Requiem for a Dream (21 page)

you? Sheeit, Tyrone chuckled and shook his head, Them two mutha
fuckas, The Beas, bus me jim. He giggled then told Harry the story.
He finished a few minutes before they got to his pad. When the cab
stopped he thanked Harry again and they gave each other five, and he
split. He was still feeling the closeness he felt for Harry when he
saw him waiting for him as he stepped through the doorway, a
closeness that increased as they shared the cab. It felt warm and
good. He wasnt going to be like that old man. He had some good friens
man. He an Harry be tight jim, real tight. He thought of how Harry
got his ass right down to the jail, but his mind kept going back to
the old man too. Everytime he tried to keep that good feeling going
through him by thinking of how Harry got him out of the slammer, his
mind pushed that aside and filled him with a picture of the old man.
Sheeit, fuck you ol man. Ah aint no fuckin dopefien. You is a stoned
out hope ta die dopefien. Ahm jus a dude what doan want no hassles an
havin a good time an gettin some bucks together so we can get a pound
a pure an then go into a little business. . . . Yeah, me an mah fox
jim. Alice was all over him when he got in the door, O baby, ah was
so afraid they gonna keep you there all night; and Tyrone hugged and
kissed her an they smiled and laughed for a moment, then Tyrone
started for the bathroom, Ah need a little tase baby ... git the tase
a that jail out a mah pretty little mouth. . . .

He didnt know why, but Harry felt disturbed on the way back to his
place. He couldnt really latch on to what it was or why. It was
something like a memory that was trying to come back but wasnt quite
making it an he was trying to push it so he could find out what it
was, but the more he pushed the more it hid behind the corner and got
lost in the darkness. He kept directing his mind to the fuckin cops
who stole their dope and their bread, but another part of his mind,
just like Tyrones, kept wanting to look at the old man, and Harry
would shake his head, inwardly, an once again fix his mind on the
fuckin cops but his head was persistent and kept shoving the image of
the old man in front of him and Harry kept turning his back on him
and wrinkling his face in disgust, How could anybody let themselves
get to be that low for krists sake? If I ever got to be half that bad
I'd fuckin kill myself. Shit! and he frowned again in disgust. When
he got back to Marions he told her about the bust and the old man,
and she smiled, Well, one just doesnt get to meet a better class of
people in places like that, and then she chuckled. Harrys face
relaxed slightly, then he chuckled too. Marion dismissed the old man
with a wave and a nod, Hes so obviously Freudian that its pathetic. I
mean that business about women. Obviously he never did sublimate his
oedipal complex and it made him an addict. That way he can claim not
to be interested in women without accepting the fact that hes afraid
of them. Probably impotent. I'll bet you anything hes impotent and
that's why hes so afraid of them. So he becomes an addict. Obvious.
Really pathetic. Harry chuckled then laughed. He didnt know why, but
what Marion was saying made him feel better. Maybe it was the way she
looked and waved her hand around, but whatever it was he felt
something draining out of him, and whatever it was was being replaced
with a sense of relief. He continued to smile as he listened and
watched. What really annoys me, I mean what really galls me are the
cops. Typical fascist pigs. Theyre the same cops that killed the
students at Kent State, that torture people in Korea and South
Africa. Its the same mentality that built the concentration camps.
But try and get these stuffed middle-class—ooooo, it just
infuriates me. We would be watching the news and be seeing the cops
beating people over the head with their clubs and my mother and
father would claim it wasnt really happening or they were some sort
of hippie degenerate commies. Thats the big thing with them.
Everybodys a commie. Talk about freedom and human rights and youre a
commie. All they want to talk about is the sacred right of the
stockholder and how the police protect our property. . . . She took a
deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at Harry, You
know, if I were to tell them about this theyd say it didnt happen,
that I just made it up. She shook her head, It just amazes me how
blind some people can be to the truth. Its right there in front of
them and they dont see it. It just amazes me. Yeah, its weird. I dont
know how they do it. Harry got up, Comeon, lets have a taste of that
new shit before I get to work.

Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur had passed. Sara knew it was going to
be a good year. She followed a strict observance of Yom Kippur for
the first time since she didnt know when. Not even a glass of tea she
had. Only water. And her pills. Medicine she figured was different.
It wasnt food. And it came from a doctor so it was medicine. But she
fasted and atoned. She thought of Harry and a sadness flowed over
her. She prayed for him. Again. How many times. She prayed she would
see him. She would see him a poppa. It was a few weeks into the new
year. Maybe more. Now she called the McDick Corp. a couple of times a
week, sometimes in the morning after she had taken her purple, red
and orange pills and had drunk a pot of coffee, and told them how
they had to find her card and let her know what show she would be on.
She couldnt wait, and are they sure they hadnt lost her card and
maybe she should come down there and help them look and the girl she
spoke to, whoever it might be, would get annoyed and feel like
yelling at her but would stay calm as possible and tell her, firmly,
that they didn't need her help in doing their job and that she should
relax and stop calling for Gods sake and they would eventually hang
up and hope and pray that she wouldnt call again; but she would,
after taking her tranquilizers she would call late in the afternoon
and be sweet and tell the girl, whoever it might be, Youre such a
nice girl, dolly, youll please check for me and see what show, I dont
want to trouble you but so many people are asking and youre like a
daughter to me, its like doing a favor for your mother and I promise
I wont bother you again youre so sweet, and the girl would giggle and
nod and shake her head and finally hang up the phone and Sara would
go back to her viewing chair.

