Requiem for a Dream

by Hubert Selby Jr

  Harry was not only wide awake by the time Tyrone called, he was chomping at the bit and had been talking for a couple of hours without stop, taking the edge off the dexies with a couple of pokes off a joint once in a while. He was more actively a part of the music, his body moving energetically, his fingers quietly snapping, his head seeming to be in the midst of the chords as they were absorbed by him. When he stopped talking long enough to take' a drink of coffee, a drag on his cigarette, a poke, or just to breathe, his jaws kept moving as he ground his teeth. Jesus, I could listen to that all night. That son of a bitch has an incredible sound, really something else . . . yeah, baby, blow . . . Harry closed his eyes for a moment, nodding in time to the music, his head tilted toward the radio, You hear that? eh? You dig the way he comes down and flattens it? You dig those changes? Man! thats too much . . . yeah, go get it baby, hahaha, blow your ass off, jesus hes great. The way he just sort of glides into the up tempo really knocks me out, you dig? Like no sudden change with a funky ass drum roll and snare shots but just a nice easy glide into the up tempo and before you know it hes got you finger poppin. Hes outta sight man, just really outta sight. . . . The piece ended and Harry snapped his attention back to Marion after finishing his coffee. Marion refilled his cup. You know, after we cop the piece and have the bread we should go downtown and fall by one of the joints and dig some music. I'd love to. Theres a lot of things we're going to do when we make that bread. We're going to move on out. We're going to get it all together and turn things upside down. We'll have that coffee shop going in no time and then we'll go to Europe and you can show me all those paintings youre always talking about. We can even get you a studio and you can go back to painting and sculpting. The coffee houses will take care of themselves with the right people running them, and we can just make it around the world for a while and lay back and dig the scene. Youll love it Harry. Walking through miles of Titians in the Louvre. You mean the Lou ver? hahaha. A place I always wanted to go was Instanbul. I don't know why, but Ive always wanted to go to Instanbul. Especially on the Orient Express, you know? Maybe with Turhan Bey and Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre. Krist, cant forget him. Remember him in M? Marion nodded her head. I always wondered what it was like to be like that, you know a child molester. I dont know, but Ive always felt sort of sorry for those dudes, I mean I feel sorry for the kids too, but the guys, krist thats really got to be something to have to pick up little kids and con them into going down some cellar or someplace and then making it with them, jesus ... I wonder what goes on their heads, like what do they think about? It must be a drag when they wake up alone and know what they did . . . jesus. And in the joint all the other prisoners hate them, ya know that? Marion nodded her head again, They're the most despised guys in the joint. Everybodys on their case and when some con dumps them nobody does anything about it even when they know who did it. They just turn their back and go the other way and in some joints they punk them and if they dont go for it they rape them. Man, its got to be a tough bit. Im sure glad thats not my shtik, leaning forward and looking even more intently at Marion, his eyes straining from their sockets, his chest vibrating from the beating of his heart, Im glad its us and we dont need nothing or anything else, just us, he grabbed her hands in his and caressed them for a moment then kissed her fingertips then the palms of her hands then held them tight against his mouth for a moment then caressed her palm with the tip of his tongue and looked over her hands at her and she smiled from her mouth, her eyes, her heart and her entire being, I love you Harry. We're going to do great things, baby, and show this world where its at because I can feel it in my bones, I mean I can really feel it, theres nothing I cant do, nothing, and Im going to make you the happiest woman in the world and thats a promise and a fact because Ive got something in me thats always been trying to come out and with you baby its going to come out and nothing can stop me, its right to the top and if you want the moon then its yours and I'll even wrap it up for you—Marion continued to hold his hands and look into his eyes, her expression soft and loving—Im telling you I feel like Cyrano, and he stood up and waved his right arm around as if holding a sword, Bring me giants, not mere mortals, bring me giants and I'll chop them up in little pieces and— The doorbell rang and Marion got up and went to the door, chuckling, I hope its not a very big one. She opened the door and Tyrone dragassed in. Harry stood in the middle