City of Night (23 page)

           And he goes on: “So Ma choose this one—an that is how I got it. Ma said it is gonna keep me outta trouble. An it has. I ain never been busted—... Well—” he confesses almost sheepishly “—well, once—but jes once—for stealing a horse—get that, man!—stealing a horse!—but I been to the glasshouse lots, I wouldnt shuck you about that.... Even Sergeant Morgan, you know what he said to me, man, after the first time he took me downstairs when I landed in this here park—when he took me to that toolhut downstairs—you know—.... Well, he says: ‘Youre too lazy to do any bad in the park.’ An he don bug me since.... Hey! Did I tell you about this queen from somewhere like Chicago?” he asks me, shifting abruptly to something he just remembered. “Man, you know what she does? She spots some stud she digs, an she says she’ll lay some bread on im if he’ll make it with her. Well, man, when she has gone down on the stud, she says nothin doin, she ain payin cause the stud wasnt no dam good. So, then, see? the stud, he gets real bugged like, an he starts beatin on her ass—an, dig, that is what she really digs: she digs getting beat on, an she is getting her real kicks free!... She sure didnt get there with me, though,” he says, shaking his head. “Hell, beating on her, thats too much sweat. I jes split. Then I find out about her scene. Isnt that a kick in the pants—I mean, like ain it?... Some people sure like to do it funny.... An that reminds me of something else—a real funny story.... When I was in Frisco once, this guy gave me a ride. You wouldnt believe it unless you saw it, man. Man, that guy, he was dressed up in boots with silver chains wrapped aroun them an a hat with these silver studs, an black gloves—an, dig, he even carried a gunbelt with all kindsa things danglin from it. An all those silver studpins all over everything. Dig this: At his pad he gives me tea! An I don mean pod, either; I mean real tea! Then he shows me this collection hes got—all kindsa weird costumes. An boots!—boots an costumes up the ass. You know what that guy done then? He dresses me up in chaps, boots, everything, an then he goes down on my boots, jes squirmin up a storm on the floor, lickin them cowboy boots an leather chaps, rubbin his face on em. Man, I... Hey! theres Buddy.”

           Buddy is standing by the water faucet, looking cautiously into the park. Next to him is a skinny, ugly, tough young girl, and I notice a screamingly shiny bracelet on her wrist

           “Hes lookin out for ole Darlin Dolly,” said Chuck.

           “You seen Darling Dolly?” said Buddy, coming over. The girl stayed by the faucet

           “Shes looking for you,” I said, perversely amused at how this put Buddy on.

           He shakes his head regretfully. “I hocked her dam drag-clothes again. Hell, I had to, I was busted real low....” And he adds, echoing Skipper—Im sure—trying to sound Tough: “Im tired of these small fucking scores, Im gonna knock me over a big one. A liquor store—or a bank!” It sounds almost ludicrous; he looks like a little boy.... And yet others like him would shoot into the frontpage unexpectedly: and one day a picture of a familiar face—the lost-boy look coming through the rehearsed tough-mug look—would greet you from the stacks of newspapers at the corner.

           “Not me,” says Chuck. “Too much hassle.”

           “I sure would hate ole Darling Dolly making a scene right here,” said Buddy, “and she told me she would. She means it, too. She said she’d start screaming at me wherever she saw me. And that sure would embarrass me.... Hell, I aint gonna hang around queens any more.... The only reason Im here is: Im looking for this score that digs watching me make out with a chick.” He indicates the girl still standing by the faucet “Oh, oh,” he said, moving away. “I think I see Darling Dolly over there.” With the girl, he dodged hurriedly through the crowds.

           “That chick hes with,” said Chuck, “man, I got the crabs jes standing next to her once.”

        
3

           A woman in her late 30s walks past us. I had seen her many times before, usually about the men’s head. She had a pale white ghostface, her eyes outlined starkly in black. She never smiled. She would stand before some youngman—the rattiest looking and the youngest—then she’d whisper to him.... She was the only female score I knew of in the park.

           “She sure looks tired,” Chuck said as she passed by.

           Carried by the wave of the woman’s apparent lonesomeness, I asked Chuck abruptly: “Dont you ever get tired of this scene?”

           “Me? Uh—well—... Hell, yeah, man,” he said, “I am always tired.” He had misunderstood me. “Thats huccome I jes sit aroun.... But you wanna know somethin—? I sure wouldda dug being a cowboy.... An I was—once.”

