Come On In (10 page)

the jock’s horse

the 7 horse

clipped the heels

of the horse

in front of

him 

stumbled and

fell

throwing the

jock

over its

head

and onto the

track before

some

oncoming

horses 

most of

which

avoided the

jock’s

still

form 

except for

the 9

horse 

who gave him

one step

in the middle

of his

back 

you could

see

the hoof

dig

in 

then the

field was

past

and the

ambulance was

on its

way 

the jock wore

Kelly green

silks,

black

sleeves. 

3 or 4

people were now

gathered around

the

still

jock. 

as the ambulance

moved in 

the man behind

me

said to his

companion,

“let’s go get 

a

beer.”

it’s freezing again, and the snitch is sucking up

to the warden. I’m down $20 with six to go, someone stole

the bell and Darlene broke her left kneecap; the hunter

weeps in the bracken, and in the mirror I see pennies for

eyes; this war is like a dead green shawl

as the last salamander

gets ready to

die.

I am down $50 with four to go,

the boy broke the mower on an apricot and

the skyscraper trembles in the bleeding January night.

I am down $100 with two to go, I will double up

face down, go for broke, and it

might be time for a trip to Spain or to buy

one last pair of new shoes.

it gets sad; the walls grip my

fingers and smile;

I know who killed Cock Robin; I know who tricked Benny

the Dip; and

now somebody is picking the lock and the searchlights are

out of focus.

I’m down $500 with one to go,

my horse explodes in the middle of the dream,

it’s really freezing now, can’t

get it up

can’t

get it down

can’t

get it;

a chorus of purple songbirds

shakes the trees; I watch a parade of wooden monkeys

burn; as the tin cock crows, I just don’t

understand.

he was my guru.

he was a big man, bearded, self-assured.

he sat in one chair.

I sat in another.

we had been up together many days

and nights. 

there had been an hour’s heavy

silence.

then he leaned forward slightly

and whispered,

“you don’t have to worry about

worms when you die, Chinaski,

worms don’t infest dead

bodies, it’s a fairy tale.” 

“that’s good to know,” I

said. 

then we fell into another

hour’s heavy

silence.

when I was younger

when we were all younger

one of T. S. Eliot’s most admired

and envied

lines

was:

“this is the way the world

ends,

not with a bang

but a

whimper.” 

before Hiroshima

we all wished we had written that immortal

line. 

however

poor T.S. lost

much of his immortality

because of that

monstrous

event. 

but at least

he had his immortal status

for a

while 

and like the old fighter

Beau Jack said

after blowing his fortune on

parties, suckerfish and

women: 

“it beats not ever having been

the champ.” 

these days

we don’t know how

or

when

the world will

conclude. 

and under the circumstances,

the idea of

an immortal line or poem

seems somewhat

optimistic 

not to mention the fact that

most of us now

do our whimpering long

before any possible

end. 

Mr. Cobweb, call me when the applause breaks out like a sprinkle of

henshit; 1671 wasn’t so long ago and tomorrow waits like a headless

anvil; but I’m still able to reach for my handkerchief

and wave to the ever-dancing girls (what dolls!) stomping away as

my brain in that dark cellar simmers in the stew.

sure, good things keep happening, eh? I mean, sometimes I fear

that I’m going to explode right through the top of my skull:

teeth, lungs, intestines, liver, bladder, balls and all, and

for hardly any
reason
! I’ve

got to be nuts, you

know! hope

so. 

Mr. Cobweb, call me, I have an answering service, and oh yes, my friend

the great actor stuck his foot down into the dirt behind his mansion in

Malibu Canyon and told me: “the swimming pool will be going

here.” 

mainly, though, what I like is how the sun keeps on trying and we

build sidewalks and walk on them, we go up and down in elevators, read

newspapers, take issue with events singular and worldly, keep exercising,

we keep going and going, it’s all rather fresh and exciting,

and new girls continue to get up to dance, those beautiful dancing

girls, I clutch the blade in my teeth and grin at them, Mr.

Cobweb!

and, Mr. Cobweb, there was another great actor, he was sitting with

his drink, looking down into his drink, he had a long thin sad neck

and I walked over and said, “listen, Harry, you’re always depressed, get

over it, you’re at the top of your game, things could be a lot worse, you

could be servicing Hondas at Jiffy Lube …” 

Mr. Cobweb, even 1332 wasn’t so long ago, we are all blessed in this life,

looking around and trying to fit ourselves into the puzzle, it takes time,

a lifetime, many lifetimes, but we have to keep trying and that takes guts.

me? shit, I’ve had enough, it’s grand, sure, but let me nudge

out now. I distrust the whole tawdry game. 

Mr. Cobweb, Al Capone has been dead a long time but it doesn’t seem so

long to me, I sit within these brown-yellow walls and there’s an old

rose stuck in an old drinking glass, it’s been there several months looking

at me and I reach out and touch it—the petals are still there but

they feel strangely like paper; why shouldn’t they, huh?

