Crackpot, page 37
“I’m sorry,” whispered Hoda. “I’m sorry. I just lost my temper. Honest, I got an awful temper. Ask anybody. I thought you were making fun of me, trying to pull a fast one, like I was dumb or something, talking about being a prince and all that.”
“I thought you liked me,” said Pipick bitterly. “We were making love, like you said, not like the other guys.”
“No,” said Hoda. “I mean yes but,” she amended quickly, watching him now, “why should a kid like you, a nice clean kid, come to a…come to someone like me? I suddenly thought, ‘He shouldn’t be here. This kid’s not like the rest of them.’ That’s why I got mad. I thought a kid like this is lying when he comes to a place like this, like he’s lying to himself, I mean, because he’s pretending he’s an ordinary cheap punk who can go to an ordinary prostitute like everyone else. Sure, I know what I am. And I know class when I see it. I could tell even by the way you acted that something inside of you was against it all the time, because deep down you knew there was something better in store for you in life.” It came pouring out of her, a passion of argument, logical, earnest, desperate, and made more effective by the fact that she was still kneeling on the mattress, her robe tightly bound about her massiveness, her face distraught, contrite, and he was standing above her and looking down as though she were pleading before him on her knees.
This was better. It was as one whole, long, obscure thread in his life had always led him to believe things should be. He believed her.
“It’s all right,” said Pipick earnestly. If she really meant she was sorry he wouldn’t hold it against her. “I’m not a snob.” All he wanted was his money’s worth. He didn’t want her to feel bad. Maybe he’d been too touchy.
“You see,” said Hoda, encouraged, “I’m way too old for you…David.” She said the name tentatively. “I’m old enough to be your mother.” She forced it to come out. She forced herself to say it.
David laughed. “Don’t worry.” He knew the answer to that. “I like older women.”
“No but you see,” Hoda said quickly, “it’s the way I’d feel. I’d feel silly, doing it with you, honest, I’d feel kind of, you know, like your mother or something. I don’t know, it just wouldn’t be right with someone like you, like too good for me.”
“Listen,” said David, proud but just in his ascendancy. “One thing’s for sure. I don’t want to insult you, but you don’t look like my mother to me and you won’t feel like my mother to me, so just let’s forget about my mother. And even if I believed in all that prince crap, you’d still be good enough for me. You can’t help it if you’re…the way you are. And I don’t mind, as long as you’re nice to me.”
There was a plea in his voice, and a counter plea in hers that she could hardly expect him to understand. “But your mother wouldn’t like it if you…”
“Aw, forget my mother!” He couldn’t keep the sharpness from his voice. “How do you know what she would like? You want to know the truth? I don’t give a good goddam what my mother would like and what she wouldn’t like. If she wanted to have a say in my life she shouldn’t have left me bawling out there like some kind of baby cat nobody wants.”
“You weren’t bawling,” said Hoda, and added quickly, “were you?”
“Aw shit,” said Pipick, “I feel like I’ve been bawling all my life.”
“You had a rotten time,” said Hoda, “all this time.”
It wasn’t even said like a question. She said it as though she understood it, somehow. It was tempting, the way she sounded; he was tempted to tell her. But not now, he didn’t want to talk now. If he started he would talk and talk. There was something better than talking, and that was what he wanted first and most. She wasn’t going to talk to him into forgetting that. If she still liked him and wanted to talk to him afterwards, all right.
“I’m sorry you had such a rotten time,” she said quickly, to keep the conversation going, but he didn’t answer. He was looking at her in that familiar, puppy dog begging way they got sometimes when they couldn’t afford it, the kind of helpless way she used to fall for sometimes when she was a kid, and think maybe if she let them have a free one they’d really like her better afterwards. Till she caught on. If only she could get him interested in something else. It wasn’t right he should be looking at her that way. Why was everything so dense in this room? Why did every instant weigh so heavily, demanding something of her always, no moment willing to let her pause to draw breath to think what it all meant, what to do, how to fend him off, how not to hurt him, no moment bringing her a thought, telling her what was right, telling her how to help him, how to save herself. Stop! Yell borrows! Hold off the game a while and let the players rest and breathe freely and think of strategy. But there were no borrows for grown-ups; there was no moment of grace. All of her moments were crushed into this one horribly hard-to-breathe-in moment.
