TO START, TO PLAY, WITH NUTHIN.

Hell must be something like this, except that at least you could quit here at any chosen time. Just sitting around with a small group of lost s ouls, bored with each other, the music, and the dull conversation. With each cu pful the coffee tasted even staler than the previous cup. There was some stuff they also sold called vaguely Steam Beer that had a fine reputation for the fact t hat nobody had ever been known to get really smashed on it. Three consecutive n ights he had finally wandered up here, mainly in the hope that he just might see again that warm doll from Michigan. Incredibly, she had read and enjoyed Creel ey and had really come on as he gave her a rap of his own meeting with him. How ever, this evening she had not shown either. He considered walking back down to Market, then across to Franklin. Yet there sure was a lot happening around North Beach these days out on the stre ets, that is. Back over the last year or more, thousands of flower-children had c ome into the city from all across the States. Even Mr.Brautigan, checking throu gh his paper delivery, smiled with the fantasy. Predictably, within several mon ths, they had been followed by an even freakier wave of curious, pictureravenous tourists. It was all bread for the scene though. These straights would visit H aight during the day, watch the show, buy some way out threads and symbols, and then in the evening come on over to Broadway, to see the fleshpots. That was th e life. Among the many young and beautiful people who paraded the pavements at the cross roads there was a small number with some clear aspiration towards creative selfexpression, whatever you might read that to be. Most of the remainder though, w ere just seeking some easy escape from the meaninglessness of their suburban, or smalltown lives. In this gentle town, it was very easy and simple enough to be come a dropout. A drugged leech, clinging to the veins of some corrupt body that fed you. Mind, if one was to ask such an innocent smiling, beaded boy to justify his outwardly aimless existence, then he would usually reply with a beatific smile of unknowi ng and ask you in turn to justify yours and walk away. Over in the corner of the place was a large square speaker. It must have been a bout five feet square in all. Sometimes really live, high sounds did come out o f it. They played mostly one long session from the progressive rockstation, called KMPX down on Green Street, which had been trying for more than the past year to get some imagination into Top 40 music-programming. They had just played two l ong new tracks from the latest Rolling Stones L.P. It all sounded rather experi mental but that was nothing new for Big Daddy. Blanik found the cream of this e lectric music worth some listening to. It was certainly filling the air these d ays not even the squarest critic could deny it it was often very original and, a t least, entertaining. There was a lot of bass in the speaker. The announcers vo ice dissolved into a blanket of low decibel fuzz as it gave out details of the R ock Shows over at the Fillmore and Winterland auditoriums for that weekend. Per haps that lineup with B.B.King and John Mayall from England would be worth three dollars. The concerts were always real crowded, so on second thoughts he dismi ssed the idea from his mind. As the door over by the cellar steps banged shut, he twisted his body around in the chair....... AVALON It was one of the resident North Beach poets with whose company he had shared se veral hours last Wednesday morning. Lmi or Lni was his name. He had been widely published and was therefore, supposedly, successful, if such a term had any mean ing to him. Nobody as yet had gotten round to publishing one of his apparently almost unreadable surrealistic novels. He had declared that it was his intentio n to quit for Paris, as soon as possible. There, reputedly, they respected a po ets professions and his poverty. Having come up, as one of the younger members o f the West Coast Beats back in the fifties, he was always going on about his rea l remoteness from the present youth movement. He did feel himself transcended b

y the commercial and surface nature of the latest and craziest youth happening w hich had risen in the last two years in San Francisco. The main difference for him apparently, was that the kids he spoke to around the Hill were for the most part not at all interested in anything literary. This whole movement was far more of music than he had ever been, with his rare v isits down to the Blackhawk to see Bird Parker. This new thing was the outcome of wide musical propaganda and the ever increasing chance for oats to listen to good reproduction. This time around he felt that nobody was in it for real, apa rt from a minority of semi lunatic militants. He had to admit, like Alan said, that Arthur Rimbaud had finally met and even consummated his meeting with Emily Dickinson, in here, down on the stairs. The two older men exchanged silent greetings. Mind you, thought Blanik, at twen ty six, he did not belong to the hippie generation, either. Being a musician, he could synpathize, and was close to what some of the Groups were trying to get in to, with all their use of really high-powered amps, and electronic instrument ex perimentation. Their extension of the differing European and early American tra ditions , particularly the urban Negro Blues out of Chicago these had been picke d up, developed and boosted to their limit, right on down the line. Something started playing, or rather, the content, of the first few phrases from the box, caused him to focus his attention. It was some piece he had caught be fore, several times, over at Clarks place. Yeah, he knew it. A cut by a West Co ast band called H.P.Lovecraft. Then he remembered that it was called The White S hip, after a story of that name by the prematurely dead fantasy writer. It was t ypical of the best in the sounds. The toneimages in the music might be likened to something from the last century, by the poets Coleridge, or Baudelaire even. The impression certainly was of som e imaginative voyage on the title vessel. It was possible that the subtlety of the composition was a studio only performance. Yet, the drifting levels combined oddly, to raise a potent effect in his mind. Slowly he felt himself slipping in to a reverie of sailing ships cutting through calm tropical blue seas off a low headland of some distant land. He could even hear the rush of the waves against the sunlit timber. The music appeared to dominate the whole of the restaurant. It was seldom so peaceful at around midnight. Sailing upon the White Ship. But then it was over He was back among the dirty coffee cups, with the spilt pea soup congealing around the matchsticks on the tabletop. He wished that the good Miss Evans had not found it necessary to go up North, supposedly to clear up so me problems about the property she had recently bought up there. Normally, abou t now, they would have been just about ready to hit the sack. He well knew just how dependent he was, on her both as a woman and as his only c urrent benefactor. She had only been gone for about ten days and already he was missing her icy sanity and warm company. They had given to each other a part o f their lives, or over fourteen months. He often suspected that without her pre sence, he would have made little progress in any direction. To have been forced to go back hustlin hamburgers at that drive inn at Geary, or perhaps, when he ha d not met her at all, then life might have become just too much; too often. Her tall, thin body was not heavy. The still pale skin covered a large-boned fr ame, with an endless energy. There was a particular flavour of her personality, a taste of a tradition, or an ageless simplicity, that could often break his ri gid ego; as a gust of sudden unexpected side wind. He thought of her shining bl ack, almost Hispanic hair. She originally came from some place in Wales. Her h ome town was somewhere near where Dylan Thomas had issued out of, and though she did not write poetry herself, there was a fine sensitivity in her outlook on li fe. After traveling all over the Far East for three years, she had finally landed in Seattle. With some real hard work she had got together enough in her bag to buy some realty near Ukiah, and made some kinda killing...never having had much bread back in Europe, she s ure did know how to make it, and use it. He had first seen her crossing over on Washington, one Sunday morning. From Kwongs Chinese Inn, he had noticed the strange texture and cut of her tweed suit. Then following her into a bakeshop opposite had asked her, where she was

from, thinking her to be just another loaded tourist. Within an hour, they were laughing together about Thomass verse. She described Dylan as being a bit of a o ne. That was typical of her. A classic understatement, as was her precise origi nal insight, into the most abstract of ideas. She had once been involved with t he Chelsea College of Art in London Caulfield etc., England, but being a free sp irit, had found the norms and conventions of that establishment restricting. Oc casionally, she would still paint, in watercolor, some remembered scene from Ind ia or Japan. Like two teenagers they had walked back to her place by the Opera House. At the time he had been living, rather existing, in some dreadful bug house on Broadway , full of night roaming horseaddicts and cheap short-timers. So, they had stayed together for two days in her bed, just making love and talking, obliquely betwe en times. Could Maggie talk, once she got going! She would take him sometimes with her on recalled detailed return journe ys, full of wonderland images from her distant lone wanderings. Tales of Northe rn India and Nepal, from a time long before it had become a Mecca for so called dropouts or airborne visitors traveling for thousands of miles, alone across the subcontinent, always third class and without a dime. She would tell him of tim es in Ceylon and the Malabar teaching and reading Shakespeare aloud, for some fo od and a corner of a floor. And of how she had walked up to Katmandu, and then on further to the high passes of the Himachal itself. She reckoned that one coul d buy a house, and live there helping the local people practically for only five hundred a year. Or, especially when it was raining on the West Coast, she woul d reminisce about her own country of the castles in the West, and of the great p eace to be found in the mountains there, following what she made sound like cent uries of bloodshed and deprivation. She would often describe for him the tiny h idden coves, with their seagulls and to him they all sounded so much part of ano ther time, some place. Likewise, he in turn though only if she appeared at all interested, would patter n for her some of the disordered events in his own strange life-experience and t hose years in New York. Of his musical ambitions, as a pianist and composer, sh e was not at all clear. The seriousness of his expression and the apparent orig inal nature of some of his practical experiments had however all but resolved he r mind for her. Love, whatever it is, had not been there, he thought. One week after that first meeting, one all too memorable evening, she had asked him to come on over. On his arriving, she had led him through into the main roo m of her apartment, and as ever with laughter, had presented him with a good as new Boudoir Grand. There, without interruption, he had remained playing for abo ut two hours. Short improvisations and some piece of Debussy. She had just rem ained silent, a wry smile being the only comment until he had quietly finished. Then, assuring him that she was not looking for a husband had unexpectedly aske d him to move in with the piano; if he wished. That was where he ended up, bags and all, that night around midnight. Providence had seen him through; not a few times before. He had walked right in to that one. Not ever having lived before with an English woman or rather a Wel sh lass, he had reasoned that it could not come out any worse than some of the h opeless neurotic set-ups he had found himself rooted in, during his sojourns wit h ladies of American blood. There was, he discovered later a certain parallel a bout her being and his own. Maggie, though she had never been in stir, had a so litary tightness of soul, derived no doubt, from her wanderings which complement ed his own earlier days. His vague fears about his ability to carry on his work, while living with Miss. E., had been unnecessary. During the last years he had formed the basis, in the ory, for the setting of his ideas on to a score. For a self-taught musician, th e craft and energy needed to transfer the ideas into a performable setting reall y had to be faced up to, and alone. He had never been able to work to any dicta ted schedule. The certainty that he was into something original, which related little to time narrower more academic lines of the conventional modern composers , had driven him forward. Some of his present ideas he felt could not be catego

rized anywhere in the so-called serious music spectrum. In San Francisco itself, apart from infrequent improvised musical evenin gs, nothing had stirred for well over a year. All the free progress, even at Be rkeley seemed to be in the fields of electronic tape with some leads in that eso teric area, labeled free form Jazz. The straight Classical music scene was real ly an unpleasant static joke. On the few evenings that he had stepped across th e road to hear some visiting soloist, in that admittedly fine hall, the audience reaction had been so negative, that he had felt shocked. There had been moment s at the end of some cool performance when he had wanted to shout out his praise , yet he had remained dumbstruck, in the mass of inhibited senseless bodies arou nd him. Sure, he had felt the same lifeless expression all over the States. He re the Season was the all important subject. The chance to meet Mrs. Whalley-Br own once again, or to wear that divine dress one had been so clever to find, in Frankfurt last Summer. Perhaps he was too much of a perfectionist. Or that the music he was involved i n, from the other side of the house, was on too different a level. Yet he was a ware of how music could be spread right across the board of how the Voice was al ways there, however or wherever one chose to listen to it. The real secret was in the playing. There was this curious paradox, nonexistent in say the Italian Settecento, between the source of patronage and the public audience. It was not surprising, that most of the real audience in the city, of whom for many reason s there were a great number, remained in their homes and gave their attention to good sound systems. The difficulty arose in trying to persuade the barons up a t City Hall to widen their sponsoring activities they were the guys with the bre ad. Say, do ya have a light? His thoughts were cut into by the slurred words of a tall guy, in a grease-stain ed black suede jacket, who slumped down into the wooden chair opposite him. He recalled that perhaps his name was Henry and that he was always in some other pl ace than the present. Blanik picked up one of the dry matches from the sticky t able and striking it underneath gave the man a light. Seen ya in here a few times now. Do ya have a pad aroun here? No direct answer was returned. Jus thought there might be sumthin I could do for y a? Blanik shook his head. With a not unfriendly smile, he said, No. Im all okay. H ey, would you care for a cup of soot? The grey unwashed fingers picked up the qua rter and the thin figure ambled slowly across to the counter. The music in the place was different now, hammering at Blaniks ears some of what he was told they were starting to call Acid Rock. The dissipated figure returned and dropped once again into his seat, forgetting even the most perfunctory of th anks. He looked either very sick, physically run down, or, so very high, as to be no longer functioning normally. I think rather, that I should ask you, if you need a hand? You look all t o hell, to me. He paused. Do you do anything else, beside the dealing thing? Werent you on the newspapers, the last time I saw you? The crushed figure just across at him. His eyes and face were sick pale . The wasted cheeks and forehead offered nothing positive. A lot of the people i n his line of business did well for themselves, provided they were not taken in, or for some kinda ride. Or ended up, burnedout on their own stuff. No. Dont get time for much. Though I dont know I make the odd scene like some rea l far-out Indian music show last week. Now that was a good time. He bent forward , coughing, sorely. The weak voice ended there. It would have been cool to hear about that concert, but that was another question left unanswered. The mark sat up straigh t, once more and became totally engrossed in rolling a joint on the edge of the table. Rather than refuse the next undoubted offer of a smoke, and knowing that one of the two owners would be over, in like two seconds, Blanik stood up quickl y, made a kind of apologetic goodbye, and made for the doubledoors, letting on to

Richard as he stepped into the street. It was now about halfpast midnight. There were still small groups of tou rists at the intersection of Columbus and Broadway. The topless shows stayed open , of course just so long as there were any more spending customers. The music fr om one of the dumps was really bad. It came from a Topless Band, inside a narrow club, where he just caught a passing glimpse, behind the front bouncer, of a je eking ensemble of mammary glands, supported only by the pink spotlights. Maybe that was one of the slickestideas that had been thought up, to get the gawping, t itillated crowds through to the bar. The quality of the sound was the very last of amusements for the crowd in there. There was not much of the erotic about. Those shows had been running for maybe two years now every night of the week. They were still packing them in. Across Montgomery, they had even got some nine tyeight point five per cent naked broad in a glass cage, forty feet above the str eet. Up there she made it nightly, oblivious, to the craning faces of the rabbl e below. It never ceased to amaze him, that so many straight adult human beings could fill these expensive, tasteless and often pathetic exhibitions. What kin d of a charge they took from it, was beyond his erotic reference Once, at the Vesuvio, he had run into a fine woman, called Annie, who ha d played the topless organ with one of the bands for half a year. He had learne d from her that though the money was good the behaviour of the clientele was eno ugh to make her spew out. With the crude insults and drunken leering eyes there had been no doubt in her mind as to who were the real freaks at those shows and most of them did not have over developed boobs. He dodged across the road, through the slowmoving traffic and stepped qui ckly into Mikes. Unusually, there was scarcely anybody in there at this hour. He ordered a bowl of chilli beans and called across for a beer. Then he wandered back, to the rear of the hall, to watch the pool players Mike s was always very calm apart from the infrequent knifings or whatever, everybody just kept to his own business, whether he was a bouncer, in for a quick break, or one of the mack s hangin around to meet one of his ladies. Nobody had ever hassled him During t hat last period, while staying next to the Reposassa, down the street a block, h e used to often end up in here last thing. Walking back, across the room, he collected his order and pulled out a s eat over by the window, in order to watch the parade. Most of the visitors to t he city came in from the sticks; he could half understand their gullibility. Th eir money was taken from then openly. They really believed that they were getti ng something as wild as the old Barbary Coast days? They even managed to keep th e Hippies alive, out there on the sidewalk, selling the Underground Press the Ba rb, or the Oracle when you are only making a dime, on every sheet, that sure was a lotta papers sold! As a good moving woman sashayed by outside, he got around to thinking ab out his Miss again. Considering that she was almost two years older than himsel f her body was still very fine. She had not given forth any offspring, which par tly accounted for that very inch of her tall body was worthy of any man s praise . His stomach turned as he thought of her narrow shoulders and flat breasts he d id miss her. When she arrived back, this time, he would have to get to telling her, of his latest decision. She was no stupid cow and would certainly understa nd the situation. Soon, he had decided the other night, he would have to leave the Bay Area, even the United States. He would have to establish himself some p lace, for however long it took him, to actually perfect and perform the largescal e work he had envisaged. The work was in three parts, rather in the manner of a concerto, for eight instruments which included a piano, a tape and an electric bass. All the relative chord and thematic ground work was together; there remai ned the final overall notation and first prototype. Possibly he would increase th e weight of the accompaniment. There were a dozen other pregnant ideas he wante d to slowly gestate to an initial maturity. Things on the outside had really gotten bad recently. The threat of gen eral raceriots this coming Summer, competed with the everyday presence of the war in Asia. Anybody, who seemed to care at all, that is, about just what was happ

ening to the country, almost looked to be hounded by a state of overt paranoia. The possibility of some weird kind of civil warfare was not too for from some p eople s minds. He, for one, could not turn a blind eye to the reality of the co mplex and escalating events. Sure, he had tried it that way, with no success. Over at San Francisco State a couple of months back, following a disturbance on th e campus, some hero had played the Scarborough Fair Canticle at full blast, from a n open window. It had not been heard without emotion on both sides of that estab lished institution. Maggie certainly would not wish to leave the country at this time. He was not g oing to ask her for any bread. You even to get him clear out of California. Bo th England and Canada seemed likely places. Thank God, he thought, I just slipp ed under the Reservist net. Anyway, for either of those places he would need so me funds, for anything up to six months or more. That was it then. How to quit this scene for some time, to set up the w hole business. It would be some kind of change, just to get away from the Penin sular, perhaps to Oregon, or even a place to caretake in the Sierra. That is, i f nothing else came up. As for his lady, she would realise just how he found it so vital to isolate hims elf for some time. She was not a demanding woman. In fact, he was usually the one whose whims and desires needed her attention. It could be that she would go over there to London in the Autumn and lay some arrangement on the line. The problem of the cash the nittygritty! He would need a fair stache just to get into any other country. Then he would need a new box. In a few months if all w orked out, he would have to be looking around for some fine musicians to get the whole thing on the road. Small groups of turnedon players were hard enough to fi nd without having to ask then to work for little, nothing, or Love? Earlier in the year he had written to Charlie Spalding, in Illinois, to see if h e might fix some kinda roof over his head. That had all come down negative his total lack of any formal training,...whatever that meant, excluded any possibili ty of a college grant, or even the use of some facility. The other lead he had followed had been to write to a foundation in Bonn, West Germany he had a studie d knowledge and could play straight off a crosssection of Brahms solo piano and ch amber works A short reply, in English had informed him that all the places were generally awarded at least one year in advance. All the obvious and otherwise lines that he had pursued locally in different directions had been fruitless. Th ey either took him to be a total ignoramus, or half-mad. Usually they just want ed to see what percentage he had attained in his grades at Junior High School. To him, it was all so much shit. The siren of a Police Department cart heralded its appearance, at the crossroads . The two local cops had two streetwalkers up against the wall. He could just make out that one was white, the other negro. The grille windowed reardoors of th e van swung open and a heavy figure swung out onto the footplate burst into laug hter as the coloured girl suddenly took off through the gap between the officers in the direction of Grant. One of the men made a half-attempt to go on after h er. Her fitter probably more active body soon was ahead and past the traffic si gnals. Thinking again about his own problem, he had even seriously considered holding u p a jewelry store. If one selected the right setup, it could be a walkover. Pa cific Couple of big ones Certainly, you might come away with enough to make the risk worthwhile. You needed two really good men on a stunt like that. None of h is criminal aquaintances, apart from Floyd, who was row enough to come in on any thing, would even consider the job. Mind you, you cant trust everybody either. Mo st of them had been put off armed robbery; maybe it was that showdown sequence i n the Bonnie and Clyde film. He, himself had few scruples about doing that sort of crime it took no second th oughts to realise just who were the real thieves in this society. One thing, he wasnt about to take anybodys life. If he was going to do a job, it had to be all tight and worthwhile, nothing petty this time. Somehow he had to break the bloc k that every week seemed to be getting denser and denser. That position just had to get off the ground.

He chuckled reflectively, to him self. The memory of the time he had once serve d at a Youth Detention Center in Texas passed before him. He must have only bee n about eighteen then. He and two other guys had flyed off a whole book of chec ks in all about three thousand worth. The only reason that he had been in it was to get himself some sedan then take off over the border again. Out of luck one of the others had been beaten into a confession by his old man. The whole game had fallen in. They had picked him up that same evening outside of Pasadena, w here he had taken a ride to see some chick before going down the coast to Browns ville. Though he was not the oldest, he was from outoftown, and the Law had set h im up as the mainspring behind the plan. He was tried as a criminal and sent dow n for a shrink examination an all the rest, first of all to a Boys Prison near Au stin. All together he was holed-up for three hundred days solid. Inside some of the b astards had really worked it out of him. Punishment, at regular intervals, for the slightest, often invented misdemeanour; this would vary between long spells in the cooler and electric- shock therapy treatment in the unit hospital. Three t hings he had come out of there with, after that long year: one was a total hatre d of all superfluous authority, either side of the fence, and secondly the basic ability to play the box well. Lastly, was a total skepticism of all forms of c linical psychiatry. He had promised himself then, that one day he would write a book about that time; with the xxx and the mentalgarroting, not forgetting the o rganised male shows. Blanik considered that it would make some real heavy readi ng. It had started to rain outside. Not heavily. A few more odds and ends started to come into the Pool Hall. It was past one oclock now the tourist crowd was mak ing it back to their hotels and motels. Across the street the bookstore would b e shutting. Could be Andy would come by for a drink? He stood up and went over to talk to one of the Negro girls a real hot s kirt she took losers off Broadway for a short time. At fifty dollars, she sure c harged top rates. And, for your fifty, she had once told him with evident pleas ure, you didnt even get the time to take your shoes off. Still the girls were no t to blame, that was the market if they found guys rich enough, or lonely enough , to pay that kinda price. He had forgotten her name. Hi there. Hows it going. Do you mind if I join yuh? She glanced up suspiciously, but halfrecognising him, gave him in turn a welcomin g smile. Her thin brown hand with its long grey-painted nails was offered towar d him. Her elbow did not leave the table. She was half cut. Shuh. Aint you dat musician fella? Havent seen yuh about here, why, seems like a year? An were yuh bin hidin! She leaned her head forward, Yuh git yourself marrie d some crazy thing like that? Turning away from him, she waved to one of her sisters who had just come in. I mem ber, yuh dont play my kinda music, anyhow. You dig all that deep stuff I tell ya, it jus give me a sorehead!. She shook her slimy fineboned face, Ah, ah! Wot for me . Mey, yuh still a good lookin boy tho?. Wha you bin doin wid yorsel? Oh, nothing much. Aint been around here much. Been doing some writing and keepin a good woman happy. He had always been easily trapped by the dark and earthy bea uty of these soulsisters, with all their natural, and yet jiving spontaneity and there was something about their usually fine, slim fingers and nails. He had on ce known one too well in New Orleans yeah, too well - a few years back. Things are getting to be a little hard around here Im goin to take off some place, soon. Seems like its all going to happen around the cities, rig ht? She looked at him curiously, seriously and laughed out loud. If soul brother step s jus one liddle bit out of line, them dogs are gem to chew his butt right off, Im tellin yuh. She paused and added: Me an my man is recknin to get some bills together, then we are gettin outta here , back to the South any place like some small town..., shit, maybe a guy can for get all dis ghetto heat, down there. Yuh kno...just easy.

Say, you havin another beer? The whole human relationship was different in the Negroes World. Here was this f ine chick, working the streets, to get some bread together f or she and her man to split San Francisco. Or was she just an innocent dupe? Yet they were no fool s these babes, as any cat ever tied to one could tell you. They maybe black all over, but, as far as everyday relationships were concerned; their often-nave jud gment defined sharply into black and white. Sure wish I had time to get to know you better. You sure are a sweet piece of pie This compliment from Blanik set her off laughing once more, for which she thanke d him kindly. Hey, is that your man, comin in right now Do you want me to move on out? Hell, no! Stick right were yuh are. Yuh aint no creep. She smiled a broad greeting to the thin, athletic negro, who came calmly padding across the floor. He was a real duke; all set up in a tight-fitting, black leather overcoat, wit h a black beret stuck on the front of his head. On his feet was a pair of sharpl ooking, pointed gator shoes, also black. Sam, Id like yuh to meet a friend of mine. This is........? Say, what is your name , anyway? Mike Blanko....what kinda name is that? Well it dont matter much, if yo ur not goin to be aroun. This my man Sam., She stood up and went over to order the hamburger and fries that the cat asked for, as he sat down. Hi. Hows it goin? Don I know you? From aroun town. His voice was friendly and open. He took his womans judgment as good enough. What you into?. Cos, if you was in the business, we just might be able to fix a l ittle sumthin. You interested? His dark eyes, though filmed with a layer of wate ry mucus, sought to examine the reaction of the other can lay out some good deal s, if you is round here for awhile. Deres a lotta stuff goin, just now. Blanik had heard all this before. Many times over the years. Playing about with junk, especially out on the street, was not really the game for him. Unless the re was nothing else going. Apart from the risk of getting burned, you could jus t end up in one of the alleys, with half your guts hanging into the gutter ,That big man, from up around Parnassus, had ended up pretty cold, with his right arm missing, only a few months back. Somebody had been crossed in an Acid deal and , snap Finito. Besides, there was never a great deal of bread in it. Usually, b y the time the goods had come down the grapevine to the street, the profit margi n was getting real slim. The Law was also keeping its eyes well open these days and were wellskinned, where it mattered that xxx. He shook his head. No, thanks anyhow. It just ain t my scene. How is the busin ess these days, you gettin much competition? Naw, most of dese young guys are only holdin weed. They shit-scared to git into a ny of tha real stuff. An yer need plenty of the green, an some protection, if ye r runnin the big tracks. Sorry I caint do any business for yer mebbe a couple o f papers? No? Okay. Thats cool. His lady returned to the table with the chow. Then started dancing to some Jame s Brown single that came up on the juke. Two times she exclaimed, not un-convin cingly, that the guy was too much. Blanik felt suddenly tired. He may as well ge t up and leave; now. Possibly still pick up a trolley at the foot of Grant, on Market. Saying goodbye to the spade, and his girl, he left a dollar bill and tw o bits on the table, and walked toward the fresh air. Nice to meet yah. See ya aroun, man! called the negro guy after him, looking up f rom his fries. Crossing Broadway, he ran through the small alley by the museum, and turned, int o the Chinese half of Grant Avenue. The street surface and sidewalks were still wet and shining, slick and black in the light of the occasional illuminated sho p window. An early morning fog hung like a damp smoke over the whole of this cor ner of the city. It looked to be feeling and searching its descending paths; o verflowing from the rare height of Nob Hill and down the steep and narrow street s at roof level, half shrouding the windowless ruin of the Hall of Justice, to s ettle finally about the old Ferry Buildings, before almost unwillingly, rising a nd evaporating yet again, over the warm sleeping barrio. Or was he only mistake n, surely the mist was rising and tearing a white ragged pattern up Jackson Stre

et? In complete contrast to its incredible daily daytime activity the darkened Chine se section was completely deserted. Apart from the odd rat, scavenging among the mounds of fish and beanboxes, or nuzzling its teeth into some empty vegetable cr ate these alone remained, after the less fortunate human pickers or the thin gre y cats had taken whatever scraps they found still edible. The street was desola te. One time, he had found two fine soya bean oilcasks, tall and elliptical, with met al bands which he had hidden and then picked up later they were still there, in Maggies pad. So many pieces of simple traditional Oriental craftsmanship he foun d pleasing even some of the tools and drainingbaskets used in the many restaurant s. The use of bamboo and other natural fibres seemed to establish some human ra pport. As ever, at the corner of one of the streets was the old man who sold the first morning edition of the local daily newspaper, The Chinese World for a dime a copy. A very honourable newspaper. Founded 1891 and bilingual! He was there every early morning from about two oclock onwards, scarcely to be noticed, sheltering i n his habitualdoorway. They exchanged mutual but incomprehensible greetings and h e carried on, striding up the hill toward California. Against the light night sky to the left, Blanik noticed the outline of one of th e corner buildings, in the mockstyle of a China of several centuries earlier. Ma ny of the newer highrise blocks overshadowed the pointed green and red-peaked roo fs, with their tiny false balconies. This only seemed to emphasise the unique d esign of the older buildings. Once the street was quiet, the neon lights at rest , it was not so difficult to take oneself and the surrounding silent alleys, bac k out of time, into the past. In spring, after such a heavy rainstorm, when everything had been washed afresh and clean, the short figures who moved swiftly between the deserted Waverly and Old Dupont Street could be readily imagined to be carrying hidden sharp axes, or to be running, some important errand for an elderly, but wealthy opium user. T he thincurtained windows had once, and still did hide some curious styles of life crowded, chattering and curious children, mastercalligraphers and connoisseurs, sword-wielding dancers of exotic and magical beauty ways of living, the philosop hy of which was so basically alien to any motives of their white or Italian-Amer ican neighbours. Passing a dimly lit pork shop, he glimpsed the outlined figure s of a pair of nocturnal labourers and for one moment the sicksweet odour of fryi ng meat. It always did amuse him to dwell on the memory of Little Chinas former days. Pop py Alley had never recovered its former decadence, following the nineteen hundre d and six happening. Which was all for the best. The cots and the numerous met hods of sad childexploitation had disappeared. The deeper traditions still remai ned, even if the outer symbols no longer were general or necessary. And the loca l colour, so often at a pitiful cost in human terms had been replaced with a biza rre variety of amusement, for the curious visitor. The opiumjoints were all mock ups, that was nothing new: and the imagination just had to substitute the missi ng) actual details. There were still deep tunnels beneath the overpopulated, in dustrious streets, but they contained nothing more than crates of strange canned vegetables or sweetmeats, few stores of jade, embroidered silks, nor any longer , the bodies, alive or dead, of once imported bartered brides, concubines and Su sans. Breaking into a loping run, Blanik just caught the cable car that rattled into v iew, as it then started the long pull over the top and down to Van Ness, from wh ere he could easily walk homewards. As he slumped back in the rear opensection o f the car, he caught sight of a familiar portly figure, edging its way along the pavement. The bowler hat was unmistakable. So was the unheard tapping of the wa lkingstick, against the wall of the church. This was one of the Beachs few remaining characters. Happy the clown. For years he had entertained nightclub audiences, until more sophisticated tastes, if one might so call them, had put him out of a job and on to the street. The last co uple of years he had worked, between bouts of sickness, as a bouncer, or attenda

nt at various clubs around the town. He would often tell you how proud he was, never to have worked down in the Tenderloin. He reckoned he was part Chinese. For that reason he had an honorary ticket to free meals at the cafe next to the movie house near Pacific, once a real live Chinese theater. He could tell a hun dred tales, from way before, and during, the Second War, about the less obvious sides of life in the district. At New Year, or rather, at Chinese New Year, after a whole half-year of anticipa tion, he appeared to relive his past days. Rigged out in his full, traditional costume, as a harlequin, he would spend those days making everybody, adult or yo ung, find open laughter again. All his earnings went on string of firecrackers for his own and other peoples cracked amusement. This had won him an annual plac e in the communities mind, and although only possibly, oneeighth Oriental, he too preferred their inscrutable company. He did manage to live a pleasant, adequat e existence. Once, perhaps two years ago, he had even taken Blanik across to the place that he used merely to sleep in, a cellar near Washington Square. There, hanging in two cloth wardrobes, were at least three full Lion costumes. He had lamented the fact that these had not been used for nearly ten years. From a dr awer, that time he had taken an envelope that contained half a dozen miniature s lides. These showed him in his different roles, from pierrot to battered tramp. They had been taken down in Texas, or Mexico, where he had been for a time aft er the War. He had told tales of entertaining whole villages down there. The p erformance would take place over several days, especially at a time of fiesta,, and in return, he would be given food, a place to sleep and some little money. Why he had returned North, he said, was something he would never quite understan d. Probably, like so many drifters, over many years, because of his love for thi s city of Saint Francis, and that on any terms. For this clown, with his memori es of laughter and his several golden-ringed fingers each day appeared to be a n ew freedom. Outwardly, he did always appear to be Happy, which was something to study. The conductor leaned on the long, main handbrake as they came to the end of the t racks. That was it for the night. The metal wheels ground out a harsh solitary moan and the car stopped. Wishing the driver a goodnight he set off at a steady run down Van Ness Avenue, toward the Opera. There was still a fair run of traf fic on the Avenue, heading mainly North. After about five minutes running downh ill, he started walking and turned across the floodlit green lawn that flanked t he glasspaneled entrance-verandah of the Opera. The building stood ghostlywhite an d Classically serene Within minutes, he thought, I will be making some cocoa one of the many civilising habits that Miss. E had brought into his life; then, aft erwards, perhaps a few minutes at the ivories, before crawling into his pit. Suddenly, he stopped. Any idea of playing some music before sleep, was dismissed from his head. What had inspired the thought that had just exploded in his min d, or rather, why it should make itself a parent just now, he could not be bothe red to figure out. Except that, there it was. Clear and evidently simple. Sponta neous, and registering as such a simple solution. He, himself would lay out and bring off a dope thing. Only not at the l ower end of the business, chippin around for peanuts, but rather as a broker, or wholesaler. Sure, the risks were there. Werent they always, and directly proport ional, to the take? With some tight planning and the right men, something could be done. Whatever was set up, the stuff would have to unloaded in the States. A lways you have to reach that market. The stuff itself maybe could come out of Ce ntral America, or Canada. There were some contacts he had there was Bill Reade, wasnt there, when he wasnt d runk, he knew most of the big guys, both here and in L.A.? Stevie also, was runn in around with some really heavy dealers these days well, at any rate, he was alw ays ringing the pad, to see if hike wanted to score, or could unload any amount of goodies. It should be no trouble to make a mark, some place. As to fronting any bread. Well, Maggie was never slow to make a cool investment . And he could find some smart help around. There was a small fortune to be mad e, if he could get to the centre of some setup and work effectively from there. After all, he had not yet read of many large hauls being picked up by the fuzz.

