Coming to Terms

by James Reston

  BILLY: What?

  CARLYLE: The punk; is he the only punk? (Carefully HE takes one of RICHIE’s cigarettes and lights it)

  BILLY: He’s all right.

  CARLYLE: I ain’t askin’ about the quality of his talent, but is he the only one, is my question?

  BILLY (HE does not want to deal with this. HE sits there): You get your orders yet?

  CARLYLE: Orders for what?

  BILLY: To tell you where you work.

  CARLYLE: I’m P Company, man. I work in P Company. I do K.P. That all. Don’t deserve no more. Do you know I been in this army three months and ten days and everybody still doin’ the same shit and sayin’ the same shit and wearin’ the same green shitty clothes? I ain’t been happy one day, and that a lotta goddamn misery back to back in this ole boy. Is that Richie a good punk? Huh? Is he? He takes care of you and Roger—that how come you in this room, the three of you?

  BILLY: What?

  CARLYLE (Emphatically): You and Roger are hittin’ on Richie, right?

  BILLY: He’s not queer, if that’s what you’re sayin’. A little effeminate, but that’s all, no more; if that’s what you’re sayin’.

  CARLYLE: I’d like to get some of him myself if he a good punk, is what I’m sayin’. That’s what I’m sayin’! You don’t got no understandin’ how a man can maybe be a little diplomatic about what he’s sayin’ sorta sideways, do you? Jesus.

  BILLY: He don’t do that stuff.

  CARLYLE (Lying there): What stuff?

  BILLY: Listen, man. I don’t feel too good, you don’t mind.

  CARLYLE: What stuff?

  BILLY: What you’re thinkin’.

  CARLYLE: What . . . am I thinkin’?

  BILLY: You . . . know.

  CARLYLE: Yes, I do. It in my head, that how come I know. But how do you know? I can see your heart, Billy boy, but you cannot see mine. I am unknown. You . . . are known.

  BILLY (As if HE is about to vomit, and fighting it): You just . . . talk fast and keep movin’, don’t you? Don’t ever stay still.

  CARLYLE: Words to say my feelin’, Billy boy.

  RICHIE steps into the room. HE sees BILLY and CARLYLE, and freezes.

  There he is. There he be.

  RICHIE moves to his locker to put away the towel.

  RICHIE: He’s one of them who hasn’t come down far out of the trees yet, Billy; believe me.

  CARLYLE: You got rudeness in your voice, Richie—you got meanness I can hear about ole Carlyle. You tellin’ me I oughta leave—is that what you think you’re doin’? You don’t want me here?

  RICHIE: You come to see Roger, who isn’t here, right? Man like you must have important matters to take care of all over the quad; I can’t imagine a man like you not having extremely important things to do all over the world, as a matter of fact, Carlyle.

  CARLYLE (HE rises. HE begins to smooth the sheets and straighten the pillow. HE will put the pint bottle in his back pocket and cross near to RICHIE): Ohhhh, listen—don’t mind all the shit I say. I just talk bad, is all I do; I don’t do bad. I got to have friends just like anybody else. I’m just bored and restless, that all; takin’ it out on you two. I mean, I know Richie here ain’t really no punk, not really. I was just talkin’, just jivin’ and entertainin’ my own self.

  Don’t take me serious, not ever. I get on out and see you all later. (HE moves for the door. RICHIE right behind him, almost ushering him) You be cool, hear? Man don’t do the jivin’, he the one gettin’ jived. That what my little brother Henry tell me and tell me.

  Moving leisurely, CARLYLE backs out the door and is gone. RICHIE shuts the door. There is a silence as RICHIE stands by the door. BILLY looks at him and then looks away.

  BILLY: I am gonna have to move myself outa here, Roger decides to adopt that sonofabitch.

  RICHIE: He’s an animal.

  BILLY: Yeh, and on top a that, he’s a rotten person.

  RICHIE (HE laughs nervously, crossing nearer to BILLY): I think you’re probably right. (Still laughing a little. HE pats BILLY’s shoulder and BILLY freezes at the touch. Awkwardly RICHIE removes his hand and crosses to his bed. When HE has lain down. BILLY bends to take off his sneakers, then lies back on his pillow staring, thinking, and there is a silence. RICHIE does not move. HE lies there, struggling to prepare himself for something) Hey . . . Billy? (Very slight pause) Billy?

  BILLY: Yeh.

  RICHIE: You know that story you told the other night?

  BILLY: Yeh . . .?

  RICHIE: You know . . .

  BILLY: What . . . about it?

