A Fairy Tale of New York (29 page)

Tell

Me

27

A still time of night. When you can hear a car travelling blocks away. And when Mrs How put the receiver back, the phone rang again. Could hear Fanny Sourpuss's voice. Clear across the room. Asking in her charming way. Who the hell are you, you cunt. Where's my husband.

And I've been everywhere. Ever since. Once sightseeing on a boat around Manhattan. And twice dumbfounded around the block of the House of Detention for Women. Listening to them scream down from their barred windows. Come up and fuck me some time, hey blondie, you muff diving cocksucker. Tried an excursion to the Bronx Zoo. To see what the other animals were like. And a cobra was spitting poison at the eyes of onlookers the other side of the glass. Just trying to make them blind.

Because on that Forest Hills night Mrs How held the phone right away from her ear. As the shouting you could hear all over Queens, came through. I want Cornelius you bitch, who are you, who are you. And then the phone gave a large click silent. And Mrs How slipped a record on Howard's hi fi. Creeped over to me. I said it sounded like a former landlady of mine who was a nutty crank. And Mrs How said her nerve was coming back, even though Howard and she would never be the same again. And when she said maybe that's horribly sad don't you think. I tweaked her nipple. And she tweaked my cock. And we listened to a symphony. With her juicy grape fruity ass pumping all over me. And the heel of her shoe sticking in my spine. And when all the groaning was over and my trousers still down. She said, it's none of my business and I may have said talk dirty but whoever that landlady was after you on the phone, my goodness, I've never heard such filthy language before. And something told me she might hear more. As I lay wondering and still. Too frightened to move. And when I did, I did like a streak. Standing up to the pounding on the front door. And screams of open up you bunch of fucking rubes.

Fanny was dressed in her gladiator's outfit. Sandals tied with thongs all the way up to her knees. Beige covert cloth skirt she wears for action, the fabric showing the long muscles in her thighs. Big nipple tips of her tits under a thin grey sweater. Never seen anything so strong all at once. Hammering at anybody's front rustic door. Knew all the neighbors would be wakened and looking out. Comes kind of hard for them hearing they are rubes living in such a privileged district. Where Fanny Sourpuss shouts at Jean How who wouldn't open up the door.

"All right you cunt, I'll just go to your neighbors and borrow an axe. And chop the fucking thing down.''

It was not credible while it lasted. And utterly incredible as it continued. And began without any hoo ha at all. Standing the three of us. There in the hall. Mrs How saying lower your voice I've got children please, don't wake them up.

"And you little black eyed cunt, you've been sucking the skin on my husband's neck.''

"He's not your husband.''

"He's my god damn husband.''

''Stop shouting in my house, I 'll call the police.''

"Sister I'm not only going to shout I'm going to slaughter you."

"Don't come another inch near me. You're in my home, get out."

Amazing how fast women accept each other as enemies. And Fanny's right hook looped overhead and right into Mrs How's eye. A cry of anguish as she put her two hands up pressing her face. I waited for her globe to bounce out of her socket on the floor. As another one had done once before. And her mauve sheath she'd hurriedly pulled over her head to answer the quaking door, was now torn clean from round her shoulders. As one does in troubled times. I looked at the architecture down the hall. The kitchen all half tiled. With a green and black motif. Any second I was waiting for a bleary eyed Howard to come stumbling mumbling down. All ready to sell to a black. Or a blue. Or even the recent kind of whites he had carrying on in his hall. Everytime my brain made words to say, my voice refused to come out of my throat. Holding my arms tight around Fanny. Her hands held up with her pointed talons ready to claw.

''You little college alley slut.''

"I'll have you know I went to Bryn Mawr."

"You went to shit, you cheap cunt. I have more brains in the end of my little prick in my pussy than you've got between your ears and those of all your relatives.''