There was a whole pile of junk about these days though, that was for sure. The guys who did get caught were either the city stringers or some really dumb hippi e characters, who tried to bring grass through from Mexico, in private automobi les, long hair, incense, beads an all. Even the border guards were not that opaq ue! Just what he could arrange to pull off, to smuggle through, or even deal in, bac k here, and secondly, who he might do this for, or with, as the main man; now thi s was going to be the first problem. Grass, he knew, was really a load of hassl e to bring enough over, to make it pay, for that you needed a private yacht or. plane. Hash was real hard to obtain production was minimal. There was always L.S .D., but by all accounts, this had developed into a really dangerous game, since the big players had come in and begun cornering the market. Perhaps he could la y his hands on some real large quantity of straight pills half the country was o n some kinda dope ,to ease their tired bodies and screwed up minds. He promised himself not to get into or get taken, for anything to do with heroin or coke, or the other opiates. That was another world the sweet stuff, an it alw ays had been, and tended to get real dirty. If all else failed, he would repeat the operation that Walter from Sacramento had organised last year. Six real wei rdoes had gone South into the desert, North of Eagle Pass, and had there collect ed a truckload of near ripe Peyote buttons. These they had crated in ammunition bo xes and had brought back to California and sold like vegetables on campus, right across the State. Sure hoped it would not end up with his having to go through that! He decided to leave the problem of setting up a big score, and the dozen other latent ideas t hat suggested themselves until tomorrow morning. The whole crazy idea could wel l wait until then. It was all too much of a business. His mind was already working well into overtime. It was going, ticking, like som e clockwork egg, he smiled at the thought of the image Maggie was always using i t, taken from something by Bosch he thought. He realised that he had been just s tanding there, motionless, for well over five minutes, thinking. He thought he m ight have a smoke, when he got up those stairs, and so to sleep. The ideas had s wirled about his brain, loosely deliberating present, past and possible future e vents. Still halflaughing to himself, he stood in the porch, looking down at his feet, w hile searching impatiently for the street door key. Out loud, to whoever might h ave been listening, he said, Mister Mike Blanik you just might have an answer here to a number of your ever pr esent problems. One hand reached to unlock the door, the other tugged for one or two moments at the hair length, not over long, behind his left ear. But please keep cool and play it all together.

AN ITALIAN INTRODUCTION, ABOUT ADIVERTIMENTO APPASSIONATO. Sunday morning , the weather was not unlike one of the days he remembered from b ack on the East Coast. The light insignificant rain did not make walking uncomfo rtable. Best of all, the streets were empty, even up in the city anytime. She wasnt there when he came to. Having cooked himself an imaginary ideal English Sunday breakfast about nine oclock, he had then cleaned up and split taking a di agonal route over Nob Hill, past the Cathedral. For once, its clear grey stone, darkened by broad streaks of earlier rain showers did bear some resemblance to the historic model, Paris. To walk about the city, was one of the simple ways by which he managed to retain some degree of physical condition. The pumping action of the legs distributed t he blood over the whole body. It also was the time for figuring out any thing o r preoccupation holding his mind. As usual, this was meandering restlessly from idea to idea. Differing external visual points and aural incident would trigger

off a whole new pattern of thought and image. One minute he would be recalling the tale about the Indian Princess, asleep on the distant, shrouded peak of Mou nt Tamalpais, and of the similar Venusberg legend, then, within half a block, on catching a glimpse of the masts of the squarerigger down at Fishermans Wharf, he promised himself to go down soon and see Joe again, asleep in the ships hold, wit h the memory of roaring days. Or the rattle and ring of a cable car would shift about into some rudimentary theme and then as quickly, vanish once again. The v iews down over the Gate on almost any day were really magic especially in the ea rly morning. It could be that some spirit of elation was slowly awakening with the day. Saturday was a sort of wasted day. He had not awoken until late. Hanging aroun d the apartment, he had made some fourteen or more telephone calls. Finally, he had gone over to Dolores to check out a guy he once knew the man lived with a ve ry superior Chinese woman, of almost Imperial beauty, called something like Snow Plum. The only lead he was able to set up for Blanik, was the name of one of th e Italian merchants over at North Beach, well this was the only worthwhile name, the rest were of small timers. The Chinese girl had warned him to be careful, if he was going to be dealing with those organised gentlemen. Her man had told her to mind her own business, that he had done a few large deals with them befor e and, so long as one minded one s own affair and did not try pulling one they we re usually straight enough. He added that they did not suffer fools gladly. There was no harm in going along to see what the score was. This guy Angello, w hoever he was, might have something worth the sweat. One thing though, those fol ks did not chippy about with ounces in small plastic baggies. None of the boutiques ever opened until around one in the afternoon. As he glan ced up it on crossing Broadway there was little activity on the street. Only a f ew early wanderers and the odd Volkswagen setting off for the hills, or maybe, M endocino. He knew the local where they all hung out, an espresso, just up ahead. There was a short line of automobiles at the corner of Vallejo, including one l ow, dark blue Ferrari, with shining wire spoked wheels. He smiled to himself t o think that the whole gruppo , had just probably come out from early-morning Mass . The Italians in the city were still, in so far as they wished, a tightly knit, e thnic community. They still conversed in their native language, and went to grea t lengths to preserve their own style of everyday living. All over the village y ou could buy good Italian wine and cheese. There were the shops that still made their own pasta and salami. Also, the finest bread and pastry, for which people would come over here from all parts of the city. On any summer morning, the ref lected light, of such brilliance on the white buildings, coupled with the smell of roasting coffee, could bring forward; memories of La bella Not even an insurre ction of the Carnaby Street type boutique, or the constant circus of assorted po ets, artists and meth addicts had really spoiled the character of the area. Alon g with the neighboring Oriental community, this corner of the city was unique in North America. It always made Blanik long to visit de Sicas Italy, and, someday , the whole of Europe. Catching the handle of the door, in his left hand trouser pocket, he did not mak e the desired cool entrance into the coffee-bar. Still, shrugging it off casual ly, he walked straight over to the bar, where the girl was busy, behind a hissin g steam coffee machine. He asked for a large espresso and a glass of cognac basi cally the only real way to start any day. He took a seat on the long bench, alon gside the window, which, he had noted upon entering, was the only available seat , in the place. Then, quite openly, he surveyed, with interest, his crowded fell ow customers. Playing at dice, near the door, was a trio of oldish men, wreathed in the smoke of their cigars. They did not bother to give him a returnedglance. Five immacul ately dressed ragazzi stood at the bar, chaffing and joking between themselves. He could feel that they probably resented his presence but then, the young men, pa

rticularly from that noble land, were well known for their intolerance. Talking with a bearded man, and another younger, handsome sort of gigolo, was an Italian American lady, whom he knew by sight. She had once acknowledged him on the stre et, but seemed since then to always snub him. Why exactly, he did not wish, or care, to know. The person that really caught his circling eyes, among the chattering crowd, was a heavy faced man with permed wavy hair, who looked older than he might really have been about thirty, if you took away the fully cut, custom dark blue silk su it, and also erased the many lines of a man of many different worlds. He had bee n talking quietly but earnestly with an elderly thin, balding man who interrupte d the flow of Italian, with frequent affirmation or otherwise, adding, always a significant gesture with one of his hands. Feeling an observers eyes upon him, the younger of the two glanced across the enq uiring space. Much to Blaniks surprise, he was given a half smile of momentary r ecognition. This was followed by the slightest indication, with the movement of the forefinger of a hand, that he should wait for some moments. Fidgeting nervou sly with the empty liqueur glass in his hand, Blanik tried to figure out some re ason for the totally unexpected response. Was it possible that somebody had alr eady set up this contact for him? No doubt he would soon be finding out. He retu rned to his study of the other Sunday morning clientele; and to finishing his co ffee. The brown black syrup flavoured the whole of his dry mouth. The air was full of the smell of foreign cigarette; of some various kinds. As mo re people crowded into the bar, the racket began to resemble that of a market pl ace. Above everything though, was the not too unpleasant smell of the cooking co ffee beans. He had nowhere else to go to that morning. The fifteen or more minu tes that went by therefore, did not bother him. Strange, he thought, how little music of any serious nature, in the manner that one might call German Music, fro m Bach onward, serious, the Italians had failed to produce, following the orgy o f concerti in the early eighteenth century. Although the influence of that land ) from Claudio Monteverdi, to the age of Handel, was freely acknowledged, it was as if the flame had burned itself out at an early age. Even the range of compo sition of the Neapolitans, or the Northern, Venetian minds had eventually become trapped, in some repetitive national character play. That was the way he heard it. Could it be that in a land of so many natural harmonies, a dramatic source c ould never have been found for the later, great black introspective pieces of th e Germanic masters? As to Opera, he had always found it to be so unreal the a po ints of high drama seemed to be always guilty of overstatement, to the Point of ridicule. Why this should be so, was.. The conversation! opposite came to a sudden conclusion. Both men stood up. Havi ng shaken the hand of his older companion, the smooth looking Italian beckoned, with a gold ringed middle finger, for the stranger to join him at the now empty table. Sharply, Blanik recalled where he night have once seen this man. About th ree months ago, at least. At an organ recital, one Sunday afternoon, up at the S an Francisco College for Women he had been coming out of the front entrance to t he building, he had noticed this sane man, so immaculately dressed, about to get into one of those large, anonymous Lincolns, with the black tinted windows whic h one frequently saw traversing the city. This same man, he thought, obviously Italian, had glanced up at Blanik, on the steps, the latter was walking past the open rear door of the big limousine, more out of amusement than deference, he h ad greeted the figure inside with a loud Bon Giorgno and a mock salute. Surprising that the guy had remembered his chino loping figure it was only a seconds long in cident. Perhaps it was going to give him some kinda breaks now, though. As he jo ined the older man at the table, full of glasses, a crisp voice asked politely t hat the debris be cleared, and also, a Cognac for his guest. Good morning. I trust you would care for another drink, at the least one, waiting ! And might offer you, in return for your patience in also for your reminding me , just where it was, that we last met? One makes the aquaintances of so many peo ple these days, that I must apologise, for or my temporary lapse of memory.

His English was faultless and almost without accent. As was the whole of his di screet appearance. These Italians sure placed some emphasis on the clothes that one wore. In the States, this seldom led to any major alteration in ones relation s with those who did not attach such an importance to the outer man, it was more of an understood and private language. Certainly Blanik, in his habitual black leather jacket and straight French blue pants, felt himself to be quite a contra st. Still nervous, he recalled for the other, where they had passing encountered each other that time and then introduced himself. Ah, really? That is correct. Your close observation that day did amuse me . You too must be a music-lover, then? The tutored voice halted abruptly, and til ting his head slightly forward continued, I am sorry, I did not give you my name, Sergio Arnaldi. I have one or two businesses in this area. Might I ask the same, of yourself? I trust you do not mind my asking, you do hav e the aura of an artist. Music, really? That was my first love, but alas, we c annot have all our wishes come true. E vero? Rather than take him up on this latter point, Blanik amplified his first answer, replying that he was merely a struggling pianist and a poor one, at tha t. The dark Mediterranean eyes showed some possible response to the hinted ambi guity in these last words. Offering his cigarettecase to his table-companion, the Italian asked quite softly , If you do not mind, what brings you down here on a Sunday morning? You know, st rangers are not usually seen in here, if they are at all. He smiled very slightly and looking about him continued, You have my confidence i f I had not read in your face earlier, the print of somebody searching I would n ot be sitting with you now. Capisco? Unaware of the tension that must have been showing to such an extent in his face, Blanik threw the last of the brandy down his throat. With a feeling of relief he replied, Si, Thank you for coming out straight, I do appreciate that, did not think my nerves showed that much. So..er.... Please keep your voice low. Blanik nodded. Well, if you want to know, I was looking for some guy name of Angello, a businessman, of sorts. He felt somewhat more relaxed now, and that he might trust this Arnaldi to some degree. Though he would hold back on the rei ns. So to speak. Perhaps you could put me on to him. You could say I was looking to make s ome money, quickly I heard he has some deals going. The Gods are kind. In that you met me here first, this morning. And not him. Even among the gruppo, he has an unhealthy reputation. He is only a feeder, anyway, sai d the other, in a serious voice, but it is good. He drained the green liquid from his own glass and withdrew a silver propellingpencil from out of his inside pocket. I will not ask you for your reasons for wanting to do business with us. I f you want to go into this proposition, let me know what particular operation, y ou might be interested in. I can take it from there. Although, I will warn you now, my friend, whatever you do get into, keep your eyes open. Now, what was on your mind? Blanik just came straight out with it. I need to make about twenty thous and in the next month or so. May not believe this, but it is all for the xxx I got around to thinking the other evening, and most of yesterday, that maybe peop le wanted some kinda job done. The other mans s eyes were plainly studying his own. The explanation continued. So, a yin; I kisv put me onto Angello, whoever he is? I dont want to get into any thing bloody. He thought you might need somebody to unload some merchandise. Or do a delivery of some stuff? Perhaps you could commission me? You know, like p ut me up front for a percentage. Everybody else I talk to, wants to play it for nickels and dimes. If you havent any bread to throw in it, I dont reckon to be th at much of a fool either. The other sat thoughtfully for several minutes, one finger of his left h and sandwiched pensively between his lips. Let me think for some moments. His me ditation continued in silence. Then he answered slowly but firmly, I see what I

can arrange that I promise you. We do not usually have anything to do with outsi ders. As no doubt you are aware, one cannot trust everybody, everywhere. He grin ned wryly, and ordered two more drinks. However, Mr. Blanik, I like the cut of your jib, as the English Royal Nar y would say, and though I should just tell you to go and do a gas station, I bel ieve you need a break. Give me your telephone number, and you should hear from me in a few days. If not, then there is nothing going. You do realise that I a m not the director in these matters I am only a mere soldier, so to say. Also, we do not run any kind of insurance for a kindergarten. One hand emphasised the m eaning of his eyes as he finished talking, You will not speak to anybody about th is, I hope you do not need to be told this, and lastly, I can promise nothing. He wrote down the number that was given to him. With a repressed laugh, more like a grunt, he put his hand on Blaniks left arm. son, we are a big Organisa tion, and we could find an opening for you. They both laughed together, to the su rprise of the others in the bar. The ordered drinks were brought to the table. Snr. Armaldi put his penci l away and then asked Blanik to tell him in detail about the music he played, an d added an enquiry about whether or not he was acquainted with the works of Scri abin. It was after all Sunday, one had to forget about money, sometimes. About one hour later he left the caf slightly stoned and wondering just what it w as he might have gotten himself into. He was feeling hungry, so after slight co nsideration, turned down, off Stockton, onto an empty Washington Street. He hop ed to find Yee Jun open it was just past midday and they were usually open. Alo ng with the Japanese places over in the Fillmore, these Chinese workers eat houses were about the cheapest in town. You might find something nearer the dollar on Third, but the chow was usually just about as old as the patrons, and smelled as bad. Down the steps, the place was open. The tall waiter, Number One, told hi m that he was the first customer and led him to a single table near the kitchen. He ordered some Ginger beef and Chow Yuk. The chow in here was always very simp le, basically Canton style, the vegetables excellent. They were always generous with the tea pot although he had seldom seen an Oriental drink hot green tea wi th his food. The waiter soon brought his order, with a bowl of boiled rice, and some chopsticks. Slowly, with attention, he began to eat. Evenings, large groups of Caucasians, not usually tourists, but rather, impoveri shed students or hippies, came down here to consume any number of varied dishes. You could sure stuff yourself, for a few bucks. Even Allen Ginsberg used to ea t down here, in his old San Francisco days. That celebrated local obscenity tria l, down the road, over the publication of his Howl seemed nowadays, in the light o r darkness of the past few years, depending on one s point of view, to have been the publicpersecution of a risqu fairy-tale, in an innocent land. It was interest ing to consider, that to what extent the countrys involvement in South East Asia had acted as the prime catalyst, for so many changes and lines of alienation. O r had it been J.F.K.? Outside half an hour later the rain had stopped. He left a couple of bi lls at the desk and hurried off up Grant, cleaning the shreds of meat from his t eeth with a toothpick, as he walked. It was good to have eaten; that would sati sfy him for the rest of the day. The rain had kept the usual Sunday-morning gag gle of tourists off the street, and he made it, within minutes down to the troll ey stop at Market. Standing there, in the doorway of the shoe shop, he thought over the intelligent conversation that he had been part of that morning. He really felt that this Si gnor Arnaldi night be the one to fix some thing up, just what, where or when, he had not the faintest. They had not mentioned the matter further. Curious how it was possible to find some legitimate case for the operations run by the big gam bling and other syndicates. This was the all mighty land of the almighty dollar - and the rules in the book were headed by one capital Law: If there is a Market , youve got a Winner. There was a very marginal difference between unloading junk , or percentages, and the closed profits of some engineered Military Communicatio ns Construction Project all wrapped up in a fattening Government Contract.

He and the Italian had said an apparently friendly goodbye to each other. The la tter had indicated that it was possible that they would not be meeting again, in the near future. His final words to Blanik were something to the effect that no t everybody had read Burckhardt, and that he should hold well to his own counsel . Only a few minutes, after his arrival back at the pad, he had received a call fr om his good lady, up at Clear Lake. She had telephoned, just like any dame, to s ee how he was, and to let him know that she would be back the next Thursday, or Friday. He did not go into any of the details of the events that morning there w as not a great deal to tell her anyway. He barely mentioned that he had somethin g going and that he should have some news for her on her return. He told her to hurry on back. So, that was that. For a few days at least. Going into the kitchen to fix himsel f some fresh coffee, he vowed to push the whole barrage of half insane ideas th at had been crowding up inside his head for the last half hour, right out of the picture. Until that expected phone call, sometime next week it was of no use to even consider probabilities. He might not hear of anything at all. Perhaps he would ring Floyd though, just to let him know that maybe there was some deal com ing up. Earl Floyd was an Afro mestizo, half Negro and half Mexican stock with a piece on his shoulder was more of a hunk than a chip. Always ready to make som e bread he was not afraid of the fuzz. Blanik knew that just about now he was lo oking out for some setup. He needed a get back to his woman in Salt Lake. Yeah, he would sure be interested. The next few days then, Blanik would have to himsel f .He intended to carry the scoring of the cello part of the main work. Monday m orning however, Neill had rung him and asked him to come on over to Berkeley and listen to a series of tapes which he had been cutting together. Neill was a cat down from Canada on a fat grant that he had managed to land from some Canadian Government Board. It was for one years study of any advanced musical subject of h is own choosing. When he gone for the final interview the sympathetic panel had made only one reservation about the length of his hair. This was that whatever he produced at the end of the year was not to have too many allusions to either Liszt or Chopin. This he had assured them was unlikely, as neither of those two gentlemen had had access to a tape deck. Owing to some truck accident on the bri dge, Blanik did not get over there until about lunchtime. They immediately went down to Telegraph to pick up some Mexican food. During the meal, Neill had brou ght up his favourite topic these days which was the effect of listening to all k inds of music, under L.S.D. He was an old head and had been tripping, fairly re gularly, for the last two years. It was only recently though, that he had starte d to analyze and note down ,the perceptions of his own and other composers works, while stoned out of his mind. He was working his way through a selected number of pieces. Locked in his studio , up at Hillside he would investigate and try to capture the insight while under the influence of the drug, as he listened through his outstanding Hi-Fi unit, o r retraced, odd tones and ideas, at the piano. These experiments did not seem to be affecting his own progress adversely, for the moment. He spaced the explorat ions over the weeks and approached the whole in a rational, almost scientific-ma nner. His notebooks, at least to a musician, though extremely subjective, reflec ted, particularly in his delving into the early German Baroque, and the religiou s impulses of a man like Heinrich Schutz, an inward comprehension, rarely found outside a cloister wall. Blanik thought his commentaries worthy of publication, even if the cat was one d ay to be found insane, his mind tapping a tindrum, in some lost and ethereal key. Lately, he had been having a listen to some of the more esoteric, final compos itions of Beethoven, particularly the string quartets. As usual, that nervous ag ile mind was extremely articulate and convincing and ranged through a whole subj ective emotional vocabulary to prove the validity ,and to attempt description of his superlative experiences. He begged Blanik not to interrupt him, and to perm it his account of a recent event, about one of the last Sonatas. So, anyhow, it must have been about one hour after I dropped the tab some of Owsl eys Purple, I was told. I had come down from the first free peak and was just cr

uising along. You know, that L.P. of Fou Tsong doing the last but one Piano Opus 110 well, I d already laid that on the deck. It was too much. It must have only been playing for a mere five, maybe ten minutes, when I sat up from the speaker s, imagining that it was finished. Somehow that whole poignant singing theme was the initial statement. As if, what had been said there was of such a wide huma n sentiment, that anything more must be even unnecessary, that any higher spirit ual idea outside of this human condition was superfluous. That within the consci ous Being, was all that might be known. Blanik considered interrupting Neill, to ask him about the relationship, that he must have noticed between the tones of that initial theme, but thought better o f it, and allowed the verbal assault to continue. To listen to the work under normal conditions requires a good control, especially if you are following the score. There was, as well as the heightened emotional reaction, an extended awareness of the individual spatial and temporal grouping of the notes. I seemed to be able to catch, yet again, the pianists finger, or ra ther the composers mind, seeking the derivation of every key. Each individual ton e, or sound, entire to itself, would rise through the vibration of the wire, to burst out through the resonance of the box, and on outward, the wave trapped in the air, entering finally my ears and brain. All of this was in a suspended slo w-motion. There seemed often to be no form or pattern to the phrases, the idea o f any prior prearranged structure to the music almost meaningless. Each sound p resented itself to the human for analysis and absorption. He paused for breath, and to take a mouthful of the paprika filled hamburger tha t awaited his attention. His voice was at a more normal level, as he continued: What was so clear, as in all these trips, was the idea that the lines of aural pe rception had swung fully about - that one was in fact, in the same field of list ening, as was the composer himself. Technique, however, was another question al l together. You know, Mike, I was almost in tears for many minutes, in just plai n sympathy for that poor old man and shared I felt, some of the bliss that he ha d been forced to find within his solitude. The ability he had found in spite of, not because of his suffering. That man could see far, far beyond all of this a nd he did not need any Acid either. So many of the straight listeners think the y are really getting inside as they sit on their soft asses in the Halls. Who kn ows what limitations are self imposed upon their perceptive resources. Maybe a m usician, or an aesthete can reach two, three times that degree. The spiritual w orld that Beethoven was resident in, at that time in his life I think you will a gree, is so far removed from the everyday as to be beyond comprehension. It is a world of Divine madness. Hey, Hey, hey! For most people, a wall better left u nscaled! The waiter brought Blanik his side order of beans. Looking about him, as two gl asses of lightred wine were poured out for them, he caught the amused eyes of sev eral people at the other tables who were perhaps digging the free entertainment that Neill was laying out for them. The enthusiastic description continued, thro ugh several mouthfuls of rice and sauce. It was not so much the intricacies of old Ludwigs composition, that slayed me, but the sublimity of some realized experience, that had been recreated within the m easures. I managed to make some notations on the score, mainly regarding the den sity of certain passages. But the high point was without doubt, the final arioso dolente, that fusing; of the tragic elements of experience was so heavy, that I t hought my heart must collapse, under the intense pressure. Nobody, nobody will h ear it, or rather feel it, like that man did, nor might they wish to. He put down his knife and fork, and wiped some wine from his heavy moustache, and without eating further, tried to conclude his narrative. The bass part reverbera ted and underscored the burden of sadness. The lyrical figure seemed taken from some Eternal manuscript like the work of Bach often does; an extract from an unk nown source. Then, as the final fugue turned its circles, there was an extraordi nary dual wave of both elation and sadness, repeated, and standing off to each o ther the light and the dark poles, alternately dominated my senses. Finally the re was introduced a clear, running theme, seeming to swing free from the load of the restated aria, and to step through to a state of spacious freedom, even of

enlightenment; high, up above the two understood paradoxes of experience. He wa s such a giant, himself, a master, above his own fate, and that, in a way, which , now, one hundred and fifty years later is only just being understood. Let me t ell you the final analysis I made about the nature of the fugue section, after l istening to it maybe ten times. . . .. The torrent of words finally slowed. Bu t I must be boring you? Mike replied, that quite the contrary, he found his trip tales very stimulating and interesting, though he would rather be up at the pad, discussing some of Nei lls own musical ideas. They, therefore finished the meal, as quickly as possible, and headed back to th e improvised studio and spent the rest of the evening listening to, and initiati ng, the editing of the tapes. As Blanik left that night around eleven oclock, he mentioned just briefly his ide a of a dope thing to Neill. The reaction was not over positive he merely reckon ed it to be madness though such a qualification had before now, been the tonic k ey to greater things. Sitting in the bus, on the Bay Bridge he got to thinking about the extraordinary account that Neill had given him in the restaurant that day. Just how one migh t measure such experiments in a rational framework was quite a problem. There w ere many psychologists ,who dismissed the whole experience under the effect of s uch drugs, as being totally bogus. This though was to deny the validity of most transcendental experience, from Yoga to the more obscure of Christian mystics. A fter all, who either on the inside or out, was in the position to judge; one way or the other? He had taken a few trips himself, in the last year. Mostly he had overwhelmed by hallucination and found himself trapped in his own associative alley-ways. Cer tainly his understanding of small divisions of tones had deepened. Once only had he found a supreme moment of complete Satori or ego loss, or whatever one wanted to call it. That had been a humbling unique and accepted experience. There was no denying the after effects, psychologically speaking, in the use of any drugs from aspirin on upwards. There was always, after a trip a follow up o f strange character and thought-pattern changes. These had played havoc with his work - he reckoned that he did not need any similar mentally-splintering tricks , for the present moment. He heard nothing, on Wednesday. Maybe nothing was going to come through from al l that probing, last Sunday? Still, he had made some good progress with the new cello score and had even got around to considering some alternative means of gat hering the necessary geld. He just had to get something together and quick. Then on Thursday, about half nine, the phone had expectedly rung. He knew what i t would be all about before he even picked up the arm. A soft unhurried voice as ked him for his name, first and then, whether or not he was still interested in a proposition. The voice was not that of the Italian, Arnaldi without questionin g that fact he had answered positively. An address and name were given to him, w hich he was told to repeat: Eight ninety Leavenworth, at Post, Apartment 3O2 Mister H. Bamberg, okay? He was t old to go over there that morning, as soon as possible. The other phone was retu rned to its rest, just as soon as he had said he would be across. Pulling on his boots and black jacket, he was out of the building and walking up within five m inutes. He could already feel his hand surfaces becoming damp through a nervous anticipation; his heart too was working like a small pile-driver. Slowing his wa lking pace right down to a stroll, he began to think of what he might say, but s oon dropped that line of negative thinking. After all, he had but no idea of jus t what the scene up there was going to be. They could have set up anything, or n othing. A break in, even. Maybe somebody just wanted to give him a once-over? H e had an instinct that it would involve drugs of some sort. That was where the a ction and the money was, these days, even up at an organised level. Well, that w as how he heard it anyhow, He did not think anybody was going to give him a bum steer. That was not the way it looked an why should it? He soon reached the number, on the corner that he had been given. It was one of those large white blocks of mansion apartments built after the First War, for th

e wealthier workers in the city. It was not over imposing from the outside. On e ntering the lobby through the polished plate glass doors he felt again the limpi d touch of quiet respectability, that one found all over the city s residences. Always pleasant enough, concealing, as it often did, a genteel, preferred ignora nce of the more realistic side of Life such as the conditions South of Market, o r in any of the Ghettoes, Hunters Point or even round Alamo Square. Waiting for t he elevator, his eyes took in the faded green chairs and the davenport; the bras s pots with their large indoor plants, and on one wall a huge unused baronial fire place, with its daily polished irons. Up on the third floor, however, there had been some attempt to vary the norm. The walls had been left roughly plastered in white stucco and each apartment door was styled like that of a castle stone arc hway, with odd pieces of decorative black iron on the woodwork, to really add ef fect. Pulling the lever above the discreet plaque marked Pull, he was inwardly am used to hear the dull rattle of metal bells from somewhere inside. The kind of man that was about to open the door, he could not possibly imagine. Yet he coul d see that living here was to be preferred to the uniform anonymity of a more mo dern block. The door was opened quietly by a smallish, middle-aged man, whose un moving dark eyes tried hard to penetrate, for one moment, the equally curious st are of the caller. He was motioned to enter. An unsmiling voice spoke from over his shoulder, as he walked up the short length of the tiled entrance hall. Good. I am glad you were able to come over so soon. You must live near here then , Mr. Blanik? The question was left temporarily unanswered. These places were certainly built for comfort, he thought. The half balding head edged past him and ahead into a s mall library. His host, he observed, was wearing a dark-grey suit of some synthe tic material; which, from the rear, looked as if it might have been made for som ebody else, perhaps a Cinema manager, or a debt collector. Do take a seat. Well. . ..would you care for a drink, whisky or bourbon? Blanik nodded, but showed no preference. The inquisitive stare emanating from be hind the mans thick glasses was returned. Sitting behind a large desk, the guy wa s even shorter, there was not a great part of him to be seen. He had the air of a person with a sorry inferiority complex that was perhaps sublimated in the hus tle for money. It was often the case. He appeared to be weighing up his visitor, no doubt with similar feeling, perhaps surprised to find him, with reasonably s hort blond hair, and not too unconventional clothes, the opposite to one of the more colourful characters, that he had been curiously expecting. Through another upholstered door there unexpectedly appeared a Japanese woman, o f delightful petite beauty and ink black hair, holding a small tray, on which st ood a decanter, a bottle, two glasses and some water. She set it down silently, upon the desk. Bowing to both of the men, the elder first, to the amazement of the fascinated younger man, whose eyes were fixed by the porcelain like fragilit y of the girl, she walked backwards to the door. Her face was not of an occident al beauty, yet she had a pale and delicate aura. She turned and the door closed silently behind her. Blanik found himself pondering the obscure erotic rites to which she was probably subjected by her paunch-bellied, and fat fingered master . I see you are a man that can discern the beauty of a foreign female form, Mr. Bla nik. But then, that would not be unnatural, in a musician. She is really most un usual. She is both mistress and servant, and she keeps both life styles quite se parate. Nothing is demanded she is always ready to laugh, or play the flute, as she sings some of the pretty songs of her own land. It is a pity that you can no t hear some of them, perhaps some other time? He pushed the water jug in the dire ction of his guest and poured out two generous glasses of whisky. I do not have any interest in your motives for approaching Signor Arnaldi the oth er day, he. . ..er, did seem to be satisfied of your intentions. For the last f ew days he has been bothering me over this matter. Still, I think we can give y ou a small concession. You look as if you could do the job, at least. It would b ring you the desired remuneration, and at the same time save us some small troub le. Raising his glass, he continued, Your complete honesty and confidence in this affair is taken for granted. Nor do you have the appearance of a plant, I need