  RICHIE: Well, was it . . . about you? (Pause) I mean, was it . . . ABOUT you? Were you Frankie? (This is difficult for him) Are . . . you Frankie? Billy?

  BILLY is slowly sitting up.

  BILLY: You sonofabitch . . .!

  RICHIE: Or was it really about somebody you knew . . .?

  BILLY (Sitting, outraged and glaring): You didn’t hear me at all!

  RICHIE: I’m just asking a simple question, Billy, that’s all I’m doing.

  BILLY: You are really sick. You know that? Your brain is really, truly rancid! Do you know there’s a theory now it’s genetic? That it’s all a matter of genes and shit like that?

  RICHIE: Everything is not so ungodly cryptic, Billy.

  BILLY: You. You, man, and the rot it’s makin’ outa your feeble fuckin’ brain.

  ROGER, dressed in civilian clothes, bursts in and BILLY leaps to his feet.

  ROGER: Hey, hey, anyone got a couple bucks he can loan me?

  BILLY: Rog, where you been?

  ROGER: (Throwing the basketball and his sweat clothes into his locker): I need five. C’mon.

  BILLY: Where you been? That asshole friend a yours was here.

  ROGER: I know, I know. Can you gimme five?

  RICHIE (HE jumps to the floor and heads for his locker): You want five. I got it. You want ten or more, even?

  BILLY, watching RICHIE, turns, and nervously paces down right, where HE moves about, worried.

  BILLY: I mean, we gotta talk about him, man; we gotta talk about him.

  ROGER: (As RICHIE is handing him two fives): ’Cause we goin’ to town together. I jus’ run into him out on the quad, man, and he was feelin’ real bad ‘bout the way he acted, how you guys done him, he was fallin’ down apologizin’ all over the place.

  BILLY (As RICHIE marches back to his bed and sits down): I mean, he’s got a lotta weird ideas about us; I’m tellin’ you.

  ROGER: He’s just a little fucked up in his head is all, but he ain’t trouble. (HE takes a pair of sunglasses from the locker and puts them on)

  BILLY: Who needs him? I mean, we don’t need him.

  ROGER: You gettin’ too nervous, man. Nobody said anything about anybody needin’ anybody. I been on the street all my life; he brings back home. I played me a little ball, Billy; took me a shower. I’m feelin’ good! (HE has moved down to BILLY)

  BILLY: I’m tellin’ you there’s something wrong with him, though.

  ROGER: (Face to face with BILLY, HE is a little irritated): Every black man in the world ain’t like me, man; you get used to that idea. You get to know him, and you gonna like him. I’m tellin’ you. You get to be laughin’ just like me to hear him talk his shit. But you gotta relax.

  RICHIE: I agree with Billy, Roger.

  ROGER: Well, you guys got it all worked out and that’s good, but I am goin’ to town with him. Man’s got wheels. Got a good head. You got any sense, you’ll come with us.

  BILLY: What are you talkin’ about—come with you? I just tole you he’s crazy.

  ROGER: And I tole you you’re wrong.

  RICHIE: We weren’t invited.

  ROGER: I’m invitin’ you.

  RICHIE: No, I don’t wanna.

  ROGER: (HE moves to RICHIE: it seems HE really wants RICHIE to go): You sure, Richie? C’mon.

  RICHIE: No.

  ROGER: Billy? He got wheels, we goin’ in drinkin’, see if gettin’ our heads real bad don�
�t just make us feel real good. You know what I mean. I got him right; you got him wrong.

  BILLY: But what if I’m right?

  ROGER: Billy, Billy, the man is waitin’ on me. You know you wanna. Jesus. Bad cat like that gotta know the way. He been to D.C. before. Got cousins here. Got wheels for the weekend. You always talkin’ how you don’t do nothin—you just talk it. Let’s do it tonight—stop talkin’. Be cruisin’ up and down the strip, leanin’ out the window, bad as we wanna be. True cool is a car. We can flip a cigarette out the window—we can watch it bounce. Get us some chippies. You know we can. And if we don’t, he knows a cathouse, it fulla cats.

  BILLY: You serious?

  RICHIE: You mean you’re going to a whorehouse? That’s disgusting.

  BILLY: Listen who’s talkin’. What do you want me to do? Stay here with you?

  RICHIE: We could go to a movie or something.

  ROGER: I am done with this talkin’. You goin’, you stayin’? (HE crosses to his locker, pulls into view a wide-brimmed black and shiny hat, and puts it on, cocking it at a sharp angle)

  BILLY: I don’t know.

