Well, I can’t wait all night; I head outside in my ragged green t-shirt. The air is brisk to cold. I walk like an Olympic walker. I storm by people in overcoats raising eyeballs in my wake. I steam across Cooper Union, over St. Mark’s Place and up First Avenue to 12th Street. Late in the evening, I reach Patsy by phone. I was afraid she would think I was kidnapped. She knew precisely what had happened by all the evidence; besides it is a common occurrence with that quick-locking door. Patsy reminds me about my unfinished work. I go back the next morning to clean the kitchen and pick up my clothes and check.
Last year I wrote a poem with references in it to Ben. When the poem was published, I gave a copy to Patsy. The section goes:
how to clean the toilet bowl
down to the floor
one must kneel
how taller the building the more
it seems to pay its respects
to you and one respects his respects
I am paid
to kill w/a feather duster
he is old and has had a stroke
his skin is red
his moustache white
he can’t light the match
to smoke BETWEEN THE ACTS cigars
he is an artist
I read silently near him
pausing to give him a light
Patsy is interested in writing and writes herself on occasion and always with a plan. She likes my poems and talks of my “gift.” The next time I clean, Patsy gives me a mounted print of Ben’s. I am knocked out by Patsy’s gift. I hallucinate Patsy’s presence at a poetry reading in St. Mark’s Church. I turn around and there she is dressed in 1950s style and beaming at me. I am shocked and impulsively jerk my head to face front. Next time I look the lady is gone. I ask Patsy if she was there that night and she wasn’t. Patsy asks me to have Shelley come over sometime after I’ve finished working, Shelley comes over and Patsy serves up drinks. Patsy must know me; she refills my bourbon without asking. We go up into the studio and look at Ben’s paintings.
Ben is getting worse. He has come down with pneumonia and has been transferred to a hospital. Patsy is really distressed now, though she tells me that the social worker in the hospital is an artist who knows and admires Ben Cunningham. I have to go out of town for a few weeks. When I come back, I don’t hear from Patsy for a few more weeks. I’m wondering what is happening and something tells me that Ben has died. I call Patsy up. I am embarrassed because I realize this is the first time I’ve called Patsy about something unrelated to working. I ask about Ben. Patsy says she is sorry she didn’t call me. She says she was just thinking about me. Ben did pass away. He never recovered from the pneumonia. Ben died April 5, 1975; there was no funeral because Ben “detested funerals.” His ashes are spread over the Nevada desert. Patsy says she has just been doing some cleaning on her own and when she came to the toilet she thought, “Imagine writing about cleaning a toilet.”
Patsy and I will work together for the first time and completely spring-clean the apartment. Then there will be a gathering for Ben’s friends; Shelley and I will be there, helping out, too.
CHAPTER 9
Hints
Topic A is cleaning. These are some hints to make cleaning easier to do.
Wear clothes that are loose-fitting. You want to be free moving. Sneakers are good to wear because they are easy to crouch in. Dress coolly.
Do some exercise to loosen the muscles in the body. Roll the head around the neck very slowly for a few revolutions. Let the head be limp and fall forward as it slowly rounds the neck. Reverse and go in the other direction. Bend over at the waist a few times to limber up the back muscles. Stretch your arms high over your head. Rotate your shoulders. Stand on your toes. Get loose.
Listen to music. It should be music that you really like. It should bring your mood up. Music of high sentiment or personal meaning is good because it can make you cry. There is something about weeping and cleaning that make them go hand in hand. Music moves your body without involving your will. The radio is really meant for you. Radio is confidential and immediate like you are.
Try to arrange your cleaning hours to fall during the part of the day when you are on the upswing. I like to clean when I am tired and sleepy. When I am done cleaning, I am awake and clearheaded. The idea is to let the work be beneficial for both you and the apartment. When you are done cleaning, you should feel happy and still have energy to have fun. Cleaning can turn exhaustion into restoration if done with grace and the will to better spirits.
Have all the supplies you will need. Here is a simple and basic supply list: Murphy’s Oil Soap or equivalent, Ammonia, Cleansing Powder, Bucket, Rags, Mop, Broom, Dustpan, and Vacuum Cleaner. The last item is not essential but it can be one’s powerful ally.
I am wringing out a dark mop over the kitchen floor when Cherry Malard pops in to say her girlfriend is interested in having me clean. “Talk to Kathy,” she says, pointing to the phone. Kathy and I make a date for the next week after my regular job with Cherry. Kathy Applegate lives on Second Avenue in the Sixties, which is only eight blocks away from Cherry’s apartment. The next week, I finish up at Cherry’s and proceed to wearily walk down Second Avenue. I stop off in a dime store and take four photos of myself for a quarter. I fall down the chute looking drugged, heavy-lidded, and mopey. I comb my hair and do eyeball exercises, take off my glasses and straighten my back. Put another quarter in the machine, transform my looks to bug-eyed and wired. Up four floors in a tiny elevator. I go to work.
The door opens into the kitchen; on the left is a bright yellow counter that supports a photographic enlarger. On the right is a stove, a sink, some cabinets, and a half-size refrigerator. The bathroom is straight ahead, as is the bedroom area where you turn a corner and look into the living area ending against a row of windows. The windows are covered with plants. Some plants are on window shelves and the others hang from the ceiling. There is a sofa covered with a bright Indian bird pattern and above the sofa hangs a bird cage made of red wooden sticks and inside are two tropical finches. There is a wall completely recovered, first with a rough cloth and then with photographs, prints, beads, and locks of hair.