of the living room waving his imaginary sword, This is a giant? On guard! and he started fencing with Tyrone who just stood there trying to raise his eyes, My father was the best swordsman in Tel Aviv, and he continued to go through his fencing number lunging forward, parrying, thrusting, bending at the knee and suddenly, while bent low, he thrust forth his trusty rapier and struck his enemy a mortal blow, touched Harry bowed, his fighting arm at his waist, and ushered Tyrone into the kitchen. Marion laughed. Hey man, what the fucks wrong with you. Wrong with me? Nothings wrong with me. I never felt better in my life. Its a great day. A momentous day. A day that will go down in the annals of history as the day Harry Goldfarb turned the world around, upside down, and on its ass, the .day I fell hopelessly and completely in love and give to my betroved my white plume, and he bowed deeply again and Marion curtsied and accepted the plume and he knelt at her feet and kissed her extended hand, Arise, Sir Harold, royal knight of the garter, defender of the realm, my beloved prince— Sheeit, alls ah did was askim whats wrong with him and ah gets television on the hoof—Marion and Harry were laughing and Tyrone seemed to be held up by invisible strings that threatened to snap at any moment—Yawl is crazy. You alright Ty? you look a little pale, and Harry broke up laughing. Now aint this a shame? aint this a mutha fuckin shame? Youd better close your eyes man, youll bleed to death, and Harry laughed louder and Marion giggled as she shook her head. O sheeit. Ah feel like Im in the middle of a mutha fuckin comic book jim. Harry was still laughing, You got to get with it man. Dont be a drag, feed your dog flag. Tyrone flopped at the kitchen table and looked up at Marion. Whatch you feedin this cat, baby? Love man. Shes feeding me love. Ive finally found the diet Ive been looking for all my life. Dont you know that its love that makes the world go round man. Ah aint worried bout the world baby, jus you. Harry and Marion laughed as Tyrone smiled weakly and Harry twirled Marion around in a circle then put his arm around her waist and kissed her delicate throat ever so lightly as she bent slightly on his arm. Ah been up all night and day ballin till ah feel like mah ass be in mah shoes and you stand there with your big ugly face flappin in the breeze an tell me love make the world go round. Sheeit. It make me wanna sleep for thirty-seven years. Tyrone giggled and Harry and Marion laughed and she gave him a dexie and Tyrone popped it and gulped at a cup of coffee. Ah dont know why Im here. Ah swear ah dont. If that fox didn't wake me up and say ah got to go cause I make her promise me she'd get mah ass out . . . sheeit, ah could sleep on a picket fence. Its the power of love Ty. Thats what got you here. We sent out vibrations of love so your pale, but sweet little ass could get over here so we can go make that bread to get that piece. Sheeit. What do love have to do with bein greedy for a piece? Harry bent Marion over as he held her with a hand on her back and sang, ala Russ Columbo, Ah but you call it madness, but I call it love. Ah just hopes ah survives long enough for that funky ass cap to work before yawl drive me bananas. Thats not much of a drive, thats a short put, and Harry broke up laughing as Marion giggled and shook her head, O Harry, thats awful, and Tyrones eyes flashed open, briefly, and he looked at Harry, a mock expression of disbelief on his face, Somebody oughtta shoot this dude, jim, he be in baaaad pain, and Tyrones giggling joined Harrys laughter and Marion started laughing and they all sat at the table and when Marion stopped laughing she refilled the coffee cups and Harry finally slowed enough to take a couple of deep breaths and got hung up in a tune and his consciousness was absorbed by, and involved in, the tune and he half closed his eyes and nodded and finger popped as he listened, Sheeit, he may look like a fool but he shure do sound betta this way . . . damn, that tickles me, and
Marion started laughing and Tyrone continued giggling and Harry looked at him with his cool expression, Be cool man, and went back to nodding and finger popping and Tyrone C. Love finished his second cup of coffee and the hinges on his eyes sprung the lids open and he started sipping on his third cup of coffee and lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, Blow your ass off, baby, and started nodding and finger popping and Harry, with his eyes still half closed, extended his arm out to the side, the palm up, and Tyrone slapped it, Sheeit, we's gonna make it baby, and Harry slapped his, Yeahhhhhh, and Marion leaned against Harry and he put an arm around her as they listened and felt the strength of determination pound through them, occasionally nodding toward the clock, waiting for the time, the time that was now going fleetingly by, to step forth to a new dimension. . . .