  ROGER: (Stepping for the door): I am goin’.

  BILLY (Turning. HE sees the hat): I’m going. Okay! I’m going! Going, going, going! (And HE runs to his locker)

  RICHIE: Oh, Billy, you’ll be scared to death in a cathouse and you know it.

  BILLY: BULLSHIT! (HE is removing his sweat pants and putting on a pair of gray corduroy trousers)

  ROGER: Billy got him a lion-tamer ’tween his legs!

  The door bangs open and CARLYLE is there, still clad in his filthy fatigues, but wearing a going-to-town black knit cap on his head and carrying a bottle.

  CARLYLE: Man, what’s goin’ on? I been waitin’ like throughout my fuckin’ life.

  ROGER: Billy’s goin’, too. He’s gotta change.

  CARLYLE: He goin’, too! Hey! Beautiful! That beautiful! (His grin is large, his laugh is loud)

  ROGER: Didn’t I tell you, Billy?

  CARLYLE: That beautiful, man; we all goin’ to be friends!

  RICHIE (Sitting on his bed): What about me, Carlyle?

  CARLYLE looks at RICHIE, and then at ROGER and then HE and ROGER begin to laugh. CARLYLE pokes ROGER and THEY laugh as THEY are leaving. BILLY, grabbing up his sneakers to follow, stops at the door, looking only briefly at RICHIE. Then BILLY goes and shuts the door. The lights are fading to black.

  Scene 2

  In the dark, taps begins to play. And then slowly the lights rise, but the room remains dim. Only the lamp attached to RICHIE’s bed bums and there is the glow and spill of the hallway coming through the transom. BILLY, CARLYLE, ROGER and RICHIE are sprawled about the room. BILLY, lying on his stomach, has his head at the foot of his bed, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling in his hand. HE wears a blue oxford-cloth shirt and his sneakers lie beside his bed. ROGER, collapsed in his own bed, lies upon his back, his head also at the foot, a Playboy magazine covering his face and a hay-empty bottle of beer in his hands, folded on his belly. Having removed his civilian shirt. HE wears a white T-shirt. CARLYLE is lying on his belly on RICHIE’s bed, his head at the foot, and HE is facing out. RICHIE is sitting on the floor, resting against ROGER’s footlocker. HE is wrapped in a blanket. Beside him is an unopened bottle of beer and a bottle opener.

  THEY are all dreamy in the dimness as taps plays sadly on and then fades into silence. NO ONE moves.

  RICHIE: I don’t know where it was, but it wasn’t here. And we were all in it—it felt like—but we all had different faces. After you guys left, I only dozed for a few minutes, so it couldn’t have been long. Roger laughed a lot and Billy was taller. I don’t remember all the details exactly, and even though we were the ones in it, I know it was about my father. He was a big man. I was six. He was a very big man when I was six and he went away, but I remember him. He started drinking and staying home making model airplanes and boats and paintings by the numbers. We had money from Mom’s family, so he was just home all the time. And then one day I was coming home from kindergarten, and as I was starting up the front walk he came out the door and he had these suitcases in his hands. He was leaving, see, sneaking out, and I’d caught him. We looked at each other and I just knew and I started crying. He yelled at me, “Don’t you cry; don’t you start crying.” I tried to grab him and he pushed me down in the grass. And then he was gone. G-O-N-E.

  BILLY: And that was it? That was it?

  RICHIE: I remember hiding my eyes. I lay in the grass and hid my eyes and waited.

  BILLY: He never came back?

  RICHIE: No.

  CARLYLE: Ain’t that some shit. Now, I’m a jive-time street nigger. I knew where my daddy was all the while. He workin’ in this butcher shop two blocks up the street. Ole Mom used to point him out. “There he go. That him—that your daddy.” We’d see him on the street, “There he go.”

  ROGER: Man couldn’t see his way to livin’ with you—that what you’re sayin’?

  CARLYLE: Never saw the day.

  ROGER: And still couldn’t get his ass outa the neighborhood?

  RICHIE begins trying to open his bottle of beer.

  CARLYLE: Ain’t that a bitch. Poor ole bastard just duck his head—Mom pointin’ at him—he git this real goddamn hangdog look like he don’t know who we talkin’ about and he walk a little faster. Why the hell he never move away I don’t know, unless he was crazy. But I don’t think so. He come up to me once—I was playin’. “Boy,” he says, “I ain’t your daddy. I ain’t. Your momma’s crazy.” “Don’t you be callin’ my momma crazy, Daddy,” I tole him. Poor ole thing didn’t know what to do.