Tell him! Tell him now! Tell him? After the contempt he hadn’t been able to hide when she had tried to hint? Tell him, sure; give him something to be proud of. How to make happy a miserable little boy. Oh sure, tell him, “Say, you know what? I just remembered. I AM your…” Sure, go on, tell him, after what’s happened already too, what happened earlier on tonight, before you knew, that you keep trying to forget. Well that wasn’t my fault; I didn’t know. I couldn’t help it. Fine, so tell him now, apologize, say “oops, you know what? Sorry!” Go on, make him happy. Take him into your confidence.
Never.
“What’s the matter?” he asked impatiently. She had recoiled from him and seemed to be listening for something, with a curious, distant, pained expression on her face.
“Nothing,” she said, stalling. “I thought I…I want to be your friend,” she added humbly, vaguely, by way of explanation, while a part of her seemed to look back over the whole vista of her life that had been till now, and knew, with surprise, that even until this moment, though she had suffered some, she had been innocent. For some reason it was that lady in the Bible that Hoda remembered now, and suddenly understood what had really happened to her. She had always felt sorry for that one, who, just for looking back, had been turned into a pillar of salt. Now she saw that when Lot’s wife looked back she simply became what she had been, concentrated essence, pillar of tears. Most of the time you trail your life behind you in a constant dribble of leaking time, and if you don’t look back, except maybe a glance sometimes, you hardly know it’s there. But comes a time, unexpected and unwanted, to you of all people, when you, of all people, must look. At least Lot’s wife had had fair warning, but warning or no she wouldn’t have been able to help it, Hoda knew, when the time came for her to learn at last what it was to shoulder the burden of her life. Lucky Lot’s wife, nevertheless, to be forever what she knew forever and not be called upon still for more. What was it she herself had to do? She tried to come back to the practical facts. No kid needs a whore that much. He wouldn’t die without it. It only seems desperate to a man at the time. Afterwards, he laughs. And what are you giving the kid if you do? A bad and expensive habit.
I can’t afford to support him in whores, she thought crazily.
She gave a funny little laugh that made Pipick shudder, involuntarily. Boy, she sure was nuts, the way she kept on changing all the time, and listening as if somebody else was in the room and talking to her, and making funny sounds. He sure had never imagined that you had to go through all this when you did your first solo with a whore. For two pins he’d get his clothes on and go home. But then he’d have to ask for his money back, and he was too embarrassed. No wonder everyone always said that about how impossible women were to get along with. Here he had to pay for this, too. Imagine what it would be like with someone you wanted to get it from for free? And yet he had the feeling now that somehow he was handling himself all right. If he just waited, he had the feeling she would come round. Somehow he was going to do all right. Somehow, by saying that about how she wanted to be his friend she was letting him know that he was the man all right. He knew, somehow, that she didn’t say that to many other guys. She didn’t have to, did she? Unless they impressed her that they weren’t just ordinary guys. Now if only she’d let him put the final stamp on it for her, slip it to her signed, sealed and delivered. If only she’d let him he knew he’d be a different man from the kid he’d been just a few moments ago. He felt different already, somehow. Something had happened; he’d let her know something about who he was, not just all that royalty crap, that wasn’t it, but somehow he felt she understood more how he was, and what he was as himself, a kid who could hold his own. Now was the time. Pipick dropped to his knees beside her on the mattress.
“Listen,” said Hoda quickly, “don’t you have a girl friend? You know, a nice kid your own age?”
“Oh Chrise! No!” he almost exploded. “I ain’t got nobody!” He put his hand out to touch the lapel of her robe. Hoda moved back quickly.
“Listen, I’ll bet there’s somebody crazy about you, who’d really love to have you all to herself; you probably never even noticed her and all she wants is for you to look at her. What do you want stale old sold meat for? I’m just an ugly old whore, and when I think of that cute little girl who’s crazy about you I don’t want to spoil you for her.” Why couldn’t she just send him away? Just say “Go, I’m sorry, I just can’t now.” So it’ll hurt his feelings. He’ll get over it.
