The Abortion: An Historical Romance 1966

by Richard Brautigan

  ‘Well, I’ll have a few drinks for breakfast,’ he said. ‘And get in the van and be in sometime late this evening.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘That’s what I need.’

  Then there was a slight pause at the cave end of the telephone.

  ‘You don’t have any money, do you, kid?’ Foster said.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I said. ‘Where would I get any money? This is the lowest-paying job in the world because it doesn’t. I had to borrow this dime from my girlfriend to call you collect.’

  ‘I guess I’m still gorgonized,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I was probably thinking that I spent all my money last night on drink or was it last week? and I haven’t got a cent. Cuckoo, have I been out of it!’

  ‘What about my food?’ I said, realizing that he had spent my food money, too.

  ‘Is she good-looking?’ Foster said. ‘Will she do in a dust storm at midnight with a candle?’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘I’ll bring the money, then,’ he said. ‘It costs a couple of hundred if you make the good doctor toe the line. He likes to speculate sometimes — it’s the businessman in him — but you can hold him down by putting the two hundred in his hand.

  ‘Let’s see: You’ll need plane tickets and walking around money and you might need a hotel room for her to rest up after she sees Dr Garcia.

  ‘I’ll go down to the bar and turn a couple of the patrons upside down and see what I can shake out of their pockets, so you hang on, kid, and I’ll be in late this evening and we’ll get this show on the road.

  ‘I never thought you had it in you, kid. Tell your young lady hello for me and that everything will be all right. Foster’s coming.’

  Masturbation

  That Foster! I went back to the library. Somebody was just leaving as I arrived. It was a young boy, maybe sixteen. He looked awfully tired and nervous. He hurried past me.

  ‘Thank God, darling, you didn’t get lost,’ Vida said. ‘I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to find your way back up the block. It’s great to see you, honey.’

  She came out from behind the desk and moved breathlessly to where I was given a great big lingering kiss. She had lost about 80 per cent of her awkwardness since she had come to the library that evening late last year. The 20 per cent she had left was very intriguing.

  ‘How did it go?’ she said.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Here’s your dime. Foster’s on his way down. He’ll be in late this evening.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’ll be glad when this thing is over. I wouldn’t like to wait for an abortion. I’m glad we’re doing it right now.’

  ‘So am I. Foster knows a great doctor,’ I said. ‘Everything will be all right. Foster’s going to take care of everything.’

  ‘Fine, just fine,’ she said. ‘What about money? I have—’

  ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘Foster will get the money.’

  ‘You’re sure, because—’

  ‘No, I’m sure,’ I said. ‘Who was that boy who was leaving?’

  ‘Some kid who brought in a book,’ she said. ‘I welcomed it in my most pleasing manner and recorded it in my best handwriting in the Library Contents Ledger.’

  ‘Gee,’ I said. ‘This is the first time I haven’t received a book in years.’

  ‘Oh, honey,’ she said. ‘You aren’t that old, even though you try to be, but that kind of thinking is going to make you an old man if you work at it hard enough.’

  She kissed me again.

  ‘I’ll take a look at it,’ I said.

  ‘Your old age?’ she said.

  ‘No, the book.’

  She stood there and smiled after me as I walked over behind the desk and opened the Library Contents Ledger and read:

  THE OTHER SIDE OF MY HAND by Harlow Blade, Jr. The author was about sixteen and seemed a little sadder than he should have been for his age. He was very shy around me. The poor dear. He kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

  Finally he said, ‘Are you the librarian?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘I expected a man.’

  ‘He’s out,’ I said. ‘So I’ll just have to do. I don’t bite.’

  ‘You’re not a man,’ he said.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your name, please? I have to write it down here in the ledger before we can take your book. You do have a name, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Harlow Blade, Jr.’

  ‘Now what’s your book about? I have to have that, too. Just tell me what it’s about and I’ll write it down here in the ledger.’

  ‘I was expecting a man,’ he said.

  ‘What’s your book about? The subject, please?’

  ‘Masturbation. I’d better be going now.’

  I started to thank him for bringing his book in and tell him that he could put it anywhere he wanted to in the library, but he left without saying anything else. Poor kid.

  What a strange place this library is, but I guess it’s the only place you can bring a book in the end. I brought mine here and I’m still here.

  Vida trailed over to the desk and moved behind it with me and put her arm around me and read the entry over my shoulder after I finished reading it.

  ‘I think it sounds pretty good,’ she said.

  Gee, the handwriting of a different librarian lay before me on the desk. It was the first book I hadn’t welcomed and recorded there myself in years.

  I looked over at Vida for a moment. I must have looked at her kind of strangely because she said, ‘Oh, no. No, no, no.’

  Foster

  Foster arrived at midnight. We were in my room, sitting around drinking coffee and talking about small casual things that are never remembered afterwards, except perhaps in the twilight moments of our lives.

  Foster never bothered to ring the bell on the front door. He said it made him think he was going into some kind of church and he’d had enough of that to last him forever.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! he just slugged the door with his fist and I could always hear him and was afraid that he would break the glass. Foster couldn’t be overlooked or forgotten.