not remind you of our ability to remove any of our members, who, shall we say, f all by the wayside Raising his glass in a quasi salute, the younger man grinned and yet answered fi rmly, If I were a fool, Mr. Bamberg, I would have not survived this far, down the line. You can reckon on me. Alright? Good. Well, I will outline what we would like you to do for us. Here is a pencil and a block of paper. Make whatever notes you wish to, but naturally, you are t o be discreet. He paused and looked straight across into Blaniks face. You are no doubt aware of just what Lysergic Acid is? I am sure most people in th is country have some strange knowledge of it, even if they have never come near to sampling it. This is....... He was interrupted by the question, Have you ever taken a trip yourself? The sombre eyes froze, and an unpleasant, plump, whitish hand shot forward, in a gesture of admonition. That, rasped the voice, is none of your affair, in the first place. And secondly, y ou misjudge to whom you are speaking! I suggest we get down to an immediate and undivided exposition of the matter in question Or else we may as well forget, t he whole idea! The figure recoiled, with the voice, and took a small piece of plain-card from h is jacketpocket. Blanik apologised. He took a grip of himself. This sure was no game he was getti ng into. It was years since he had felt his stomach muscles pull, like that. We would like you to collect some packets. Ten in all, containing chemicals from Mexico City. If you do not have the money for the journey, I can arrange all tha t. There is no money involved in the transaction of the goods themselves, at the collection point in Mexico. They have come in from Europe, and all that has bee n settled. So,.... all that we require you to do, is to pick the stuff up, and then take it over the border to a dealer in Dallas. This is what we will pay you for. How you cross the border is your own problem, the packets will weigh about twenty pounds, I think. He halted the flow of information momentarily, as he lig hted a cigarette. Hell, this sure sounded like a real party, thought Blanik, his curiosity already stimulated. Our normal couriers are unhappy about doing this run, I must tell you. Chiefly be cause of the increase in border surveillance during the last three months. Two o f our regular men were picked up last month naturally we lost the consignments a s well. One of the boys was even escorted from a jet at Acapulco, and the plane searched. The Agency is trying real hard to hit the sources of both the hard and soft narcotics. They are out to prevent the raw materials for many of the goods from coming into the country. He studied Blanik, who was already in his own deep thoughts, and continued. I do not think you should run into much harassment, provided you cross at one of the quieter points, or fly some peak hour domestic line. There was a silence for some thirty seconds. Well, go on, it sounds like a challenge to anybody. The lip of the decanter scraped the edge of the others glass, as he recommenced p rogramming the job. You realise, of course,that just like any other line of business ,this is entire ly your own risk. That, in the event of any failure, or even arrest, we cannot b e connected with you in any sense. Any mention of this end of the arrangement, w ould have the most unfortunate consequences for you, or for anybody else, in a s imilar position: you will agree, that a prison sentence, and a suitable monetary gratuity afterwards is, are preferable to any such unpleasantness? The no in his voice was only too clear. The mention of possible detection and prison did not deter the listener in the l east, he had already seen the other side of the cage would see himself off, or b e certified insane before going back for any stretch. Now. In Dallas, you would deliver the goods, as specified and also receive paym

ent, in whatever way you wanted, for our/in this run. The amount will be somewhe re around fifteen thousand it can be paid into any account you name, just as son as the packets re handed over. How do you feel about this? Blanik stood up, pushing his hands into his pockets, a habitual stance of his, he started to pace back and forth across the room several times. His mind raced fl eetingly over the outline of the deal, the bread, what he would make from it, an d lastly the alternatives, whatever they might be. He halted, facing Bamberg. Well, I guess Ill have to do it. Though I would like to sleep on it. I will ring y ou tomorrow morning. I would sure like to know, just how big each of these packe ts is. Also, if the connection in Dallas will be all set up, when I get back the re. I dont want to run into any police show or anything. Bamberg answered him firmly, quietly That such an operation involves many risks, you will not have to be reminded. On both sides, we must trust people over whom we have only the most distant control. That does include yourself, what do we re ally know of yourself? Mexico City is fairly tight, we have had men down there f or a number of years. As for Dallas? Well, the score is to be made with some peo ple with whom we have done plenty of business before today, though they do have some strange habits. Blanik added, Yeah, Dallas is a real cattle ground its full of cowboys. There was the intimation of a smile on the others face. There is no necessity for you to deal with those people in cash, you know. Your split, along with that for the deal, can be all settled through credit-transfers. That would clear it all to this end. We usually settle payment in some such manner. You cannot go around carrying sacks of silver dollars these days. He smiled and assured the dubious younger mans thoughts, telling him once again that the payoff would be no troubl e. As to the size of the containers, they are usually about the size of. . Lets say a large book, like a dictionary. Perhaps two inches deep. They surely can be hel d in a large suitcase, or beneath the seat of an auto. But, that is your proble m. Do you have any other questions? His head was full of questions, yet none of them could be answered by that littl e guy behind the desk. They would have to wait most of them were only minor irri tant points, anyway. Miss. E. would front the geld for the trip. He could try t o ring Floyd in on this for a share. He could come down with him for a wad, and he would still have a fair roll for himself, and the lady. More than enough, at any rate. The crossing would not be difficult he looked pretty straight, for the se days. Maybe he would bring some smoke back with him. He took his glass from t he desk, and finishing it, stood back from Bamberg and said, Okay, Ill go through with it. Anything else that comes into my mind I will ring you about. What about the details? The other stood also and handed him the small card. He slowly read down the thre e names and numbers on the card. The first was obviously a San Francisco number, probably that of the apartment - after the number were the dudes initials and th e notation in brackets, 24 Hrs. The second number he took to be that of the contac t at the Mexico end, initially anyway. Lastly there was another United States nu mber, part of which he recognised to be the area code for Dallas. Well, that appears to be all that covered. He put the card in a rear pocket of his jeans. At least the enemy cannot steal the information, he remarked laughingly an d repeated that he would do the job. The face on the other side of the desk gave him a strange look and came round to the front of the desk. I would advise you to keep all your plans and ideas to yourself, whatever they may be. Let nobody know of this deal. Do you intend to take anybody along with you? If so, I would be wanting their names, and other details. Though a solo op erator gets through the barriers easier, sometimes a woman can help out. I am su re you understand. By the way, do you speak Spanish? It would be a help? Blanik replied that he knew a little. He remembered that Floyd had enough to get around so that would be cool. Together they walked the few paces together, over to the door. With what he felt to be a rather indifferent handshake, they promised to respectively get in touc

h with one another, within the coming week. All other things being equal. Out in the corridor, away from that claustrophobic room, Blanik felt a real wave of unexpected relief. This was only the start. There were a good few problems to think about even before Bamberg gave him the go ahead. Apart from a hundred d etails, there was the main hang-up, of just how he was going to sneak the mercha ndise back) into the States. He sure didnt want to end up on a Federal drug rap w ith twenty plus on the top-line. Without any particular intention, he commenced walking Eastward, in a down town direction. There were so many incredible thoughts already crossing his protestin g consciousness. From, just how he was going to get South to Mexico, which was sure goin to be a good ride, to the other end of the whole set up. He was also d reaming about the possible freedom that would be his for a while, if the whole t hing came off. With that sort of stake, he could even organise his own damn con cert, to hell with the impresarios and agents, and all that crap. He began to ru n down the hill, laughing as he did so. Perhaps he and Neill could arrange, prom ote, and perform a whole modern, electric chamber music concert, over in New Yor k, or what about London, that would blow a few minds. As he crossed down to Geary, he halted and thought about getting some lunch. On the next block he remembered there was a tiny Mex place rather appropriate it wa s called Casa Chiquita, or it used to be. He used to go there in the old days, w ith George. That was when he had tried to combine Accounts Receivable and serio us composition. The attempt had not mixed up at all well, on all sides. After practising half the night, trying to master some harmonic understanding or a work by Debussy, he had never been in any condition the next morning to face that sucked-out bastard Simons. The crum should have been put in charge of the garage under Montgomery, never mind acting vicepresident of the company. If that was all his executive training had taught him about people and their life motiv es then either one or the other had been skating around a different planet for t wenty five years. But that was all way back several years now; and there was no going or looking back now. The coloured-waitress brought him a smallish pastelshaded omelette with some pota to salad and a glass of red wine, for which he paid nearly two and a half. Thin gs should get a little better South of the line CCHK he thought. From his rear-p ocket, he pulled the small white card that Bamberg had laid on him. The three se ts of names and numbers seemed to hold him in meditation, for some blinded momen ts: H.B. 4159217891 (24 Hours) J.R. Serrao 117980 Ed. Silva 214-LA67942 He deliberated over just what he was landing himself into. No matter, he would h ave to go through with this. He just had to move out a little. Stay on the cle an line and he reckoned he would still be there in five years. He resolved to s tick by whatever opinion his good woman would have about the whole undertaking. On most matters she had a real stable answer; some result of her being from Eur ope, he supposed. Also, she had never been a user of anything in excess. Sure, things were moving, it was only just on a week since he had hit on the whole hea d crushing idea. He thought he would better off to go on back to his place, after this bite, neve r mind wandering around the Square. He would give Floyd another call and note do wn some of the routine points, that would have to be seen to that is if this who le show was to get on the road. There was the question of fixing a transportati on pod, or finding some cool flights there and back, and those just for a couple of starters. Leaving the eating house the germ of a fresh melodic idea came into his mind. I t had fired in thinking of the strange polarity between himself and that other a rranger earlier that morning. When she did eventually arrive back, he simply told fine Miss. E., that he was g oing down to Mexico to do a dope thing, an no more. She thought it to be a good b

asic idea, and agreed that there was not a great deal to lose the way things wer e working out in the Big World outside even if you did end up in the yard, then you would not be so badly off for there was always the library. Mike was for ev er telling her that those multihead, multimegaton MIRVS were quite indifferent whe n it came to targets. And your own cosmos could not cease to revolve, because o f a little thing like that, was her usual ironic reply. Her suggestion that she come along on the trip was vetoed right away. For the moment it had occurred t o her of her possible use as camouflage, en route. She had arrived home about five oclock, Friday morning. The ringing of the doorb ell had woken Nike in a cold sweat surely the Feds had not caught up with him ye t he had almost not bothered answering the repeated ring, until he realised just who it must be. With Maggie though, was a full Laced Canadian character, whose long blond hair w as tied behind his head, in a sailors knot; this being balanced by a heavy Zapata moustache. His washed out denims and old Army fieldjacket did give him the air of a bum, though he was outwardly too healthy, and too well creamed, to be clas sified as an archetype. He said he was on his way down to South America; someh ow, to ship out from one of the coast ports or even Panama, and cross through th e islands to the Far East. The evening before, driving down from a commune in Northern California, he had m et Miss. E. between rides, at a Drive-in hamburger joint, outside of Cloverdale. In return for his offered lift, she had invited him to come and stay over a co uple of days at their place. For the last few hours, they had been around at Basin Street West, listening to a disappointing, Little Richard Breakfast Show. The only real kick they had pi cked up from the whole session, was when the Blues shouter, Miss. J. Joplin, in a magical, sequined black shawl had started to dance with herself, out on the floor, to the second encore of that eternal, Bony Marony. Replying to a casual first question about how things were working out with his n ew job, Mike had just told her to forget it until morning. Tony the hippy guy, unrolled a pit on the floor of the living room, to lie on to p of for a few hours, shortly after Maggie had cried into the half warm bed, bes ide her ten days strange man, and had soon fallen asleep. About nine oclock, he slightly disturbed her as he awoke, cleaned up and dressed; within minutes on his way out to fetch some groceries. It was Friday. A calm , shining day in April. Even the residue of the normal, peak period traffic did not seem too obtrusive, as he wandered pensively over to Turk. Life could be just too good, he reflected. Quarter of an hour later, on his return he noticed, parked outside the block of run down apartments where he resided, the large Oldsmobile showing a set of Brit ish Columbia plates. Must have been about a 65, it sure looked like a tank, with its all black finish and heavy fenders. It sure seemed to have all the necessa ry and otherwise working extras. A vague idea came into his mind, Tony was going south, right, so maybe they coul d come to some arrangement, for the journey to Mexico City? Thats if it wasnt goin g to bug him at all. He and Floyd could always fly back, Maggie would cover eve rything. Opening the door of number Seventeen, he could not help smiling at his happy ref lection, in the glass frame. It all seemed to be too much, and to be working ou t okay. Tony seemed also to be a nice enough fellow. He had helped straighten t he pad out after breakfast. He was also far enough into real music, to keep the c onversation with Blanik going or a few hours and, gradually he came around to te lling the latter of his natural affinity for his ian. Neither Maggie nor he, he thought, would have minded a little circus, but, considering what he going to propose later, it would be wiser to keep any emotional complications right out o f the scene. Later that morning, just sitting around talking about the different projections of the hippycult that were mushrooming all along the West Coast, they naturally c ame round to the usual subject of dope. It appeared that Tony was no stranger t o it all. One of the reasons he was out on his own, and travelling. Some minor

investigation at Simon Fraser Campus, near Vancouver, had brought his and five other names to the surface, for alleged grass deals. The whole thing had blown up to a farcical Hell, and he had split. He told Mike that ever since the start of last semester , the whole college scene had been bugging him. From the mone y he had made doing the grass, and after selling all his Stereo outfit, he had b een able to buy the Olds. in Seattle. With dear Aunt Sarahs bonds cashed in, he had a roll of around seven fifty bucks, or so he told them. He reckoned himself to be free at last, or at least with a beginning. Maggie went off to take a shower. Putting on some sounds , Blanik was about to tell this twenty-one years old child of his mothers arms, of the first time he ha d bust out from home. With fifty-three dollars from his old mans cash box stuffe d down his socks! But he kept his mouth shut, and thought better of it ; after a ll, he did want to stay easy with the guy. You could not put a guy down, just b ecause he had been unable to break the domestic stranglehold until his twenty-fi rst year. That was some escape, at any rate. Life was out there all the time, if you were prepared to get up and take a look at it. As if Tony had been reading his companions inner thoughts, he stood up quietly, a nd saying he was going out to find himself some chick, to take to one of the Roc k shows that night, went to zip on his boots. Maggie came in, and thought it to sound like a great night out. She looked over at her man, who, much to her sur prise, nodded his head with some enthusiasm. The last time they had gone to one of the concerts, the crowd of unpleasant, non hip people, in their trappings of weekend hippy gear, had really turned him off. Though that was back about Chri stmas time, which surely had to be a strange kinda time to be playing a gig, bef ore a couple of thousand cats. After Tony had quit, Maggie boiled up some corn and eggs, for lunch. When they had finished, she indicated in her usual most barbaric way, that she required th e services of her mate. With the place to themselves now, the withheld tensions of the last ten days started to trigger. Mike did want to tell her first out t he thing that was in the offing. He was pushed backward into the bedroom, where Maggie s earnest hands began to s lide about his neck and groin. With bared breasts, that were tauntingly offered to his face, she soon had him laughing and had brought the blood pounding into his eyes and muscles. In one moment, she had pulled off her cord Levis and was stripped completely and returned from the bathroom carrying four sticks of light ed incense. These he placed in the small blue and white ceramic holder at the b edside. She was gently lifted and laid upon the bed, cross wise. She knew wha t this was going to be like for the next half hour. In her mans swollen and slig htly bloodshot eyes, there was the same degree of intensity that was usually pre sent, when he was near the peak of some inspiration, or composition. The lengt h of his body, as he kneeled across her, seemed to be possessed by a quivering e nergy. He was thin and agile, though not really tall. His strong, exercised fin gers slowly began to stroke her hair and head. Covering a squarish , even Nordi c head, his blond hair smelled damp. It covered part of wide forehead, where th e burned lines of experience were scored , like the empty staff of one of his mu sic sheets. She did not think of him as ordinarily handsome, but rather, that t he shape of his head and shoulders contained an outwardly visible force of chara cter there, on his left shoulder, just below the clavicle , was the knot of a s tab wound that he had been given once, for free, in New York. Maggie put her ar ms about him, tightly. Bootchkey, where have you been? Come on. Remind me that you dig me just the same as I dig you. Without any further words she allowed the onslaught to begin. It was not all kindly, nor yet, not as she imagined rape to be. It was to be mo re just a basic, primal coupling. Of love-making, as something sublime, but ins tead a more bestial act, which man knew first as an animal long before he could even conceive of the notion of shared and sensitive emotions. There were few de licate preliminaries, nor would Maggie wait for, or even consider them. It did not matter she just needed him so bad and so hot. Feeling his warm lips on her t highs, his teeth slowly but gently biting into her flesh, she reached out to hol d the back of his neck, as the first wave of the subtlest pain swept through her

. Within minutes, she too had entered into that state, in which she also was an animal, responding. Then she was lost. In a closed, salt tasting world of twi sting limbs and a half forced demonic tearing, those thin, frantic fingers held and squeezed. A pulsing heated pain coursed through the silken, dripping mouths of her whole body as she unconsciously returned free a score of pointed, varied caresses. And she just held hard to the shouting figure, so close and fitted against her body and thighs , Whether the tears that finally came were from the pain, or from the heart shattering, shuddering pleasure that broke over her bod y, she could have hardly known. Except too soon, it was over, and moaning a li ttle herself she was holding a motionless head, deep, inside her left armpit. The blond head was also perhaps weeping a little, as it buried itself, with soft words into her body. The roar of his pounding heart began to slowly recede and a voice asked her if he had perhaps hurt her , too much in spite of the several bruises that she could already feel on her long wet body, and the ache of stret ched muscle. She started to laugh out loud. The idea was dismissed with a soft -felt kiss. She did not mind at all the nature of what had just happened. Sexual and emotional release for Mike was like some rhythmic and monastic discip line. He did tell here that it was all tied up with his other creative cycle. What she liked in his attitude, was that the whole human affair was important to him. He did not mind when or how he made love, just so long as it contained a shared desire and love. But then his family were of Slav origin she had never k nown any Englishmen, to whom the whole mating matter was of such a deep and at t he same time, openly emotional importance. As to the shared act of a few minutes ago, most women could only imagine their m an in such a way. She knew also that she would not find such a joy therein, if she was subjected too often, to what he called the ,she was no cave woman an d valued her skin. These were the only times that she did really forget herself completely. The pur e physical lust seemed to find its own inner reference. Usually when they made love together, she thought they found a near-perfect balance between the two ext remes, the warm, almost maternal romantic feeling on the one side, and the prim itive demands of what she had just experienced on the other admittedly willingly . Passive sexual or other exchanges of emotion never had appealed to her dark n ature, anyway. The incense sticks had burned right, the wood, the smoke scented their hair and the pillows. Mike was lying back now, with one hand gently resting on her right -breast. His eyes were shut tightly. She studied the marked and cracked outlin es of his face. There were two distinct sides to his character that, she had so on come to recognise. Two pole like extremes, not easily observed by a strange r, as they were mainly withheld behind a fine dividing barrier , that formed a c entral harmony. Anger was not one of the chief characteristics in the man. This was somehow wit hdrawn and had been replaced with an ironic sadness. When this inner pain, or W eltschmerz as he had once explained it to her, became too dominant, for any numb er of reasons, the total facial balance altered. There appeared a depth of desp air, the like of which she had seen in some photographs of Bela Bartok taken in New York. Mind you, he too was out of Central Europe. The opposite side to his physiognomy was a broad, laughing identity with humanity. When he was working well, or with the first full days of Summer, it was as if some agent had illumin ated his soul. There was a statue that she had seen on a trip through Northern Germany one time. It stood in Braunschweig or Hanover, A stone representation o f Till EulenspiegeJ, as part of a fountain. She could clearly still envisage th at broad, smiling, open-mouthed face perhaps in the laughter of madness. There was the same wrinkled and knowing aspect to Mikes face when he was laughing. It was a crystal-light joy that had its roots very distant, and deep Though she was not certain that her Till was quite such a rogue - not to her, at least. Wiping her forehead and eyes with the sheet, he leaned across and gently kissed her lips and nipples. Pulling her close to him again, he held her shoulders for some seconds then slowly massaged the top of her back. He told her that he wou

ld go and fetch something with which she could wash her mouth. He slipped from t he bed and humming some tune to himself returned within a minute holding a portglass of red wine. He squatted on the bed, alongside of her. Do you really want me to tell you about the thing now? he asked quietly It could e asily wait until some other time. Offering him the glass back again, she answered, Well, there is no need to go into all the details just now, but please, I would like to know who set t he job up for you and what you intend to do. What is the net income, the pickin gs from it, do you reckon? When he had told her, she thought the price fair enou gh, considering the relatively low risk and the lack of any immediate alternativ e. She thought he had better go through with it, and went on to ask him, with a serious tone in her voice. Ill probably be paying for the jaunt, whichever way you decide to go down. Do you think I might come down with you? No, but seriously, Ill make you laugh and keep your pipes clear. How long do you think you will take to do this? Two, three w eeks? Lying down, at the same time pulling the sheet over them both he put his arms ab out her neck and looked directly into her eyes. Maggie, I have thought about that, all this morning, about you coming along I me an before you asked even. I just dont think I will be able to do it, if you are along with me, on the job. As well as everything else, I will be thinking of yo ur being around. An you know how much of a loner I am basically, right? He felt uncomfortable the regard of her eyes, as he went on, to explain his ide a, about getting Tony to run Floyd and himself South. Then to possibly fly the stuff out, alone, meeting Floyd separately again, in Dallas or Fort Worth. Rather unhappily, she enquired, What about the deal in Dallas? Will it be all ar ranged - you know, the money angle from your side..? He interrupted the question taking hold of her head fully, with his hands either side of her face, he kissed her. Miss E, you are a great woman. Most other damn dames would have really jumped on me, really got all bitched up, for my wantin to do this thing, all on my ownsome . You see, everything will turn out real cool and then we can clear out some pl ace together, for a free kinda time. Back to Florida or maybe the Keys. You ca n do some brushwork and Ill start some action rolling to set up a studio some pla ce. The tone of his voice altered. Tomorrow, I would like us to open up a shared acc ount, with the nearest Bank of America, in both our real names, when this Acid, or chemical, rather, has been dropped in Dallas, i. wn to caL the bi wan here, in S. F. , who will sorry, before the deal don Lore he will be told t o transfer the divvy into that account. That will hedge round any foul-up, that could just happen down there. Hey; how does that sound to you..? She nodded, but went on to ask, Wouldnt it be better, if you had me collect the sl ip, up here? The fewer people involved in this thing, the better. Floyd he can pay off when I get back here. And we can always mail an order to Tony. How much do you think I should lay on Floyd, by the way.? Five thousand, three thousand? Could be t hat three would be more like it. Ill offer him that and then see how he comes th rough on the trip. You know what a hung-up sonofabitch he can be. Looks like Ill be doing the border sneak myself, anyhow. Maggie agreed with all this, but reckoned Earl to be a real hard case and a good man to have around if anything went wrong. Putting down the wine-glass, she pu t her arms down, around his slim body, kissed him on the neck, and told him to f orget the whole thing or a few hours, and to get his head down. They had any nu mber of days in which to talk it all over. Taking a mouthful of the Burgundy, she pressed her mouth tightly against his. On opening her lips, the warm wine flowed freshly about his tongue and throat. Th e exchange was repeated a number of times. Then swallowing the soured wine he t urned aside to kiss her between the breasts, and wrapping his legs about hers wa

s soon lightly asleep. Maggie was the one who heard the doorbell. She picked up her jeans and pulled t hem on, as she crossed the hallway, and opened the door slightly to find Tony t here, with his arm on the shoulder of a slight, dark haired girl of around twent y, whom he introduced as Kathy. Both of them seemed deliriously happy. Her bre asts seemed to amuse the other girl, who broke into a fit of giggles when she wa s asked if she was stoned. She certainly had an unusually boned facial structur e and a narrow body, like that of a boy, in fact she was very handsome, for a wo man. Maggie asked Tony what the time was. Returning to the bedroom, where Mike was still asleep, she pulled on a shirt and glancing back to the other girl, wondered if there was anything going on inside that pretty little head. It was about four and she suggested they all get some food and then head across town to the Fillmore. Switching on the FM Tuner, to find out any information going, about the concert that evening, the manic voice of Jim Morrison, of the Doors, drifted into the room. She went through to the kitchen and was followed shortly by Kathy, who was ready to lend a hand. Mike appeared, almost naked, awakened by the music, and went into the bathroom f or a quick shower. He was thinking that he would not find another opportunity, to work on the scores, until he got back. He must remember to file away all the papers and sheets before he left. You just had to pack it in, now and again, r ight? Pulling on a clean pair of chinos and a sweatshirt, he acknowledged the sprawled figure along the davenport and sat himself cross legged, almost opposite, amuse d. When the particular record had finished playing, he put down the towel he ha d been using, and switched off the amplifier on the third shelf of the book cupb oard. The glassy eyed face, emerging from some kind of dream, looked up to ques tion the termination of the sound. A body sat down next to him and asked him to lend his ears for a short while. Listen man. I am in no condition to do anything, cept perhaps sleep a lit tle. Cant you save this for some other time? The voice seemed disembodied and Blanik thought of holding back the request. To hell with it. He would ask the guy right now and then it was finished and over . Tony, how about you giving myself and a friend a lift on down to, Mexico City, ne xt week? Its goin your way. We would even pay for all the gas, an you could reckon on making a few hundred bucks later, for your trouble. We would share the time at the wheel. Thought Id ask you now - then you can think it over, in the next couple of days. Although, by then, I would have to know, one way or the other. As an afterthought he added, You could end up doin the round trip, if you were int erested, and it worked out like that? The spaced cat seemed to partly regain some degree of conscious control and looked toward the questioner strangely. If I a m going to get into any bad news thing, then I jus dont want to know. I was figur ing to stay on around this city for a few weeks especially as I found myself a g ood chick today. He paused, thinking. Still, the bread is tempting. Tell you what. Ill think about it tomorrow and let you know. Sounds as if it would be mo re of a ride than doin that trip South, route 40 alone. By the way, are you and Maggie comin along with us two tonight, to the Rock show? It should be wild. Th eyve got Big Brother, and John Mayall from England, as well as some coloured Blue s Band. I have some grass, so we are all set up and can head over there in real style. How about it? Sure thing, answered Blanik, I was thinking of that myself it should be a good se ssion. It will be your first time to one of the ballrooms? It is a heavy experi ence, sometimes transcendental; especially if you are really high. You really f ly rather like the first time that one hears a piece of music, that you think yo u know well, amplified out in Stereo. Also, but listen straight, would be grate ful if you did think seriously about that ride to Mexico. You would save me a g reat deal of hassle in some ways, and I could do with a desert break. There is nothing crummy in this not at least, as far as you will be involved. All that w e.. His explanation of the proposed journey was interrupted, by the two wome

n, who brought in to the room, for all four of them, some bowls of rice and fish . These were set down on the floor with some glasses of water. Beethoven lived off fish, it is said, and he used to disgust his dinner guests by serving huge amounts of the stuff boiled. If that diet did not affect his brai n, then it must have had at least some reaction from his body. said Mike, as he s tood up to put on some music. Nobody objected. Quietly he tracked in a piece b y Sana martini, for Horn and Strings, then squatted down with the others to eat his chow. A not over inspired conversation, acted as a partial continuos to the background music. Having smoked half a dozen joints between them, they moved on out of the apartme nt, eventually around mid evening, and encapsulated their bodies in Tonys massive wagon. He was taken on a conducted tour of The City by Night, first up on to T win Peaks, then the Bridge. Blanik was at the control column and even found hi mself laughing, at the constant flow of punning inanities, that acted as comment ary to the excursion. Coming back downtown, along Bay Street, they took in Tel egraph and another quick toke each on a TlezzZroll, and then hit that crazy nig httime fairground ride along the Skyway, high over the city, and made it to th e Fillamore some time after ten. They must have spent as many minutes searching for some kinda place to l eave the automobile. Finally Tony and the two women just took off and went on a head promising to meet around midnight, in the entrance-hall. Mike drove about for another five minutes, dropping the crate into a slot on Bourbon Street. There was another show that evening, across at the Winterland Arena there were s cores of young people on the streets of the area. The real heavy shows he had be en to, over the last six months, were down at the Avalon Ballroom. The audience that ended up there, were the really spaced out music freaks. They went there to listen hard, to the hardest of sounds, and to get inside the playing. Most o f the believers you got down there, went along in wearing everyday, tottering, f antastic costume. Their minds truly blown, wire taut in essence, one encountere d there the blissangels and ice devils from the nightmare world of Acid, S. T. P . , D. I4. T, White Lightning, Speed, smag, goofballs , dreari pills, Panama Red, Columbia Gold, sugar and sa lt, rain or redeye you name it and you could have it, f or the price, that whol e halfworld of some isolated culture, where the explorers sought, often in pain, f or some light in the clearing, some metamorphosis of a living stone. Also, well known down there, you heard the finest in sounds, all that Uptown Blu es and layering white Rock electrics. He thought they would still be admitting people to the Auditorium. They usuall y sure packed them in, it was estimated, that when all the live places had a sho w going, there were perhaps two thousand heads listening to the Noise. Paying his three dollars, Blanik pushed his way through, into one of the entranc e aisles. There was an incredible high wall of pulsating sound as he entered the darkened hall. His ears retreated initially and then adjusted themselves to the acoustic level he found himself almost urgently hurrying through the seated crowd towards where the sounds were coming from above all, there was the deep, repetitive underlayer of a bass line that called him , welcoming him, , 4. e. ee. ufeaj , t. s The various projections of his senses continued adjusting themselves to the heig htened awareness of the immediate environment. His eyes attempted to register a nd order the many colours within the frame of light that exploded and echoed bef ore him. There was the smell of the tribe about the arena. Then he caught sigh t of the platform. Seemingly about fifteen feet tall, Miss Janis Joplin was just on hitting her cli max in the final song Ball an Chain. She sounded prominently louder than the first guitar the Company stood, either side of her. The raw, gravel edged, masculine voice, though which particular voice was hard to define, perhaps a shallow alto this was blasting forth as she literally threw her Self into the final choruses . The light show projected on the hundredfoot wall behind her, seemed to be int

egrally part of the crescendo that was building up on the stage, and out on the floor. Except for the scale and the inventiveness of the pulsing, multi patterned visua l whirlpool that was dominating his brain, the light show was rather like a mons trous magic-lantern show for children. A splendid pantomime of abstraction, bou nded only by the imagination of the heated retina of the observer. There was a dynamic, orgasmic quality in the chemically and biologically reproduced forms th at appeared, altered and synthesised upon the film painted wall. Here were the colours and crystal like growing forms of a remembered childhood chemical garden . The very idea that man could dare such a projection, so far above reality, in an everyday sense, was indeed to be playing the rival to creation. There was so mething about the scale of the vision in front of him, that symbolised an extrao rdinary power, barely understood and impractically rendered, an impossible dream . Like a showground ride, on Harrahs Magic Express, here was a Christmas fantasy , a circle given lesson of beauty to so many, unnecessary, and to so few, an in war remembered ecstatic logic. He could sense the high wailing voice, reaching out into his brain and consequen tly into his body, His limbs and hips began to move as that divine din grew loud er and louder, stemming from the monumental sculptural black speakers, that fla nked the platform at either end twelve feet tall, with their ranked batteries of amplifiers behind resting on top of each speaker, rank of secondary-horns, lD E. All around him, a group of them goddamn hippies, in some complete and primitiv e trance, danced their long hair moving to and fro as they twisted and turned, t heir rainbow clothes, with all the bells and beads and jewelry, the passing yet life giving magic of this, their own New World. Then in a final wail of reverb eration, it was finished. Bessie Smith, re-incarnated, returned the shouts and the applause, that matched the music even, as he wandered away, clapping, to t he far end of the hall. Bill Graham, whatever they might say about him, certa inly put on an impressive display of multi media entertainment, or whatever. It was a real professional job. Hundreds of beautiful people, not all so young, stood about in small groups. He recalled his first impression that time he had come here, now about twelve mont hs ago. Some intellectual friends from Berkeley had wheeled him along. He had co me here, somewhat sceptical, most white concerts had never found in him the same spirit, as those shows he used to go to at the Lounge. Yet, after a couple o f hours of dancing , spontaneous and free, to the sound, first a gang called th e Grateful Dead his misunderstanding had been all straightened out. These shows he had come to think of, as Temples of Worship. For this power domi nated generation. Unconsciously perhaps, there was a simple but direct acknowle dgement, through the music, of some superhuman energy. The fact that it was all on a mass commercial level, did not to him, make it all that different from oth er historicallydiscredited religions The enormous emotive power that was produced and laid down, in those trapped electrical sounds, was similar to that arouse d when listening to a Great Mass. Certainly this, and future generations were going to be carrying a load: The bands and the light shows were, if nothing else, a tribute to the science be hind the technology of the Age. The power that the musicians had in their hands was used sometimes with imaginative genius. He laughed out loud as he wondere d what the reaction had been of the first audiences to have heard the large scal e orchestrations of Beethoven. Maybe they too had been overwhelmed by the weigh t of aural stimulation. Certainly the parents of these kids though he had seen the odd older person in the audience, had no possible introduction, in many cas es, toward what might be called comprehending the relevance of these extrovert mus ical evenings. Nor, he reckoned, there a great deal of hope of them relating t o, or controlling, what was happening to certain sections, right through the com munity, of urban youth in the States. Mainly, as a result of various dissident eruptions, the use of drugs on the campuses, coupled with an openly expressive music, there had emanated forth a burden of truth throughout the structures. A s one young worshipper passed him, giving him and anybody else, an undoubtedly an