“Nobody’s crazy about me,” said Pipick angrily. Was she going to begin all over again? What did a guy have to do? “Nobody knows I’m alive. You said you want to be my friend. Why don’t you like me then? Why can’t I touch you any more?”
It was the tone of his voice that chilled her, that went through her with the certainty that he believed every word he was saying.
“Of course somebody loves you,” she said. “Don’t talk silly. Naturally people love you. I…I liked you a lot, right from the start.”
“If you like me,” said Pipick stubbornly, trying to pull her kimono apart at her breasts, “you show me.”
“Me I’m nothing,” said Hoda, trying not to sound her panic. “I just want to help you, I mean not just like this. I really want to help you like a friend. Tell me how I can help you. I don’t want to…to…”
“To what, you don’t want to?” Pipick’s face was very close to hers, and he was whispering, though she felt as though he was shouting in her ears. “Everybody wants to help except they don’t want to help with what you want. Everybody’s nice only ‘don’t come near me, no no, Princey, nicey nicey, only don’t come near me!’ Prince! Prince! Do you know what kind of a nickname that is? It’s the name of a dog! ‘Nicey nicey Prince. Now go way, and keep your dirty paws off me.’ They call me Prince and they still laugh at me like when I was Pipick. What’s the matter with me, hey? I’m some kind of freak, just because I’m nobody, from nowhere, with a screwy belly-button, and even my names get tossed to me, like some kind of bones, and if I growl enough they toss me the bone I like better. ‘Nicey nicey, don’t bark now.’ So why don’t you tell me, ‘You’re a freak; I don’t want to fuck you!’ No one wants to fuck a freak, even if he pays you! Why don’t you tell me, like that, straight out, see? But don’t yes-no, yes-no me; don’t tell me how much you like me when you’d rather go hang yourself than come near me!” Almost, he was crying; only the fact that he had got hold of the cord at her waist and was trying to fumble the knots open prevented him from crying. As it was he could hiss, with tears in his voice as he tugged, “Goddam, you got yourself tied up so tight here I can’t even get it open. ‘Help me,’ she says, she says she wants to help me! You want to help me? What can you do for me? What the fuck do you think you can do for me?”
There was never enough time to think things through, to consider what was right, to figure out what was best. Always there was time enough only for regrets. Always she had wanted to do what was right. At first she had thought that what felt good was what must be right. Well, how was she to know? And how was she to know now that what felt just awful, what aroused in her a revulsion of loathing at the very thought, was wrong? If it wasn’t right when it felt right, was it wrong because it felt wrong? Oh she knew it was wrong all right, in all her flesh, wrong for her. It wasn’t that it had happened once already. When they did it by accident, before she knew, that was nothing, just a dirty trick. But knowing, if she chose to do it again, it was for a reason, and because she was a person, and she had a debt, an enormous, inerasable debt, and because it was the only thing she could think of that she could do, that maybe she was fit to do for him.
One last try she made, feebly. “I don’t feel good,” she said.
“You’ll feel better when I’m through with you,” he promised urgently, pitifully cocky.
Pipick was still tugging at the cord which she had nervously knotted again and again. “Tear it darling,” said Hoda through gritted teeth. Pipick’s heart sprang with his muscles, and the cord sprang open. “You see,” said Hoda gently, “you don’t really need my help. You can do pretty well on your own.” She touched his arm. “You want to know why I’ve been stalling you so long?” Hoda laughed, falsely, but how was he to know? “Because I wanted it to last longer. See how many times you’ve had to control it already? Someday you’ll be so good you’ll make them squeal whenever you feel like it. You know what a friend of mine once told me his father always said? I always remember what. Pop the Polack told me about his old man. The old man used to say, ‘Dogs, when you beat them and women, when you please them, should squeal.” Hoda laughed, and so did Pipick, extravagantly.
