully about that was that—Maybe I’ve met Two Of A Kind—They both started share of these people—Vicky especially sounded him—It wasn’t what he had—You know is why?—What they are meant to do is all?—Going to get out of it?—An interview with Modigliani obvious usually sooner than later—I’ve seen a lot of these old men you visit on a P&O—You know sixty seventy years east voyage—Do you see yourself ending up in Cathay?—Trying to pinch suitcase like that you’ll end up buying the deluxe straight—The job will be there—No cleaner—

  If you or any of your pals foretold you were all spirits curtains for them—And trouble for me—Globe is self you understand until I die—Why do they make soldiers out of “Mr. Martin?”—Wind hand to the hilt as it is—work we have to do and the way the flakes fall—Be trouble in store for me every time—For him always been and always will be wounded galaxies—We intersect in a strange and crazy bio advance—On the night shift working with blind—End getting to know whose reports are now ended—These our rotten guts and aching spine accounts—

  One more chance he said touching circumstance—Have you still—Come back to the Spanish bait its curtains under his ­blotter—The square fact is many spirits it’s curtains for them—Fed up you understand until I die—No wish to see The Home Secretary “Mr. Martin—”

  Wind hand to the hilt—work we have to do and way got the job—Jobbies would like to strike on night shift working the end of hanging—All good thing come to answer Mr. Of The Account screaming for a respectable price—What might be called in air lying about wholesale—Belt Her—Find a time buyer before ports are now ended—These are rotten if they start job for ­instance—Didn’t last—Have you still—Come back work was steady at the gate under his blotter—Cover what’s left of the window—Do they make soldiers out of present food in The Homicide Act as it is?—Blind bargain in return for accepting “one more chance”—Generous?—Nothing—That far to the bait and it’s ­curtains—End getting to know whose price—­Punishment and reward business the bait—No wish to see The Home Secretary “humanity’s condition”—Wise radio doctor reprieving officers in his portable got the job—So think before they can do any locks over the Chinese that abolition is war of the past—Jobbies would like to strike a bargain instead of bringing you up fair—The end of hanging generous?—Just the same position—Changed places of years in the end is just the same—What might be called the program was refusal lying about wholesale—Going to do?—Perhaps alone would you?—All good things come to about that was that—Screaming for respectable share of these people—Vicky especially—Belt her—Know what they meant if they start job for instance? An interview with further scream along the line—

  White sat quietly beaming “human people” out of hospital and others started putting their time on ­casual—Effects Boys anyway after that—Chinese accusation of a bargain—What are we going to do level on average?—I was on the roof so I had to do Two Of A Kind—They both started before doing sessions—There’s no choice—Sounded him—Have to let it go cheap and start do is all—A journey, man—The job will be there—No punishment and reward business—

  A DISTANT THANK YOU

  “I am having in Bill&Iam,” she said—

  “But they don’t exist—tout ça—my dear have you any idea what—certain basic flaws in the—”

  “You can afford it—You told me hole is always there to absorb yesterday—and whatever—”

  “The Market you understand—Bill tossed a rock and a very dear friend of mine struck limestone with dried excrement purposes. And what purpose more has arisen—quite unlooked for—”

  “All the more reason to redecorate Silent Workers—”

  They had arrived where speech is impossible.

  “Iam is very technical,” said Bill as he walked around smoking smoke patterns in the room—“Have flash language of The Silent Ones—Out all this crap—Tonight, Madame—Age to grim Gothic Foreman—”

  The Studio had set up a desert reek Mayan back to peasant hut—In a few minutes there mountain slope of The Andes—House had stood in the air—

  “Limestone country,” said Bill—“We might start with a photo-collage of The House—yes?—of course and the statues in clear air fell away to a Mayan Ball Court with eternal gondolas—a terminal life form of bookies and bettors changing black berries in little jade pipes—slow ebb of limestone luck and gills—Controllers of The Ugly Spirit Spinal Fluid—hydraulic vegetable centuries—”

  “But what about The House Itself?”

  “Lost their enemy—ah yes Madame, The House—You are Lady—Can’t we contact them?—I mean well taken care of I hope—”

  “I think, Bill, they exist at different pressure—”

  “Ah yes The House—Hummm—Permutate at different pressure and sometimes a room is lost in—”

  “Bill, they exist at different pressure—”

  “In the shuffle?—The Bensons?—But they don’t exist—Tout ça c’est de l’invention—There are of course certain basic flaws in the hydraulic machinery but the marl hole is always there to absorb the uh errors—”

  At the bottom of the crater was a hole—Bill tossed a rock and the echo fainter and fainter as the rock struck limestone on down—Silence—

  “Bottomless you see for practical purposes—and what purpose more practical than disposal??”