gelic smile, he thought of himself to be somewhere close to these outermanifestati ons. Though of the ability of the minoritygroups to cause radical change, in the nature of personal and social relationships, he was admittedly a Cynic. After the break, the set kicked off with a very slick-look-in B. B. King, who commenced to put over his urban electric Blues , in a cool and elegant, restrai ned style. His fellow musicians were all together they were a very tight unit. The lead would make contact and standing there so much on the inside, lips pur sed ii concentration, would seek out the very faintest variation and then let i t move out. Behind him, close, to the right, his bass man, so tall and fine loo king worked solidly at it, his attention only momentarily distracted, his line straight and steady, the half-hooded eyes staring stonily forward. Even on the faster numbers, there was no lack of control it was all paced out. They did a real long version of Sweet Sixteen just how much sympathy was necessary in order to really hear the Blues, he wondered. Blanik failed to find Miss. E. , so picking up a tall blonde chick, passing b y, who told him she was from Milwaukee, he started to dance about half way throu gh that number. The sham lines of her thin body moved jerkily she was not reall y dancing with him at all nevertheless the areas of her dress were alive, to th e music. He told he to Come on, and dance. This did produce a change of respons e but then, the song was over. He apologised for having to leave her then, he hastily kissed her hand, and mov ing forward, past the side of the stage, past the calm, resting figure of the dr ummer , made it out to the main entrance lobby, where he found the others waitin g. It was already ten after midnight. All three of them seemed to be alive, es pecially Tony, whose dilated eyes, surveying Mike from a distance seemed to burn outward, he was speechless, just smiling. The exclamation, Wow, uttered several times, seemed to be explicit enough; for all concerned. Kathy had a real fast grip of her man - she found a low ledge by the coke machine, on which he hung his tensed body. Maggie said they should all meet back here, after the final set. She then took Mike by the arm and led him to one of the doors, both of them glad of a breath of fresh air. Tony, she informed him, was well into a trip Mike did not have to be told the tightness of the guys facial muscles and his sudden illog ical movements had signaled the condition to him. Tony had dropped a whole tab, shortly after entering the show Still, he was not freaking out, as yet, and the re was Kathy around to anchor him down. The guy was in there, that was his play and nobody could bring down that curtain. Taking Maggie by the arm, he was forced to push his way back into the hall. She whispered in his ear, that this was surely a long way from the Royal Albert Hal l or the Hammersmith Palais, part of this he could understand. Then, lost in a private world of erotic reference, they started to move. They continued dancin g together for over an hour. As oblivious to the rest of the shaking crowd, as they undoubtedly were to them. The demanding flashing strobe light split their movements into jerking patterns of light , which the brain refused to comprehend . The waves of boosted sound literally flowed into, if not through, their turni ng, swinging frames. The mass of music , held together by a rolling output fro m the bass-guitar, would slacken at times. And the King, lifting the pitch even higher, would shoot up thin elliptical shafts of sound, right out across the ci rcus floor, Animal movements seemed almost automatically demanded base uninhibit ed reflexes, issued from some deep and dormant motor unit, long asleep, somewhe re in the brain. Like the hands of a masseur, the swirling, pervasive rhythms a cted as a necessary physiological therapy. No Strauss waltz could ever expunge the tensions of an Age that had developed such a heavy music. The woman oppos ite him, seemed only to be a tall, shaking and falling doll merely part of an or gy of celebration. His neck and thigh muscles fell loose, and the salt of his forehead ran down his cheeks, into his joyful mouth. Then, fortunately, the men got into some shower number. B. B. King did a real favourite The Thrill Is Gone so heavy and yet so sweet. H e sure sounded unhappy about it, the air of resignation echoing about the listen

ers, some of whom were just happy to stand and listen, to the performers getting inside the chords and outside the condition. Mike and his lady continued to dance, but slowly. You had to get a real feeling in order to dance cleverly to this one. Nothing was going to push the singers style out of shape not even his new, recent, but welldeserved fame. As the man said, it was nice to do the Halls, though. Then the Limey, John Mayall came up to do his thing. He was highly expressive, within the original material. Right from the kicker, there was a soft alternati on, between fast and slow Blues the Spirit was there, alright. From some heavy, slowthundering lament, then back out again to some train number, the driving ins istent beat well matched by the long haired vocalist on mouth harp. The lead to o was right in charge of his bazooka nothing could unbalance the open structures t hat the group set up. They played Spoonful, and several other well used standards . This music, he thought, coming from the same roots as that of B. B. King, did have something in addition to that Negro and Urban alienation. There was, for instance, a desperation and thriving after the impossible, in the bands free exposition. In the older mans work, this had been replaced by a more mature and realised rendering of the same material. There was a quality typical throughou t most of these English Bluesmen that he had heard he could hear a frightening h urt, more like a frustration , that sought through this alien musical-form a wid er outlet a c. iw L g. i&pv The show came to a great finale , with Mayall and the Bluesbreakers these gaunt E nglishmen, like their compatriots The Cream, were bringing home, a mixed. Throug h a native feeling and inventiveness , some of the basic and genuine American Mu sic. They played Otis Rushs I cant quit you babe, with a sore sadness of a man seek ing a solitary comfort. Only soul-brother could get that walking bass to come o ut any smoother and the leads final riff sure came near to tearing out the back o f ones neck. The seriousness of the music from these men had a technical and eth ical quality, that was way out in front of many of the newer home grown products , thought Blanik as the final ringing basstones pulsed on, into the ether. Exhau sted both physically and mentally, but in a strange kind of vacuum high, they m et once again; Tony was all shot to pieces. He was half carried to the transp ort. Then they drifted slowly homewards, their clothes still damp with sweat, their eyes sore and red from the strain. Nobody said anything, hardly. It w as nearly three in the morning. The swoop of the city, apart from higher up o n Fillmore, was all but deserted. It all seemed to be an anti climax, and to be ar no relationship to what they had all just been part of. Heaven only knows, thought Mike , just how the musicians must be back there. Still nobody in the wagon had any complaints even if silent, everybody looked reasonably happy. To ny was gazing vacantly at the streets. After a round of slowly imbibed, even mu ndane cocoa, Maggie and her man fell through into the bedroom. Soon, they were deaf to the initial, mutual explorations of Tony and Kathy; across the floor of the other room; the other side of the partition. On Sunday Floyd came by, it was about mid-day; as promised. The stage had shif ted slightly the evening before, during a meal at one of the Nippon places, up o n Buchanan; Tony had decided he would run down South with them that coming wee k. If they needed him for any other part of the job, then he had promised to co nsider that also, at the time. He had been forced to admit to himself, that if he stayed in this Golden City, then he would not be getting far on his trip to A sia, or to anywhere else. There had been so much happening over the last couple of days, even taking Kathy, as something apart. He knew that his plans would s oon evaporate, if he became caught up in some of those wild, barely credible sc enes about the Haight. Kid there were more important things than to just get lo aded up and ball the screwy chicks. Now, there was a strange character Earl Floyd. Half American Negro, half Mexica n, a crossed chican, , a crazy lad he was entirely self educated. And had even taught himself to really read and write. His old lady had copped out, he said

having her fourth child. But he did not feel sore against Society for his child hood, and realised that there were many reasons, for the nomadic, often happy, e xistence that he had led, until he was near fifteen years. What he did feel rea l bad about, and spent hours demonstrating, and proving it, to any body sufficie ntly interested, was, that having by himself, attained some degree of intellectu al ability, plus a very sharp perception of, and reaction to, the World about hi m, it was generally all thrown back, right in his face. Because of his colour, simply, or the lack of formal qualifications, in a game that he had never had th e opportunity to learn the rules of, all the doors had pointedly been closed. H e was twenty four; a total outlaw from any established lifestyle. Even given work, it was usually shit. Degrading, monotonous and pointless. Of such nature that he invariably left after the first weeks, sick in body and mind, his prid e hurtin, and his blood real hot. In answer to Blaniks phone call, whom he had met once again, after an absence of half a year, over at Clarks pad, he had just halfprojected that he had been seriou sly sussin over the proposition for the last few days. He did not really come on too strong for the border business, although as yet, he did not know any of the details. It sounded like some action though. He was hurtin for some bread and had to get back to Utah that Summer, to be with his wife. Last winter, the whol e domestic round had become so heavy, that he had even started taking it out on her so she had split to Salt Lake. He just had to get moving to some place. L ately the Movement had been getting all hungup, in inter factionary disputes and differences. Few of the men were at all prepared to have a run and blast down s ome bank, or blow a power line. Mike was always telling him that he was an arch etypical anarchist, with his cream colored, blue banded Stetson pushed back on h is head a habitual and personal identification. Floyd still appeared. to carr y a number plate from some mug shot following an arrest for suspected Assault wi th Deadly Weapon, (ADW); there was that certain stamp of a record, perhaps No. A 27440 at Los Angeles on the 13th of the Ninth, nineteen sixty.. three possibl y also there, the reflection of having been wrongly accused, or thrown into the yard. Mike did find an attraction in his concealed personality. There was a withheld fire that he found it amusing to observe flicker now and again, and then roar ou t into flames. He knew nothing about the cat, apart from the details of his pre sent situation. They had come around to talking to each other one rain drenched evening at the Both/And, about two years ago and found the odd meeting since, f or business, or pleasure, equally stimulating. To call him a Panther was no mer e label that guy was a real black loner, in a jungle with few leafy glades and a thousand hunting runners Tony will be taking us down into Mexico and then and there well see how it goes. Mi ke had introduced them and begun to outline the journey to them both. The geld and other parts of the setup he could talk over with Floyd later. In his usual taciturn manner, with the half trusting glance and that reluctantly offered hand , Mike could feel the lack of sympathy for the hippy character, as the two strange rs had been introduced. He hoped that he might groove with Tony later. Floyd h ad a fixed dislike of the pseudo dropouts, and all the weekend trippers, since, so he reckoned, most of them came from the very sections of the System that he felt were indirectly responsible for the sense of injustice that preoccupied his daily life. He was always prepared to give it a go; and his actions, and proba bly those introductory badvibes and tensions would ease off, once they got going, down the road. The women have gone Downtown. So, I reckoned we right jam together, over anythin g that comes into our heads, you know, about this whole thing He pointed to Tony, knows all about the return trip, Earl, an may h ye some i deas on that , also One matter that has been bugging me, is the road condition o f the Olds. Does it need any kind of a check up? Those surfaces in Mexico are something else. As for the insurance, visas, and all that shit, well, we can fi x all that at the border. Or, maybe, in San Antonio. There are some people I k

now, where we can stay and rest up for a day a cool, latterday minister and his w ife. Oh yeah, there is the crossin of the border. He turned to Floyd, whose inst inctive Opinions on such matters he had always listened to he was always straigh t and decisive. If we are cumin back by road, it would be wiser to cross the line in two different places, mebbe both in Texas and steer clear of the California tourist gates at Tijuana , or Juarez. Dont you agree ? Sure , the further East, the better. They get less mean. An you sure are right a bout the roads. Why dont you take the wheels over this afternoon, f or a quick l ook see? You never can tell. Floyd pointedly asked Mike and Tony again, about the condition of the machine. The latter answered, that though the engine was o kay, as that had been all serviced, before he left Washington to drive South, he suspected there was some trouble in the steering, though it should not cost muc h to repair. The discussion went back and forth as they went over a dozen small, but neverthe less important ideas. There was only one major point of disagreement, and that was over the question of whether or not to have Floyd bring along his big, no me ssin automatic. Blanik had no real objection it was some protection, which he di d not think, would be needed. The Canadian, to the others surprise, freaked out for some seconds and then made it plain, that they could forget the whole idea as far as he was concerned, if any of them was going to be bringing a gun along. That was not his kind of game at all, he said and he did not intend to get inv olved with any shooting. Sure, he carried a medium-length blade, but that was .. . . they decided not to take anything else along. At about five, the steam ran out and after a number of bowls of Chinese tea, the y had parted, at least outwardly, on friendly terms. Floyd had to go over to th e Outer ?lissio, for supper, with a l4exican family he was an adopted son to; and Tony, to continue his widening exploration of the city. Blanik, back in the pad, was glad to have the place to himself. He opened up his workbench and after sorting through some papers and sheets, a number of whic h he carefully checked and then threw into the waste basket, he picked up the un covered score to a short piano piece, still incomplete, that he had last looked at well over three months before. Most of his work for piano was very introspective, born probably out of his inhe rent Slovak sensibility, that contained a dash of Magyar fire and some crushing melancholy. The piece, that he arranged before him, had been written during a v ery black and depressive fortnight, shortly before the last Christmas. Maggie, though hardly part of his world, at that time, had found the whole thing regres sively morbid. He had readily agreed. There was, in his mind, the idea for an unusual conclusion, that would seem to offer a welcome glimpse of novelty, the breaking of the spell and the sowing of some new seed, for a New Year. He was obsessed by the Russians. In particular, the songs of Modest Mussorgsky, with their significant and beautiful realism. As he began to play, he felt a shallow, remembered and rush of that head down de pression. The reflective opening phrases of the first bars, brought out, in em phasis, the enforced isolation, and necessary divorce from normal life of the cr eative artist, or composer. There was an emptiness held between the phrases. He had tentatively called the work, Cross Keyed Dark Days and using a lower disson ant key had even managed to capture a memory of those lonely days and even the p aleness of his imaginative mood, prior to January. He concluded the main part of the score and began to improvise about certain ide as, an anti technique he had first recognised within his being, a good few year s back when doing the clubs in Coconut Grove. His mind kept side-slipping, to w hat was going to be the play of the next few weeks. His lyrical playing, behin d his conscious thoughts, seemed to restate the half easy acceptance of any lega l or other consequences of his decision. It had always been the same, he ironic ally remembered, as he paused to make a small notation, for future reference. On days when there is no sunlight, a man is glad to run, toward the soft shine o f gold, or any imagined otherlight. He brought his thoughts to a close there, a nd continued playing. Monday and Tuesday were spent in a chaos of activity. For what seemed like an i

mpossible charge of well over a hundred buck s, the place around the corner had done some work on the brakes and the transmission. Maggie had paid up, not with out some evil comments for the garage, and for Tony. They had also bought a lar ge, fairly expensive suitcase, which they had then carefully broken in , with wate r, razor blades and shoe polish, until it had lost some of its conspicuous virgi nity. Blanik also picked up a second hand lightweight suit and a couple of whit e, buttondown shirts, that he might appear in the role of a young businessman, s hould that be necessary, on the way back. His hair being normally fairly short, the proposed image, in the hall glass, was not far from that of some super str aight young executive. Wednesday, early, he had gone across to Mill Valley to see Jay in his little lov e nest, up in the trees. There was the germ of an idea, that the madman had onc e come up with, for crossing the Mexico U. S. border. Jay was really cluedup about the area around Laredo, and all North of there. He had once backpacked a few hundred-weights of grass bricks across the Rio Grande, all done at night. Unfortunately Jay was not home, at least visibly, that morning, so after a short hike up the mountain, and a further later attempt to contact him, he had walked the length of Blithedale and headed back to the city. Tony and Maggie were around the apartment when he got back. An unusual, severa l sensed atmosphere, as he came in to the main room, caused a trigger to fire, somewhere deep inside his guts. He had shrugged it off, just thinking, that oka y, so it was extraordinary, to find some other guy there, alone with his woman. She had fixed up the shared-account number, that morning. He telephoned to Ba mberg straight away, to give him details of the others who were coming downs wit h him on this thing. The employer was pleased, hear that, just as soon as he wi shed, they were all set up, ready to leave. That oddly ineffectual voice promis ed to let them know, just as soon as everything was organised at the other end. He rang off abruptly. There was nothing to be done now, but wait. Early the next day, he had gone out walking with Miss. E. He did love the woma n, quite obsessively, like some kinda witch. They had walked the Panhandle, to the Museum in the Park. This had taken his mind off the trip. The halls were e mpty and they had the opportunity to have an undisturbed, peaceful look at the a nimalistic and amusing collection of Early Chinese bronzes. About one oclock, th ey crossed to Parnassus, picked up a streetcar and rattled down to Market. That afternoon, sitting around for the awaited call, there were a scattering a nervo us reactions between the four of them, as they literally, hung about the apartme nt. The bell rang about three. Instead of Floyd, whom they were expecting over, th ere was a Union messageboy, with a short , but welcome cable: All O. K. Leave at once. Pickup within 5 days. Hasta la vista. H. B.

What a sense of humour, he thought. So, that was that. Blanik rang Earl, who w as not at home. He left a message. that he should come over, with whatever rag s he was taking, just as soon as possible that evening. After making more coffe e, for all of them, Tony and Kathy had left. He guided Maggie, with no protest, through into the bedroom and slowly closed the partition doors. They made love , for each other for the next two hours. As they lay there, talking quietly, t heir legs locked tightly together, as the afternoon passed away, he was not real ly surprised at her short confession to having been willingly seduced by Tony, t he other morning, while he had been over at Mill Valley. He was not so angry at her , they had a deep enough understanding of each other, to get a short scene like that into perspective. He did feel bad toward the Canadian guy though, wh o had found it necessary to break one of the unwritten laws of a Mans hospitality . He made it clear to Maggie, that she was not to let Tony know of his final aw areness of the whole incident. It was hardly the time to go blasting the whole plan into pieces. Far wiser, he thought, to let it go for the meantime, though he made a mental note, to tell the guy just what he thought of his manners, some time before they parted company. A subtle diplomacy was required in this little affaire, or else the whole show would not get onto the road. He took some grat

ification from the way she finally told him that the whole sexual adventure had not been worth the effort. Very easily, they both recognised a mutual desire for sleep. There was some alb um still playing on the deck, in the other room it sounded like Brahms. It woul d switch itself off, the frozen grooved images slowly stilling themselves benea th the perspex cover. That refugee woodcutter could not be all that bad, if he could be bothered listening to a Piano Sonata, he thought, as he slowly sank int o a light afternoon sleep. It was a coloured dream. He knew of it and could see it objectively, as prophe tic. He found himself in some large wooden room. With dark, winter-black fir trees outside, shadowing the windows. There was another person, below him, a wo man, dressed in black lengths - but he could not see clearly, whether it was Mag gie Evans, or not. The sound of a distant piano, or even a steam fiddle, filled the dream. He was certain he was dreaming. He was floating unconcerned, abov e the piece of Theatre, beginning in the room below. A peal of bells rang out, domestic servants bells, and the door burst open. In walked four oddly costumed figures, looking like jesters, or fools, who, laughing among themselves, procee ded, each in turn, to perform in the middle of the floor, a small dance, like s ome part of a folk , or peasant ritual. The three non performers vigorously app lauded the antics of the other. Pretending not to notice either him, or them , the woman-figure went into a corner and began to give them, or rather offer the m, different types of music to dance to. No matter what she loudly played, and he heard repetitive snatches of Bach, and even some Greek folk music, the laughing glazed figures still performed the same dance. It was even beginning to become wilder and wilder, as the four odd joke rs now began to circle about his body, or what he and they, took to be his corpo real body, down there in the centre of the room. Then, to his astonishment, they turned quickly away and commenced to pulling away the few pieces of furniture f rom the walls. They continued to slowly pull and strip away the thin pieces of white-caulking, from between the split wood timbers of the low roofed building. He found himself joining with them in this insane work, until, turning about, t o discover what was the peculiar roaring noise behind him, he saw that already t he outer walls were beginning to outwardly collapse. A large black space starte d to open beneath him, as he desperately attempted to clamber up the one remaini ng section of rough wall. The indeterminate woman and the four dancers fells al l at once, into a gaping cellar like hole that was now in the place of the floor . Low down, he recognised what looked to be a slowly revolving door. Everythin g and everybody had now disappeared, for he felt very alone. And, sure enough, as the door began to turn, he went along with it. Hardly visible, though in the next compartment, was a little dwarf, who screaming, gave him a repeated forlor n and desperate look. On realising, that he would be also trapped if he stayed with the homunculus, who now appeared to be growing sadder and sadder, he desp erately leapt out of the rapidly spinning door, out into the surrounding darknes s. He had no idea where he might be, though this did not disturb him. Not at first. All about him, he could hear the continuous rumble of motor-engine, of wheels, and transported-energy. He could realise, however, that he was in a hig h control box, above a busy city thoroughfare. In his left hand, was a long bat on, and upon his head, a tall, thin hat, that really wanted only to blow away so me place. With the one hand, he tried to retain a hold on the hat, while with t he other he conducted the imaginary, instrumentally subjective orchestra below. And yet, now there was no more Music to be heard, only a much louder, heated ta lking. He began to cry out, as this dominant noisy situation continued intermi nably. This was all finally broken into, as somebody began to switch on long ro ws of neon lights, all about his head. The monotone talking and the returning e nginenoise still continued insistently. . Just as he was hopelessly about to allow the hat to finally fall away, he obser ved the figure of lain Aindow, or some person closely resembling him, one of hi s earliest childhood friends, coming running through the roaring traffic and the massed waves of sounds, toward him. Desperately he grabbed hold of Iains outstr etched arm. Then he felt himself awaken.. . . .

Miss. E. was leaning over, looking at him amusedly, he had a firm, anxious gr ip of her fore-arm. She laughed slightly and wiped away the tear like wetness a nd inflammation the corners of his eyes. Well, she said, you were certainly enjoying yourself, where ever you were at. O r werent you really conducting, the Cleveland Orchestra? Pulling her down close to him, he remembered again some part of the dream, and asked her, if she was unhurt, all together still, after the fall into the cellar . Maggie just answered him with a halfpuzzled, halfamused look, kissed him light ly, thought twice about pulling on her bathrobe, and disappeared naked, through t he central room, said something to somebody, and then went into the bathroom. Its gone six already, if youre interested she called back. Where the hell was Floyd, he thought, as he started to dress. Both Tony and Kat hy had returned and were lying about in the other room. Somebody had lopped abo ut three inches off the guys mop it was still long, though. Floyd also should be here in the next half hour. He went into the kitchen to pour some fresh orang e juice into a plastic container, for sometime tomorrow morning. That was alway s real sharp. Maggie came in to make some food and he let that go for a while. Remembering about his music, he went over to the box and locked it. He gathere d the odd pieces of his own scores together, and the metronome, and put them all in his desk. He went across then and restarted the Brahms; that was still lying on the deck. It hit him it was only two weeks ago since that first idea had come into his head, when returning from the Coexistence place. Or the Minimum Daily Requireme nt as it had been re-christened these days. It was a week since he got that fi rst steer on to Bamberg. The way these things happen was so external. The way they just came up, amazed him, the development from some initial pulse. And, u p to now, there had been no complications. Nor would there be any, that he coul d foresee. If only that bum Floyd would show up, then they could gas-up the wag on, and split. The earlier on the wheel, the better. Maggie came in to the room and passed some comment about it being that much easi er, to just go and hibernate in New Hampshire that McDowell place, never mind al l this hassle. There was even a trace of nervousness in her voice. She knew her well enough to know such an arrangement would never work. There was an art ificial set to such an idea, that he seemed to shy away from. He was always tel ling her vehemently that Brahms had never needed any foundation other than that of the Hamburg waterfront. Floyd did not show for another three hours. Everybody at number seventeen had e arlier begun to feel really up tight as they waited around. So, eventually they got out the smokes and were soon right out of it. The intensestatic of the roo m soon fractured and dissolved. Blanik put his buzzing mind inside the English translation of M.D. Calvocoressis Mussorgsky, and allowed his own mounting tension to sidetrack. Soon the reels had changed and the flow been re-established. It turned out that the missing guy had only been given the message about one hou r before his eventual arrival. He had been far from a telephone, that afternoon and evening, up the Peninsular, chasing a deal. He had come straight over. Ri ght away they took the gear down to the street, not a great deal, just a couple of grips and Tonys mountain sack, that was all; and the empty suitcase. After the briefest of farewells, standing in the tiled entrance, the three of th em climbed into the wagon. Blanik hated moments of departure that involved sent iment, at any time, any place. He was driving for the first leg and was more th an glad to get moving. Taking the Olds. up to a station on Broadway, he had the tank filled and bought some oil, then at last, headed over the Bay Bridge, thr ough the tolls in the late-evening traffic, avoided the main stems around Oaklan d, and pointed the nose East. For Highway 99 South. 77

ALLEGRO CON MOTOR, PLAYED OUTIN MODO POPOLARE. None of them felt much like talking. Blanik was having to really concentrate on the road. Floyd, sitting next to him, seemed to be in no mood for unnecessary small talk. Soon after they had got out on to Highway 99 it had begun to spit w ith rain. The thin lighted-streaks sketched themselves over the curve of the gl ass; though as yet, it was not too heavy. A half-unheard curse came from the drivers mouth. He had detested this route, ri ght from the first time he had driven up it maybe four or five years before. Eve ry time he came on it, the bloody traffic was worse. In summer the heat was alw ays way into the eighties, if not higher. He really sympathised with those poor immigrant labourers, who brought in the fruit crop, further south. They sure e arned their pickins. And in winter he always managed to hit a rain storm, while g oing down, or at least an endless series of half-finished road improvements. To night was no exception. The thin drizzle filling the shield with a layer of gri t and mud. It was about eleven oclock now the highway was full of big trucks south- bound to Los Angeles. There appeared to be endless numbers of them. As they came up on his tail, he would usually let them pull on ahead. With a flash of their light s, the leap of another gear, they would thunder right on past, trailer an all, sh ifting at a real good lick. Somewhere between Merced and Fresno, they hit some real bad sections of road, still under repair. Twice, because of a combination of poor visibility and the indefinite change in the direction of the route, he w as forced to slow right down. Behind him, some twentyfive tons of mattresses or Kornflakes, also forced to brake, showed instant displeasure with the glare of h is main beam or the blast of his bullhorn. Already, tightening in the back of h is neck he could feel the pull on his nerves. If the conditions did not ease of f soon, he reckoned to pull over and let one of the others take the wheel. Agai n, a yellow flash of light in the mirrors and the shuddering racket, as a long c ontainerrig passed by, at the same time covering the windshield with a wash of fi lth once more. This stretch of road between Sacramento and L. A. must be one of the heaviest used, west of the Lakes although this was nothing, compared to a N ew Jersey Turnpike on a wet Friday evening. If you were an eighteen wheeler com ing up out of San Fernando, then the thought of that pass and the steep descen t, with no run off, was a real fine chaser. For some minutes he tried listening to the radio, but soon switched of f that fu rther distraction. This Oldsmobile was sure a tanklike vehicle. A shot through, dead leg brute. It had been designed, if that was correct, for high speed crui sing, in good weather. Its stability, under conditions like these, was really n owhere. He just did not feel where the four corners of the machine were going. He thought to keep the speed of the heap down to about fifty. To hell with bre aking any records, on a night like this all he could see for the next twenty mil es, or more, was the matt grey surface under the beam; the only thing to break t he monotony, the shake of the suspension, as he drifted over on to the mud and g ravel shoulder. They started to come into Fresno, with its railyards and acres of neon and fluor escent lighting. He remembered back to how he had once sold a motorcycle here, after ridin it up from Florida. Smiling to himself, he recalled that it was an E nglish bike, a big Triumph Bonneville, all done up in chrome. He had been given it f or some work he had done around the Beach. It had belonged to some wild rid er, who had departed this world, but left the bike behind, which had finished up in better shape than he had. That time, the first few hours in Fresno had br ought him three offers for the machine. He had sold it in the end for something like four hundred bills. Motorcycles were fine, they sure took a load off, tha t is if you lived out West, or at the South, but when it came to winter travelli ng, back in the North, that was something else. Pulling off the road, near a cafe, he asked Tony if he would do a stretch at the wheel. The road was better, the other side of the town. The rain had not less ened as they got rolling again the desolate picture, in passing the numerous com

munities that flanked the outskirts, had a nightmarish quality about it. The ye llow blue street lighting shone dimly through a whitish mist of rain. Tony made some comment about the Garden of Eden. Such miserable weather was usually wel l gone, by the end of April. Glad that the wagon had a decent heater in it, Bla nik knew well that in the morning, they would be only too grateful for the venti lating system. The automobile lurched to one side. Tony had run half on to the verge, in tryin g to let some mammoth truck go by. The battery of tail lights blinked a number of times, as the grey, red lettered hulk went crashing past. He looked across at Blanik and quietly muttered some words about hoping all the roads South were not as busy as this one. No. Get on past Bakersfield, especially this time of year, an youll have all the r oad you need. This section is a real killer. Licking his drying lips, he added, Did you want to stop for somethin to drink? Better leave it until this short leg is over. Blanik turned to see if Floyd was awake, back there. To all appearances, he was sound asleep. Dont take too much notice of Floyd. He just gets some weird ideas into his head, now and again. Ive known him for a few years now - most of it is just surface re action. Like all the coloured guys, he is very volatile. Now thats cool if they are warm to what is going on around them. But that guy has so many hangups. With some attempt at understanding, he generally comes through. Tony interrupted him. Well, thanks for telling me. I was wondering whether it w as me, or him, or my imagination, the other day, when we first met. He sure lik es to make sure his opinion is being heard though, right? Ive never been let down by him. Not up to now, anyway. Ah, we disagree on quite a few things. Jus dont. . . you know, get into anything too deeply with hi m, thats all. Tony came out with, Hey! The trucks seem to be thinning out now, thank God for th at. It was really givin me the shakes back there. He switched the radio on agai n. It was the type with a row of selector switches. After a minute or more of frustratedly clicking the buttons, he turned it off. Didnt seem to pick up anything worthwhile in all that lot. It all seemed to be To ny Bennett, or Top-Forty Rock n Roll. Shouldnt we be hearing some of the stations from Los Angeles, soon How far are we from there, now? Blanik said that they must be all of a hundred miles away. Later on they would most likely pick up one of the late night Blues shows. The number of private an d commercial FM stations in the Southern California area was unique in the world . He had heard that there were more than two hundred callsigns. He asked Tony what the situation was, up in Western Canada. Well, it is not too bad. At least there are some people trying to get things mov ing up there, these days. But there just isnt the listening audience to make mos t of the ideas feasible. Its still all commercial the private radio idea would go broke within a couple of months. There are only two and a half million peop le in the whole of British Columbia some writer called it a Gentle Siberia. Any body with any large scale ideas from America, in Media, or anything else, is tol d to come back in ten years time. You would probably find it all very provinc ial, up there. Blanik laughed at that. It sounds just the sort of place to escape to. Or, dep ending how you feel, to escape from. It sounds like a better alternative to Ala ska The two men went on to talk about the far North and the conflicting tales that o ne heard, about the life up there. And the money. They agreed finally that as usual, the only way to find out, was to head up there oneself. What both areas needed was large groups of settlers; like those that had once settled the States , in the early part of the century. With medicine and modern amenities, the who le question of everyday survival was in a different context. Also the governme nts were ready to give big grants to these truck loaded pioneers. Perhaps they should take a few of the surplus hordes from the area of the Third World, in exc hange for some of the cheapjack commodities that were stolen from those people?