Winter came early. It seemed like there were a few
lovely autumn days where the air was clear and crisp, the sky blue
with white puffy clouds, the temperature warm and comforting in the
sun and cool and invigorating in the shade. Days of absolute
perfection. Then suddenly it was gray and windy and cold and rainy
and then the sleet and snow came and even if you could find the sun
it seemed to have lost its warmth. From time to time Marion fiddled
with a sketch pad, but her hand seemed to be moving the pencil while
the rest of her was completely detached from the action. Occasionally
they would attempt to resurrect their enthusiasm for the coffee
house, and their other plans, but for the most part they spent their
time shooting dope and watching television or listening to music
occasionally. Once in a while they went to a movie, but with the bad
weather that interested them less and less. About the only time Harry
went out now was to cop the stuff, and that was becoming more and
more difficult. Every time they found somebody to cop from they went
out of business for some damn reason. It seemed like the fuckin gods
were against them. They had long since given up the idea of a pound
of pure, though they consciously mentioned it once in a great while,
and of getting uncut weight. They were content to score bundles, but
now that was becoming a rarity. They were just getting what they
could and using it all themselves, they couldnt even get enough to
off to pay for their own stuff. At one time it seemed like they had a
nice pile of bucks, now it seemed like they didnt have shit. Harry
and Tyrone would discuss the situation and the amount of money
remaining, and try to analyze what was happening, sifting through the
various reasons they had heard for the shortage of dope, all
plausible and equally far fetched. Some guys said the italian and the
black gangs were fightin and other dudes said that was a bunch of
mutha fuckin boolshit cause I heard it right from mah man there be a
big bus on a ship carryin fifty mutha fuckin keys jim an— What the
fuck you talkin about? They consciskate a hundred pounds a scag man
an there be all kinds a headlines an the TV be spitting that ol dope
shit all day. Sheeit, the man rip off that much stuff an we all be in
mournin baby. Right on man, and he gave him five then they passed it
around and the stories continued. But in the final analysis it didnt
make any difference why. There was a problem and that was that. Why
didnt make a fiddlers fuck and all they could do was to hang tough
and hope the scene would break soon so they could get back where they
were. They knew that sooner or later there would be dope all over the
city, just like before. There was too much money involved for there
not to be. Harry talked about it from time to time with Marion and,
of course, the conversation was as fruitless as the ones with Tyrone.
Except it did keep the bond between them cemented. As long as they
could share they felt close and that was important. And whenever they
started to feel the chills of fear and the grinding of anxiety they
simply got off and melted all the cares and concerns away with its
warmth. Sometimes they would fix up new cookers just for the sake of
doing it. It was part of keeping house. The entire routine made them
feel a part of something. It was something looked forward to with the
greatest of joy and anticipation. The entire ritual was symbolic of
their life and needs. The careful opening of the bag and the dumping
in the cooker of the dope, and dropping in the water with the
dropper. Making a new collar from time to time for the dropper so the
needle would fit snugly, Harry using a piece of matchbook cover,
Marion a piece from a dollar bill. Staring at the solution in the
cooker as it heated and dissolved and then stirring the cotton around
with the needle then drawing the solution up and into the dropper and
holding the dropper in the mouth as they tied up and found a favorite
vein, usually going into a previously made hole and feeling the spurt
of excitement as the needle penetrated the vein and the blood spurted
up the dropper and they let go of the tie around their arm and shot
the shit into their arm and waited for that first flash of heat
through their body and the warm swelling in the gut and they let the
dropper fill up with blood and booted and then yanked it out and put
it in the glass of water and rubbed the drops of blood off their arm
and sat back feeling whole and invulnerable and safe and a lot of
other things, but mostly whole.