  The first day of the diet was over. Well, almost. Sara sat in her viewing chair, sipping on a glass of water, concentrating on the show on the screen and ignoring the refrigerator which was whispering enticingly to her. She finished the water, her tenth glass, thinking thin. She refilled the glass from the pitcher on the table, the pitcher that replaced the chocolate box. If eight glasses of water was good, then sixteen is twice as good and maybe I'll lose twenty pounds the first week. She looked at the glass of water and shrugged, If I stay up all night I cant make sixteen. I drink any more Im going to be up all night anyway. She sipped the water, thinking thin. The refrigerator reminded her of the matzoh in the cupboard. Without looking at it she told it to mind its own business. What do you have to do with the cupboard? Its bad enough you have to remind me about the herring you got but the cupboard is too much already. She sipped some more water and stared at the screen and shut her ears to the refrigerator, but he managed to penetrate the barrier and tell her that the herring, the beautiful and delicious herring in sour cream, will go bad if she doesn't eat it soon and it would be a shame to let such good herring tidbits go to waste. So listen to Mr. Concerned. Youre worried so much about the food going bad why do you do it? Thats your job meshuggener. Youre supposed to keep the food from going bad. You do your job an the herring will be fine thank you. She sipped some more water—thin, thin, thin, thin. Too bad I dont have a scale. I could weigh myself and see how its working. Eh, right now it would groan. All this water. Anymore and I'll float away. The program ended and Sara yawned and blinked her eyes. She thought briefly of staying up and watching the late show, but quickly ignored that thought. Her body was aching and was crying for sleep. It was a day. The hair is getting closer to the red. At least now theres a nodding acquaintance. She drank more water—thin, thin. The form ... eh, a nothing. Zipping through like a whirling dervish, youll excuse the expression. And the eggs and grapefruit, one, two, three, and some lettuce thank you. A long, tiring day. Almost too tired to go to bed. She suddenly remembered the refrigerator, If he tries to grab me I'll hit him, and not in the tuchis. She finished her water— thin, th— zophtic, zophtic, zophtic. She stood up and listened to the sloshing, I feel like a goldfish bowl. She turned off the set, put the pitcher and glass in the sink and, with head high and shoulders back, she walked past the refrigerator swerving neither to the left nor right, her eyes fixed steadfastly ahead at her goal, knowing that she had conquered the enemy and that he shook with fear—listen to him grumbling and rumbling, shaking in his boots already—and she walked like a queen, a television queen, to her bedchamber. She slowly, and luxuriously, lowered herself onto the bed and stretched out, thanking God for such a nice bed. Her worn nightgown felt so silky and smooth and cool and softness seemed to surround her, and a feeling of peace and joy gently spread out from her stomach, like small ripples in a pond, through her body and rested ever so lightly on her eyes as she floated off into a joyous and refreshing slumber.

  Marion hustled them out of the house early so Harry and Tyrone were among the first to show up for work. Actually it didnt make any difference because so few shaped up that everyone was put to work. They took another dexie before leaving so they were very quick and ready to go. It was a hot and humid night and the sweat poured off them as they tossed bundles of papers into the trucks, but they just tossed and laughed and giggled and talked, doing as much work as any six men there. When their first truck was loaded they went over to another one to help, and the guys stood back and shook their heads as Harry and Tyrone tossed the bundles of papers around like it was a privilege and a game ... a fun game. One of the guys told them to cool it, Youll fuck this thing up man. Like how? Shit, they push us hard enough as it is, if you guys start racin like this theyll expect this every night. One of the other guys handed each of them a can of cold beer, Here, take it easy and cool off. We come here pretty steady, you know? an we want ta keep it like it is. Sheeit, I dig what you say baby. We be cool. We doan want the man to lay a heavy han on nobody jim. Yeah, Harry nodded an swallowed half the beer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, goddamn thats good. Cuts through the blotter I got in my mouth. The other guys slapped Harry and Tyrone on the back and everybody was happy, and when the trucks were finished Harry and Tyrone bought the next dozen cans of beer and passed them around while they waited for the next line of trucks to back in. Later on a few bottles of wine were passed around and Harry and Tyrone were feeling pretty good, the alcohol taking the sharp edge off the dexies. They worked a couple of hours extra and were as happy as hogs in shit figuring out just how much they would make that night. The kick in the ass came when they found out they wouldnt get paid that night, but would have to wait until the end of the week to get their checks. Sheeit. Now aint that a shame? Aint that a mutha fuckin shame? Ah fuck it man. What the hell. This way we'll get our bread all at once an wont have to worry about pissin it away before we get enough for the piece. Yeah, maybe so, but workins weird enough, but workin without getting the braid is somethin else jim. Dont sweat it, Ty my boy, just go home an take those downers Marions gave ya an get some rest. A couple more nights an we got our piece. Harry extended his hand and Tyrone slapped it, You goddamn right baby, and Harry slapped his and they left the newspaper plant, hurrying to get home before they got caught in the early morning rush hour, and the sunlight.