There were not many folk around Chicago, who wished to make that move to Whiteho rse, modern man was getting real soft, Tony had summed up. They both found that unremarkable. Blanik remained silent for half an hour. He was thinking about what his companion had said about the commercial network in Canada. Local radi o was a real means of tying communities together, or at any rate, of netting in particular minority groups and interests. Like the jazz freak, or the heavier c ultural suckers they could all feel together. There were a hundred different se rvices and even necessary amenities , that the FM network could help operate. It had always been a kinda mystery to him, how over there in England, according to Maggie, there were only two stations transmitting. It sounded both limited, in social terms, and almost totalitarian, in political terms. They soon made it into, and through Bakersfield. It enjoyed, along with a few o thers in the State, the title of being a purely American town. Looking out on the rows of monotonous sub urban dwellings, garishly outlined against the night sky , that claim to fame seemed to Blanik to be only too obvious. They pulled into a gas station to clean the shit from the windows. The night air, possibly because of the wet fog all about, was heavy with diesel fumes. Much to the relief of both of them, they had just left behind the end of 99. Most of the heavy transport had also disappeared by now. It must have bee n about two in the morning. There was still an amount of activity over in the d irection of the town. The still air was full of the sounds of train horns and r epeated metal hammerings. High arc lights shone through the general illuminat ion and shrouded long anonymous buildings in a spectral white light. Soon, thought Blanik, they would be out in the desert. Tony had mentioned earli er, that it would be the first time for him. Sure be good to get some of that d esert fresh air and see the stars up there. After another hours slow, relaxed driving, they came down to the town of Mojave i tself. Tony, who wished to change drivers, wanted to know also, if they might find a roadhouse, or some place, open at that time of the morning. They motor ed to the far end of the deserted Main Street. Unexpectedly, just on the limits of the town, there was a Dennys place, all lit up, and open. Shaking Floyd awak e, they parked the wagon in the empty lot and stiffly falling up the entrance st eps, entered the bright light interior. There was only one other customer, a blue overalled mechanic, who was a spare pa rt to the service station outside. They sat down at the bar and a spectacled gi rl handed them each a decorated menu. She seemed disappointed that their order consisted only of coffee, and a Jumbo plate of pancakes. Outside there had been the sharpness of early morning and they were thankful for the dry warmth in the place. The waitress told them that they did breakfasts for shift workers all ni ght. None of the three could be bothered to enquire of, or further, any return information, about themselves. The sameness of all these restaurants and coffee shops, on the highways in the W est, had always amused Blanik. Looking around, he saw once again the identical decorative plaques, the imitation leather seat cubicles, the glass jar sugar dis penser, the aluminum napkin containers in fact perhaps a dozen stereo typed fixt ures, that he was old friends with. Over the last couple of years, even the cof fee had begun to taste the same. The custom of free refills had also disappeare d from many of the places, especially those, in and around the larger towns. All over the States, these plastic units, from Louisiana to the North Country, w ere a sore evidence of the poverty of corporate imagination and its effect on ev eryday life. Not one of the companies that operated these places had learned a lesson from the horrors that had been erected back East, soon after the War. An d nowadays, once off the main highways, many of the smaller eat houses, where on e had been able to find simple and cheap cooking, had been forced to shut their doors. Still man, thats Progress, he said out loud. The girl smiled wryly, uncomprehendin g, and then, to his surprise, poured out a second cup of coffee for him. She lo oked as if she was working here, on the graveyard shift, to pay her way through College, toward some standard, even worthless, paper qualification. The System sure knew how to utilise the labour force to its maximum potential, he commented

to Floyd. He did not want to know. The pancakes were not at all bad, the Maple syrup sure tasted good, at three in the morning. As they left, the prospect of numerous repeats of that particular scene, over the course of the next few days, caused Blanik to shake his head, in disbelief. They decided to sleep in the car, for a couple of hours, then, all sharing the d riving, to maybe get on into New Mexico, or Texas, by the early hours of the nex t day. The thin condensation, thickening on the window and melting into miniatu re puddles, was perhaps a subtle reminder to each of them, as they huddled down into sleeping positions, that from here, right through across Arizona, New Mexic o and West Texas, it was going to be all desert and mountain. The heat and the distance of the day, the black, cold roads through the night. Blanik sat up again and asked Tony if he wanted to come outside with him, for a look at the night sky. Floyd thought they were both nuts, said so. Together, t hey walked away from the lights of the restaurant toward the blackness of the ro ad. The stars overhead were clouded pin points in a vast indefinite Astral Dome, tha t arched from horizon to horizon. The detail was total and overwhelming. Both agreed, in considering the awe that primitive man, and those nearer the end of t he second millennium, this side of the Zero, must have held toward this last and greatest mystery. Floyd switched on the ignition and shifted Mikes feet from the driving seat. I ma ke it aroun five. Do you two wanna get goin? There was a grunt of affirmation. Tony was still well asleep on the back seat. Pulling slowly out of the parking area, there was already some sign of the dawn in the distant sky. By the time we really hit the desert, he thought, the sun should be up, and shit, right into my eyes. That will be cool. Floyd pressed o ne of the catches that lowered the windows. It opened the one adjacent to him, about one inch. After ten minutes driving, he shut it again. Putting his foot down hard on the gas pedal, he pushed the lever into overdrive. The powerful en gine kicked automatically, as it took up the load, and keeping the needle around eighty, taking the middle of the road, he headed for Barstow. Soon after cross ing the junction of the old road, three ninety something, that comes all the way down from Oregon, he shouted the other two awake. The sun was just starting to rise over the mountains to the East. Turning in his seat, he urged them again. Hey, you two. Look at this damn light show outside Blanik woke quickly, leaned over the back of the seat and shook Tony urgently. He told him that here was something worth watching. He dug around in his grip a nd found his shades and gave the spare pair to Floyd. He also came across the c ontainer with the juice in it. It was lukewarm, but nevertheless, a more than w elcome mouthwash. The sun was a yellow white ball of fire as it rose slowly between the lined, bla ck peaks. Its fractured rays spread, the low range that flanked the highway. T he light had not yet reached the floor of the valley-basin that they were crossi ng it did not do so, for maybe another ten minutes. The peaks that were caught in the rays were thrown into a sharp, purplish relief against the pale blue sky. The rows of darkened cracked ravines that cut down through the sloping backdro p of ash coloured rock, were like some grim sword cuts. As the sun rose higher over the landscape, Tony, to his surprise, saw that the s plintered buttresses, three minutes ago so uniformly grey, were now beginning to take on shapes and characters of their own. The different coloured shales, all of reddish and brown, creased with whitish screes, soon began to give form to t he nearer higher ground. The tops of dozens of small outcrops, that stood up a long the ridges, seemed to break into light and leap into life, as the first ra ys of real daylight spread quickly forward, out along the whole horizon. He won dered if the sundown was half as spectacular. They swung southward and began to climb slightly, up to a higher plateau. Eithe r side of the road, running gently back toward the first foothills were flat-pla ned, boulder fields, littered with the debris of millions of years. The expans

e to the left of the road was already quite light. Opposite, greatly foreshort ened and lying in the shadow of the still slowly rising sun, was an area that cl osely resembled some photograph taken on the moon. He imagined that it should h ave been possible to run quickly across to the peaks, where the flat, tilted-pla in ended, Yet, looking back again, at the other side of the road, he could reali se now, that the distance might have been any part of five or ten miles. The wh ole field there seemed to be tilting away from him. The mass of smaller boulder s rushing away from him into the distance. The floor of the rock strewn desert altered within seconds, like some strange chemical illusion, from a grey pink, cloth like texture, into a uniform waste of buff coloured fractures and stones. Blanik was moving excitedly from one side of the wagon to the other. Sure, he ha d seen the dawn out in the desert many times before, but kept on exclaiming wild ly about different points. Just look at those rays over the top of that needle, there over there to the left . I wish I was out there now, waking up in a sleeping sack. Look at the colours in that ravine over there. Its almost real orange. He wanted Floyd to stop. T his they did, within the next mile. They had not seen one other auto since leav ing Mojave. Finally, the distant bright ball broke free of the highest peaks. A warm soft light diffused itself over the whole area. High in the arc of the cloudless sky , way over to the left, a pale hollow looking half moon still managed to hold it s position, with one dim star as a morning escort. The dramatic and different c olours upon the hillsides faded into an ill grey or a dull muddy red brown. Lat er, even this shading would be veiled, even shadowed in the haze and glare of th e meridian illumination. To his amazement, Tony saw that the desert to either side of the road surface w as full of detail. Strange hued stones lay carpeted between the odd cactus and the shallow rivulets of the dried up water courses. Tumbleweed and sagebrush we re everywhere. Also a thin tree like cactus with long spines. This, he was to ld by Blanik, was called a yucca , or Spanish bayonet, on the spines of which, at night, small insects called pronuba laid their eggs. So this was the Mojave Desert, not the fiercest in the West, but one the early e xplorers had reason to respect. At least back home, if you got lost up in the w oods, you had a good chance of walking out alive, if you kept your cools. Here, in the early days, or even today with a horse, if anything went wrong, you rare ly got a second chance. Already he could feel the heat of this days sun, through the glass. Well, head em up. said Blanik. No stops till we get over to Needles. They were on the last section of Route 66 that came all the way across from Chic ago and St. Louis. He was sure glad not to be going up that road this time. Th at was a long, long way. It was now somewhere about seven. Blanik felt himself slipping off into a light sleep once again. It sure was going to be a long day, too. Today. If they w ere going to make some time on this road. Like most desert-driving, as long as the weather was not rough, all you had to d o, was to point the hood toward the horizon and keep your eyes open, f or anythi ng coming at a similar speed, from the opposite direction. Neither of the two g uys still awake said a great deal. Tony was absorbed looking at the desert scen e, and Floyd, failing to find anything on the tuner, at that hour, just continue d driving along. They passed on through Ludlow. Now they were getting out into the open. He tu rned to Tony and quite abruptly asked, What made you drop out of college and come South? Offering Tony some of the piss warm orange juice, he added, Or did they th row you out? Taking a couple of mouthful; of the warmish liquid, Tony momentarily thought to himself. Well, there was no sweat in just telling the fellow the truth. He m ight have expected this enquiry, anyway. If he did not answer the cat then that would only make things up-tight, all the way through. So, wiping his mouth, h e started.

Well you see, there was this big bust up there. The Law managed to dig out plent y of information from the few they picked up they gave them that easy time spiel if the guys would come across. So, bang, there is me, a grass dealer. From th en on the whole thing became crazier and crazier. You woulda thought that I was the big pusher for the whole of Western Canada, the way that they got into me. You must know how it is. As it was, they searched my own place, and my parents home. In the end, I just cut out. He turned to Floyd and laughingly added, I th ink they expected a Real Time written confession from me Earl shook his head, in half-disbelief. What were you doing at College? Anything original? No. This will kill you. I was studying Sociology, mainly. Shit.. . . . I was just about to quit that whole scene. It was all so much of a waste of time. Do you wanna hear how I came to see the light? he paused, to drink ag ain. Sure, go on. Im listenin, the other indicated. Well, last Christmas, I would go get stoned, with three other guys. One a really far-out guitarist, from Portland. We would usually end up around the Skid Row section of Vancouver. Around Main and Hastings, maybe you know it? Its like that section I ran into in Frisco, around Mission Street. Well, I think its probably rougher up in B. C. There the sun doesnt shine quite so much either. Sometime s, we used to see things down there, that is when we were really high, that woul d make most women spew and many a guy to turn the other way. Those old timers, with the missing limbs and worn out bodies were real outcasts. And there were always some good knife fights between the drunken Indians, they are sorrowfully ruined. I remember some seven-year old kid telling me to fuck off once, outsid e a grocery store, on a back street. You are supposed to think of such sights o nly way back in the thirties, but not today. The amount of smag and coke down t here is incredible, around the doss-houses. Its used like hard-booze, there. He looked over at Floyd, who was still listening intently. The road was straight and empty, the driving nothing. The damn authorities seem to imagine that those guys get into the hard stuff , by some kind of free choice. In fact most of th em were users, because, once they got so far down, well. . . anything was be tter than the black reality. Some of them had not been near a home, or a sweet woman, in ten or twenty years. He coughed and continued. Mainly loggers and cons truction men, from up North. They were all worked out and so finally crawled ba ck to the city, lookin for some place to hole up, and die. There was a screwed u p death wish, in those ones that had enough life left in them to buy a few grai ns. Floyd interrupted him to say that the same thing was common, all over each the S tates, in the large cities. Each one had a Garbage dump. So, anyway, I get to wondering, just what all this sociology crap was about. Apart from the fact that most of the lecturers had never been near a dollar a night f lophouse, or experienced a real slum environment, what they were teaching seemed to be so remote from the actual problems, as to be even worthless. It was like combating subversion, or say increasing V. D. statistics, by reading the tra ding policy of the nineteenth century Whigs, or fixing small enameled notices to the walls of public urinals. There have always been odd companies, or other institutions, prepared to face a clear reality, with some enlightened direction. Okay, so things had been improv ed for the majority, but the way it looked to me, last winter, was this, nobody was going to solve the new, particularly urban problems of the last part of the 20th century, by handing out unrealistic degrees, left or right. We do not hav e in Canada, thank God, the same sort of racial problem, as you. But, there is still the same kind of meanness in the way some of the minority groups are used . Even the bloody Indians are all but finished now. There were all these guys doin research work into the social condition, of the residue of the Coast Indians. All those fat geeks, on fatter grants, piling up paper, on problems, which for one or another reason, will soon cease to exist. All it meant, so I, and a good few others saw it, was that when they had qualified, some smooth job would be the irs, just as unrelated to the outside and the Government could go ahead and buil

d them some larger, newer office. That bread, or even that education could be put to better use. Floyd told him in a few words to carry on. He was amused, You know, and I realised just what a con it all was the whole lame bureaucratic setup. Its all part of the big business a great big business. Some of the parad oxes in the spending are ludicrous. If you go on into it. And what is the pit y, is that a number of the truly unselfish guys, who still have a conscience, us ually find themselves constantly frustrated by the graft, the heavyweight shuck sters, or the general inertia. So, you see why I thought Id clear out and find a few lessons for myself an I aint no yes man Floyd had real been enjoying this tirade. He slapped his hand on the dash board said, Yeah, thats jus how it is. I sure am glad, that some of you whiteys is gett in your heads straight about jus what goes on up at the Big City Hall, The whole t hing starts to have a real unhealthy smell , once you get in close. Glad to kno w you, Tony. He held out his hand. Remind me to tell you some sweet stories that I know, about just where all the bread goes to. I have to pull over up ahead for a piss. The wagon skidded on to the gravel verge and came to a halt, jerking to a stop. Tony stretched out along the seat. It was really too much the way the intellec tual merito technocrats were used by the federal and large corporate groups. As m ere mandarin tools they were expected to isolate themselves from broader humanis tic questions. Even the estimated, some would say unnecessary murder of hundred s of thousands of North Vietnamese civilians over the last few years might be se en as merely a balancing statistic. Blanik, who had just woken in the rear of the auto, said that he felt all to hel l and quickly got out of the door. As Floyd came back to them, he shouted over to the two of them. If you two guys are going to talk about politics an all that crap, all the way down then Im walking. Tony also slid out of the metal box and loped over to where Blanik was standing and saw that he was standing, rather halfcrouching, staring down at a small group of dark purple, bell shaped flowers, growing among the rocks. Its springtime in the desert now. In another two months, though, everything will have dried up. Nothing other than the cacti will survive. This is really the be st time of year to be in here. Dont you find the blue in these particular ones, extraordinary? Tony looked at him as if he was being put on. Then, as Blanik pointed toward a large, three spined cactus about two hundred yards away, and asked him to accomp any across to there, he realised he was mistaken. Walking up the flatter surfac e of some early spring water course, avoiding the spines and buttons of the smal ler plants, they spent some minutes examining the plant, and returned. Tony sto od there for some time just breathing in the air twice he said, that he had no idea that the deserts could be so fabulous. As they got back into the dry-heat of the Olds, Floyd gave them each a suspiciou s look, as if they had been plotting something, together. Still, that was just Floyd. Blanik said he would now take on the driving, right down to Phoenix. If they felt like it, they could make a long break at Flagstaff. There was a heavy odour that they all noticed, as they hit the road again. Bot h Mike and Floyd denied any knowledge as to the source of it. There was somethi ng of a mixture of leather and cloth that caught the nostrils. Mike glanced bac k to where Tony was slumped back in the rear seat. Next to him there the tall p air of brown boots that he wore, sometimes over, and sometimes under, his jeans. The acrid smell was rising from a pair of exposed feet. He said nothing just opened one of the windows. After they had been rolling for a short while, Tony climbed over the squab betwe en the two others. He set down a packet of wheatstraws on the flat dashboard an d reached the passengers door panel, from which he carefully took a threadless sc rew. His arm extracted a small, tiedup baggie of sand brown leaves and twigs, l ooking somewhat like tobacco. To the drivers amused surprise he began to careful ly roll a couple of healthy joints. It looked good stuff, thought Blanik, as t he first curls of bluish smoke rose from the packed yellow paper. It certainly

smelled good. Tony handed the joint to him, saying, Its all gold, and good stuff. He took a couple of long drags on it. By now, a smell of the burning roll was soon filling the wagon. Floyd who had just sat there, without comment watching the ritual, sat forward suddenly. Hey! What is all this? I thought we all agree not to hold any thing, no weed, on t his.. He made a grab for the plastic bag on Tonys knee. It was still quite fu ll. If we get pulled over, and they find that, then we are really into big shit H is attempt to grab the bag failed. Okay, man. Okay theres no need to get all het up. There aint no sign of the fuzz, for two hundred miles, in any direction. Whats all this about. Well be in Arizo na soon and there just are no patrols. Okay? Blanik spoke half seriously, half m ockingly. Just cool it we were only talking about the frontier bit, anyhow. Her e, have a toke on the weed. Tony joined in. You can always say you were just gi vin me a ride, or, we were jus givin you a ride. le was laughing openly. You know, I came on down all the way from Canada with no sweat, dont get all upset, over a lid of grass. Youll have a seizure Look, whatever you want, dont you go and spoil a cool afternoon. If you want a sm oke, okay, if not, then let us alone. said Blanik, earnestly, offering Floyd the J. He smiled as Floyd got his fingers to it, and began to tune in the radio. Well, thats real nice. Let us see if we can find some fine sounds from one of the Phoenix Hip Rock stations it aint that far now? he added, as he layered a series of heavy drags into his lungs, A few of these hits should get us down there, real f ast, and in no time. Tony and Floyd were now laughing together over something. Hey man, we just blew past Dinosaur City. It was the kind of idiotic thing that made him laugh also, w hen he was stoned. An it was just good to laugh. Especially when the world outs ide did look so grey - to anybody with his eyes wide-open. Slowly he felt his mouth become even dryer, and the passing first effects of the drug cross his temples and eyes. His hands soon seemed to be unpleasantly stic ky on the wheel. Normally he did not smoke if there was any driving to be done. There was too much to see. Out here, it was wide open and cool. He wound the window down, manually. He could taste and smell the warm, pure, free air that buffeted his left arm and cheek. Somebody had said somewhere, in one of those m agazines, that a good days high, took the equivalent of three days metabolism at a normal usage, from out of your body and brain. He could believe it. He felt so good and easy. He started humming some theme to himself. It was as if the other two cats were not there, beside him, lost as they were anyway9 in their o wn private meditation. There was so much horseshit bulled around on the true purposes and uses of that female Mary Jane, and her sisters, hash, charas, tea, whatever wished to the tu ffWht came to a finals analysis he reckoned you name 5. 7i. / that the institutions were opposed to its more general use from a purely self in terested standpoint, rather than the contrary; that, being a fear of its abuse b y the kids, or a lack of clinical knowledge of its use. There was something tha t was stale in the repression of shit as a purely hedonistic element, some curio us denial of individual sensation. This could have been more easily understood if the innocent lady had ever been known to cause any degree of violence or upti ghtness. The way it looked to him, was that nobody had a vested interest in the growth and refinement of the grass unlike the home produced alcoholic beverages and all that aggressive trade. Was there some aspect of the use of the soft s tuff, he thought, that was so contrary to the traditional go getting ethics of W estern European and North American life? Above all, ya just could not have those spik bastards exporting tons of bricks of the stuff into the country that was r eal un-American, and cost a few dollars for the ride. The other two were silent. That was unusual. There was nothing on the tuner wo rth listening to. Most of the stations just did not get up in the morning. Whe never some sound came up, that was there, the inane jabber of the announcer foll owed only too soon. One mediocre track of the Mamas and the Papas was all that he heard. The rest was all just soft sick combo) or big band feed out. They ha

d passed over the bridge at Needles, maybe fifteen minutes earlier now that had sure been a strange sheet of hung scenery. Blanik felt sure there was a new progressive Rock station that was putting it out from Phoenix. He had read some piece about it, in a recent copy of Billboard. There were a few minutes of spontaneous rapping about the desert, but soon, once again, each of them withdrew into his own sleepless dream. To the left of the road were the strangest piles of rocks. They were slotted to gether, like flat pieces of sawn redwood perhaps a hundred to two hundred feet h igh. These granite towers looked as if they were all ready to fall, any second, though they had no doubt been like that for the last fifty millions of years. For these tower like witnesses the curtain had fallen before Man even knew of it their piece had been played to an empty theatre. And the new performance som etimes gave the impression of not previously having been rehearsed properly its fabric and structured tilted and balanced by the most violent of forces. It was getting near to midday and the sun was making itself felt. Blanik could not rid his mind of the opening of Prokofievs First Concerto. It still all see med to be part of the sunrise that they had all seen that morning. One of the g reatest things about the States was the scale and natural physical beauty of it all. It might take a man a lifetime, to explore one small part of it. There we re thousands of people unaware of just what they had here it was one of the reas ons that he felt he would always return. Europe, Maggie had told him, had been ransacked over the last four hundred years. He often wondered if the people o f his own country would allow it to happen. Some companies had already had a good cut at it and there was more to come. As they approached Flagstaff, they came into some wooded country. Thinly-plant ed silver birch and small fir trees. Then, out of a still, clear sky, it began quite suddenly to snow. Quarter sized , large flakes that soon decked the hood and the roadside. Floyd even started to get excited. After a further two mile s as the snowfall and the covering started to thicken, he asked Mike to pull off the road, up a small track, and into the trees. Its the first time Ive seen snow, in three years. he said. Just give me a few minute s out there. Over in them trees. Anybody joinin me? Blanik also pulled on his coat. Together they leapt out of the doors and ran, h alf laughing into the wood. A snow ball fight soon developed, chasing in and ou t of the pines. It didnt last long, owing to the lack of usable ammunition. So on both fell back into the wagon, with a great deal of blowing and panting. Two small children, who, from behind the cover of a woodshed, at the end of the track, had been watching the curious antics of the two grown men, now ran into view and began to pelt the departing invaders with half-lumps of snow and small stones. Ah well. So much for the Winter Sports, for this year, said Blanik mockingly. Lis ten, you guys. Ive been thinking. This snow does not seem to be letting up. I reckon its com down heavier. How about we grab ourselves some goodies? Then, if you like, make it straight on down to Phoenix. He braked the car slightly, as i f to allow an answer to formulate. You know, go get some cheese and ham, maybe s ome milk. I jus dont want to get holed up in this place. Sounds alright to me. I could do with a sandwich. Though it can wait. Do you r eally think this white-shit is going to block us in? Floyd was bust, drawing some pattern on the back window, but grunted his assent. After about another ten minutes driving, through the fouled up, non descript s treets, all empty of traffic, they pulled up outside a large Safeway Supermarket . Floyd stayed in the Olds, while the other two walked across the white forecou rt. There were only another four vehicles standing out there, in the still virg in snow. The radio tuner in the auto seemed unaffected by the change in the wea ther and its transistors were still burning away. After an incredibly banal adv ertisement, for somebodys delicious, homemade, ready to bake, Pizza Pie , he was t hankful to hear the DJ announce that he was going to spin Otis Redding, with hi s Dock on the Bay. That sure brought back a hill of memories. Floyd stretched himself out on the back seat and drifted into a doze.

His dream was disturbed, not long after, by the slamming of the two front doors. As well as a long french style loaf, Tony had picked up some tomatoes. From u nder his jacket, Blanik extracted two packets of liver, sausage. He offered the m to the half awake in the back. There never are any decent commodities, worth r eefin, from these places. Do you two want to feed now? They decided to put off the alfresco eat, until they were well away from Flagsta ff and the still falling snow. This appeared to be even thicker on the other si de of town, perhaps already one or two inches deep. It was becoming compacted o n the highway and glistened in the midday sun. What traffic there was seemed to be taking very few chances. About three miles outside the town they pulled ove r where a grey sedan had run off the half-icy highway and down a steep bank. Apparently they were in no need of any immediate assistance and the man and the girl waved the Oldsmobile to drive right on. After skidding along for another few miles, Tony was the first to notice that the snow had ceased falling. You just wouldnt believe it he said. One hour were driving along, so, with the sun h igh, and burning out our eyes - then, Bam! Its all snow chains and mid winter. H ow are we up here? Blanik answered him, and made some intended lousy-pun about being pretty high st ill himself. The other two groaned at the pain of it. Dont know for sure I reck on we must be up at three, or four thousand I dig this kind of weather though, a nd the driving. Dont you? Say, it looks as if we have left all that snow behind - thought we might have had to head back and come round some other way. Perhaps .. . . Floyd, who had not said much for a while, interrupted, You know, we coulda taken the route South of here. Through the Joshua Tree Park. Sure, but we might have got all fouled up with LA, and, well there are some prett y lousy roads down that way. They hadnt even started the highway the last time I was through there. Look, as soon as we are out of this snow, lets eat. Im a dyi n of hunger. What about another roll? The other two agreed readily. Another four or five miles further on, they clear ed the remains of the fall, and pulled onto the empty lot, in front of a lifeles s roadhouse. After a delicate roll and smoke, Tony left the machine to go for a piss and buy some soda, for himself and Floyd. Taking out his pocket knife, Blanik began to slice the cheese and placed it betw een two thick slices of the bread, with some of the ham. He also cut bread, for the other two. The ham was not too bad. The cheese though, tasted as if it we re many days away from a live cow. It was more like a flavoured latex bar, he t hought it certainly felt like some synthetic rubber compound. The three of them ate hungrily. The first food of any sort, apart from a mouthf ul of pancake each, since leaving San Francisco. The tomatoes were enjoyed as i f they were rare fruits. Even the bread was fresh-tasting, which was a rare eve nt, outside of the large conurbations. All this was washed down with some screw ed up orange soda. After one mouthful of the mixture, Blanik exploded into curs ing each and every goddamn purveyor of Soda, from Atlanta, Georgia to Kalamazoo, Michigan. That stuff will kill you. he exclaimed. Its full of all kinds of crap. Three of th ose a day and youre all set for the isolation. And he was not joking. The other two smiled at this outburst. Tony said, that without a smoke, he just never had an appetite, these days. Floyd agreed. Yeh, without a smoke, some of this chow would taste real bad. He opened one of the rear doors, Im goin across to get some goobers you fellas wan anything? When he returned, they took a handful of the nuts each and headed out, for Phoen ix, with Blanik at the controls, as Tony, with a great show of dexterity rolled a couple of after dinner smokes. Apart from the run of the wheels, an understood peace settled upon the three loaded travelers. They had soon passed the freaky monstrous rock outcrops and were climbing toward an even higher plateau. Blanik had once spent a month around here exploring the Pueblo village over at Walnut Canyon and the other lesser-known early habitations in the area. He could even remember the back roads now, if you had asked him slowly. The highway was broken in several places, by the as yet unimproved road. They w

ere all starting to feel the strain of the continual motoring - the heat of the afternoon was becoming insistent and oppressive. Tony climbed into the rear of the auto and soon fell asleep. The others hardly talked for the next boring fif ty miles or so. Floyd had his head out of the window most of the time. And Bla nik was well lost in his own thoughts, about the nature of the American experien ce and how, both at an academic and everyday level, there was a yearly increasin g perspective of the nations short history; and how even the most fleeting and ba rely appreciated traditions, South and North, were all part of a contemporary, c hanging mix, that solidified slowly, but most certainly. Later in the day, with the sun falling in the sky, across to the right, the ro ad too began to drop down, out of the hills toward the flat, desert bowl, where Phoenix is located. They were on an Interstate and were making good time. Th e land about them was all industrial agriculture, with the reflections of the lo ng irrigation channels outlining and squaring the plain. Occasionally they woul d see some farmhouse, incongruously isolated, its wind-pump slowly turning. All along the horizon, on every side of them were low ranges of ashen mountains, al ready darkening as the evening came in. Floyd switched the soundbox on. A crowd of differing noises offered themselves. Some jazz number made contact, sounding possibly like Davis, or some mother c overing him. It appeared to be the only worthwhile sound. Sure sounded like so me thing from that Sketches of Spain. When the blow finished, the strange voice unexpectedly gave out the call sign of a Los Angeles station. It was not Miles, but some East Coast Joe, of whom neit her of the listeners had ever heard. After a long break, to give out the detai ls of a jazz n blues show up at Santa Barbara, the man put on a couple of tracks from Charlie Lloyds Forest Flower. Even inside the wagon seemed to become progre ssively cooler. They were just cruising along now, at about seventy, with their bellies full. In the low distance was the power glow from the city. Consideri ng its population, and what went on down there, it sure covered an enormous grou nd area. After glancing back to Tony, Blanik broke the silence , and asked Floyd, How do you dig our Canadian friend? I hope he aint buggin you? Naw. Not really hes okay. Just a kid, right. Sure wouldnt mind goin over the Pacific with him, though. To Japan, all those Zen monks and crazy people. He was tellin me before, that he wr ites poetry. Now, thats one thing jus never could get into. Sure don mean nuthin t o me or nobody else I know. At least not in my world. Even Mr. Jones, an them other spade pencil pushers are not reach out that far. Come on, jus you tell me w ho reads poetry around here, cept maybe some spastic middle-class jerks. Or mayb e.. Hey now. Now hold on. Blanik butted in sharply, Youd be real surprised just who re ads this modern poetry, never mind anything, even if its only Lowell. It keeps people heads in good shape. Okay, I agree, that it is not powerful in its outwa rd effect. Theres a lot of the groups turn out some good, if simple, poetical ly rics. He emphasised the next point with his finger. No matter, what you, or any o f the knockers say, its got something going for it these days. A lot of people are into what it means as a token of some lasting truths. An when did you last r ead any, or get round to picking up a thin volume, Earl? Cant say that I read any in the last two years. I used to read some of that Beat stuff you remember, Ginsberg, an all that. But it started to sound all the same. Though it did make you laugh, sometimes. Turning the radio down, as the second flute piece came to a conclusion, Blanik continued his defence. Well, there you are. Listen to that cat, today. Hes sti ll spellin it out for you. Poetry and Music have always gone hand in hand. Thou gh one gets through easier than the other. You take a close look down the Histo ry books. Then read the poems and thoughts from any other Time and you will rea lly see how things were going about them. Floyd shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Yeh.. . Yeh. Okay,. Ive hea rd all this before. You high jivers are all the same: It sure dont change anythi ng around here, though. Reading bloody poetry. You sound like one of them prof

essors, up at the indoctrination camps. Look, Earl, music, well, all the arts, if it is understood, is only able to captu re an individuals own private reaction, and adjustment, within the period in whic h he lives. Its only what he does, or even doesnt see. Just how much do you thin k any man can react, against the terms of the time that he lives in? Or even ex tract, or alter the essence of the condition outside? When he lays it down too hard, it is either dismissed, or even in these days he is thrown inside on some faked-up charge. All of it for his conscience. Okay, Ill go along with that. answered Floyd. Like Tony was saying, so many of the real chances for progress git all fouled up. Thats why I run with the Panthers. You know, after a while, an seein a few things, you begin to realise that mebbe violence and sabotage are the only ways, that will scare the bastards into doing something about the rats. He paused to see if Blanik was really listening to h im, and satisfied, continued. Where you ever down Chicago, Southside? The jungle? Right, well you know how it i s. Theres a good few like me, who feel that if things do not happen fast for Sou l Brother, then hell be fightin just to live. An it aint just the cream he wants, hes jus lookin for some place to live Its not just race difference now. Dat was a ll in the past. Its getting to be an economic choice what is used where, and for what, right? It gets kinda hard for a man at seventeen when he realises, that he is jus not goin nowhere. Like its all over. Reckon youre right, Floyd. Maybe thingsll change. Blanik was not unaware of both sides of the question. He had lived around and inside the ghettoes. There were millions of people, who thought the name was some kind of anachronism, that it was all painted up, and bore no relation to reality. Anyway, it was always easi er to put the blinkers on. Heres anotha thing. No matter how many young white guys get hip to all this or ev en run away from it, like Tony here, that sure is not goin to help any. Its their folks, with the three automobiles, and all the gold, who really have the power to speak out. Except, most of them just dont want to know. Not even about their own folks problems. What the losing simps dont figure is that unless whole prior ities are changed, an soon, then the whole mess is goin to overflow into their pre tty backyards. Or maybe they think that fuckin Law and Order, Federal style, can hold back the festering edge. Once a cat gets a third-degree note, then theres n o repairin that crock. Now tell me that aint true? There was a branchlike network of veins, which ran from his left forehead down t oward that ear. These looked as if they were pulsing with the blood of the ange r that was held within his voice. Did you ever talk to any of them factory workers? They jus dont give a damn. Nor do they understand. If they did, they could stop the whole lousy cancerous mach ine. All most of them want, is another crate of beer. So you see why them and Stokely are gettin really uptight, about the way things are happenin these days: Hold on, Man. Now dont go gettin too mad. I sure cant do much about it well only as an individual in my relationship to you cats. Everybody knows how it is you wanna talk to some of those fat cats up in Washington Town, with all their unrea listic, phony programs! Blanik shook his head in a gesture of dismay, as they came up to the first set o f lights, outside Phoenix. In front of them, the whole city energy looked to be spread out before them there were acres of yellow and white street-lighting. He had heard all this before, from Floyd, a dozen times. He also knew that the only thing to make whitey listen had been tried a number of times. There just h ad to be days of tight fear and long nights of silent curfew and fire, with per haps much loss of life, until there was a degree of social collapse that made ot hers, at all levels of the community fully realise their responsibility to that structure. Or was one to really believe that corporation profits and dividends were to continue the prime motivation of the State, blind and archaic in the nar rowness of the vision. It might have to be a question of the rabble heading up to that big House on the hill. If nothing truly modern was forthcoming , to meet th e challenges of these years, then, who might foresee the nature of the fire. It had happened before, so why not again? Such matters as the integration of the