But there was less and less dope out there. It seemed
like each day it was just a little more difficult to get the dope and
their phone rang constantly with calls from people looking for some.
Occasionally they would get enough to sell and make some bread, but
it seemed like most of the time they were using most of what they
got. One night they couldnt get any at all. They kept getting
promises from a couple of dudes that they would have some soon, but
nothing came. Eventually they fell asleep with the aid of a few
sleeping pills, but their bodies were shaking slightly and inwardly
they were trembling. They had never gone to bed without having dope
in the house for when they woke up. They had never thought of it in
those terms before. Even with the hassles they were having lately,
they always had enough for themselves, but now there wasnt a thing in
the house, just the cottons they had been saving. They were going to
use them, but through an intense exertion of will, and the use of
downers and pot, they decided to save them for morning. Their sleep
was worse than shallow. It was almost worse than being awake. They
could feel their bodies sweating and could smell the sweat. They
seemed to be freezing. The back of their heads and their stomachs
seemed to be linked in pain, working together to bring about a nausea
that continually threatened to erupt, but there was nothing there but
the constant pressure of the pain and nausea; and with every breath
their panic increased. Their anxiety grew and grew until it consumed
their bodies and swelled in their chests and threatened to cut off
their air and they gasped for air and sat up in the bed and looked
around in the dark trying to identify whatever it was that had
awakened them. They tried closing their eyes and going to sleep, but
they couldnt tell the difference between sleep and being awake. They
seemed to be caught in some sort of trap, and they tossed and moaned
and finally Marion bolted up in bed, gasping for breath and Harry put
the light on, You alright? Marion nodded, Must have had a bad dream I
guess. She was still panting, her entire body heaving with each
breath. Harry put his arm around her, Maybe we should use the cottons
now? Do you think we should, its so early? Why not? Itll probably
help you. Yes, I guess so. I'll get the stuff. Alright. Harry went to
the bathroom, and Marion got out of bed to be by his side when he
divided the cottons, both feeling justified in using them so far
ahead of schedule, feeling that the weight was off their backs, and
the other had really suggested it. Saving cottons had started as a
game, but now they were more like a life preserver. After they got
off the dope, combined with the sleeping pills, had them nodding out
and they went back to sleep for a few more hours, but this time they
drifted into unconsciousness. The sun was shining when they awoke and
they immediately went back to the cottons before doing anything else.
There was a little something left, but not much. Harry got on the
phone, but nothing was happening. They sat around stiffly smoking a
few joints and trying to watch the television but even though they
could hear the radiator clicking with steam, there was a cold chill
in the air, a stiffness that surprised them but didnt occupy them for
they had only one preoccupation, waiting to get some dope. A little
before twelve Tyrone called to ask if anything was happening. No man,
nothin. Ah just got a call from mah man downtown, he got some stuff
so ahm on mah way. Great! How long will it takeya? Depen on traffic.
Maybe a hour. Or less. Ah let you know when I get back. Groovy. I'll
hang around here in case somethin happens at this end. Later baby.
Harry hung up the phone with an audible sigh. The room was suddenly
warm and the barriers seemed to have been dissolved. They sat around
talking, smoking, watching television with a hysterical and rigid
nonchalance. Neither one wanted to be obvious and look at the clock,
but they kept calculating the time mentally by the progress of the
television show, feeling almost nauseous from the intensity of their
anticipation. When the phone rang Harry did his best to just saunter
over to it and pick it up carelessly, and Marion tried to assume an
attitude of indifference, keeping her gaze on the television, but
watching Harry out of the corner of her eye, a sharp twist of panic
turning her head as she noticed the expression on Harrys face, No
man, nothin yet. Try me later. She sighed inwardly, at least it wasnt
Tyrone saying he didnt get anything. Harry sat back on the couch, A
lot of people out there looking for something. Marion nodded, wanting
to say something, but no words formed so her mouth remained closed
and her eyes continued to watch the television screen, not seeing
what was happening, but allowing it to help push the endless time a
little faster. Harry moved to the far end of the couch so he would be
closer to the phone and when it rang he stayed seated and just sort
of reached over to it, the both of them feeling the immediate hush
and press of silence and anticipation, as if all life and action in
the room had been immediately suspended. Marion had his face clearly
in view when it widened in a grin, Seeya man. Harry stood up, Tys
back and hes straight. Marion stood, trying to keep her voice as
casual as possible, yet unable to deny the struggle going on within
her, I think I'll ride over with you. I could use some fresh air. The
life suddenly rushed back into the room and the stillness chattered
and dissolved as they put on their coats and smiled at each other,
suddenly feeling something huge and heavy flow from them, leaving
them free to smile and talk. They couldnt believe what was happening
within them, trying to deny its existence but not telling the other
one about it, trying desperately to stay involved in meaningless
conversation as they rode to Tyrones pad. There was a voice, loud and
clear, saying they were hooked, but good, and they tried to shrug it
away but it persisted, more as a feeling than a voice, that permeated
their every cell just as the dope they were addicted to had already
done, and they tried combating it with another voice saying so what,
it was no big deal, they could stop any time they wanted to, it was
no big thing and what else was there? things would straighten out
soon and they tried to interest themselves in staring through the cab
windows at the people fighting the wind and the cold, thinking of how
soon they would feel that loving warm flush, and when they got to
Tyrones they still tried to maintain the cool attitude and smile and
joke for a few minutes as they took off their coats, consciously and
deliberately not asking about the dope but feeling a wave of joy when
they saw Alices eyes almost closed and Tyrone looking so cool, but
eventually the taste in the back of their throats refused to allow
them to continue the bullshit about the weather and they asked him
about the stuff and he got out two bundles and they took a couple of
bags and went in the bathroom and borrowed Tys works and got off and
immediately all the thoughts and nightmares and fears and terrors of
the previous night, the inner battles during the short day and ride
to Tyrones, were obliterated and dissolved and never existed, and the
four of them sat around the rest of the day, listening to music,
rapping, getting off, wrapped in the comforting warmth of their
camaraderie.