Just one last skirmish as I was steering Fanny through the hall. With Mrs How after me shouting why do you have to go. Send her away. You stay. I want you. And with a massive heave ho. Fanny was loose again. In what might have been the vestibule. Slamming Mrs How by both naked shoulders right through the powder room door. That didn't open soon enough. Now splintered brightly when before it was stained dark brown. She landed backwards in her own toilet bowl. The seat of which was lifted much earlier in the peaceful evening by this present scrupulous gentleman taking a pee. And now it takes neatly a small pair of cheeks. Lavatory rolls unraveling. While Fanny pulls and tugs with hands clutched in her hair. Mrs How kicking and screaming. I pressed the little flush button. The cascade of water brought about a surprised pause in the melee. Recommencing with Mrs How's raised up foot pounding Fanny one in the belly. I saw the distillery policeman's face at the broken window, shaking his head back and forth. And he just raised his hand to brush the whole scene away. And something clicked right in the middle of my brain. That Fanny Sourpuss was not going to die. Not till a lot more of the rest of us did. Including me. Who at that magic moment in shoes but sockless was crushing under my heel the shattered remains of a glass bowl of powder puffs. Towels pulled from racks as Mrs How was pulling to get out of the toilet bowl. A big H getting trampled underfoot. Fanny, who knows exactly how to ruin a person's house, turning on both faucets in the wash basin. Which previously was just holding its own. Used to hide my dirty pictures in the hollow hole of its pedestal in my blond foster mother's bathroom. Where I knew she would find them. And throw a fake heart attack. Her eyes getting wide in her greasy skinned face. And just as I felt the basin water splashing on my ankles, behind me now I felt a shadow. As if Howard was standing there. With all the faith he's put in me crumbling in an avalanche. Bight into this powder room. Of scratching, pushing and contusions. And when I turned it was Glen. In his grey chauffeur's uniform. A smile across his face. His hat quite properly held over his left wrist by the visor in his right hand.

''Can I be of any assistance, ladies and gentleman.''

Back all the way to Park Avenue. I sat in my corner of the limo. And Fanny in hers on the left. Watching the buildings go by. In the faintest rays of early morning. Pale faces in other cars, asleep by day. A sprinkle of lights still on. As other citizens worry and pray. And across the tip top gravestones of New Calvary Cemetery, the slender ashen towers of Manhattan stand. On the seat between us, Fanny's hand slowly reaching. Until it touched mine. To make a whole body quake. Gathered in her arms. I sobbed.

"O honey baby, my honey baby, never knew you could be so human, it makes me feel so good to have you cry.''

Sunday afternoon after that night of Jean and a morning of Fanny. My balls swollen. Strains and pains all round the leverages to my perpendicular. And my voice fading fast. Heavy hearted I went to Doctor Pedro. Where he lived palms on a terrace eight stories up overlooking the zoo in Central Park. A white coated butler leading me to him seated in a monstrous chair, wearing fluffy slippers with Sunday fat newspapers strewn over a silken rug. When I said it was my testicles he said open up your mouth. When I said it was my voice, he said open up your fly.

"I can tell by your throat it's your prick that's getting you into trouble. You went to the delicatessen and picked up a piece of ass. Instead of a piece of cheese cake, maybe.''

''No. I went to Queens.''

"They got twenty three cemeteries out there. What are you doing in Queens. I can see you are really sad. Young man, you should fight. You know what this place is. A god damn run away horse. You go down, if you don't get up on it."

"I feel I 'm dying, doctor."

"Sure you're dying. What do you want me to do, tell you you're not dying. Dying is good for you. Take some every day. Because you're going to get it anyway. Sure it's tough. Such mountains of money around. So what if a few little people get crushed. It don't matter a damn. Go down the street and there are swarms. Ninety nine percent jackasses. But you, you're no jackass, you understand me.''

"Yes doctor."

"You want me to send you a bill and scare the shit out of you."

"No."

"Then don't tell me any more dumb things. I hear enough already. But you know, I'm going to give you some good advice. You should get on the boat and go back where you came from."

"I came from here."

"No you didn't. I did. Because I came from over there. You, you go back. You came here with sadness. Clarance told me. Sure, I shout a lot. I scare people. Sometimes I like to hear myself talk. But I tell you for your own good. Don't stay. You waste yourself here. You want some crazy jerk for no reason at all shoot you in the head and then where are you. Out in Queens under the ground. Come back when you can afford bodyguards. Ha, ha, you think I kid you. Sure it's funny. It's fatal too.''

"But how do you survive doctor.''

"Me, it's easy. I hum, I sing, I play violin. I don't have any dreams. I don't have any hopes. I get up at six o'clock every morning. Say hello to every animal in the zoo. Instead of eating lunch I have a little snooze and give myself a hard on. The rest of the time I'm too busy to die. The secret is, you give a little. Take a little. And if you're plenty strong, sure, you take a little bit more."