non white American into the often false and unreal class groups of the city woul d not be resolved in ten years. That, apart from the fact that Joshua did not w ish to be a part of that general back biting Hypocrisy; he did not belong there, nor did he understand the unwritten rules come to think of it, neither did many of those caught on that hook. An nothing would begin to move, unless the Spirit was there. Blanik was however a half-optimistic idealist. He had to be, or kick his half b oots off, and throw it all in. He could only agree that Democracy, as it so see med understood, managed to destroy, or absorb all logical revolts, unquote. He shoved the curious column switch into Drive. Phoenix was a drag. A modern, killing drag. It was almost one hundred per ce nt modern. Sure, with its canals and irrigation system, the well laid out stree ts, with their easy, urban and sub-urban homes, even that concert house by Frank Lloyd Wright and its plant-like form, it was some kind of testimony to those fi rst settlers, who had come here attracted by the even, year round climate. The city had expanded rapidly since the Second War, but without any real comprehensi ve planning. Blanik felt that so much more could have been made from this, and a dozen similar opportunities. Downtown, they turned sharp left, on to the old road that headed through to New Mexico. They found themselves on a broad, busy avenue, full of evening commuter s driving back into, and from the city. Both sides of the road, a continuous st rip of welladvertised private enterprise crowded into their thoughts. The multi coloured signs offered any number of services. From all night hot dog parlors, t o a variety of hot burial and other doubtfully necessary customer orientated ope rations. Inside the many restaurants, there could be seen an intense activity, involved with instant animal gratification. The road continued like this for an other five or more miles. They picked up two young hippies, or rather teenyboppers. Tony, who woke up, as t he kids slid gratefully into the wagon, promptly gave them a couple of joints fr om his pocket, for their elucidation. The boy thanked him and told him that he must not rely on the shit, whatever that meant. Both were only about fifteen ye ars old and dressed in a flowing uniform of home made velvet and silk-hangings. Many of the young weekend-trippers that one met about the cities, were nothing more than clothes hangers, and just about as interesting. The girl said that they had headed up to the Coast last summer and after a dozen or more Acid trips, considered themselves to be old heads. Blanik was amazed to hear them rapping with Tony, like adults, as they lit up. Maybe they were not capable of comprehending just what the mind drugs could do t o you, in more ways than one. But they sounded as if they had learned some sens e from their experiences. He supposed you could say that was a beginning of gr owth and movement. Just have to wait and see. They left the auto near Mesa, but not before the boy had asked the driver if he had ever read, The Way of Truth by Lao Tse. Replying that he had not, Blanik was innocently asked just where he was at? All of them burst out laughing, as they d rove off, for a number of reasons that was anybodys guess. The monotonous road continued. Blanik got to thinking about those kids. And ab out the freaky world that they were into. Not all the kids were in it for the k icks, alone; certainly some were only broadening a critical self awareness you put down all the acid heads on the campus as just being mere dope punks. Ther e were plenty of young kids on the swing, who sought any escape , any alternativ e, to Ma getting through her third fifth in the one week, or yet another strange , disinterested male figure in the bathroom in the morning, shaving the third in three months. Back in San Francisco he had seen some real-grim scenes. All tied up in the dop e thing. It was not as if the odd trip, or smoking weed was going to destroy yo ur whole life. It all depended upon the individual and the circumstance, as muc h as the direct kick from the stuff. Sure they would alter the way you saw thin gs perhaps often for the better. And there was none of the gripping desperation , among the part-timers, that one faced with the real dependent. Where the real bad scene came in, was in the fact that so much of even the soft

stuff was handled underground. The street kids really got into a very real, evi l and slicing environment that had little to do with the outcome of the use of t he merchandise. The game got rough as the commercial aspect of the deals came u p; as the member of the sub culture became part of, and victim to, a social and criminal isolation. And it was easy to trip, over into the world of the hard-g oods. Once you had those wings, you could find the speed to fly any place, and naturally lose your high hat up in the sky. Icarus also tried to get too far ou t. Now it was a different play, if you were some loaded entertainer, you had the br ead to score and use the stuff, knowing that you could always set it up with Mr. Fish, and go get your brain and body all tightened up. After. If you were s ome rich playgirl getting high for sumthin to do, after all the other kicks were wrung out; then all you had to lose was the evermissing love of Daddy, or his bag of shekels. But, back down on the street scene, that could get really ugly, sick) an mean. W ith no rebates. He thought back to the young kid he had come across, early one November morning , in the Park. The guy, from some Macomb, Illinois , perhaps, had been sleeping under a bush, and was fixing up, bright an early, just to straighten the day ou t, after a cold night on the deck. Racked by cold and looking ill enough, as it was, he had just pulled the spike out of his bared, thin pale-arm. Blanik had just stood there. The kid had just leaned back and watched the small line of bl ood that had run a few inches downward toward the wrist. He had hardly noticed his observer, who quietly slipped him a few small bills. The misery ridden figu re then lay back on his poncho blanket, in the thin morning drizzle, to await t he boost. The tiny plastic ampule lay discarded on the damp soil. Annie had a new student on the hop. Then, there had been the guy on the houseboat. Over in Sausalito. He had been over to visit a mural painter friend and was walking back, along the floating w alkway, when he had heard the screams coming from a low halfboat. He had run up the plank, expecting to find somebody half stiff, but had found in the main roo m, a moaning guy of maybe twenty, crawling around there , on his hands and knees . On the floor were the splayed contents of his works, the spoon and bottle. A younge5 frightened chick was doing the screaming, hysterically, in the corner. There was nothing he could do. The guy had shot too much, or screwed it up so mehow. And that had been no pleasure jolt the abscess line along the sewer show ed that. Luckily the fixer had then passed out. He had left it at that, telling the skirt to get the hospital down there, if he stayed in the half coma and did not come out of it, within an hour. It was all so physical, sickly physical even using meth, or any other juice like that. And it all got into the mind, or the veins. All dope, even the straight stuff from the medicine man, was such a physiologica l and psychological hangup. This caused a countering, paradoxical alienation wi th the Outside. Each time, there was something so pathetic in the users and the ir relation to the normal world. They were to be helped and guided, rather than primitively punished. Once, walking along Haight Street, about two in the morning, he had been stopped by a great fat girl just a kid of seventeen, eighteen. She had kept on repeati ng, Acid, acid, acid. She was weeping too. I must have acid please give me acid! It had been a sad sight an who was going to carry some habitual kid through the l ines, at that age? There were certain sides of the News Media who had to take some blame for what h ad happened up in the Haight, that Summer. All those shining pics in the magazi nes, of the kids in their costumedfreedom, had totally ignored the other pole of the happening. It was really a question of emphasis, but then again, the advert isers knew that) too well. It was like trying to see the world as a reflection of the cast iron ovens at Dachau, and ignore the medical and scientific sacrific es made by men of vision, the denial of themselves, that some small furtherance of understanding might be made. The two extremes of any condition, or debate, w ere easily distorted in the mirror.

For one moment, he questioned just what he was doing, out on this thing. Going down to bring all that stuff back. His own morality was not that of the Struct ures, anyhow. See? He thought of L. S. D. more as a medicine for modern man, or rather, as a murder er of modern man. It was said that everybody should get stoned one time, like g etting drunk on raw rum at fifteen. Except, the experience for most people wou ld be like hitting them with the Britannica, or the collected volumes of the Wor lds Religion Library and that did hurt. There was a marked difference in the exp eriments of Huxley, or H. Luce, and some cornball popping a cut tab, in order to watch the funny parade. There were a large number of shrinks, who had given th e jolt to a good few others. Most of the folks would get all upset, just at the mere sight of a purple tab. It was all only a short-cut, to a certain level of awareness and the ground work still had to be all dug over. The premeditated use of the drug, as a form of spiritual enlightenment, was a d emanding heightening of consciousness. Yet, all of us were not Francis Xavier o r even mentally capable of realising the depth of the experience. There was oft en, following the use of the medicine, a turn off, or a retreat from consciousne ss. That the visions, or extensions that were possible for Man and his conditio n, when contrasted against the structural reality, were mere fictions; crystal g rowths, or fingers of oxidising chemicals in a vast unexplored underground caver n, submerged beneath a black lake of ignorance. There was even a resignation t o the hopelessness within the phenomenal world. This, being like the supra munda ne isolation taken upon themselves, by the more esoteric of Eastern transcendent alists. Some junior qualifier for instantBhuddahood would even talk of turning t he whole world on, but Blanik knew this to be not only impossible, but also perv ersely balanced, opposite. . the reality of nineteen Yanwath Street. It would be a gas to try it, though. Small birds had to learn to fly, and to know a white horse, when they saw one. The highway had continued, with its broken accompaniment of motels and restauran ts for maybe the last fifteen minutes. They all agreed to hold on before stoppi ng for a break, until they were well clear of all the development strip. It was now around seven outside the evening-air was warm and pleasant. They were all feeling jaded as they pulled in, to the Holiday Inn, that had loom ed up at them, from out of the desert darkness. Floyd said he needed a session on the can. The other two also, that a clean up would help wash out their heads , though a shot of caffeine would come first. Inside the glass doors, Muzak was pervading the air conditioned eatery. Tony spo tted the juke and crossed the lounge to survey the selection of canned-sounds. Anything was better than the turgid, dreadful non music, that was coming from fi xtures in the walls. The speakers were hidden behind lighting brackets, high in the walls. Blanik often professed to being made physically sick, when forced t o listen to the colourless diaorrhea, that was issuing from the walls. After a few moments the Muzak cut out. The first of the two discs that Tony had selected came echoing from the machine. It was only some sentimental country a nd western number, by Porter Wagner, unknown to the others, but at least it was music The other customers in the place did not seem at all disturbed. That is , until the second track started playing. Called Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat, it wa s an oldie by Bob Dylan, whose mocking, singular voice, along with the very heav y lead-guitar, caused one of the two middle aged men, sitting at the far end of the coffee shop, with their ditch faced wives , to request that the volume be lo wered. He could imagine what the reaction would have been, if he has asked that the Muzak be turned off. Still, what the hell was he thinking about all that f or? There was on the faces of the other ten customers, that pinched and frustrated, thoroughly unnatural mask, that the Negro cats described as the Hate Look. There was not one fragment of joy to be seen behind the Magic Goddess facial make up, or the sadly deprived, lined masculine-visages. You would have to say more than Boo, to squeeze a smile out of that lot, he thought. A pretty waitress , with what looked to be halfIndian features, brought them thei

r orders; she would have looked beautiful and perhaps Blanik would have told her so, without that mound of just too blonde hair, that crowned her face. However , she gave them all a warm smile and was embarassed9by the salacious smile, whic h Tony returned, The coffee was good, and they had several refills, or refuels. The cheeseburger s were quickly devoured, but needed some ketchup to make them edible. Blanik p romised them some good eats, once they got on down to San Antonio. As they lef t, they took a look at the relief map, on one of the walls. The decision was to continue on to New Mexico, until one, or all of them, could drive no further; t hen to sack out in the desert some place. The route they were now moving down, was not a major one. But apparently it was an easier road, than going down through Tuscon. After a slow haul, up through some arid mountains, that looked completely treeless and lifeless in the half mo onlight, they passed near Globe, through a copper mining area. The heated run o ffs of the copper-slag, that striped the heaped banks on the North side of the r oad, with an eerie, searing orange light, looked to be almost part of some surre al painting. There was an air of depression over the main drag, and it looked as if many small businesses were in recession. Floyd was driving now, and was the only one of them awake. He drove on for the next two hours, his thoughts a mixture of frustrated sexual desire, that went al ong with the feel of the winding road. There was little traffic. Somewhere ne ar a place called Pima, or something like that, a State Patrol car had come up r eal fast behind him, flashing its large, blue roof light. It was only signaling its presence and overtook him within half a mile. He switched the radio on, quietly. Still picking up a few strong signals, he fo und a totally unrecognised Blues station, probably beaming out from Dallas, or H ouston. They were playing some good stuff, though, real nice. He soon started to move his shoulders and fingers to the rhythm. Some number came up by a count ry boy it was called Blackbird Blues. He did not catch the handle of the singer , it sounded like Henry somebody, with Sunny and Slim. It was a slow guitar num ber, with piano along too: Now, did you ever see my blackbird, you know the one I mean? Did you ever see that blackbird, you know the one I mean? With or without those feathers, she walks jus like shes a queen. Well, early in the mornin, round the break of day. Say, early in the mornin, some time, bout the break o day. Shes singin down by the water, and she says shes comin my way. It was a gentle and immediately sympathetic number, with a measured, slow feel a bout it. He drove on, perhaps another fifty miles, listening happily to some fi ne sounds. They played all kinds of Texas and Delta Blues. He got to wondering just for whom they were playing it, out here. It sure was good to hear some of that down home Blues tempo again. Straight night time moods. Never did pick u p any identification sign. Soon after he joined Interstate Ten at Lordsburg he lost transmission contact wi th the station. He pulled into a gasstation and got out to check the oil and wat er levels. The other two stirred and fell out too, in order to stretch their le gs. There was plenty of space for sleeping on the back seat, but the guy next to the driver, had to assume some kind of embryonic position, to be half comfor table. Tony bought himself a can of cold coke. Floyd continued to driver when they got moving again. The road was boring. He still thought that they could have come down some easier, faster way. Tony was

occupied rolling another joint, but he was not interested in a smoke at that ho ur. It was around midnight as they came into Las Cruces. According to Blanik, there was a serious music station, that came up at midnight, from Dallas. He push ed the selectors slowly and patiently. With an open shout of success, he turned up the volume. What seemed to be a madmans voice, was screaming some line, like , Can you dig it Are you listenin out there?! Floyd recognised the wild exhortations and in turn told Tony, that this was Wolf man Jack, from L. A. doing his late night R & B, Blues, Soul and Motown show. His delivery was the fastest in the West, but, in between all his shouting and r aving, he sure did put out some good sounds. He started the show with a fine nu mber by Muddy Waters, on bottle neck guitar, singing, My home is on the Delta. Al ways the gentleman of the Blues, Muddy sure had held his own bag together, over the years. He and Magic Sam etc. had seen many another good man go down. All the travelers listened intently, as the deep voice went through the song. It caught a spurious nostalgia, for what, in fact, was a hard and often intolera ble way of life, that had, in fact, through the migrations Northward been respon sible for the commercial spin off of the Southern music-making. When the track finished, Wolfman went off into some terrific, two minute adverti sing spiel. His show swung mainly between the two extremes of Negro American mu sic some would say the only true American music. Rarely did he play any White R ock an Roll, unless it was somebody on his side. He continued the show, with a t rack from Miss Dionne Warwick. Earl was of the opinion that she had been the Qu een Bee, before Lady Aretha had come along. As usual at night, the midnight mus ic was coming over loud and clear. Burt Bacharachs arrangements, though well ove r a year old, still retained a quality and meaning. The show went on for well over an hour. Finally, there was played an unusual cut, by a Texas cat, called Smoky Hogg, Penitentiary Blues. Oh, and it really sounded mean, wherever it was . It reminded Floyd of Mr. B. Whites sad, old Parchman Farm. It was then that Blanik, awaking from some trance, suddenly realised that they w ere on the wrong road. A road sign indicated, that Alamagordo was fifty miles f urther on. He recalled having seen a large white painted board, many miles bac k, with missiles painted on it, advertising some roadside attraction. Caught up in the sounds, the meaning had not registered itself to Floyd or himself. Wh en the former wanted to make some thing out of the failure, he was told to go an d stuff himself. He suggested, that they pull off the road some place and get s ome sleep. He did not fancy the drive back to El Paso, and whatever, they all n eeded some hours of solid rest. Tomorrow, early, they would soon make it down t o San Antonio. They turned up a broken gravel track about one mile back, and motored slowly a way from the main highway. They passed the shadow shapes of some probably deser ted timber buildings, turned sharp left, over a flat piece of ground, and halte d. Outside the wagon, there was not a sound. Well, almost. A dog was mourn-fully howling, several lonely miles away. Overhead, the markers of a visible universe were turning. They all decided to doss down, on the ground. It only required a few minutes of removing small stones and one had a hard, but flat bed for the night. Rolling out his dream sack. Blanik noticed the point of Venus, cold and blue lo oking. It was kind of chilly on the ground. At least there was no wind. It wa s Saturday night already Sunday morning, in fact. He shouted this to the other two, as he stood there pissing, about ten yards away. There was no answer, or e lse they had not heard. Man, was he going to have a sleep. Lying there awhile, watching the shooting stars, the memory of a dozen or more s imilar times were recalled. At least out here, he thought, there was some degre e of eternal peace. He awoke just after dawn. He had slept naturally and well, as always in the des ert, flashstorms being an uncomfortable exceptional incident. Turning his head to the left, and raising it slightly, he could see in the dista nce, as far away as the eye might see, a long grayish line of level peaked mount

ains; maybe a hundred miles away. This was, once, he remembered, Apache country . To his right, about one yard away, was a small yellow flowered desert plant. There were probably five or ten blooms, silhouetted against the lightening blue sky. Beyond this was a bent brownfigure asleep, and nearby, the duststreaked bl ack hulk of the transport. Standing up from his pit, he pulled on his Khaki jeans, then repeated the excret ory act of the night before. The moisture, to his surprise was instantly soaked up, into the cracked surface. The piss hole looked like some eye in the snow. The desert must get really thirsty he thought. He walked across to the Olds an d was shaking out, and rolling up his sleeping sack, as Floyd began to shift his body. Buenos Dias, Senior, what would you like for breakfast? Floyd halfsmiled at him an d disappeared toward the wooden shacks for an early morning squat. All that che ese was not doing Blanik insides much good, either. He promised himself some fr uit, wherever they might stop for breakfast. By the time Earl trotted back ag ain, Tony had awoken and was lying on his stomach, admiring the view, over in th e direction of White Sands. With much protest from the victim, the two guys, dr essed, picked up the loaded bag and tipped the contents out of it. The Canadian had a very worthy, morning erection and the calm desertair was disturbed by muc h coarse and honest laughter, as he hopped about, like a distraught heron, pulli ng on his Levies. Within ten minutes, everything was stowed away in the trunk, and the inside of t he wagon straightened out a bit. They passed the silent buildings once again, w hat they might have been once, stuck out there, none of them was able to guess. Maybe some rangers station. It just did not seem to be a cool place to homestea d. They drove back fast, to Las Cruces and cleaned themselves up in a small restau rant, attached to a gas station at the far end of the town, that was without mo vement, still asleep. After a couple of cups of scorch and some orange juice, B lanik having some cereal and two bowls of peaches, they paid the check and took off. Before pulling back on to the El Paso road, Floyd suggested they fill up w ith gas and go over everything. Blanik reckoned that gas and oil were that much cheaper in Texas, so they decided to leave all that, until they got into a bor dertown. Juarez and El Paso lay either side of the still-flowing Rio Grande. Both looke d to have a large amount of light industry. That early, there was no sign of th e usual influx of daily Mexican workers. The towns were not pretty it was diffi cult to think that only fifty years ago they were still just simple, horse fille d frontier towns. They stopped briefly at one of the pumps and then made it str aight on, out of town. It did seem to be a depressing kind of set up, even whe n deserted. A good State Freeway led on toward a place called Van Horn, where a bout two hours later, they rejoined the old road, number 90 with something like four hundred and fifty miles to make. Blanik said, all being well, that they sh ould get into San Antonio some time in the late afternoon, of that day. The road was not all that wide, but the surface was good. There was not another vehicle to be seen. Also, the country all about them was featureless. On the horizon, a few isolated, castellated buttes broke the monotony. He went on to tell them slowly, in detail, of the two large State parks, on up the road, Big Bend and B almorhea, where he had once holed up for some a kid. They were now making good time and even the sun had decided to keep low for a few hours. About eleven oclock, they stopped at a small cafe, by Marathon, though it was mor e of a converted ranch house. Over the door was the name of the place the Dewdr op. It caused Blanik to burst into laughter. Inside, the only other customers were three typical Texans, tall, an all rigged o ut in their boots and ten gallon hats. The dump was devoid of any subtle soci al reference. There was a row of Pin ball tables along one wall Even these had an early fifties look about them. One was called the Riverboat, another the Rac k and Ball, another Eight Ball Snooker. Each had a half illuminated panel up fr

ont, with a whole variety of grimacing pinup-derived, female forms, hideously dr awn and coloured, in their one piece bathing outfits. Amidst lines of figures, the odd beach-balls, ace of spades or catherine-wheels9 gave an identity to the whole infantile conception. There were any number of flashing lights and trilli ng little bells, to amuse the operator. The three cowboys were not amused, or maybe just plain startled, by Tonys long ha ir. One of them made some remark about the Ladies Room. There was nothing exci ting on the chowlist, so again it was a triple order of black jack, some macaron i salad for Floyd, and a piece of apple pie, reputedly home baked, for the other t wo. Walking over to the somewhat antique record machine, Tony put in a dime and retu rned to the corner table. A strange, reedy, nasal sound filled out into the roo m. It was some Indian instrument, played on the B side of a single by the Beatles . The only Pop group on the machine. They must have had a small following, even in this neck of the woods. The wavering voice of George Harrison commenced to s ing about the forces of the Inner Light, with a solo return to the wailing noise , between each verse. From the tall gentlemen came some further rare pieces of wit, native Texan wit. Blanik dared Tony to put the track on once more. Youll probably get a thirty-eigh t slug in your leg, but it should be a laugh. So, Tony walked to the counter and got some change from the old bat and went to select the same product. As the thi n notes came winding out of the clapped out speaker once more, there was a unani mous move by the three cowboys to leave. Passing the other occupied table, one of them muttered something to Tony, about respectin other folks peace and told him not to bother coming back again. The song ended once more, with some words about, the further you travel , the les s you really know , and this summing-up had the three young strangers bent with lau ghter. So, they were in Texas. They made good progress, for the next two hundr ed miles. Blanik was doing the driving, and he knew the road well, from earlier times. About the middle of the afternoon, they left the highway and drove into the main street of a township called Del Rio. It appeared that the town was all but des erted. They drove down a side street, looking for a place he once knew, that se rved up Mexican food. After driving about, for several minutes, crisscrossing t he blocks, they parked the wagon by the Library and continued the search, on foo t. It felt like it was about an even ninety degrees. And, what they were reall y looking out for, was a few iced beers. A beat up old Chevy, coming slowly down the street toward them, pulled across th e centre line, and drew in, alongside them. Say, do you guys want any help? You look kinda lost: The bare arm of a wiry-haired chick, with heavy, Latin features, beckoned them o ver to the automobile, as she called out to the three of them, You don look as if you belong round here. Were you lookin fer anybody in particular ? Blanik, catching a glimpse of the other two guys in the crate, one with a small goatee beard, the other real straight looking, answered quickly, No. Thats alrigh t. We were just goin to be drivin out of here. Thanks, anyway One of the two men leaned across to the window, and putting forward his hand, sa id, Look, man, we aint the hounds. It just looked as if you fellas were lost, or sumt hin. Smiling he added, It,s unhealthy for a group of strangers to be hangin bout on the streets, round here. With an honest gesture, he opened the rear door of the saloon, and invited them all to come by and take a beer with them, at his home, and, in return, to give them all the news. Where yall from? West Coast? Floyd needed no second asking and stepped in front of Blanik. Come on, weve got the time to spare. Right? They all packed into the back seat. Blanik quietly telling both of them, as the y drove a little way, out of the town, that they should play it by ear, at least for a while. The house was a clapboard wooden affair, all rundown. It looked lived in though

. There was a large overgrown lot, at the rear, where they each took a seat, ei ther on the ground, or in one of them beach chairs. Some bushes were heavy with as yet unripe blackberries, one or two being just edible. The beer was really welcome, and within minutes, after a round of name exchanges, they got to talkin g about San Francisco. It also came out, that the guy with the beard and his wife were originally from the Bay Area, and were down here on some Federal Program for the Mexican childre n in the town. They were really fine people and invited their visitors to stay over for a few days. Their house was rented for about thirty dollars a month. They lived there, a finely simple rural life. Though neither of them was sure w hether or not they would care to stay around there for more than a couple of yea rs. They asked a dozen questions about the Coast, in as many minutes. Sure the y read the newspapers, but did not get it as it really was happening, especially from the Texas rags. In particular they wanted to know of the conditions in th e City, and if the people were getting as up tight, as they heard they were, in these days. The quiet-looking guy, Don, did a straight job to support his large family, but was really active in the Equal Rights movement, up in San Antonio, where, he re ckoned he had made about the same number of bitter enemies, as sympathetic frien ds. Soon, they were all talking together, and handling the dialogue and informa tion, like longtime relations. It was real fine. Their host, whose name was Pierre, went back to the porch and into the shadowed house. He returned9 with some cuts of fresh melon and brown sugar, and was foll owed by some quietly heard music that almost followed him, into the yard. Blani k recognised this to be one of the Brandenburg Concertos, and was soon in a spir ited conversation with Pierre, about his musical tastes. They were shortly inte rrupted by Tony, who, never to be found wanting, offered them the first of sever al, fat lighted joints. Soon all six of them, considering, as the locals would say, the heat an very loaded and beginning to move together, yet closer. The engaged and sparked conversation of the first half hour, began to slowly sub side. Apart from the over all heat of the time of day that layered the whole ar ea in a dust of lethargy and sleep, there was the feeling, almost tangible, that the six slowing centres of consciousness, were enfolding themselves in a circle d blanket of warm exchange. There was a mixing and a blending of the human and basenatural structures, brought a calmness and peace. The transient waves of mus ic, were at one with the close areas of new grown vegetation, as it was with the peeling boards of the porch, or the shelllike, aural perception that subtlety an d gently rose to a high natural key, that dominated the slow movement and vibrat ion, of this small altered part of the sleepless dream. Floyd was talking quietly and intimately with Don, about a number of mutual yet topical and relevant events. Blanik and Pierre were still some place, in their bag, though the exchange had become more spontaneous, with fragmented utterings and references to instantly comprehended themes, or musical ideas. For Tony, th e outer world had ceased to be relative. He was lying on his stomach, his eyes fascinated by the range of, what were to him, sub tropical colourings that humme d and inter-mixed about the flowering spring-time bushes. What was it all about? All that bust back home. After all, grass was only the smallest thing in the world. And those pigs had got so mean about that bust. H is folks an all the rest of them too. Was this state of euphoria so wrong? Or w as it all part of the great, inhuman Lie? Just part of the con? Nobody could tel l him, that getting stoned, a mild toxic condition normally, was at all to be co mpared to the burn that you could get, from a fifth of Vodka, on a Friday night, or a case of Buds. The Board was always going on about the danger of schizoid, and, what did they call it, cannabis psychosis. He knew from his own experienc e, and he had been smoking for well over a year, that the hyper emotional respon se, and the often severe alienation, that the user went through, were more a res ult of his relation to the surrounding, clearly seen Reality. That for the imme rsed user, became not only the victim of his own awareness, but also the scapego at of the Systems conscience. Just as the tie up with all the hard stuff was mainly caused by the action of t

he Man, pushing the alienated smoker toward the world of the criminally-directed operation. He had never met anybody, this side of normal mental make up, who, having dragged on a few roaches had consequently ended up on substitutes. Perha ps the greatest mistake made, by the gentlemen who presumed to understand so muc h about his own and other peoples motives, in using the odd stick, was their lack of understanding; that not being unusual in other fields either; they failed to see that the young were aware of choice, and even perhaps needed the weed as a necessary balance, to Making it in the knife yard of Twentieth century competitio n and pressures. Carlita, Pierres halfMexican wife, suggested to the languid tea party, that they al l go down for a swim , to the nearby branch of the Rio Grande. There, there wa s a deep, green pool, where they might swim in peace, undisturbed. Tony, halfse riously, made some remark about going back to the wagon, f or their swimming gea r. For his sin, he was almost stripped there, on the spot, by the others. In answer to their joking taunts about his Anglo Saxon prudery, he pleaded that one just did not get around to skinny dipping, in the usual run of things, up in Br itish Columbia. Laughing, they all piled back into the Chevy, hot as a baking o ven, and were shortly down below a rail bridge, vintage nineteen twenty six, on the outside of town. They all stripped and ran down the grass bank to the water. Tony, to prove a po int, was the first to dive in. The water was warm and green. It had an almost viscous quality, like some weight of machine oil. It flowed slickly between one s legs, like silk-banding. Three feet below the surface, it became quite cold a gain. A current appeared to be non existent. Pierre, swimming up alongside him , told Blanik that they swam here often, three, or four times a day. Both he an d his lady looked as if they did. They were both already dark brown, even so ea rly in the year. He had the appearance of some Indian native; his torso tight a nd well tuned. Neither did she have any of those ugly, unnatural patches of whi te skin, about her hips and breasts, that sure made a sister look freaky, withy or without a bikini she looked like some rare animal, as she swam and dived, he r squarish, exercised shoulders turning through the water. The leather coloured wet flesh of her back, almost metallic, in contrast to the parting green surfac e, There was even some image of a Tahitian nature, that flashed through Blaniks exulting mind, as he watched her muscular, even and lighted naked upper thighs r ear out of the water, as she dived deeply down( However, they did not stay playing in the stream for long, maybe only fifteen mi nutes. Blanik made a few leaps from the bridge, aiming loud depth charges below, and then, diving very well from the outer suspension wires, received a number of rounds of applause. Three local Mexican boys, all about twelve years old, had also joined them, naked in the water. They were all fine swimmers and looked as if they were three dark scaled river sprites, as they started a regular water b attle. Later, lying on the bank in the sun, Pierre brought to each of them, a handful o f orange cumquats. They were just ripe enough to eat, with their unusual peachlike flesh lining the inside of the skin. The sun was now just about the right temperature. Tony after a naked run, through the trees, over to a small dam, wi th his whiter body, ghost like, and swinging freely, came leaping back toward t he group, and fell asleep within seconds, Perhaps the others would have followed also, except for the unusual opportunity that this meeting afforded, for conver sation, and that all the tongues seemed to encourage. Even the local boys sat a bout, listening, half-comprehending the chatter. Carla was happy just to squat in the fork of a tree and sing softly, to herself. Floyd said, unexpectedly, You know, many a company vice president would give half his soul , to swim like we just done. You two have got your own little Paradis e down here. You would not catch me goin back up North, to no city. Ah, no. Yeh, okay. But you have to admit that paradise or civilisation, is really so ma ny different things, to so many different people. If you were one of the father s of these kids, down here, just how would you think about the scene, round here ? Not everybody wants to go Play Adam and Eve. added Blanik. I agree with what Pierre just said, that there is this growing split between the