  RICHIE (Giving up; HE can’t get the beer open): Somebody open this for me? I can’t get this open.

  BILLY seems about to move to help, but CARLYLE is quicker, rising a little on the bunk and reaching.

  CARLYLE: Ole Carlyle get it.

  RICHIE slides along the floor until HE can place the bottle in CARLYLE’s outstretched hand.

  RICHIE: Then there was this once—there was this TV documentary about these bums in San Francisco, this TV guy interviewing all these bums, and just for maybe ten seconds while he was talkin’ . . . (Smiling. CARLYLE hands RICHIE the opened bottle) to this one bum, there was this other one in the background jumpin’ around like he thought he was dancin’ and wavin’ his hat, and even though there wasn’t anything about him like my father and I didn’t really ever see his face at all, I just kept thinkin’: That’s him. My dad. He thinks he’s dancin’.

  THEY lie there in silence and suddenly, softly, BILLY giggles, and then HE giggles a little more and louder.

  BILLY: Jesus!

  RICHIE: What?

  BILLY: That’s ridiculous, Richie; sayin’ that, thinkin’ that. If it didn’t look like him, it wasn’t him, but you gotta be makin’ up a story.

  CARLYLE (Shifting now for a more comfortable position. HE moves his head to the pillow at the top of the bed): Richie first saw me, he didn’t like me much nohow, but he thought it over now, he changed his way a thinkin’. I can see that clear. We gonna be one big happy family.

  RICHIE: Carlyle likes me, Billy; he thinks I’m pretty.

  CARLYLE (Sitting up a little to make his point clear): No, I don’t think you pretty. A broad is pretty. Punks ain’t pretty. Punk—if he good-lookin—is cute. You cute.

  RICHIE: He’s gonna steal me right away, little Billy. You’re so slow, Bill. I prefer a man who’s decisive. (HE is lying down now on the floor at the foot of his bed)

  BILLY: You just keep at it, you’re gonna have us all believin’ you are just what you say you are.

  RICHIE: Which is more than we can say for you.

  Now ROGER rises on his elbow to light a cigarette.

  BILLY: Jive, jive.

  RICHIE: You’re arrogant, Billy. So arrogant.

  BILLY: What are you—on the rag?

  RICHIE: Wouldn’t it just bang your little balls if I were!

  ROGER (To RICHIE): Hey
, man. What’s with you?

  RICHIE: Stupidity offends me; lies and ignorance offend me.

  BILLY: You know where we was? The three of us? All three of us, earlier on? To the wrong side of the tracks, Richard. One good black upside-down whorehouse where you get what you buy, no jive along with it—so if it’s a lay you want and need, you go! Or don’t they have faggot whorehouses?

  ROGER: IF YOU GUYS DON’T CUT THIS SHIT OUT I’M GONNA BUST SOMEBODY’S HEAD! (Angrily HE flops back on his bed. There is a silence as THEY all lie there)

  RICHIE: “Where we was,” he says. Listen to him. “Where we was.” And he’s got more school, Carlyle, than you have fingers and . . . (HE has lifted his foot onto the bed; it touches, presses. CARLYLE’s foot) toes. It’s this pseudo-earthy quality he feigns—but inside he’s all cashmere.

  BILLY: That’s a lie. (Giggling. HE is staring at the floor) I’m polyester, worsted and mohair.

  RICHIE: You have a lot of school, Billy; don’t say you don’t.

  BILLY: You said “fingers and toes”; you didn’t say “a lot.”

  CARLYLE: I think people get dumber the more they put their butts into some schoolhouse door.

  BILLY: It depends on what the hell you’re talkin’ about. (Now HE looks at CARLYLE, and sees the feet touching)

  CARLYLE: I seen cats back on the block, they knew what was shakin—then they got into all this school jive and, man, every year they went, they come back they didn’t know nothin’.

  BILLY is staring at RICHIE’s foot pressing and rubbing CARLYLE’s foot. RICHIE sees BILLY looking. BILLY cannot believe what HE is seeing. It fills him with fear. The silence goes on and on.

  RICHIE: Billy, why don’t you and Roger go for a walk?

  BILLY: What? (HE bolts to his knees. HE is frozen on his knees on the bed)

  RICHIE: Roger asked you to go downtown, you went, you had fun.

  ROGER: (Having turned. HE knows almost instantly what is going on): I asked you, too.

  RICHIE: You asked me; you begged Billy. I said no. Billy said no. You took my ten dollars. You begged Billy. I’m asking you a favor now—go for a walk. Let Carlyle and me have some time.