  Marion languidly tidied up the apartment after they left, humming and singing to herself. The apartment was small and there wasnt much to do other than clean the cups and coffee pot and put them away. She sat on the couch, hugging herself as she listened to the music. She had the strangest feeling inside, a feeling that was unfamiliar but not threatening. She thought about it, tried to analyze it, but she couldnt quite identify it. For some reason she kept thinking of the many, many madonnas she had seen in the museums of Europe, especially in Italy, and her mind was filled with the bright blues and brilliant light of the Italian renaissance and she thought of the Mediterranean and the color of the sea and sky and how, as she looked at the isle of Capri from the restaurant on the top of the hill in Naples, she suddenly realized why the Italians were masters of light and why they could use blue like no one before or since. She remembered sitting on the patio of that restaurant under the net awning, the sun warming a new life into her and firing her imagination and experiencing what it must have been like to sit there a few hundred years ago in that light and color and listen to Vivaldis strings singing and vibrating through that air, and Gabrielis brass canzones pulsing from the nearby towers, and sit in a cathedral with the sun bursting through the stained windows and gleaming on the carved wood of the pews listening to a Monteverdi Mass. It was then, for the first time in her life, that she felt alive, really and truly alive, like she had a reason for existing, a purpose in her life and she had realized that purpose and would now pursue it and dedicate her life to it. All that summer and fall she painted, mornings, afternoons, evenings, then walked around the streets that were still echoing the music of the masters, and every stone, every pebble seemed to have a life and reason of its own and she somehow felt, though vaguely, a part of that reason. Some nights she would sit in the caf£ with other young artists and poets and musicians and w
ho knows what else, drinking wine and talking and laughing and discussing and arguing and life was exciting and tangible and crisp like the clear Mediterranean sunlight. Then as the grayness of winter slowly seeped down from the north the energy and inspiration seemed to ooze from her as paint from a tube and now when she looked at a bare canvas it was only a bare canvas, a piece of material stretched over a few pieces of wood, it was no longer a painting waiting to be painted. It was just canvas. She went further south. Sicily. North Africa. Trying to follow the sun to the past, the very recent past, but all she found was herself. She went back to Italy, gave away all her paintings, equipment, books and what nots. She went back to that restaurant on the hill in Naples and sat there for endless hours for a week, looking at Vesuvius, Capri, the bay, the sky, trying, with the desperation of the dying, to reawaken those old feelings, trying with jewels of sparkling wine to rekindle the flame that half fired her imagination just a short lifetime ago, and though the wine sparkled in the sunlight, and the moonlight, the once blazing fire was extinguished and Marion finally succumbed to the stone coldness within her. She shivered as she remembered leaving Italy and coming back to the States, back to the grossness of her family, back to the dulled brilliance of her life. She shivered again, involuntarily, as she sat on the couch, looking back through so many miserably unhappy yesterdays, then smiled and hugged herself tighter, not from coldness nor fear nor despair, but joy. All that was in the near and distant past. Over with. Gone. Once more her life had reason . . . purpose. Once more there was a direction for her to follow. A need for her energies. She and Harry were going to recapture those blues of the sky and sea and feel the warmth of desire that had been rekindled. They were going to a new renaissance.