ordinary man, and his ruler. Once, he had nothing to say and was hardly part o f the State. Literally a serf, illiterate and poor. Now, especially here in the States, he has a material wealth, greater, if you like, than any Prince of the H oly Roman Empire. So, dont you feel that he should be truly able to feel respons ible for his own life? Its an almost philosophical problem I admit that He kneeled down in front of the other four and opened his arms, as if to show th e honesty of his next point. If the individual is not able to shoulder the weight, in meeting the complication s of living in the materialist Society, then the State must show him how. That does not have to be anything like the discredited and frustrating Russianperforma nce, though. Nor, an unworkable idea of anarchy. Rather, like the restriction on liberty that the traffic laws must bring about. Unless, there is a real, o pen and workable cooperation between the power groups and the masses, who are now so much a real section of that power, then there will be such a step back, as th e whole kybosh fouls up. You just cant keep filling up the drain an expect it to keep itself clean. You with me? The State has already failed to use enlighten ed thought in these last years. Dont you know it? As I see it, said Don softly, so many people though, even in the affluentclasses, ha ve never tasted a first and real freedom; not even as children. To think just as individuals, f or themselves. You know, apart from any of their obligation t o the Society. The freedom to dress as you like, or to go singing down the stre et, just because you are happy. More an original freedom of the individual, and his expression of that state, than any more abstract, national or political fre edoms. I think all the kids these days are just going wild, in a neurotic attem pt to shake off all the old hangups and inhibitions. It is not so much, that th ey wanna drop out, as just to remain human beings, within the structure. It mig ht be a happier scene if they do alter a few things, Life is short. Like us goi n swimmin in the creek, down there funny thing is this, that one hundred years ag o, the folks jus went swimming they had never even seen a costume, cept maybe in a catalog. An you know, everybody used to sing once, out in the fields or even in barbershops, or at home. So were has all that gone? Pierre was laughing to himself. Ill tell you were. People have just forgotten. There are so many new things to think about. Ever since they got that crystal s et buzzin. All that ability surely inborn, went out the window. What you see about you today is a real ignorance among the masses, as to what they are, as human beings. What people should be returning to, if they want to get happy aga in, even with the electricity laid on, is back to a Seminal Simplicity, some ess ential excellence; away from all the crap thats being sold to them. Like how muc h does anybody really need to be content? You tell me? Blanik summed it up for them, in his own terms, saying that there were only thre e things that man needed, that were basic wants, Food, clothing, shelter, and Music. But it was sure difficult, even to find these, for many of Third-World tribes. Before they got up to leave, Pierre had talked about the racial thing, in that p art of Texas. Apparently, around Del Rio, there was some militant feeling, that the State had been trying to remove and had thrown in aid and set up projects of various kinds. Being close to San Antonio, the low conditions of the Mexican i mmigrants did not help matters. In fact, he thought that some kinda show could easily break out there. They were driven back to the hacienda. After being giv en some cans of Seven Up, and a pile of chicken sandwiches, they half mockingly, yet sadly, said goodbye and started back to their own vehicle. Don, who ran th em to the centre of town, also invited them to come up to San Antonio and see hi m. They sure wished they could have stayed around a few days, with those good people. In perhaps only one and a half hours, they had established a kind of primal, pri mitive and natural relationship, that was rarely encountered in the cities. Whe ther this was the sun, or the grass, or Pierre and his woman, they asked themsel ves, as they drove on out, through the town. Perhaps it was the pool in the riv er, combined with the beautiful-bodies and minds of those people. It had been a

unique and way-out experience. Something had caught them, gently and subtley, far removed from all their normal thoughts and lives. San Antonio was not far away. About one hundred and fifty. As they drove acros s there, f or the first time the whole business he was involved in began to ente r again into the thoughts of the driver. Blanik could feel the heat of the Sout h getting into his blood, once again. As each insistent thought came creeping i nto his mind, mainly regarding the vagueness of the final deal in Dallas, after the sneak was through, so he found himself trying to conquer any doubts about al l that. The border run was not bugging him as much as the Dallas business. Com ing over, well that was just a question of luck, and keeping cool at the right t ime but this other business, well, he would be carrying a load of precious merch andise and there were many sticky fingers. Floyd would be along. He could use himself. They arrived in San Antonio, just as it was getting dark. Blaniks friend lived j ust out of town, by the Park. He was the keeper of a somewhat lowdown, rundown church Adventist, or some kind of latterday hot-gospel. He managed to keep his large family alive by writing articles for the local magazines and newspapers, and held a position as a local Youth Counselor. Somehow, he still managed to ke ep two automobiles on the road and had a large house. Blanik often used to tell him, that the Devil did look after his own. They had first met just before he had come out of that looney stir, up the road in Austin. Richard had been assigned to him, on parole, to see that he entered civilianlife again, at least initially, in a reasonable manner. There had been n o question of his returning home, after they had let him out. Nor had he wished that. After a couple of weeks of desultory hanging about in Houston, and with a broad in Pasadena, just carrying the balloon, and no hope of any work either , he had got right down to his boots and shoes and bummed a ride down to Corpus Christi. He could not remember how long he was down there. There was a maze of memory, that he found was throwing up odd pieces of different clues from the pa st. Sometime, he thought I will have to get all of it together. He did remembe r clearly doing the shrimp boat job, along with another two roustabouts. Standi ng there for hours, in the early morning, in the bottom of the boat, between two barrels, shelling the still- living fish. The money he had made was good. And what about some of the guys who ran the boats They were just like the hacks he had so recently got away from. They ruled with the weight of one arm. He had s een guys who had bucked against the deal, knocked right out of the boat into the morning sea, and left there, presumably to sink or swim to one of the other b oats. That was some way to earn your bread though. With a hundred in his fold, he had thumbed his way back up to Richies place. Now , that must have been about two an a half to three months after getting out. Rich ard had covered with him for the Parole board. And there he had stayed, for lon ger than six months. Time spent mostly practising at the piano, which he had re ally started to work at, while in stir. It was just at that time, a real break for Blanik. He had been forced to go back on the street again, then he would ha ve surely ended up back in a cage, within six months, He shared real love for Ri chard. What had love to do with gratitude? Sure, about two months after he had moved in, to No. 228, now about six years ag o, thi s emotion had manifested itself in an afternoon of strangely tender, semi physical, homosexual love. It was spontaneous and easy, quite different to th e grime exhibition he had been witness of, and subject to, while in the house at Austin. Being the house musician, he had been later spared the worst of those ti mes. That exchange with Richard, had never been repeated though. The affection had r emained, he supposed, it was indeed out of gratitude and even a deep need of war m, almost maternal love. He had never fully understood the deep significance of that remembered crying afternoon. No matter, it was great to be back here, onc e more. He would be pleased to see him, he knew that. Not surprisingly, Richie looked much older. He was now fairly rotund, and his b lack hair, once so short, was longer and had some kind of grease on it. He loo ked, thought Blanik, a typical civvy biblepuncher.

Hi, Richard. Sorry about descending on you, without letting you know. Just come down from the Coast. These are two friends of mine. Earl Floyd from San Fran cisco. And Tony Richardson, from Vancouver, Canada. He introduced them in turn. I wondered if we might rest over for one night? How is.. Embracing Blanik warmly, he said, Sure thing, come on in. Stay for a while, if you like. He shook hands with the other two and led them up the driveway, at the side of the house. Say, Joannie, look who just got in. How you bin keepin, boy? The last time I heard from you, you were down in Florida some place. Fort Pierce? What you bin fillin in time with these days? Still get your fingers into the box? Now, dont tell me that you come all the way down her e, just to see your damn ole Parole supervisor? No. Wish I could say that. Nike said, laughing, Were just makin a little business t rip down to Mexico City. Nuthin too exciting just bringing some imports back. The door of the back porch clacked open and there was Joan, with what looked like halfadozen children around her, in their nightclothes. Blanik vaulted over the wire fence and kissed her closely on both cheeks. You look real well. Are these all your offspring? You sure look to have been busy She met the others coming across the lawn and told them to bring their bags into the house. You-all must be famished. Let me go cook yall some eggs up, or sumth in hot. We all ready eaten. She was a tallish, good natured woman, with a slight bone structure, who had not lost her femininity, in spite of all her child produ ction. She was soon busy cooking , and had a tall cup of coffee for each of the m, before they had even gotten their bags into the house. It was now sometime around nine. After a couple of eggs and some rye bread, whi ch they ate in the backroom, the conversation, mostly between Richie and Mike, b ecame personal and retrospective, unimportant to the others. Asking Joan about the mosquitoes, Floyd excused himself and reckoned on sleeping out on the verand ah. Tony, by this time, had already fallen asleep on the long wall divan, not h aving even bothered to take his boots off. They decided to leave him there. The other two carried on talking, for another hour or more. Mainly about the m usic thing that Blanik was into, and also the political situation that was build ing up, toward the next Presidential election. Richard felt that the crucial is sue would be the domestic problem, which, as he knew from long contact, had rema ined dormant, in spite of new programs, since long before the Asian War. That h ad only acted as a further unhappy aggravation upon the whole scene. Mike liste ned, as he explained his ideas. He knew, although he did not speak his mind, th at it was all so much bullshit. Even down here, the Mexican problem had been ig nored, or thinly white washed for so many years. He felt sure that his host wou ld not go without his meat. They went on to talk about the exposition in the ci ty. Later, Blanik was shown to a fibre board panelled room in the loft, where he had ended up sleeping on the floor, with the blankets on top of him. After two da ys of travelling, in the wagon, that foam mattress was just too soft. Sunday morning, nobody had risen particularly early, not even the kids. About quarter before eleven Richard had gone next door to do some preaching. The oth ers had finished a long drawn out breakfast. Mike promised to take the four eld est children over to the lakes that afternoon, but first the visitors had to go into town. Richards wife packed her team into the back of the stationwagon and w ent out to some store nearby. As he and Floyd sat drinking cup after cup of bla ck mud, in the quiet empty house, they discussed the ideas, that had first been thought of, back in Frisco for hauling the stuff back into the States. Tony was still undecided whether or not to come through with the return half of the trip. If he would come through with them, they could try to bring the stuff straight through, by road, though that was the poorest of the alternatives, or they could try to bring it across the border river, at night, If he was not goin g to be in on it, then Blanik, so he figured, would have to take a commercial fl ight and sneak the parcels in that way. That guy bamberg had said, though, that they were making it hot on the flights. It could be the easiest way, but also

that was wideopen. Floyd said that he would be quite prepared to swim the river at night. This, he was told, was not more than fifty yards across, at its narr owest. Mike knew of two places they might use, if they were going to do it that way. Using a rubber raft to float the stuff across, or even backpacking it if t he river was real low. He called into the bathroom, where Tony was taking a sho wer. Hey, Tony. Come on out, an listen to this. See how you dig it. Taking a fairly large scale roadmap from his grip, he laid it out on the carpet. As a half nake d Tony joined them, he started to explain: Well, there are two places that I know of. Both have been used before, and with no sweat. One is down here, near Rio Grande City where the road runs close to the river, on either side of the line. Thats usually real quiet. There is a ro ad patrol, but you can see them comin down. And itll be night. He paused, to loo k into both their attentive faces. The other chance, is much farther to the North, here in Big Bend National Park. There is a shallow ford that could be crossed, at night, on foot. The heap wou ld be driven right around, by one of us, using the normal road, to pick the stuf f up, from the other side, that same night. Or the following morning, The only tricky bit, is this poor road surface, on the Mexican side of the river. Thats t he one it leads up from there, Nueva Rosita. Its not that bad. The reallousy s trip, is say, the last forty miles. Floyd began to interrupt, but Blanik carried on. What do you think about it, yourself, Tony? With that good set of tires it should nt give any trouble. He knew he had to keep it cool with Tony, or else the risk that he himself would have to take, could be just that bit more of a dice. Floyd butted in, once again. Dont yer think were gettin all het up over somethin tha t we aint even seen yet? Lets play it easy, until we get down there. Lets find out jest what the scene is, down there? Tony also agreed, that it was all too early, to be considering the return in det ail and emphasised that he would need some time anyway, to think about doing the return half of the thing. Well, okay, I just hope you two have it all worked out, when we hit Mexico City, a nswered Blanik impatiently, itll all happen fast, down there. Youd be in it for a cut of the green, you know: Im not askin you to do this for Love. How much would that be then? That depends on how the job goes. And what happens later, in Dallas. You shoul d make, at least three grand out of it, Look, think about it. It would sure sa ve me stretching my neck, if we had your crate along. Blanik then stood up. How about we go into town. Get some Mexican chow. We c an fix the insurance too, f or the drive down. Theres a couple of places, theyll be open on a Sunday. How does that sound? Floyd nodded his agreement. We could even show this foreigner the Alamo. And, i f theres one of them Surplus Stores open, maybe we could even find one rubber raf t - one of them little yellow ones. In Mexico, they usually cost three times as much, I should reckon. They picked one up for about fifteen dollars, along with a small hand pump. The city was preparing for some big Fair. Blanik kept noticing the alterations the y were making, in order to accommodate the expected visitors. Down by the cana l, they had torn down all the narrow streets, that had still retained some part of a MexicanAmerican character. He had once lived in a cheap studio in that quar ter. That too had come under the hammer. After they had bought the insurance, he took them along the banks of the small c anal to a small taberna that he knew of. Except, that as everywhere, it was becom ing commercial and modern, it still retained a feeling of the South, of siesta a nd manyana about it. This was one off, so to speak, in that it was still cheap an d managed by the owner. For Tony, it was the first time that he had tasted Mexi can food and the whole menu was sampled. It was also a good chance for the nort herners to get into the shade. The meal finished9 they were walking slowly back to the wagon, when Blanik stopp ed, suddenly. He was clearly shocked. Floyd asked him if he was alright. Acro

ss the road, from the multilevel auto park, he saw that they were in the middle o f demolishing one of the oldest buildings in the town, It was an old Spanish style convent and school, with a magnificent inner courtya rd, an arched cloister, squared by fully grown trees. The building was construc ted of grey granite, that had once been packed in, from a quarry many miles away , by mule, about the eighteen fifties. Apparently somebody was still living in one of the, as yet undestroyed wings. This whole country is insane, he yelled at the others. What the hell do they want, in pulling this place down. For another stinkin auto park. The bastards would c all this, progress! He ran across the road. Hell, they could have used it for anything. Even as a drug store. That would ha ve been better than knocking it down! I tell you this is a fuckin barbaric countr y, Ill be glad to get out of it. There were tears, even, coming into his eyes, as he pushed open the gate, below the delicate, wrought-iron arch, that was surmounted by the gold-cross. All th ree of them entered through one of the blistered, white wood doors and passed th en along a plaster strewn corridor, in the half demolished shell, in to the east ern wing of the building. Already the drills had been at work. Door jam framed non existent walls and hand carved stones lay broken about the ruins. At the r ear, still erect, was a line of arches, covered by old, dust spattered lime tree s, that shaded the simple cloister. The fastened shutters that remained on the high wall, had the dead look about them, rather as eyes that once closed will ne ver see again. The mid day shadows upon the wall gave even what remained of the religious structure, a timelessness, even a spiritual permanence. Floyd, usual ly insensitive to anything, but the most human of conditions, shared Blaniks open distress. He made some comment, about senseless destruction f or short term re al estate gain. A small girl appeared at one of the dust shrouded doorways. She was only a thin figure, about nine years old. Floyd took her by the hand, and asked her, in Sp anish, if she lived there. To her reply, he went on to ask if she would have to be leaving there, shortly. She answered that they would have to go, in some we eks. She did not however answer about just where she might have to live then, b ut turned and ran back into the shadow. Perhaps she was an orphan, he thought. Blanik did not speak again, all the way back to the house. After a beer each, they took the children of Richard, over to the lake. There, they also gave the raft a test launch. Leaving the young ones to play with tha t, they all stripped down to their waists and laid out beneath the trees. Richi e showed up shortly, he and Mike falling once again into a personal conversation . Tony was sat down at one of the picnic tables, writing a poem or some notes. About four, they rounded up the offspring and returned home to eat. They had d ecided to leave early the next morning. Joan had cut up some large steaks from the deep freeze and promised them a fine Texas-style Sunday supper. With that, everybody soon disappeared for the next few hours, into odd quiet corners to sleep. The temperature that afternoon had been way over the eighty. Inside the air conditioned house , it was just possib le to escape for a while, until the sun dropped down. Blanik however, went out t o the back and climbed the wooden stairs. These led up to his friends office. Richard was asleep in a deep chair, behind the desk. Opening the key cupboard, over by the bookshelves, he found in there, still on the same hook, the key to t he church hall. Silently closing the door after him, he went through the connec ting passageway and down the stairs, into the empty hall. Inside the stone building, it was fresh and cool. Perhaps, thanks to God, he th ought. Sitting down at the piano, a whole flood of memories came back to him of those first few months, when he had once again tasted freedom. Here, at this same box, he had first approached some understanding of Brahms, and to identify with some of the deeper personal meanings in the mans work. Music even had begu n to transform itself, from the inside. He had begun to understand some degree further than that of scales, tones and harmonies. He had found himself rejectin

g all that he had been formally taught, as a child. He had seen that Music was not just a control of mathematical propositions about an idea. Rather he had co me to respect it as a Totality that was a divine part of the human condition. T here was even the very birth of the understanding, that was to grow so largely t o dominate his thinking later, an initial comprehension of what Goethe had mean t, when he had written of Music, that this most transient of subjective ideas, should also be the deepest and yet highest expression of the transient metaphor that is Life. He supposed that the groundwork for the new awareness that he had found at that time, had developed naturally from the introspection and experien ce while he was inside. It all seemed to have passed so faintly, away, into th e eternal. Even just sitting here, on that very same stool, could not recall for him, that time in its fullness. The instrument was still well tuned, and he sat there thinking further, exercis ing his fingers, for many minutes. He wondered just what he should play somethi ng by the German master, probably the most human, as a tribute to the peace, tha t he had once rediscovered in this place. Almost unconsciously, he started to p lay the piano arrangement of the Second movement of the B-Flat Sextet for Strin gs. It was a complete theme, with six variations. Deep and rich. Yet there was not hing morbid about the piece. He recalled, as he played that the original score, was marked, Andante ma moderato that was just it. A clear, pure and honest honou ring, even deification of Mankind. Brahms had seen enough of the suffering of h is fellow human beings. He had also been well aware of the other and finer, fa cet of the condition. It was a simple piece, as was the original sextet when co mpared to his later chamber music. As the player came to the end of the work, he laughed out aloud. What an incred ible, complicated mess was being made out of just everyday Life. His own, as we ll as everybody elses. The simplicity, the private calm , that he had once sough t, and even found, in his early years, was now becoming a priceless, and for man y, an impossible luxury. It had just vanished from daily life, even for many of those lost souls with the cash to buy it. He began once again to play the same passage over, this time with a slightly more even interpretation. Was there so me law by which names like Stravinsky, Bach9or even Mailer, had only the smalles t part of a relevance, to such a minority? Perhaps the pain that Bartok had been forced to express in that andante religioso, was a totalising-4igure, that balanc ed the masses of insensitivity? Still playing, he half heard a door open, and tu rned to see Richie and Floyd. They sat down in the front row of seats, until th e pianist had finished. Very fine, said the minister, ! can hear that you were not putting me on, this time , about your progress. That was a fine, sensitive performance. Blanik shrugged his shoulders, and, standing at the instrument commenced playing a fast Blues rhythm. Floyd picked up the beat and as he hammered out an accomp animent on the fontcover, made some crack about there being more nickels made, wi th this kinda music. Then Richard invited them both back to the house. To have a drink, before supper. The last part of the afternoon had vanished it was alr eady past six oclock. I have to take an evening service soon, so Ill join yall late r. I wish I could get old Ribbenstein here to play for me, one Sunday night. We might git a good house in, for one time. As they passed through the screen door on the porch, Mike answered him, Rich, I aint sure, just who gets the kicks from the shows you run. Only the old ladies, an then only well maybe. Supper was simple, but very welcome. Typically Texan, it consisted of the large st steaks that Tony had ever seen. A whole dish full of meat, possibly six or e ight pounds of Tenderloin was brought to the table. Some were rare and bloody, the others burnt black with charcoal. Joan and Tony had spent the last hour gri lling them on a brazier, in the back yard. To go with these, there was an enorm ous bowl of corn, shining with butter and a side plate for each of them, of plai n, green undressed-salad. Beer was the drink on the table. Whatever was lackin g in refinement, was made up for by the quality of the meat. No haute cuisinery down here, just straight, honest food Richie came in soon after they had starte

d eating, his officiating duties finished for one week. An hour later, they all sat about, having made human pigs of themselves. The g uests were surprised to see that the older children had eaten in the back room a nd only joined them, once the table was cleared. With some music playing on the radiogram, the three visitors found themselves morally blackmailed into dancing enthusiastically, with the three eldest girls. A strange performance followed a variation on most of the modern dances, between three male adults of eligible age and three small but nevertheless uninhibited danseuses. The obligatory show c ontinued until it was their bedtime. The house guests were also tired by that time. They wanted to be away early next day. After coffee, Blanik and his host said goodnight. Floyd and Tony sat up for perhaps another hour, talking about Texas and finally, even expectedly these days, Vietnam. Tony found that after a while he was losing his more conservative position, to the cutting remarks of his extremist opponent. He pleaded exhaustion and left the living room, to go s leep on the porch. Floyd had seemed eager to continue for another hour, and pro mised to follow up his attacking position in the morning. Soon he also bedded d own to get some kip. Blanik woke with the first call of dawn. They breakfasted by themselves, quickl y, about six oclock. Before any of the children or their parents were awake. Th ey found everything they needed and just helped themselves. He did remember to ring his woman in SF, just to let her know how things were going. They only tal ked for about five minutes. There was nothing to tell, that was hot news at her end. She was rather surprised to hear that he had driven as far East, as San Antonio. She pointedly told him to make sure that he made it down to the capita l within five days. Telling her politely, that that was his business, the pair of them rang off. Not, however before she had told him to bring himself back, a nd had wished him, in her best French, Bon Voyage. Saying farewell to Joan, who had just come into the kitchen, he went into their bedroom, and shook an unwilling Richard, awake. Taking his hand, Mike told him to keep cool that they might meet again in another six years time. The half-as leep figure belched and grunted something, then fell back to the pillow. They had soon crossed the deserted town, and taking the ring road, within minute s were heading toward Mexico. It was nearly seven oclock, and they all felt glad to be on the road again. The break in the travelling had sure been welcome tho ugh all their tempers were seemingly better for that. In the semi desert down h ere, it was still Spring. Fields of tiny wildflowers lay to either side of the road. An acre or two of gold-dust yellow would stretch out, on into a cloud of purple. Surrounding the isolated ranchbuildings would be just a few green bush es, and some tall fencing covered in red leaves. All of this only lasted for a month or so. Then the sky turned to a darker, fiercer blue and it all began to dry up and burn away. The cart tracks became hard and cracked, the still, dust covered lines curving through the thirsting fields of dull, dry brown soil. None of them spoke much. Near Devine they had been witness to an early morning parade, that they had watched pass by, with a sickening, stomach filling kind of panic. Tony had counted thirtysix of the monsters, heading North. It had not occurred to them, as the first half dozen of these curiously fendered carriers h ad come into view, just exactly what they were seeing0 Floyd was the one who had put it all together. They were standard, production line saloons, probably Che vrolets, still in their variety of personal colours. But each had been rigged up with an additional front fender, a heavy, welded anti personnel battering ram, still unpainted, black and brutally efficient in appearance. No doubt the engin e of each had been all bored out; and a fitment on the centre of the dash, f or the hanging of a short barreled shotgun. The whole sinister cavalcade was prob ably running up to some Ordnance depot, to be uniformly decorated with olive dra b and silver insignia. That sure looked like a fascist Law and Order bit to me, Floyd had finally said, with a half sick look on his face. And nobody had want ed to talk much about it. Half way to Laredo, Tony asked Blanik to pull off the road, as he needed a leak. Growing on the bank, just where they pulled in, was a small twisted tree. It

was in full bloom small pale yellow flowers, like those of a gorse-bush or forsy thia. Scattered in a field to the right were a collection and rare display of l arge poppies. Some were six inches across. Most of the surrounding landscape w as uncultivated and each carpet of flowers, though wild, appeared to know of its place, to be free and signifying some determined arrangement. They drove on, through a place called Dilley. The highway was becoming narrower . As usual, there was hardly another vehicle travelling with them, in either di rection. Floyd, without any suggestion of the thing, started to ask Blanik abou t the job. Yer know, up to now, weve only heard your end of the deal. Hows about coming strai ght, over jus who you are in this job for? He sounded earnest, and as if he wante d a straight answer. Like, er, whos payin you, and what happens if it all louses u p? He prevented the latent reply. If a guys gettin in to a deal like this, it is ju st as well to know the whole setup, okay? Blanik told him that all that was his own business, not anybody else. He was the one they would nail, if anything did go wrong. He added, What is all this to you, anyway, Floyd, you never brought any of this up earlier? Well now. Back there at Richards place, I get to figurin that maybe me is being un derpaid for this little game. What do you reckon this dope is worth, which were goin down to collect. You must have some idea? The tone of his question was no t easy. An anotha thing, I just dont wanna know, if one of them Syndicates , is be hind all this. Blanik could see what was coming up. Having agreed to come down with him, the g uy was now getting either greedy, or scary. Why couldnt the grafter have asked a ll this , back there , not half way in the middle of nowhere he had been told tha t he would be getting three thou, maybe some more. This was not enough. So, th e fact that he had another three, to lay on Tony, if he came through with them, had gotten the guys tiny mind working. Earl, if you want to know, probably about a hundred. I dont know exactly, either. I m just the runner, remember? If the packages did weigh about fifty pounds, and did contain the basis for the hydrolysis and synthesis of the Acid, it couldnt be pure juice, surely, then he k new that their actual, eventual value, on the wholesale market, back in the Sta tes was more like eight hundred thousand. By the time the stuff was passed thro ugh to the city dealers, at perhaps one or two dollars for a three to five hundr ed microgram ride, then the ultimate value was many times that amount. Even at the street level, that much Acid, or rather an ounce of it, for a purchase price of two thousand, could make you a rich man overnight. It could also make you a dead one. If you ran along with the wrong people. Half a dozen grisly tales w ere recorded in the mind of the Bay Area. He was reminded, and remembered just what a big deal, it could all be. Floyd tapped him on the shoulder, hard. Look, that still dont tell me, what you a re in this damn thing for. Now come on: Pullover! He shouted above the noise of the motor, I wanna know. Now! Blanik turned in the driving seat and told him to quit that line and once again, that this was his thing, alone. Tony, who had been listening to all this, so far without comment, told Floyd to cool it. You know how Mike feels about it. Why not drop the whole thing isnt thr ee enough for you, or something? The negro turned on him. Clam up, kid This is between Mike an me. If we wan the mouse to come out of the hole, well call get it? This was the not so sweet side of Floyd that was blowing out now. Pull over, Mike. Lets get this thing straight, right now: They were just coming down, on to the good stretch of State Highway No. 35, th at leads right down to the border. Blanik continued driving. The Olds. lurched to one side, as Floyd tried madly to climb over the seat-back that divided him from the others, sitting up front. As he did so, he was soake d by the contents of a SevenUp can, that Tony had been drinking. It was knocked from his hand in the struggle for control of the steering wheel that followed.

Listen, you mad bastard, quit this, or youll kill us all: Blanik shouted at him, a s the auto swerved toward the edge of the Highway. He braked sharply, over on to the mud verge. Turning to Earl, soda splashed acr oss his face and jacket, who was poised, ready to hit one of them, he demanded, W hat the hells got into you? This aint no way to do anything, let alone drive. If you wanna do this thing or drive, okay! lf youve got some shit on your mind well , lets have it. Calming a little, Floyd began. Right. What is this guy here, comin in on this jo b for? We two can make it alone. Without him. Talking last night, you wouldve t hought that he was at the centre of everything. An how come you can give him the same bread as me? The veins at the side of his neck were dark and swollen, with anger and blood. The sunburned lines on his neck, and the curl of a scar, that rose steeply from the corner of his full upper lip seemed suddenly emphasised. His eyes contained small bloodspots, which, overhung by a heavyshadowed brow l ine, seemed to flicker with dull, hating light. There was nothing humourous in that fixed, and yet pulsing glare. A patch of sunlight, through the rear window , made up a glistening, almost silver patch of angry perspiration on his high, broad forehead. That dislike of Tony, that Blanik had first detected, was now all pouring out, a long with half a dozen other latent sores. Well, Im not goin to fuckin argue over this. Thats jus the way it is. We go on, and we use the wagon comin back. Agreed, Tony? The third nodded his head in silent ag reement. Theres goin to be no change in plan. Now, if you dont like it thats tough luck. So, can I get ridin, again? As an after thought, he added, I did lay this t hing out, remember? Then, to their surprise, Floyd, who had been half-leaning, over into the front s eat, turned away to the back seat again. Taking up his kapokfilled jacket, he op ened the nearside, reardoor and stepped out. He asked Blanik for the key to the trunk, and after pulling out his grip, threw them back, through the window, into the front of the wagon. Then he told them both to get to Hell, crossed the cen tre reservation over to the other side of the highway and held out his thumb to a small farm truck that went slowly by. Then he started walking back, in the d irection of San Antonio. The stupid bastard, said Blanik. How damn stupid can you get. How bull-necked can yuh get? Lts one hell of a way to come down here, and then quit, jus cause of so me crazy idea in your head. You never could get to the bottom of that guy. Loo k Tony, we need him, though. Im goin back across the centre. To ask him to think again. An to come on down with us. That alright with you, now? Sure, Im just the innocent party around here. The highway was empty, in both directions, as far as he could see. Just the fou r lanes, sweeping North and South. Swinging the tank over hard to the left, the y bounced over the soft, unfinished central reservation and drove slowly back th e quarter mile, to where Floyd was stretching it out rapidly, his thumb stuck o ut, in some hopeful gesture. Pulling alongside, Blanik just edged the Olds at a walking pace. He asked the cat to reconsider, and come on along. He even mad e some kind of apology for not telling him fully about the whole deal. Even got to asking Floyd to remember Jenny and how he could use that money. Floyd dropped his suitcase down and turned, still wild, toward them, as Tony als o added his voice to the persuasion. Will you tell me, how much you are gettin for this trip? he yelled at Blanik. Look man, I cant tell you, for many reasons. Not just my own. But listen. You a re gettin a fair deal. You know me, Earl. I aint out to burn you. Okay? Floyd picked up his gear. Well, thats it then. Why dont you two jus fuck off some place. See you aroun some time. Maybe in a State Pen. He spat on the ground and walked off. Shouting back, Youre a sucker, Floyd. Blanik revved up and drove slowly after the s triding figure. You are a loser, Floyd! You are a loser, an yalways will be. Its nothing to do with your goddamn colour! Driving up alongside him again, he leaned over to the nearside window, and thre

w a twenty bill out. Take that. Youll need it to get back to the Coast. If ya d ont take it, you are a fool! The figure bent to pick up the sawbuck, for one momen t looked as if he was going to smash one of his big hands, right into their fac es. But he turned away, sharply right, away from the side of the cruising autom obile. Youre a loser, Floyd, shouted Blanik again, as he quickly accelerated away and ove r the fresh-sown grass. Gripping the wheel, in a spasm of half-controlled anger , he put his foot down harder. They skidded over the dry mud, hit the black sur face of the road, and headed South. The figure on the other side of the highway shrank to a small grayish mark on th e horizon and was then finally lost from view. In the rear mirror, two lines of con-verging strips of rolled-out road met at some visual horizon between the de sert plane and the clearing sky. There was no word spoken for the next ten miles. Blanik was in a flaming, angry mood. His voice kept cursing above his restrained anger. His knuckles still s howed white on the rim of the steering wheel. Finally the motor noise and the s tillness were broken into. So, where do we go from here, asked Tony quietly, this really kinda makes up my min d, for me I think Ill be coming the round trip with you? Im not turning back, just because that bum Floyd wants out. Thats for sure. Ill ma ke it alone. Now wasnt that just typical of the guy. He gets some crazy idea in to his head, an thats all. Bam! Blanik seemed to relax in a matter of seconds. Lets get something to drink, and rethink this deal over. Man, does that guy have som e hang ups: They were just coming in to Encinal and crossed under the highway to a rundown l ooking place, that went by the name of, Peggys Eat House, on a hand painted board. Neither of them was hungry. The well built woman, who greeted them with a loud, Hi, as they came in the door b rought them two large cups of coffee, strong and black, almost before they had s at down. Blanik appeared to be more than usually serious, as he sat with his le gs up, on the bench of the makeshift cubicle. Am I glad to hear you say that you will come all the way down. Well get through t his trip, you see, without that bum. He was hurtin all the way out from San Fran cisco, right? Tony shrugged his broad shoulders. Could be youre right. He certainly did not gr oove with me last night. After you had gone to bed. We were talking about who was responsible for the mess that most of the big cities are in, and, you know, the whole foulup. I held that it was the weakness of the overall humancondition. That it was only through a mass understanding of Life, and even Art, that broa d changes might be brought about. When I suggested, that in Europe, the aristoc ratic tradition had been responsible, especially in England, for much in the way of humanistic reform Wow! , he really blew his top. He strode about the room telling me that the old ruling mob were no better than their modern equivalents, Sciences anall. That the minority3 that held the power, never did give a two bi t damn for the people. He refused to see or admit, that it was the more conserv ative elements in the last century who had tried, often desperately to restrain the industrialists power, and the exploitation that went with it. Blanik was only half-listening to this, although an elderly woman across the roo m, was obviously all ears. I tried to make him see, that if, in your country, the intellectuals had only had a say in the course of events, following nineteen sixty three, then perhaps th e Vietnam thing would have been altogether different, and not taken such a toll, in human and other hidden terms. This, Floyd had dismissed as nonsense, reckon ing that the whole of the academic community was so very dependent upon the weal th of Federal and other groupings, as to be utterly ineffectual, morally. or in any other wanted to finish this recall of that character. He finished with the usual anarchistic argument, about armed revolution being the only way out of it all. For black and white folks, together. I backed down from that one, and he went storming off, hurling insults back at me, for my supposed naivety and so on ! All of that did not help this mornings little showdown. I dont think so.