Then she used all her art to make of her ordeal a memorable moment for him. One small concession she tried to reserve for herself, when she suggested that they might turn out the little lamp and enjoy themselves better in the dark. He remembered, however, what she had said that first time, joking in her lazy, chuckly voice. That was what had got him so excited it was probably the reason why he blew off so fast. Hoda had spread herself out before him like the whole world in miniature, and said, and it was the last thing he heard before his voom voom left him, “I keep it on because I like to see what I’m doing.” Triumphant, he repeated her words now at her defeat, denying her even the darkness in his innocence. When it came down to it, though, what she suffered most acutely, was the sudden fear lest she should, by some grotesque accident, enjoy him. But in the end she knew, in a curious, distant way, that if God so willed, it was within the range of her sense of humour to bear that too. Into how many pieces does one break and still bother to count the pieces? Enough that he was fragile and she held him tenderly, and tried in the only way she knew how to make up for all the harm she had done.
Afterwards he talked a lot. He’d never talked as much to anyone in his life before as he talked now, lying close beside her, feeling her along the length of him. It worried him a little that he was talking so much. He found himself telling her things he’d never even wanted to tell anyone before. But then he figured, what did it matter if he told someone like her anyway? And she listened as if she really was interested in everything he said, and made sounds as if she really understood. She even groaned, once or twice, deep down in her chest, he could feel the vibration, when he told about something, he didn’t know why he happened to think of it, that had been particularly hurtful to him. She sure was a good listener, and he told her so, when he was getting dressed, and was a little embarrassed because she kept on telling him what a good lover he was and how he was far too good for her, and he wanted to tell her something nice, too. She kept on repeating that she didn’t want to take his money any more and that with what he had he could get any girl he wanted, if he set his mind to it, for free. She said he was the kind of kid who was too fine to have a business arrangement with. She really wanted to be friends with him, and he could come to see her any time he wanted, not for fucking, like, but for friendship. She’d like to help a kid like him make something of himself. She bet her father would like him, too, and her father was a terrific judge of character, even though he’d been blind ever since he was a kid. Why didn’t Pipick come for a meal sometime? She was a terrific cook. The hope even flashed into his mind, from the way she was talking, that she might be willing to give it to him for free when he ran out of money. But right now David, Prince Pipick, hero, conqueror, lover, putting on his clothes, could still afford to smile down at her benignly, with proud mien and glistening eyes, and assure her earnestly, “That’s okay, I’ve still got some dough. I can still afford to set you up a few more times at least. I know you’ve got to make a living.”
One thing still disturbed him, and now he had enough nerve to ask. “I didn’t make you laugh, though, the way you did with Ralphie.” Maybe she was just trying to be kind to him after all, and throw in a little flattery to make up his money’s worth.
“Ralphie?” Hoda’s head was so full of cutting fragments that she had, for the moment, no notion of what he was talking about. “Who’s Ralphie?”
“Ralphie,” said Pipick, surprised. “You know, small Ralphie, the one I came with, runty Ralphie the rounder.”
“Oh, that one,” said Hoda. “I don’t know why you run around with boys like that. He’s not your type. He’s the kind of kid gets others in trouble and gets away with it himself.” She could not resist the urge to try to teach him, while she had him this moment, to warn him, to try to get him to see a million things clear that she had learned about.
Pipick was quickly impatient. Who’d she think she was, his goddam mother giving him be-careful advice? Or was she trying to shift the subject and make him forget he hadn’t done so well as she pretended? What did she think, he wanted some damn whore to lie to him? “Yah,” he said pointedly, “but you sure giggled a lot when he was with you.”
“I giggled?” she made an effort at recall. “Oh, I giggled all right, the little brat! He makes me giggle on purpose, and one of these days I’m going to toss him out on his arse, that’s what I’m going to do. You see this little runt, he found out I got a couple of ticklish spots. Don’t tell him I told you, eh? I play along; I figure a little guy like him has to impress the other guys one way or another. But he should know when to stop. Sometimes when he comes in he starts teasing me, you know, just pretends he’s going to start to tickle, kind of fooling. He doesn’t actually tickle, just pretends he’s going to. He knows I’d bust him one if he really tried it. I can’t stand being tickled there, and even if you pretend I break out with this silly giggling. It’s embarrassing. But little Ralphie, I think he works himself up that way, and like I said, it makes a big impression on his pals, so I let him. But don’t tell the kid I told you, eh? He’s an old customer and he brings them in.”
