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Authors: Robert Stone

Dog Soldiers (46 page)

BOOK: Dog Soldiers
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The manager is there now, they

re both standing over me with the light, they

re both laughing.

Danskin,

Bruce says,

come with me, please.

They escort me up the aisle, past maybe twenty people I know or who know me an
d out
side to the cashier

s box.



This is where you buy the tickets,

Bruce says. And just before he went inside he gave me a look, a little expression, a little twinkle of the eyes which says,

Danskin, what a schmuck you are, what a contemptible idiot
, what a fuck
ing fool.
’”

Danskin sighed.


Needless to say, I no longer felt like the movies. I walked home and all I could
think about was how after the
show Bruce is going to meet his girlfriend and he

ll tell her. They

ll laugh about the moron, the funny animal. She

ll tell Bruce how clever he is.


I got home and for a couple of hours I worked on my stamp collection. That almost always calmed me down. Only this time, it didn

t. I couldn

t get it out of my head, you understand. I realized …

He turned to Converse ferociously. Converse looked nervously at the road.


I realized this was it! There was nothing else for me to do. I had absolutely no choice.


First I took my whole stamp collection — I started it when I was about six — I took the whole thing to Prospect Park Lake and threw it in. I could have been mugged. A cop could have grabbed me. But they didn

t. Then I went in my father

s truck and I got a tire iron. I called up Bruce

s mother and she told me he was on a date. He wouldn

t be home until late.


New Utrecht Avenue, there

s a playground between the subway stop and where Bruce

s house was. I waited in the playground, I sat on a bench holding the tire iron in my lap. Must be four in the morning — out of the subway — here comes Bruce. He didn

t see me until I was right on top of him. I was careful because he knew karate. He would, right?


When he saw me, man, he knew! He knew then and there.


The first one is right across the face and he

s down. No karate. Not a sound. I just stood over him and bam! Bam, that

s for your girlfriend. Bam, that

s for your schol
arship to Cornell. Bam, that

s for the little twinkle. Bam bam bam bam bam. Lots and lots of times and Bruce

s little twinkle and his scholarship to Cornell is just a lot of mucus on the asphalt. Every light in every building on the street is turned on, three hundred cops are there, and I

m still pounding crud into the street and the playground looks like a meat market.


So they locked you up.


So they locked me up,

Danskin said.

I feigned mad ness. I babbled, I recited Heine. Nine years. Here I am.

They rode in silence for a while.


But you

re still pissed off.


Now more than ever.


Are you sorry?


I

m sorry I got put away. I

m not sorry I wasted Brucie. The fucking guy would remember me all his life. He

d be a rich doctor or the Secretary of Interior and he

d have this picture in his mind of me being thrown out of Loew

s. I

d rather have done the time.

He seemed to be growing angry again. His jaw trembled.


He

d be married to Claire. She

d say
,
remember the great fuck we had the night you threw that schmuck whatshisname out of the movies?

Danskin released an asthmatic sigh and relaxed.


That

s not the way I want to be remembered.


When I went to school,

Converse said,

they used to tell us to offer our humiliations to the Holy Ghost.


That

s sick,

Danski
n said. He shuddered with revul
sion.

That

s fucking repulsive. Why the Holy Ghost?


I guess He likes to see people fuck up.


He must get a kick out of you, huh?


I think the idea was to make something balance.

Danskin shook his head.


People are so stupid,

he said,

it makes you cry.


So what happened,

Converse asked,

after you got out?


I came out of there with a Jones, that

s what happened. I was dicking this wiggy nurse and she turned me on. On grass. On acid. On screwing for that matter. She was queer for madmen.


We

d go down to the swimming pool and shoot dilaudid tabs, then morphine. It was really nice. The shrinks would try to get to me so I

d chew the rug and I

d just smile, man.
Just — hello sunshine! They

d look me up and down, going hmmmm
hmmmm
— you know what I mean? And I

m stand
ing there so fucking loaded I think I

m in Rockaway. They wouldn

t go for that now, but in those d
ays it never oc
curred to them.


Finally I hit the street and I know shit from nothing. I got a habit the size of Manhattan Island and no dealer will touch me. I appear and they run, right, because I

m incre
dibly naive and uncool — I grew up in the fucking mad house. I run after them on the street — Please, please — they say Get lost, Lemme alone, Help — I get one guy who

s so far gone he

ll sell to me, and the fourth or fifth time out — slam! We

re both busted by a spade in an army coat and sneakers.


So my status was weird because I

m just out of the hatch. I got passed around from one guy to another and I end up in the Federal Building having a long talk with this Irish man. I can have a break if I

ll go out to this college on Long Island and hang with the radicals there. They have me by the balls. On account of the bust they can put me back in the madhouse for life. If I bitch anywhere I

m crazy. If I do what they want, I

ll get maintenance and stay out.


Well, I went out there, man, and after a while I really got interested. I played a couple of colleges in the East — the Feds passed me from one handler to another and I worked up some far-out shit. Chicks want to rob banks with me. I say Let

s go to Nyack and kill all the cops there, they say Great! I say Let

s blow up Orange Julius — they say Right On.


I knew some people in the movement,

Converse said.

I don

t think they would have gone for you.


You can say that,

Danskin said,

but you never saw me work. I got their scene figured. You

re an American col
lege kid — that means you get anything you want. You get the best of everything that

s in — think it up, you got it. So revolution is in — boots and cartridge belts and Chinese shit. All the rich suburban kids — their parents never bought them cap pistols, now they want to kick ass. Revolution — they gotta have that too.


The richest fuckin

people in the richest country in the world — you gonna tell them some little guy in a hole in South America can have something they can

t? Like shit, man. If the little guy in the hole can be a revolutionary, they can be revolutionaries too.


Did you get a lot of convictions?


I did O.K. I was better in the field than in court, though. I turned some guns, some explosives. What I mostly got them was dope busts — that

s how I got to Antheil.


Don

t you think sometimes,

Converse ventured …

don

t you think there ought to be more to life than that?


You should talk,

Danskin said.

What have I got to learn from you about what there should be?

Converse was silent.


Anyway, it

s interesting. I

m like the Holy Ghost, man. I like to see shit heads fall on their ass.


Tell me something,

Converse said after a while.

Did you put that drawing on my wall?

Danskin laughed, incredulous.


What do you think I am, a moron? Smitty did that. Did it scare you?


Yes,

Converse said.

It did.

Danskin laughed and pounded on the wheel.


Why, you simple asshole!

he said.

Good for Smitty.

A
ntheil was waiting for them beside a pickup
truck
at a turn in the road. He had parked at the edge of a
pine forest; there was a Mexican with him, a somber squab-nosed man in a khaki shirt with a broad-brimmed beige fedora.

Danskin eased the station wagon over the pine needles and parked it beside the truck.


He

s pissed off,

Smitty said.

Antheil was dressed for an afternoon of outdoorsmanship. In his Roos-Atkins collapsible hat and safari jacket, he might have stepped from the pages of
Field and Stream
. But he did appear anxious and depressed, red-eyed, pissed off.

He had spent the previous evening on the south side of the border with his lone Mexican companion, whose name was Angel.

When they pulled up, he walked over to their station wagon and looked in at Converse with resigned disgust, as one might inspect a consignment of spoiled meat. Danskin and Smitty got out and stood by apologetically; they seemed to despair of pleasing him.


What

s the matter with the radios?

he asked them sharply.

I had no idea where you were.


They

re not much use,

Danskin said.

The hills are in the way.

BOOK: Dog Soldiers
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