  ‘What’s that?’ Vida said, jumping up startled from the bed.

  ‘That’s Foster,’ I said.

  ‘It sounds like an elephant,’ she said.

  ‘He never touches the stuff,’ I said.

  We went out into the library and turned on the lights and there was Foster on the other side of the door, still banging away with that big fist of his.

  There was a large smile on his face and he was wearing his traditional T-shirt. He never wore a shirt or a coat or a sweater. It didn’t make any difference what the weather did. Cold, wind or rain, Foster always wore his T-shirt. He was of course sweating like a dam and his buffalo-heavy blond hair hung almost down to his shoulders.

  ‘Hello!’ he said. His voice came booming through as if the glass door were made of tissue paper. ‘What’s going on in there?’

  I opened the door for him and could see the van parked out in front. The van was big and strange and looked like a prehistoric animal asleep in front of the library.

  ‘Well, here I am,’ he said and threw an arm around me and gave me a big hug. There was a bottle of whisky in his other hand and half the whisky was gone.

  ‘How’s it going, kid? Cheer up. Foster’s here. Hey, hello there,’ he said to Vida. ‘My, aren’t you a pretty girl! Damn, am I glad I drove down here! Every mile was worth it. My God, ma’am, you’re so pretty I’d walk ten miles barefooted on a freezing morning to stand in your shit.’

  Vida broke up. There was a big smile on her face. I could tell that she liked him instantly.

  My, how her body had relaxed these few months we’d been going together. She was still a little awkward, but now instead of treating it as a handicap, she treated it as a form of poetry and it was fantastically charming.

  Vida came over and put her arm around F
oster. He gave her a great big hug, too, and offered her a drink from his bottle of whisky.

  ‘It’s good for you,’ he said.

  ‘All right, I’ll give it a try,’ she said.

  He wiped the mouth of the bottle off with his hand in the grand manner and offered her the bottle and she took a delicate nip.

  ‘Hey, kid. You try some of this stuff, too. It’ll grow hair on your books.’

  I took a drink.

  Wow!

  ‘Where did you get this whisky?’ I said.

  ‘I bought it from a dead Indian.’

  The AD Standoff

  ‘Lead the way,’ Foster said.

  He had his arm around Vida. They were like two peas in a pod. I was very pleased that they were getting along so well together. We went back to my room to relax and make our plans for Tijuana.

  ‘Where have you been all my life?’ Foster said.

  ‘Not on the reservation,’ Vida said.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Foster said. ‘Where did you find this girl?’

  ‘She came along,’ I said.

  ‘I should be working down here at the library,’ Foster said. ‘Not up at the caves. I got up on the wrong side of the map. Hey, hey, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My God, you’re even prettier than my mother’s picture.’

  ‘It’s the whisky,’ Vida said. ‘I always look better through amber-coloured fluid.’

  ‘Damn, it’s the whisky. You’re pulling my 86 proof. I think I’ll take over this library for a while and you kids can go up and dust off those God-damn books and live at the caves. It’s real nice up there. But don’t mention to anyone that you know me. Jesus Christ and old Foster wore out their welcome at the same time. I only survive on my good looks these days.’

  The Plan for Tijuana

  We went back to my room and we all sat down on the bed together and drank a little whisky and made plans for Tijuana. I usually don’t drink but I figured the present condition of our lives merited a little drink.

  ‘Well, it’s a little abortion, huh?’ Foster said. ‘You’re sure now?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘We talked it over. That’s what we want.’

  Foster looked over at Vida.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re too immature right now to have a child. It would only confuse us and this confusion would not be good for a child. It’s hard enough being born into this world without having immature and confused parents. Yes, I want the abortion.’

  ‘O K, then,’ Foster said. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. I know a good doctor: Dr Garcia. He won’t hurt you and there will be no complications. Everything will be just fine.’

  ‘I trust you,’ she said.

  Vida reached over and took my hand.

  ‘The arrangements are very simple,’ Foster said. ‘You’ll take a plane down there. There’s one that leaves at 8.15 tomorrow morning for San Diego. I’ve got you both round-trip tickets. I called the doctor and he’ll be waiting for you. You’ll be in TJ before noon and the thing will be over in a short while.

  ‘You can come back in the evening on the plane if you feel up to it, but if you want to stay over in San Diego, I’ve got a reservation for you at the Green Hotel. I know the guy who runs the place. He’s a good guy. You’ll feel a little weak after the abortion, so it’s up to you if you want to stay. It just depends on how you feel, but don’t push it if you feel too woozy, just stay over at the hotel.

  ‘Sometimes Dr Garcia tries to speculate on the price of the abortion, but I told him you were coming and you only had 200 dollars and there was no more and he said, “OK, Foster, will do.” He doesn’t speak very good English but he’s very kind and very good. He’s a regular doctor. He did me a good turn with that Indian girl last year. Any questions or anything? Damn! you’re a pretty girl.’

  He gave Vida a nice hug.

  ‘I think you’ve probably covered it all,’ I said.

  ‘Vida?’ he said.

  ‘No, I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘What about the library?’ I said.

  ‘Whatabout the library?’ Foster said.

