Soul of a Whore and Purvis (16 page)

They think I rigged his killing. They'd believe that of me.

[
On phone
]…Let him come. What say we weigh his pecker?

…Turn them subs toward the mainland now

And prime the missiles. Let him see our eyeballs.

[
Hangs up.
]

And Lincoln. And Caesar. Murder in pursuit

Of power, well—

The other thing is past imagining.

What's the story on Dillinger's remains?

He let reporters photograph the corpse.

Of FBI headquarters should begin

With a denial of that vulgar fantasy.

That his gigantic organ was collected,

And in a jar in some museum we have set

Adrift his pickled genitalia?

…No, my president, the tale is false.

Is
Moby-Dick
.

…Not yet. I smell a bluff. Just stay the course.

[
Hangs up.
]

Mao Tse-tung will get Taiwan. He'll swallow

Vietnam and a chunk of southern Russia,

But Mao will by God never get my balls—

[
Phone rings.
]

[
On phone
]—you hear?…I won't give in. Let's stare him down.

[
Hangs up.
]

Them goddamn sonabitching commie Chinks.

Was Truman's failure to bombard the horde

In 1953.

Instead, from that seed of mercy will grow all

The terrors of the third millennium.

The combination daily.

That I could get it for you.

I'm the president.

Not certain where they put it.

The
Times
, the
Post
, the London
Times
. And
Pravda
.

A war with a combination. Got to have

This button that the combination's
to.

I have discussed the undiscussable.

I've given it all to the press. Tomorrow's headlines

Will stretch six inches tall to tell the world that—

Will constitute a mention, will it not?

Grind up his monkey in his organ?

The monkey made too many metaphors.

So everything inside him turns to poison.

You're sick enough, I grant you.

I'll be slaughtered like a roach. The mobs

Will mutilate the relics of my flesh

In hope of hurting every molecule.

[
Phone rings. Rings. Rings.
]

I'm going to murder myself in the Oval Office.

I'm going to murder you, too.

—Well howdy hi. Yes, General, I'm sure

You know I've spoken to the admiral.

…Then don't ask questions either of us could answer.

Ask me something you don't know, for instance

When to conference call me with the other

Lily-livered commie-loving Chiefs

Of Staff. Let's say at eight-oh-five p.m.

—If I can start and finish Armageddon

By eight-oh-five, then you can orchestrate

A conference call by then, by God. Hop to!

[
Hangs up.
]

You've brought down Armageddon on my head.

Might as well have jabbed the big red button.

—Why don't we take it out for a little spin?

[
Phone rings.
]

[
On phone
] We need a fifth of Jack and a jug of sherry.

…All right then. Prime our Third Configuration.

…I shit you not. The firstest puff of smoke

You spy from out their smallest little popgun

I intend to answer with a nightmare. [
Hangs up.
]

I've got thirty-two thousand, one hunnerd and ninety-three

Sonofabitchin' nuclear warheads, and

Them Russkies pack about two thousand more.

Betwixt us we've heaped up some twenty-four

Thousand megatons of nasty business.

That's twenty-four million Hiroshimas in

This little box, under a little button.

That kind of megatonnage leaves no Northern

Hemisphere. Spark a reprisal? Sir,

I'll spark a God-consuming conflagration.

I'm going to murder everyone in the world.

The recipe of crow and shit you fellers

Fustigate my stomach with requires it.

It'll grease your stuffing and send it along.

[
Phone rings.
]

[
On phone
]…Yes. I'll use the red phone. [
On red phone
] Señor Khrushchev!

Herr Khrushchev!—What's he—Translator?—

(Well, he's unloading just a bit of thunder.)

This is between me and Mao. Here's a little

Formula to follow, Comrade Khrushchev:

Restraint equals reward. Now, Translator,

Make him understand he's come between

Mao and me, and he should sit this out.

…If that's the attitude he cares to strike,

God help the Northern Hemi sphere. [
Other phone rings
.] Hang on.

[
A receiver in either hand
]

It's eight-oh-what?…Well, I'm impressed…Hi, fellers.

“Joint Chiefs of Staff.” I hear that phrase

I can't prevent my mind from picturing

Pygmies with a spear…Indeed I have.

We're chatting now…The red one, yes indeed.

What color's yours?…(They're remonstrating with me.

…I'm not going to run for a second term.

I dislike this office. I want corners.

I don't like a goddamn oval office.)

[
A third phone rings.
] Revelation Central; Jesus speaking.

—Hey! “Huberty Humphrey sat on a wall,

Huberty Humphrey had a great”—Howdy, Hue.

[
He's now dealing with three phones—a receiver in each hand and one laid on the desk before his face.
]

[
On phones
] That wart-face Russkie hasn't got the sand.

We backed him off on Cuba. Here's the thing:

I don't give one dab of rat shit whether

We kiss our grandkids in their beds tonight

Or burn the ocean, earth, and sky to cinders.

[
Throws phones aside.
]

Sir, are you a Christian man? Make peace

With your creator. Where's the combination?

They change it every goddamn day.

Aquiver and atingle and aglow!

I'm prancing in a madness! Shall we dance?

A jittlejot of junko juice

A snittlesnot of turn-me-loose

A razzledazz of hello mom

And there you have your atom bomb

[
Music plays. They dance together.
]

…I've a confession, darling. April Fools'.

I didn't hand your secret to the world.

And diddled with the button!—Are you cross?

One of us was going to flush the toilet.