  Slow The House merged created in silent concentration of the workers from The Land Of Silence where speech is impossible—

  “Lucky bastards,” Bill always said as he walked around smoking Havanas and directing the work in color flash language of The Silent Ones—showing his plans in photo-collage to grim Gothic foreman—

  And The House moved slowly from Inca to Mayan back to peasant hut in blighted maize fields or windy mountain slopes of The Andes—Gothic cathedrals soared and dissolved in air—The walls were made of blocks that shifted and permutated—cave paintings—Mayan ­relief—Attic frieze—panels—screens—­photo-collage of The House in all periods and stages—Greek temples rose in clear air and fell to limestone huts by a black lagoon dotted with gondolas—a terminal life form of languid beautiful people smoking black berries in little jade pipes***—And The Fish People with purple fungoid gills—And The Controllers drifting in translucent envelopes of spinal fluid with slow hydraulic gestures of pressure authority—These people are without weapons—so old they have lost their enemy—

  “But they are exquisite,” said The Lady. “Can’t we contact them?—I mean for dinner or cocktails?—”

  “It is not possible, Madame—They exist at different pressure—”

  “I am having in Bill&Iam”—she said during breakfast—

  Her husband went pale—“My dear, have you any idea what their fee is?—”

  “You can afford it—Y
ou told me only yesterday—”

  “That was yesterday and whatever I may have told you in times long past—The Market you understand—­Something is happening to money itself—A very dear friend of mine found his special deposit box in Switzerland filled with uh dried excrement—In short an emergency a shocking emergency has arisen—quite unlooked-for—”

  “All the more reason to redecorate—There they are now—”

  They had arrived—Bill in “banker drag he calls it now isn’t that cute?”

  “Iam is very technical”—said Bill puffing slowly on his Havana and watching smoke patterns—“Have to get some bulldozers in here—clean out all this crap—­Tonight, Madame, you sleep in a tent like the Bedouin—”

  The Studio had set up a desert on the lawn and The Family was moved out—In a few hours there was only a vast excavation where The House had stood—

  “Limestone country,” said Bill touching outcrops on walls of the crater—

  “We might start with a Mayan temple—or The Greeks—”

  “Yes of course and the statuary—City Of Marble Flesh Grafts—I envisage a Mayan Ball Court with eternal youths—and over here the limestone bookmakers and bettors changing position and pedestal—slow ebb of limestone luck—and just here the chess players—one beautiful the other ugly as The Ugly Spirit—playing for beauty—slow game of vegetable centuries—”

  “But what about The House itself?”—said The Lady—

  “Ah yes, Madame, The House—You are comfortable in your present quarters and well taken care of I hope—I think your son is very talented by the way—Hummm—perhaps—ah yes The House—Gothic Inca Greek Mayan Egyptian—and also something of the archaic limestone hut you understand the rooms and walls permutate on hydraulic hinges and jacks—and sometimes a room is lost in—”

  “In the shuffle—The Bensons—during breakfast—”

  Her husband went pale—“C’est l’invention—Fee is?”

  “Fee is hydraulic machinery marl yesterday errors told you in times long past—at the bottom of the crater was happening to money itself—echo fainter and fainter special deposit box in Switzerland—”

  “A shocking emergency—”

  “Bottomless you see for practical pee—practical ­disposal—There they are now—”

  Slow The House merged—created in drag he calls it.

  “Isn’t that cute?—Workers from The Land Of Silence whiffing slowly on his Havana and watching—”

  “‘Lucky Bill’ always said: ‘Get some bulldozers in here.’”

  The Family was moved and The House moved slowly—only a vast excavation in blighted maize fields and wind—Gothic cathedrals soared on walls of the ­crater—Blocks shifted relief and panel screens of marble flesh grafts—

  “I envisage stages—Gothic Cathedral soured—And over here the limestone huts by a black lagoon dotted position and pedestal—smoke chess players—and Fish People playing for beauty—slow games in their translucent envelopes—”

  “Gestures of Pressure Author—” said The Lady—

  “You understand so old they are comfortable in present quarters—”

  “But they are exquisite”—said Tower Son—(very talented by the way for dinner or cocktails Gothic Inca Mayan Greek Egyptian—and also—)

  “You understand the rooms and walls—and sometimes a room is lost—”

  “They exist at different pressure playing their slow games by The Black Lagoon—You understand the mind works with une rapidité incroyable but the movements are very slow—So a player may see on the board great joy or a terrible fate see also the move to take or avoid see also that he can not make the move in time—This gives rise of course to great pain which they must always conceal in a round of exquisite festivals—”

  The lagoon now was lighted with flicker lanterns in color—floating temples pagodas pyramids—

  “The festivals rotate from human sacrifice to dawn innocence when the envelope dissolves—This happens very rarely—They cultivate The Fish People like orchids or pearls—always more exquisite strains blending beauty and vileness—strains of idiot cruelty are specially prized—” He pointed to a green newt creature with purple fungoid gills that stirred in a clear pool of water under limestone outcroppings and ferns—