  ‘Who’s going to watch it? There has to be somebody here. That’s a big part of this library. Somebody has to be here twenty-four hours a day to receive and welcome books. It’s the very foundation of this library. We can’t close it. It has to remain open.’

  ‘You mean me?’ Foster said. ‘Oh, no. I’m strictly a caveman. You’ll have to get another boy.’

  ‘But there has to be somebody here,’ I said, looking hard at him.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Foster said.

  ‘But,’ I said.

  Vida was awfully amused by the whole thing. I was fully aware that Vida did not share the intensity of my feeling towards the library. I could understand that it was a rather strange calling that I had answered, but it was a thing I had to do.

  ‘I’m a caveman,’ Foster said.

  ‘This is our job,’ I said. ‘This is what we were hired to do. We have to take care of this library and the people that need its services.

  ‘I was meaning to bring that up,’ Foster said. ‘This is a kind of slow-paying operation. I haven’t been paid in two years. I’m supposed to make $295.50 a month.’

  ‘Foster!’ I said.

  ‘I was just joking,’ Foster said. ‘Just a little joke. Here, have some more whisky.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Vida?’ Foster said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Another sip would be just wonderful. It’s relaxing.’

  ‘It’s the old Indian tranquillizer,’ Foster said.

  ‘You can take care of this place for a day or so while we’re down in Mexico getting the abortion,’ I said. ‘It won’t kill you to actually put in a day’s work. It’s been years since you’ve turned a wheel.’

  ‘I have my work up, at the caves,’ he said. ‘It’s quite a responsibility lugging books up there and putting them away, guarding them and making sure cave seepage doesn’t get to them.’

  ‘Cave seepage!’ I said, horrified.

  ‘Forget I said that,’ Foster said. ‘I don’t want to go into it right now, but OK, I’ll stay here and take care of the library until you get back. I don’t like it but I’ll do it.’

  ‘Cave seepage?’ I repeated.

  ‘What do I have to do around here?’ Foster said. ‘How do I deal with the nuts that bring their books in? What do you do here, anyway? Have some whisky. Tell me all about it.’

  Vida was very amused by what was going on. She certainly was pretty. We were all very relaxed lying there on the bed. The whisky had made us mud-puddly at the edges of our bodies and the edges of our minds.

  This is delightful,’ Vida said.

  Foster’s Girl #1

  ‘What’s that?’ Foster said, almost moving on the bed.

  ‘That’s the bell,’ I said. ‘Somebody is out there with a new book for the library. I’ll show you how we honour a hook into the library. “Welcome it” is the phrase I use.’

  ‘Sounds like a funeral parlour,’ Foster said. ‘Damn, what time is it?’ Foster looked around the room. ‘I can hear it ticking.’

  I looked over at the clock. Foster couldn’t see it because of the way he was lying on the bed.

  ‘After midnight,’

  ‘That’s kind of late to bring a book in, isn’t it? Midnight? That’s twelve.’

  ‘We’re open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We never close,’ I said.

  ‘Good God!’ Foster said.

  ‘See what I mean?’ Vida said.

  ‘Do I,’ Foster said. ‘This boy needs a rest.’

  Then he looked over at Vida. He appraised her in a classic computerized masculine manner without being obvious or sensual and he liked what he saw.

  Vida looked at him smiling gently without disturbing her mouth. It remained unchanged by her smile. I believe this thing has been gone into before.

  She was not the same girl who had brought her book in a few mo
nths before. She had become somebody else with her body. ‘Yes,’ Foster said, finally. ‘Yes, maybe we had better go out and see who’s bringing in a book. We don’t want to keep her, I mean, them waiting. It’s cold outside.’

  Foster had never been aware of cold in his entire life, so he was a little drunk and his imagination had just gone into full gallop.

  ‘What do you do out there?’ Foster said. ‘Maybe I’ll just go out there and take care of it myself. You kids can sit here and relax. No reason to stop being comfortable when old Foster’s around. I’ll take care of that book myself. Besides, I have to find out what’s going on here if I’m going to run this asylum while you’re in TJ.’

  Vida’s smile had opened until now you could see the immaculate boundaries of her teeth. Her eyes had small friendly lightning walking across them.

  I was smiling, too.

  ‘What do you do out there? You write down the title of the book and the name of the writer and a little something about the book into that big black ledger, huh?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘And you have to be friendly, too. That’s important. To make the person and the book feel wanted because that’s the main purpose of the library and to gather pleasantly together the unwanted, the lyrical and haunted volumes of American writing.’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ Foster said. ‘You have to be kidding.’

  ‘Come on, Foster,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll bring up “cave seepage” again. You know “cave seepage”.’

  ‘All right. All right. All right, cuckoo,’ Foster said. ‘I’ll be on my best and besides, who knows: I might want to be on my best. I’m not such a bad guy. Come to think of it, I’ve got a lot of friends. They may not admit it, but I’m a big place in their hearts.’

  The bell was still ringing but it was growing weak and needed immediate attention. Foster was by now off the bed. He ran his hand through his buffalo-heavy blond hair as if to comb it before going out to the library.

  Blank like Snow