Kathy Applegate is in her thirties and teaches English in the public schools. She is ash blonde with a slim figure and a bright eager face. But it seems to me that she is very particular. She tells me how to clean everything. After breaking me in for a while, she goes out. The phone rings. I pick it up and say hello. “Kathy?” a male voice inquires. “She went out to do some shopping. Can I take a message?” “No.” Hangs up. I get a premonition that someone is going to come in the door soon and it won’t be Kathy. I decide to do something obvious and start to vacuum the sofa, which I figure I could use to hide behind. In a couple of minutes, I hear the faint clicking of the door lock opening. A big muscular guy walks out of the kitchen. I turn off the vacuum and slowly straighten up, “Hello.” “Oh, hello, my name is Boris.” “Bob,” I say and we shake on it.
Kathy’s medicine chest reveals many prescription bottles. There are unmarked bottles, too. One has a variety of pills and the other has five green-and-white SKF spansules. She knows her pills, I gather. Here I am again about to steal. A little angel whispers in my ear, “This is not novel and it is not even a challenge.” A tiny demon pipes up, “You know you want those green-and-white pills!” I shake my head and close the cabinet door. Looking at my face in the mirror, I decide there is too much involved. Sin is a natural fascination created by the amount that cleanliness is next to you-know-whatness. I suppose if I were a burglar I might occasionally feel an odd desire to clean up after myself. It is unsafe for the burglar to clean too much and it is unsafe for the cleaner to steal too much. Both the burglar and I still share the same fascinations.
Cherry tells me that Kathy really likes me. “As a person,” she adds. Kathy realizes after my first day that I do know how to clean and now she enjoys working with me. We often clean together. Kathy is talking on the phone to her astrologer
. She describes me to him as being fastidious. He declares I must be a Virgo. Kathy asks me my sign and I answer, “Leo.” Hmmmm. He needs my birthday, hour, and location and soon I am read out to. My moon is in Virgo and so is my Mercury. So that explains it. Kathy is interested in my Mercury as well as my Moon.
Kathy and Cherry make similar health foods; Cherry is good at cakes and Kathy is great with drinks and shakes. When I work, Kathy offers me mixed fruit juices, yogurt with molasses, and a health drink made from blended almonds, bananas, and honey. The almonds, with a little water added, blend into almond milk. These foods are terrific energy boosts. With new energy, I go into the living room.
The sofa is covered with birdseed that the birds have tossed overboard. I turn on the vacuum and vacuum the sofa. On the coffee table next to the sofa, I notice a little pile of grass. I say, “You don’t want me to vacuum this up, do you?” “Oh either put it in that little box or smoke it if you want to.” “Well, sure, I don’t care if I do.” “It’s great dope!” Kathy says as she fetches the papers. I smoke it up and Kathy stays straight. I continue with a slower cleaning of the living room. I put the upholstery attachment onto the vacuum and start to suck up the birdseed off the bright bird background. The motor in the vacuum sends out bleeps that put shivers down my spine. I am being contacted from outer space. I look up and see Cherry and her dog, Orchards. The sight makes me laugh out loud since I had just spent a punishing day at her house the day before. Cherry says, “I always turn up at unexpected moments.” Kathy and Cherry giggle in the kitchen as I make the living room incredibly, UFO, gleaming CLEAN. I also find Boris’s knife. Inconspicuously waiting on the dresser for me to see and feel, the knife hits me like a telegram. I read it once and put it down.
I am cleaning Kathy’s cupboards with Clorox to remove or counteract the build-up of radioactive acidity. I think it probably works. Kathy says she wants to take some photos of me. This is a coincidence because I want some photos of me in my uniform before the shoes wear out and the t-shirt falls apart. Kathy takes an entire roll. A few close-ups in the apartment and then, when I’m done cleaning, we go outside in the brisk March wind. She shoots the rest of the film in front of the school. My t-shirt has holes in it so I shiver. Kathy says, “You’re too stiff.” I relax by looking at Kathy’s legs. Romance is ever a key to unlock the door. “That’s good!” Kathy calls out. Before we part, I ask Kathy something about next week. She mishears me and answers, “Where am I going now? Just going home.”
Anything that pretends to be good or is good can be ruined. Too much praise of my work would ruin me because I may feel inclined to raise my rates or go on to bigger and better cleaning jobs. Most people are considerate enough not to overpraise my work. Making love with a customer would ruin the cleaning. My employers and I create a relationship with a void in it. That void is the work to be done. I am afraid of ruin for I feel unruined. These are my pretensions. Evelyn Berkson straightens me out. I am finishing up mopping the hallway. Evelyn is distraught from many sides, she turns to me and says, “How come you are so relaxed?” “I’m not really relaxed.” “Yes you are, compared to me.” “I guess I’m sort of a loner. I know how to be alone.” “That’s good.”
A few minutes later Evelyn says, “You really are nice.” I stop mopping and look at her. She looks away and says, “I envy Shelley, I really do. She is very lucky.” “I can be ruined.” I say.
“What? Oh I know that but you don’t seem like the kind of guy that goes around hurting people.” I say, “Yes, uh, I try not to.” I am left holding the mop; everything is confused except that I heard Shelley’s name. I have never heard it while cleaning before. Evelyn seems to be pointing the way home. Love is what always points the cleaning man home.
CHAPTER 10
The Clean House
Now the thing is complete. Every room stands connected. Everything in the house follows a clean line. There you are! You don’t have to think about cleaning house. If muddy feet walk in, it makes you indignant. The house is just cleaned, it stands in its full kinetic potential. The goof is that the potential is only towards getting d_____y. But the moment is blinding and all of its aspects are glowing. The clean house is exciting.
The clean in the house is what rubbed off you. It is your effort. There was you then there was the house, you added energy and one plus one make two. Clean is the number 2. You aren’t lonely; you are on stage.
Cleaning house means coming together. Applause. Take a bow quick before the curtain. The clean house is a jumping off point. I can’t tell you more.
Cleaning Up New York Page 6