Christian turning out that door. And the bronze plaque engraved Doctor Pedro. Who cures each time the world is crushing you. Smile back over a shoulder at his twinkling eyes. Closing my file. And the tears seep out on my face as I go along this hall. Outside a breezy autumn day. Wind flapping canopies along the avenue. Brought my sorrow to this shore. Carried it over the snow. And for four hundred and eighty six dollars and forty two cents they put it in the ground. And that was the end of me.

And Fanny and I. For ten days we lived. Hand in hand walking the city. Crossed between rivers. Up Madison, down Park. And one dawn I sat high up at the window. Two black women cutting and stabbing below in the street. Bushing each other with broken bottles and umbrellas. A dance of death back and forth. With murderous screams and shouts. Till one lay dead or dying. And Fanny still had her body and I had mine. Which she said laid the worst farts of this century. That she'd like to bottle to send a few lawyers to smell. Whom she went to see nearly every afternoon. Two discarded dolls of her dead husband's, suing with paternity claims. And his first wife wanted back the part of ear Fanny bit off. Or one hundred thousand dollars for every gram that was gone.

And Fanny, through all her tribulations, hummed me a lullaby. Her spine bending like a great white pipe in her tanned back. As she sat in bed. Rubbing cream in her hands. Watching the jackasses on the television box. After a day in vegetable markets along Ninth Avenue. Buying egg plant, grapes and avocadoes. She built sandwiches floor by floor. Big castles on a plate. Put them in front of me with her smile. And that was our marriage. Made of love, salami and cans of beer.

"Cornelius you're the only thing I've got. The only one I'd ever really trust. You sneaky bastard. If there were no other women in the world. You'll be here when I get back, won't you. Don't tell me any lies. God you've got to be. Don't ever let me buy you. As guys bought me. Lying in the dark. All you ever feel is the size of their pricks and you say you've had your's buster, that's all you 're going to get, get off.''

The days when she waited for me in the evenings. I was glad to see her face. Shouting her name. Wondering which room her head would come from. To reach out and touch her smile. Kiss her big toe she stubbed all black and blue. And I saw that evening as if it would never end. Or the train ever go. Watching her pack her clothes. A whole acre of apartment to bring her back. And the thought that made me think it wouldn't, closed my mouth so I could hardly speak. To say stay. Don't go. And you do. You let life move on. Wherever it's wandering. And once when I read a sign out loud. Transients Accommodated. Fanny said I hate those words.

Glen pulled up outside the canopy. The Pakistani loading on the luggage. Nudging me once in the chest. Come on Mr Peabody try and throw me. And the night cool with a slender nearly fragrant breeze. Always feel at my most ridiculous getting in this car. While that bitch out of the embassy, watches with her peeing poodle and her bouffant hairdo. And Fanny presses in my fist a set of keys.

Pigeons cooing high in the cornices. And flying across this grey indoor sky. Fanny Sourpuss clutching Cornelius Christian under this mountainous arch as they walk down the marble steps. Into the vast shadowy vault of Penn Station. To the feet and heels passing, hands clutching luggage, little lines buying tickets. And souls sailing away. Towards Altoona. Pulled by the trains out across the Lehigh Valley.

This hour before midnight. Deep under steel and stone. Near each other. While all these wheels wait on their tracks. Stand next to the steel stanchion bubbling with rivets. Under all the vasts of girders, pillars and glass.

"Cornelius this is how I first came into this town. Shouting to everybody, get your dirty hands off my life. And got everything I tried to get. Sold my blood, my ass and everything except my tonsils. Only because they took them out when I was nine years old. Wake up each morning and think I'll never smile again. Not once did you ever say you'd come with me. You dirty rat. Your god damn cold heart. Never once did you say you loved me. Guess it's all just as well. And you know. Old Sourpuss used to walk into his club, look at the bulletin board and see what members had died the night before. He kept waiting for the day he'd walk in and see his own name up there. And it was. And if this clinic isn't any good, mine's maybe going to be.''

Throwing her hair back. Follow Fanny along the narrow corridor to her suite. On those legs you hate to think will ever disappear from this world. The blue cover of her bed turned back for sleep. The black smiling face that says good evening madam, anything I can do, anything at all. You just push my signal there.