           “In Georgia?” I couldn’t help saying.

           “Oh, no, man—thats where I was
born
.... But I always used to see those Western flix—an, man, those cowboys, they seemed to be having a ball all the time. Thats for me, I thought. Cause, see, I didnt wanna hassle it—I jes wanted to let whatever’s gonna come, come easy an jes the way it should. I figure a ranch is the best place to let it happen. I would imagine sitting there on a fence—an ridin on a horse, looking out at the miles of sand an sky, an nothin is gonna fuck it up. You jes wait—an that way nothin happens. Easy an slow. An then I figure: I’ll get me a horse, when I wanna cut up, an jes ride away, man, like that—you know.... Like—yeah—like you got Heaven roped by the neck.”

           I wonder at his vision of Heaven. Not clouds. Not angels. No.... But the wide, wide plains, great hills, and uncomplicated plain cupped in the warm embrace of the golden sun.... An endless stretching beyond the great soft hills...

           “See, I hitchhiked West the day after Ma an me went into town,” Chuck is saying. “This guy who gives me a ride, he says: ‘Where to, sonny?’ I says, ‘West!’... An thats where I went!” Again, his eyes search the park, as if wondering where the West of his imagination twisted into the West of Los Angeles. “This cat,” he goes on, “he says hes gonna go to Houston or Dallas—some place like that, I forget.... An we jes drive along. An then there it is, jes like in the movies: Man, jes miles an miles of plains an sky an more sky. Then I see these horses out the window. I tell the man, ‘Heres where I am goin.’ He says, ‘It’s the middle of nowhere, sonny.’ ‘Nowhere,’ I tole him, ‘thats where I wanna go.’... An I got outta that car, an I jes started running like I was crazy, hooting and howling.... An this one horse, hes left the others an hes comin straight at me. Straight at
me!
An I climbed that fence, an there he is, that horse, jes starin me in the eye, an me starin back at him. An, man, I tell you; that horse, he
smiled
at me—crooked, you know—but smiling. An I figure he jes started roaming, like me—an somehow I knowed he was lookin for me. See, we’re in the same spot—both beginning. An I smiled back.... An, man, that horse
understood!
He nods his head, saying yes. Yes! So I jumped on him, an I rode away.... Along them beautiful plains, those crazy clouds—
ooo-ee!
—man, I couldda been going to Heaven an I wouldnuh been any Happier.... But then these three mean studs ride up to me on horses—an they say Im stealing this here guy’s horse. Stealing it, man! If anything, we stole each other.... So I figure, hell, they are gonna lynch me, like I seen in the flix.... But I was jes a kid an that man they took me to, the owner, he was kinda nice. He understands, an he offers me a gig.... But it was not like I figgered. I jes worked aroun the place, doing, you know, odd things. It was not that I minded it or nothin. It was jes this: I never got to be near that horse no more—except when I got drunk,” he smiled. “Then I would go an find him—an he would be waiting there for me, his neck up straight, waiting. An we’d take off again. It happen over an over. I jes couldnt keep away from that Horse.... Then, one time, the owner, he says he hates to do it but hes gonna get me busted to teach me a lesson if I do it again. Well, it happen again. I got high, an I rode that horse into them hills—and this time I got busted, jes like the man said. The cop said I was a menace.... So I left that place.... An what bugs me: I never said goodbye to my Horse.... And when I left, I think: Well, hell, it ain like in the movies”.... It was the only note—perhaps not even there—of bitterness I remember ever having detected in his voice. But now he laughed: “I figure then my saddle days is over—thumbing days beginning. Yahoo!... An this guy gives me a ride—an that was the first guy ever put the make on me. See—you wone believe it, but it is the truth—when we got to this motel, he says we will stay there overnight. An I was deadass tired, so I say sure.... In the morning, that man, hes comin on hes sorry—sorry for what happened, says it’s the first time an everything—an hes sorry. I didnt know what he was talking about. But he keeps going on until I knowed what was buggin him: he’d swung on my joint—an, man, he didn know I been asleep all the time.... So he lays some bread on me—an I come on to L.A. an land in this here park.... Sergeant Morgan, hes the one that tole me what goes on. He took me downstairs, warns me about all the hustling goin on an everything. An while hes talking an Im saying to him: ‘Nope, not for me’—Im figurin: Hell, I don know how to do nothin—an I ain never gonna have that Horse—so, hell, I’ll stick aroun.... An here I am,” he said. He stretches his legs—owning the railing: his home, this park....