  “This amphibious-hermaphrodite strain is motivated by torture films—So their attractions are difficult to resist—”

  The green boy-girl climbed out on a ledge—A heavy narcotic effluvia drifted from his half open mouth—Her squirmed towards the controller with little chirps and giggles—The controller reached down a translucent hand felt absently into the boneless jelly caressing glands and nerve centers—The green boy-girl twisted in spasms of ingratiation—

  “They are very subservient as you can see in the right hands—But we must make an excursion to the place of The Lemur People who die in captivity—They are protected—We are all protected here—­Nothing ­really happens you understand and the human sacrifice takes a bow from the flower floats—It is all exquisite and yet would you believe me we are all intriguing to unload this gold brick on some rube for an exit visa—Oh there’s my travel agent the controller engaged—”

  Playing their slow games by man in the black suit with long mind—works with une rapidité—

  “He has been cheating me for months—slow so that a player may see believe the ridiculous travel arrange great joy and see also the move to fastest brain—”

  “Yes we have all—Can not make the move in time—This other here—Roles must conceal in anything to go.”

  “If we could only just flush our flower floats on child track without a body from human sacrifice—”

  “Rather bad taste, Old-Thing-Whose-Envelope-Has-Dissolved—The Flayed Man Stand—”

  “They cultivate The Fish People—”

  “Oh yes whose doing it?”

  “Not for more exquisite strains—??”

  “I tell you nobody can scream—Over there is The Land of The Lemur People—”

  “He dissolved after the performance—Beautiful strain of idiot cruelty—”

  “So he got his exit visa?—and green newt creature with purple fungoid now?”

  “Pool of water under limestone—He has contacted someone—Know is motivated by torture films—”

  “Willy The Rube?—I knew him to resist—The green boy climbed hook and he fades out with Effluvia—drifted from his half open mouth all our exquisite food and smoke bones—He fade out in word giggles—He beat Green Tony into The Green Boy-Girl’s Boneless Dream Concession—He defend nerve centers—The Green Boy twisted in Sammy The Butcher—”

  “Still he may fall for The Hero—They are very subservient—”

  “We are an old people you are sus—Make an excursion to the land of persona and statuary—They are protected of course—Here is he now—Really happens you understand—”

  “I understand you people need the flower floats—It is all Mongolian Archers—They are—we are all scheming to unload an exit visa—” (The controller engaged short furtive conversation—man in a black suit with one long fingernail and gold teeth—)

  “He has been cheating me for months of course they all do—You wouldn’t believe the ridiculous travel arrangements they unload on our fastest brains—Yes we have all been laughing stock at one time or another—Here where roles and flesh circulate—There is no place for anything to go—”

  “If we could only just flush ourselves down the drain,” she said seeing her life time fortunes fade on The Invisible Board—

  “Rather bad taste, old thing—Embalm yourself—­Tonight is The Festival Of The Flayed Man—”

  “Oh yes and whose doing it?—Juanito again?—”

  “He dissolved after the last performance—”

  “Oh yes he went a
way—And what is The Travel Agent selling you now?”

  “He has contacted someone known as Willy The Rube—perhaps—”

  “Willy The Rube??—I know him from Uranus—Think you have him on the hook and he fades out with a train whistle—He beat Green Tony in a game of limestone stud and walked out with The Dream ­Concession—He defenestrated Izzy the Push and cowboyed Sammy The Butcher.”

  “Still he may fall for The Hero:: Protect us—We are an old ­people—Protect our exquisite poisonous life and our statuary—Well?”

  “Here is he now.”

  “I understand you people need protection—I am moving in a contingent of Mongolian Archers—They are expensive of course but well worth it—”

  The Mongolian Archers with black metal flesh moved in grill arrangements of a ritual dance flexing their bows—silver antennae arrows sniffing dowsing quivering for The Enemy—

  “My dear, they make me terribly nervous—Suppose there is no enemy??”

  “That would be unfortunate, Madame—My archers must get relief—You did ask for protection and now—Where are the Lemur People?”

  The Lemur People live on islands of swamp cypress peering from the branches and it took many hours to coax them down—Iridescent brown copper color—liquid black eye screens swept by virginal emotions—

  “They are all affect you understand—That is why they die in captivity—” A Lemur touched The Rube’s face with delicate tentative gestures and skittered again into the branches—

  “No one has ever been able to hold a lemur for more than a few minutes in my memory—And it is a thousand years since anyone had intercourse with a lemur—The issue was lost—They are of such a delicacy you understand the least attempt-thought of holding or possessing and they are back in the branches where they wait the master who knew not hold and possess—They have waited a long time—Five hundred thousand years more or less I think—The scientists can never make up their mind about anything—”