Mr. Cobweb, you tell the funniest jokes I’ve ever heard! 

so call me any time, I always answer on the fourth ring, for

sure. 

I was in one of those after-hour places.

I don’t know how long I had been there when

I noticed a dead cigar in my hand. I attempted

to light it and burned my nose. 

“you ever meet Randy Newhall?” the guy

next to me asked. 

“no …” 

“he went through college in 2 years instead

of 4.” 

I asked the barkeep to bring us a couple more

drinks. 

“then he walked into the largest employment agency

in town, they had 50 applications for this

one job at a talent agency but

he just talked to the manager for 15

minutes and was hired.” 

“uh …” 

“he began in the mailroom and in 12 months he

was making package deals for tv programs

and movies.

nobody ever got out of the mailroom that

fast, and next he married a rich girl

just out of law school.” 

“yeah?”

“after that he spent most of his

time putting golf balls into a water glass

in his office.

he made the work look easy …”

“listen,” I asked, “what time is it? the

battery in my watch went dead.” 

“… and in another year

he was promoted to upper management and

a year later he took over the whole place.

he was

the youngest CEO in America.” 

“you buy the next round,” I told him. 

“sure, well, he doubled his work hours and

after a while his wife left him—women don’t

understand.” 

“what?” 

“guys like him.” 

“oh …” 

“he didn’t contest the divorce.

he just moved on. it didn’t faze him one bit.

it was amazing, you’d

see him having dinner with congressmen, with

the mayor.” 

“are you going to get the next round?” 

he told the barkeep, who brought two more. 

“then he began working 16- and 18-hour

days and after work he’d frequent

after-hour places above the Sunset Strip, to relax,

to try to unwind.” 

“a place like this, huh?” 

“this
was
the place. he didn’t try to close

deals, he just wanted to relax with the

actors, the artists, the screenwriters, the

directors, the producers, the investors

and so forth. and, of course, there were also the

beautiful girls.” 

“here?” 

“yes, look around …” 

I did. 

“well, it was just a matter of time until he discovered

coke, then more coke, mostly with his new friends

after
the after-hour places closed.” 

“flying, what?”

“yes, but professionally he

continued to function well until

he began doing crank.” 

“it really keeps you awake, huh? my

round to buy …”

I ordered two more. 

“after some months he felt more and more

depressed, he took 6 weeks off and went to

Hawaii, resting, laying in the sun.”

“did he screw?” 

“he told me that he tried. anyhow, he came back

and he used to talk to me here just like you’re

doing now.”

“oh.” 

“then he became obsessed with some Mexican Real

Estate Dream

which

he would bankroll

with a Mexican friend

who was powerful in politics there.

the master plan was that

within 8 years they would control

a real estate empire and

several banks before the

government could stop them. 

“drink up,” I suggested. 

“well, they didn’t quite get it rolling.

he lost everything.

at the office he became difficult and unreasonable,

smashing ashtrays, throwing the phone out the window,

once pouring a can of Tab down his secretary’s

blouse. yet somehow he managed to retain an

obnoxious brilliance and he remained almost functional

which was better than most of the others there.”

“most others don’t have much.” 

“that’s true. anyhow, one day he arrived at work

dressed in a house painter’s outfit, you know, the

white overalls, the little white cap, carrying a brush and a

bucket of paint. that’s when the Board of Directors

insisted on a 3-month leave of absence.”

“BARKEEP!” I yelled. “COUPLE MORE!” 

“he sold his house and moved into an apartment

on Fountain Avenue. his friends came by for

a while, then they stopped.”

“suckerfish like winners.”

“yes, and then there was a period when he tried to

get back with his x-wife but she didn’t want any more

of that. she was with a young sculptor from Boston

who was immensely talented and who taught

at an Ivy League university.”

“a rough turn of events,” I said. 

“anyhow, our friend had this apartment

on Fountain Avenue and

one day the manager who lived in the apartment

below noticed water coming down through the

ceiling …”

“oh?” 

“he ran upstairs and knocked on the door, there

was no answer, he took out his key and opened it, went

in and there was Randy standing there like a statue,

his head down in the bathroom sink, the water

running and overflowing,

running over the floor, and the manager wasn’t sure what

to think, it looked so strange, and he went over and

saw that the head was wedged there in the sink,

and the manager felt his legs, his back, and everything

was stiff,
rigor mortis
had long ago set in, there he

was standing with his head down under the water

and the overhead light on …” 

“listen, Monty,” I said, “your name is ‘Monty,’ isn’t

it?”

“yes, you’ve got it right.” 

“I drove over here earlier but that was such a long time ago.

do you remember if the parking lot is out front

or in the back?” 

“it’s straight out back.”

“goodnight, Monty.”

“goodnight.” 

fortunately after all that

I still knew front from back. I climbed down off

that bar stool and made my way as best I could to the

exit.