           Now it was beginning to get cooler. In Los Angeles, night comes like a blessing, even after the warmest afternoons. Soon, long shadows will protect the exiles, shelter them soothingly before the concealing night. And as it becomes later and the loneliness and the determination become hungrier, the frenziedness will increase. And even now, it’s beginning. Ollie, Holy Moses, preaching, shouting.... Shrieks of pain, muted pleas to God, going up unheeded or unheard.... The Negro woman has returned: Shes “Comin, Lawd!” again, as if He really gave a damn.... Jenny Lu strums her guitar to emphasize her scarlet past: “Sin!” (Plunk!) “The flesh!” (Plunk!) “Fornication!” (Plunk!
Plunk!!)
... Two obvious scores stare at the youngmen. They are of that calculating breed who look at you like merchandise: “How big is it?... How long can I have it?... Youre asking too much—I’ll give you—...” Youngmen along the ledges.... Lonesomeness is alive.... The fixed eyes.... The youngman in the army shirt is still here, still waiting.... An old harpy mutters to no one remembered fragments from the jungle of her spent mind.... And the ghostpale woman is whispering to a ratty-looking teenage boy who smiles incredulously at what shes saying.... A couple of queens, in anticipation of the night, have now bravely stationed themselves along the walk. Catching sight of a cop coming around the corner, they shift their stances quickly to those as masculine as they can muster—but still a parody. But the cop stops short of them, talks gruffly to the youngman in the army shirt...

           Chuck has been staring steadily into the park which is seething with all the live lonesomeness.... “An here I am,” he echoes himself.

           “And afterwards?”

           I realized, startled, that I had spoken—that the question which had finally formed—the question which had been bothering me about Chuck throughout all the time I had known him, which had made his enviable easygoingness incomplete—had sprung involuntarily from my mouth. And having spoken that question, I look at him, and I feel suddenly sad....

          
Chuck as an old man!
...

           With the others, even when they spoke about the Bigtime, you could sense their stifling awareness of what their lives were stretching toward: the bandaged streets, the nightly dingy jails, the missions... the forgetfulness-inducing wine.... Life had dealt out their destinies unfairly, and they knew it even while they bragged. But with each frantic step, each futile gesture of revolt, they prepared themselves....

           But Chuck?

           Chuck, sitting on this railing, always smiling—easygoing, easily the most likable.... Chuck. What of him? When he became an old man, would he look as coolly at the world then, still as if it were that wide-stretching uncomplicated plain?—when it lengthened into mutilated scenes of Missions and handouts?... He belongs on the range, I thought—on the frontier which disappeared long ago—existing now, ironically, only on those movie screens that had lured him as a child.... “And afterwards?” I had asked him.

           He was still staring into the park. “Huh?” he said. “Man—” he starts. “Well, man—” And then, as he turned toward me briefly, the hat pushed back to get whatever still lingered of the smoggy sun, I saw the familiar smile gracing his face radiantly.... Had he even understood my question? I wondered, as, following his gaze, I realized why he is staring intently into the park....

           Alone, about 17 or 18 years old—buttocks firm and saucy sculptured by a tight black skirt—her face heavily painted but still that of a very young girl—coy, a flirt, aware of her attractiveness—a cute young girl is walking in our direction, through the park.... And as she passes us now, she smiles. She walks to the water faucet, bends over to drink, staying there very long, casting surreptitious glances in our direction—exhibiting her little butt, stuck out toward us. Now, shaking her hair, which is vibrantly red and long to her shoulders, she stands by the faucet, waiting in posed bewilderment as if wondering where she will go next.

           “Hoddawg?” Chuck said, jumping off the railing in a sudden burst of energy. “Dig the smart little butt on that chick, man!” And pushing his widehat rakishly to one side of his head, he began to walk toward her, where she is now making her way slowly through the less-thick part of the park.

          
And afterwards—?

           Suddenly the question I had asked made no difference.

           A short distance away, Chuck turned back to look at me, pushed the hat momentarily back on his head, and his mouth formed the word again:

          
“Hoddawg!”