Listening to all this with his eyes closed, Blanik took a long swallow of his co oled coffee and answered quite slowly. All of it to me, you must realise, on eit her side of the line, is so much useless bullshit, or mere polemic. If you were to put me in a box, I would swear that the only thing that matters anything to me, is my music. The rest you try to forget. Weber said that Music was the onl y true speech of mankind so I let those who want to, play at politics. Short of getting oneself arrested in some demo, there is little that one can hope to do effectively. Except to speak out. The whole unhappy system is lousy, even mean ingless. And there are not too many people about who would give their life to a n ideal. In fact these days, right through the Structure, there is a remoteness of ideals that was unknown fifty years ago. The only thing that matters, they seem to say, is next years Daring, Dashing and Dynamic Chevrolet. That is just about where it is at, for most people. And how much real Knowledge or feeling, did you have to have anyway, about anything, in order to live a vegetable existe nce in some Albany, New York, or Oregon. It was surely easier to cop out, he s tated. The only world that matters to me these days, or that I can relate to, are the so unds inside my head and also, if you like, Miss. E. Those tones in my box, tell me all that I want to know about this raving humans condition. I will give you that about the universities though. They do act like a kind of balance. Like a centre point of human and reasoned thinking although dont look too closely at w hat goes on at some of them. Or how the agents over in Sacramento would like t o use their magic dollar wands. Tony and the three other customers in the place had found this outburst embarras sing. Well, I at least half understand what you mean. You try to get it all toge ther , like some higher place, dont you? Blanik let go, shrugged his shoulders and beckoned the waitress over, to pay th e check. Talking of higher things, Ill cut you in, on what I was going to give to that mad bastard. We should get moving, though. That pick up has to be made before Wedn esday. All being okay, it should go easy, from here on in. He stood up from the table, Hey, an if you got anythin that is buggin you, in any kinda way shout it out , okay? They left the cafe and with Tony driving his own jalopy, made it down to the Ame rican side of the border in half an hour. It was then around mid morning. Blan ik had taken off his peewees, his half-laced boots, and had fallen into a sleep of relief. He awoke in the central square. The sun was warm and comfortable. The square w as full of mothers and young children, mostly Mexican. Driving over the bridge, they both remembered about the visas. They had not been fixed up back in Texas . For Mike it would be no great hassle, he was an American. Up at the passport control-point, everybody was half asleep anyway. Odd unifor med characters, of indeterminate ranks, sat at desks that smelled of paper, ink and tobacco, protected by rings of rubber stamps and broad counters. Without t oo much fuss, they issued Tony with a visa for thirty days, at a price. It was as they moved along to the Customs Shed that Mike issued a low groan. A line of maybe twenty people, of all sorts, were waiting for examination. Som e had automobiles and trucks outside, the others were just simple peasant types, returning to their own country. An odiously-tempered official, in a green jacket, looked to be examining every s mall bundle and package. The two soldiers outside, could not proceed to check t he vehicles, until the officer on the inside was ready. In front of them in the line, was a thin, young Spanish type of seniora, with her outwardly disintereste d man. Even with her exceptional body and long prominent ankletendons to fill t heir thoughts, they soon both became impatient. The shed also reeked of that ch eap and acrid Mexican tobacco. Blanik restarted back to the Oldsmobile, after t he best part of a thirty-minute wait. A further fifteen minutes later, another stout Customs officer appeared with Ton y. Indifferently he stuck a number of labels on the front and rear wind-shields , merely glanced at the insurance papers, that were handed to him and then waved

them away. It was obviously the wrong time of day to be going over the line. Reversing ou t of the area, they passed a number of other officials just standing about bored, as the air was close. These men for the most part, did not give a damn. Mostly ill paid and dissatisfied. Any hope of promotion was blocked by graft and priv ilege. They were grateful for any position and a pension, however little. Life for most people in Mexico was just a matter of work and eating and just holding on to whatever pesos, you had managed to acquire in the general thin scramble. Even the young Mexicans he had met, found themselves, in spite of an education, confronted by a system which for all its new potential, was still almost feudal . He hoped it would change fairly, and soon, for their sakes. It would, given time and a vision, as all things. SOME, MUST HAVE, TO FALL, AFTER, AN INTERMEZZO, FOR LISA. They drove slowly and expectantly out of Nuevo Laredo, on the Mexican side of th e river. The contrast, the two ways of life was immediate. Tony kept remarkin g to his companion about the eyes of the darker-skinned people in the streets. They all seem to be so cool, he twice repeated, An look at the way those women wal k, and smile! It was past mid-day; and the street was full, of mixed groups of town folk. Als o a smell of chow cooking everywhere. These people were no strangers to Blanik; he had good reason to remember their kindnesses. Even up North here, on the bo rder, they retained a gentle dignity. The proximity of the Coca- cola civilisati on had not greatly altered their lives. Throughout the whole country you found a passive humanity, that was an inheritance from their Catholic conquerors, and a complementary delight in the pagan, and in the sight of death that had shown it self in the countrys revolutionary-struggles. Winding his window right down, he smiled at some of the passers-by, who at first doubtful of how to react to this gesture, then returned it openly. What a difference he thought, compared to al l those hung- up people back in Texas, with their hard smiles and pale, withdraw n faces. These people had nothing, in many cases, not even clothes, enough, yet they cou ld still raise a smile. Turning to speak to Tony, who was pre-occupied staring at some dark-haired girl, in a doorway, whose red lips had parted wide, at the s ight of his long, tied-back hair, he let the idea go. The streets were full of shining, innocent young girls in simple, yet colourful-clothes. In reply to a question, about the chances of making it, with one of these senori tas, Mike just told Tony to forget it. And to be careful who he tried to pick u p. Listen, brother, either way, you can end up with a thin-blade in your back, or a rare dose of syph. The only women youll get around this town are the old re gulars theyre cheap, sure, but very nasty. He began to laugh and retold a tale, of one time he had spent down here, in Durango, when he had gone back to some ol d tarts room. He had been totally drunk and had needed just a bed, more than any other thing. He had awoken, half-sick, in a darkened-room, in the middle of the night, not remembering where he was, or how he had landed up there. Next to hi m, on the bed, was a woman of about fifty, with an obscene white-belly, shaking, jelly-like, even in sleep. Next to his face was a hard mat, of tired, tinted m usty-hair. The body was also smelling, of stale-alcohol and the plaster-like ma ke-up, on the face and shrunken-lips, was smudged and damp. He had pushed himse lf up, to go and retch in the corner of the room. With that noise, the woman ha d awakened and sat up in bed, screaming oaths at him. She was demanding money f rom him, although he was quite sure, that even in his most debauched condition, he would never have touched that poor, sorrowfully ugly figure, now half-covered by a dirty sheet. Making for the door, he had thrown ten dollars at her and he aded out for the street, as the whole house had begun to gather on the landing. For weeks after, that harridan-memory, with its sad, old-breasts and wrinkled f lesh, had haunted him, along with the fear that he had picked up a real bargain for his ten dollars worth. Tony joined fully in the laughter as this droll stor

y, or rather the pathetic reminiscence of it, , came to an end. Just what we l augh at, thought Blanik, introspectively. The road as far as Sabinas Hidalgo, was not bad, for Mexico. They agreed to eat there, and picked a clean-looking restaurant, on the far side of the small town . Tony was ready to try anything on the menu He ordered a variety of tacos, enc hiladas and tamales, along with side orders of peppers and refried beans. Blani k was quite content with a peasant tortilla. The place was not busy. There were two Mexicans at the bar and a middle-aged American couple , who, fortunately, w ere just leaving. Blanik pointed out to Tony, how they seemed incapable of even the most basic and understood- forms of politeness. Neither of the couple said good-bye, or even thank you, to the owner. The generous gratuity was supposed to cover all that kind of thing. Its no wonder that they take you for a ride down here, sometimes. If the tourist s down here act like pigs, then thats the way they get treated. The meal was brought quickly it was simple and good. Tony mistakenly, had order ed too much. Mike helped him to finish the tamales. Amused by the formers big h air, the waiter exchanged a few comments with them. It was all quite open and f riendly, no offence was taken or intended. He thought Tony to be a film star fr om Hollywood, at least. As they ate, they discussed the coming part of the jour ney. Both knew they would have to drive continuously, through the night and day, for the next twenty-four hours. That is, if they were to make it to Mexico City on time. It was well over six hundred miles away. And the roads well, were s omething else. It was a long haul through the valley. The last time Mike had c ome back up that road, half the mountain-sections were blocked by landslides, i n the course of the last winter-rains and melting snow. All being well, for it was only Monday afternoon, they should make it to the man, and pick up the stu ff by Wednesday morning. The road to Monterrey passed through some winding lime stone-cuttings. Tony was driving and continually cursed the large Express Buse s that paid no attention to the other traffic; just sounded their horns and expe cted anything else to pull off the narrow road. They were climbing slightly and the heat was becoming less noticeable. The road was without interest, except f or the children who waved a greeting. Within an hour they came into the settlements on the outskirts of Monterrey. Al l about the city, there were bare, savage peaks, with little or no vegetation. It was a state capital and had a large amount of industry. A low, industrial-ha ze covered a good half of the city. The houses nearby, adjacent to the fields were more like hovels, constructed of box-timber and instant mud-bricks, made on site. There were thousands of these dwellings, some being reinforced with beat en-out automobile bodies. They were the habitations of the poorest peasants, wh o tended the irrigated agricultural enterprises. Most of the industrial workers were housed in the drab, brownish simple multi-storey, Apartment stood along the skyline. Reckon, well drive straight through the city and take Route 40 out to Saltillo, t hen come back on the number 57, which goes all the way up to Cuidad Mexico. said Blanik, looking up from the map. Thats the University over there. One of the sho wplaces, Im told. It looks busy in there. The centre of the city was somewhat depressed-looking. The buildings were unimp ressive and dirty. Tony imagined that there could be some action there, at nigh t. However at this time of the day, there was not; everybody being either at th e table, or in bedrooms, dozing, and zero amount of pedestrian-traffic. They cr ossed through the area of offices and shops rather slowly and were beginning to leave behind the last rows of permanent building, when Tony said, quite calmly, How about that. I dont seem to be able to control the crate the wheels do not re act. What about that? Blanik looked over at him, in disbelief. They happened luckily, to be on a ight section of the road and Tony was able to brake the vehicle slowly, and ed it over to the right side of the road on the next bend. It was one hell place to get stuck at. Either side of the strip, there were dozens of the stra pull of a squa

t, ramshackle peasants town-houses. Rubble and stones, and odd pieces of scrap wer e lying by the road, and in it. And an air of hopeless yet accepted Fate hung a bout the wired-back patches and chicken-shacks. The only sign of life, was acro ss the road where a door partially opened and then closed again. It looked like some kind of store. Jeez, said Blanik, isnt that just great I wont ask you if you are sure - what do you think it is? It,s your rig. Tony started to laugh slightly, although, joking apart, he answered. I bet its on e of them track-rods. They were crummy, back in Washington. I thought that gar age, by your place, was supposed to have fixed all that. Before we left. So did I they sure were supposed to. They charged us enough for the job. About a hundred, if I remember. Opening the nearside door of the wagon, they both got out, on that side and look ed at the wheels. Walking round to the other side, there was definitely somethi ng wrong. That wheel was splayed outward, while the other pointed straight ahea d. Blanik swore a number of times as they retreated back, into the auto. Look. Ive enough bread on me, to get that repaired. He was not about to drop this whole thing just like that, here. We can fly the rest of the way, if it comes to that. Lets go find somebody to haul this damn heap of junk to a repair shop. Right now! They both climbed out, once again and locked the doors secure. Tony was raving on about the con-men in the motor-business, and in particular, against those at that dump, in San Francisco. Mike told him to calm down. Look man, all is not lost. Thats the time to get real ly pissed-off. Tony admitted that he was right. It all seems to be happening on this run, up to now, Tony; an we aint even got ther e yet. They both laughed and crossed over the small store. It looked like a gro cery-store. Knocking, and then stepping inside, through the bead-curtain, they saw, the sack s of grains and other dry goods ranged about the bare, wooden- floorboards - thi s was truly a provisions store. Fortunately, a young man, who appeared from a dar kened rear-room, had some degree of intelligence and between them, they shortly and easily established that there was a gasolineria about one along the road. They both hurried back, past the crippled Olds, still there to their surprise, a nd after a swift ten minute-walks came to a service-station. There was even an advertised-air of modernity about the lot; set back, off the road. A young man m et them by the pumps. Thankfully, he spoke some English. His name was Augustin and as he drove back with them, in a light break-down truck, they were able to explain what they considered to be the trouble. Soon he had a hook fixed under the front end. They all examined the offside wheel. It was clear, that some pa rt had sheared off on the inside of the hub that end of the track-rods. It was likely to be the kingpin anyway, some part of the suspension bracket. They slowly took the wagon along to the garage and the two depressed- looking tr avelers hung around, while the boy went to speak to his father. He had told the m, as they drove back, that he was studying to be a chemist, at the Technical In stitute and worked part-time his father, at the gas-station. When he reappeared from the office, he too had a despondent look over his face. My father - he says it will be one, two days to do this. He says we must buy new end, or weld is that right the old one. He sensed the mixed wave, of frustratio n and annoyance, that came over the other two. If you wish it, you can stay wit h my family. Blanik suddenly felt much easier, and smiling replied, No thank you, all the same. We must go to Mexico, as soon as possible. How far is the Aeropuerto? He glanced to Tony, Dont worry about the money, Ace - Ill take care of all t hat. Augustin informed them, that it was out on the other side of the city. On the r oad that came down from the United States. He also said that there were many pl anes to the Federal Capital. He looked to be more excited than the two American s. With a further typical display of spontaneous Mexican generosity, he offered

to drive them both, over to the airport. As he went to fetch his fathers truck, once more, the others hastily packed some of their few things together. They w ould leave their sleeping-sacks and most of the other gear it would be in good h ands, until they got back. The young Mexican drove across the city, as if the lives of his passengers were in the balance. He knew all the short-cuts through the chaos of narrow, poverty -ridden streets. Blanik had always felt, that the people of this country were d eserving of so much more. They really had seen a hard time. For reasons that t he young Socialist students, like Augustin, knew only too well. Things were alt ering in the urban areas, but slowly. Surely the lot of these people could fall half way between the folly of the air-conditioned nightmare of Miller and the b lank hope of an inherited drug-down misery. They made it to the reception building in about fifteen minutes. The next fligh t to the capital was in forty minutes time. Their driver would hardly wait to b e thanked and declined to join them for a quick drink. Mike just prevented his companion from handing the guy some money. Instead they both shook his hand and exchanged addresses with him, inviting him to visit them, any time. They would meet again in a few days time, yet this small act was received with great happi ness by the boy, He did however insist that he had to return to his work, at onc e, and left. It was nearly four. Without the guys assistance, it would have taken them anothe r hour, or more, to make it over there. He had promised to have the wagon ready for them, on their return and had left them both feeling a little embarassed. They hurried into the main-hall and after purchasing tickets, it was only a matt er of a few minutes, before their flight was called. They crossed the short dis tance of heat-hazed, sun-dazzled tarmac to the waiting DC-9. Once aboard, all b elted up, Blanik relaxed and reflected upon the perverse nature of natural chanc e. The flight took about three hours. They were given some sort of chicken- salad to eat, with different portions of vegetables. They were both hungry and even t he container edibles tasted like food. Despairing of making any incision into t he meat with the white plastic blade provided, Tony, using his fingers made shor t work of it. An elderly lady, in black weeds, across the aisle from him, appea red horrified. There was no taped music, or any other entertainment, as on the American domestic flights. After watching the endless, undulating peaks of the eastern Sierra Madre for an hour, broken only by the odd piece of cotton-boll cl oud, they both fell asleep in the heat of the cabin. The sun was beginning to set, as they flew into the great Valley of Mexico. It was not all that spectacular, yet an artist might spend a life-time, in trying t o recapture the colours of even that third-class sunset, thought Blanik, half-aw ake, as he looked out over the starboard-wing of the aircraft. A thin stripe of orange was layered between two lines of dark purple, and above that the heavens were veiled by varying shades of violet. As the night lifted its heavy cloak o ver the country, the sky altered to a more uniform indigo light and high, the co lour even, of sleep itself. The plane made a good landing. They had both caught a final glimpse of one of t he volcanoes, its rounded cone, a black wall against the darkness. It was alrea dy mid-evening, as they walked out of the terminal-block, where there had been l ittle formality. Mike prayed that the gate would swing as smoothly on the way b ack. The airport was not far from the centre of the City. Within minutes of ge tting into an old Mercedes taxi, they were in the downtown area. To Blanik, as they were driven down the main Paseo, nothing at all appeared to h ave changed greatly. He had always thought of Mexico City as being a poorer rel ation of Madrid. He had been here twice previously and had found it very easy g oing, never too demanding. Everybody wandered about in a special daze, unique t o the City, it seemed. The climate and the altitude put everybody on an energy train that must soon run out of steam, in ones early youth. Parts of the city were old enough to give a certain character. Most of it was r un down; except for the modern buildings, dominating the old churches and public

offices. Most of the historical high points were outside the city proper. The re were supposed to be six million people in the vicinity of the capital, yet he found that there was always the pleasant ease of a provincial town about the av enues. One time he had slept rough for half a week, in the sprawling Chapultepe c Park. If one was a member of the limited number of rich well, the city was su rrounded by fine lakes and forest, to fish and hunt. Tony was also silent, taking in the passing scene. It then occurred to Blanik, how much easier it would have been, if the other guy had come along. Floyd spok e almost fluent Spanish. The taxi-driver demonstrated his ignorance of English, with a negative wave of the hand. Recognising a turn to the left, at the next street, Blanik shouted out, Park - Jardin Central?, above the grinding of the cla pped-out motor. The driver skidded sharply, right into the face of the on-comin g traffic, and then back left, across and down the Avenue Juarez, where he presu med to halt. The fare was more than it should have been, but at least, they had arrived. Picking up their bags, they just started walking down one of the lighted side-st reets, looking for a small pension or hotel. Well only be staying for two nights at the most, said Blanik, all being well. Lucki ly its out of season, we should find a place easily. A smallish place, calling itself the Hotel Roosevelt, advertised free rooms and wa s a possibility. They pushed open the heavy glass-door and waited for some pers on to come forward, into the lobby. Tony hit the desk bell, a couple of times. There were sounds of somebody approaching. A young, pregnant-girl peered throu gh the gap of a half-open door. She called back to he mother, in Spanish. Blan ik whispered to his companion, that in this city, every woman, young or old, app eared to be carrying a child, at some stage of growth. Presently the mother, dre ssed in the mature black, appeared at another door. Buenas tardes, Senores. She smiled at them and, in reply to a completely obvious-question from Blanik, hande d them the price-list for the rooms. The two men studied the card and tried to figure out the meaning of the various tariff. They asked for a cama de matrimoni o; it was hardly expensive. The woman led the way, up to a room on the first floor. It was all very clean a nd there was a window that overlooked the street, with a tall palm-like tree, al ongside the balcony. Before leaving the room, she asked them for their passport s, and also, just how many nights they would be staying. Satisfied, she wished each of them a good night and shuffled off, down the corridor. They thought the room was fine. It was only small, but the limited amount of furniture made that virtually unnoticeable. The floor was of large blue and white tiles there was a modern hand basin in one corner and the beds were firm, with rough cotton shee ts. After a necessary shower, each of the newly geared minds, decidedly unanimo us, called to be taken for an airing. More immediate demands were also made, fo r a bottle and some ice and limes. Leaving the key to the room, on the desk in the lobby, they stepped outside as a number of different bells rang out, that it was already ten, the night air was mild and there was still a fair number of people, sitting about at a large ice-c ream and lemonade stall nearby, and strolling in the vicinity of the square. Mo st of the restaurants and cafes on the square, with the laid tables, were empty of customers and just about to close. Some of the younger people, on the woode n benches, commented on Tonys appearance. It sounded as if they were calling him , E.P., though that hardly bugged him. Just walking on slowly, around the square, they completed and then retraced thei r route. Mike did not recall any special place to eat. When he was last in the city, he had survived on bread and wine, and had got so he was lifting fruit fr om the market stalls. That was some time ago. Noticing now, that a number of the restaurants were switching off their lights, he crossed the street, to where a group of young men were sitting, talking toget her, outside a bar. Assuming that one of them could understand English, he excu sed his disturbing them and began to enquire for directions, as to some place wh ere it was possible to eat good. Interrupting him after a few moments, with a raised hand, and a rapid discussion, one of them stood up, said goodnight to his

comrades and asked the two strangers to follow him. He led them quickly away, from the Avenida Juarez and along a puzzle of streets. They exchanged names and other basic information, as they hurried along. After ten minutes walking, Ton y was just about to protest and give up the whole idea, when they came to the ba r of a restaurant, open to the street. They invited their guide to join them, b ut he refused politely, and shaking hands with them, disappeared into the darkne ss. The scene was certainly still very busy. All around the semi-circular bar, seat ed on tall wooden stools, was a good cross-section of Mexican city people. Ther e was even an old woman, some destitute-beggar, who looked grateful for any leav ings that were passed down to her, and stuffed under her sacking rags. They ord ered a bottle of rum between them, and were given a pile of sliced limes. The m enu was hand-written and open to investigation. Tony said he would just leave t he whole matter to his fellow-drinker. Most of the dishes were cheap enough. Blanik ordered for both of them. Some fi sh soups some of the casserole meat pie, that the man on the next stool was eati ng, with noisy pleasure. A plate of small, oil-fried fish was placed on the cou nter, before them. The whole ambience was thoroughly uncommercial, and he promi sed himself to make a return visit here. The noise about him was that of a plac e for eating, rather than the ice-silence of some discreet and fashionable feedi ng-trough. A small boy, in the passage-way that led through to the restaurant was earning h is bread by singing, or rather throwing his voice, in the style of a Negro s hout. He must have been ten years old, and accompanied himself on a small guita r-style of five-stringed instrument, that Blanik knew was a Harana cedilla was u sed commonly in the beer-halls, by the impromptu bands. The young player observ ed the others close-attention and started to paint it up. His small hands hammer ed those strings on, as his head was thrown back to catch the intensity of some high-emotion. The player and his sound caught a professional and aural- communi cation. He went on to sing a requested love-song with a mature passion. Other young boys, in waiters jackets, with decanters of water and wine hurried ba ck and forth, collecting, en route, the dozens of empty plates. Orders were sho uted across the bar to a fat little man, with the air of an exships steward, who commanded a hors-doeuvre table, that was all of a six-foot square of laid-out mea ts, and other savoury delicacies. The two Americans were slowly getting inside the bottle of rum. All along the b ar, were half-liters of red and white wines, reflecting the lights. He promised Tony that they would get around to sampling a number of them, later. Already t here was a lowering haze of altered-perception drifting slowly about his proximat e environment. Getting loaded was not his favourite pastime these days - yet th ere was an undeniably pleasant side-effect to drinking the unusual, citrus sharp ened red rum. The mix of the sounds that filled his ears was now shifting on to various planes of relationship. The waves of excited conversation had a dronelike quality, accented by the shout of waiters, or the short clatter of some cer amic-ware. And the intruding sound of laughter had its own stated rhythm, sharp and immediate. There was nothing, in the course of the minutes which he could feel was a melodic line, it was all just a van- leveled bag of tones, that incl uded the roar of a water jet spilling into an empty metal washing-bowl, or the t urning engine noise and short horn of some taxi passing slowly by, outside. Feeling a tug at his jacket-sleeve, he looked down to see that bent, old woman, holding out her hand. She was little more than four or five feet high, with a f ace that was certainly no false-mask of sorrow. Taking an empty glass from the counter, he half-filled it and handed it to her. The suggestion of a smile of g ratitude showed on her face. He told the waiter, who brought up their main cour se, to fetch another bowl of soup for the old-one. Shrugging his shoulders, the guy did so, and on returning passed some remark, to a well-dressed, prosperous -looking customer, near the entrance to the restaurant. The man turned and gave them could only be understood, as a look of disapproval o f censure, or even resentment. He did not look like the owner, or else he would not be sitting, his backside, he thought. The guy who was running the operati

on, moved between the two sections, his position of authority recognizable by hi s instant command of a host of minor problems, and the swiftness of his re-acti on to any offered payment, for the service that his set-up offered. Tony, who h ad remained until then, in a clouded introspection, picked up the vibration comi ng from the creep in the corner , and with two raised fingers told him what he m ight do with his opinion. They could not figure out, just what his angle was, e ven as the Joe paid his bill, made some trouble with the waiter, and left, throu gh the other entrance. Both were now becoming stoned, and had begun to pour away some wine. The mahoga ny-red booze was half-sour and warmish. The pie was good and with half a loaf a long with it, they both felt easily satisfied, at last. They just hung there, d rinking and watching the crowd, until past midnight. The time was filled by som e long, slow account by Blanik, of how seven years earlier he had been in the ci ty, and full of influenza had been befriended by a thirty-two year old dress-mak er called Lupita. She had a man, if he recalled, that was in the Army, and apa rt from giving him a bed, and saving him from another pneumonic-week, sleeping in the Park, she had practically and literally devoured his nineteen years of se xuality, in a final drunken, but mutually happy, existential weekend. The tale was all coloured up, but was worth Tonys drunken, shifting attention. After what appeared to be an almost petty bill, to an inquisitive waiter, they f ound themselves outside in the rear-alley, wondering, just which was the directi on home. Tony was not all bothered with that prospect. He was comforting the r emainder of a bottle of wine in his arms. Re-entering the restaurant together, Mike enquired, in his very best, drunken Anglo-Spanish, the location of the Hote l Roosevelt; that he remembered, only by a chain of linked-clues; that led back from Ben Franklin, via a passing motor-car, to a vision of a bread-line, lining before a basket of fresh loaves on a work-table, in front of him, to a final so lution centered about some New Deal. His slow, meandering question was lastly complemented, by the shattering of brok en glass. Tony had let fall his bottle of wine and was staring forlornly at the spreading maroon-puddle, on the saw-dust floor. The waiter was only too willing to help them. Tony bought two more glasses of w ine, to be going on with, and a replacement bottle. He started an unclear conve rsation with two strangers, a very bourgeois man and woman, at a corner-table, w ho just did not want to know, about his slurred avowals of his love for Bacchus. Drawing a rough sketch-map, on the back of a serviette, the waiter indicated, th at if they quit the bar, and walked straight down the street outside, roughly , toward the city centre, they would first cross a number of identical streets. T hen, they would cross a broad Avenue where they were to turn left, and taking th e fourth turn to the left, again, there they should find, somewhere down that o ne, mas o menos, their hotel. The customers remaining in the bar, had been watchi ng the departure of the two foreigners, not without amusement. Blanik had turned to wish them all a loud goodnight, which had been returned, even by the head-wa iter, who also called out Adios, as they passed through the main open-doorway agai n. With luck, they did not encounter any of the local vigilantes during their slow, laboured return journey. Here, they would take you to see el Carmen for nothing. The odd passing pedestrian crossed to the other side of the street. The two l urching-figures wandered slowly along, one with the hair of a latter day Saint, the other singing the music to some strange, toneless Tone poem. Along the mist y streets, oblivious to all but the other fellows tightly held arm. They encountered a small band of gaminas, the street-kids, who followed them, perh aps weighing up the opposition. On one corner, Blanik halted and stood faceirg the advancing band. The realisation, that he was still clear-headed enough to c hallenge, seemed to bring about a check in the intentions of the six, or seven c hildren, for that is all they still were, the hard run of their experience ignor ed, and they ran off, laughing, in search of some other victim. If you were dow n on the bottom of the heap, at that age, there was only one alternative to endi ng up in a cat-house, on, the trapeze, or polishing the shit from other bastards shoes. As Blanik was thinking, that they surely must have passed the street tha

t they were seeking, and was dreading the inevitable search for and drunken ques tioning of some innocent Mexican, he caught sight of the lighted sign of the hot el down a side-street. The front-door was locked. On a small brass-plate, at t he side of it were engraved some figures. Odd number between lines of words, wh ich were not English. Puzzled as he sat on the step, wondering where to go next , for some five minutes, there slowly surfaced through a reel of thoughts and im ages, the fact that he was in Mexico. Tony had no idea where he was. The pavem ent edge was as satisfactory as any other locale; the weather was not that cold and the bottle was still flowing. The street was silent. The silence of fixed shutters and one single corner-lamp . There was one low, muttering voice on the sidewalk. It was either singing , or pointedly echoing some thought of Canada. Words like those of trees and wate r were intelligible and certain names of towns, unfamiliar to his companion. A heavy, dark, wooden door across the street was broken by a widening piece of l ight. Half expecting a monk to appear, Blanik stood up. With a rattle of keys, an old, cloth-capped caretaker, the sereno, emerged and walked over to them. He e nquired some fact of them, realised they were foreigners and opened the double-l ocked door of the hotel. He even assisted in the placing of a stiff-bundle Tony , inside the hallway. Blanik gave him a ten peso note and wished the old fellow a goodnight. There was no reply. The front-door was then locked behind them, from the outside. The next quarter of an hour was a mixture of physical effort and muffled hilarit y. There was a quality of comedy and no sense of time, as the two heroes assaul ted each separate stair, and overcame each temptation to just remain where they collapsed, each of a handful of times. Finally, they attained the door with the number six on it. Nobody had appeared, at any of the other doorways. Tony set tled down stretched across the landing, on his stomach. The door to the room wa s locked. Thanking somebody, for the fact that they were not up on the fourth, the key to the problem manifested itself, and Blanik re-descended the stairs, found the key on a tag in the little cupboard, and climbed slowly once again, b ack to the first floor. Neither of them had blown it all over the stairs. For that, his heart was light. Dragging Tony into the room, he failed to notice at first, fastened on the door , the note, with a telephone number on it. He dismissed it as having any signif icance and let the piece of paper drop to the floor. Once in the room himself, he laid the other body on to the bed that was nearest, took off its boots and co mbat-jacket, and then covered the corpse-dead figure, with a blanket from the ot her bed. After a long ten minutes sitting at the window, watching the low-moon, he crossed to the basin, swilled out his and washed the dirt from his face. A fter a sort of necessary short spew, holding onto the towel-rail, he threw back a couple of mouthfuls from the bottle, stripped down completely and collapsed ov er the hard bed and into sleep. Blanik was woken by somebody knocking loudly at the door. The room was full of light. The shutters had not been fastened over, last thing, he recalled. Risin g up from the bed, quickly, he swung his legs outward, knocked over the bottle o n the floor, pulled on his jeans and opened the door slightly. The daughter of the house was there, stomach anall. She stepped back, as the ran k smell of stale wine and bodies drifted out of the room. Blanik smiled wanly a t her, as she demonstrated with her hands, and said, Americano, telefono. Compren de? He nodded his head and closed the door. Who the hell could that be? Pulling on his socks and boots, he crossed to the basin, thought again of his fi nal act of the night before, and first rinsed it out. His head did not feel at all bad. His guts felt tortured and weak. He threw some water on his face and neck, and hurried downstairs. Nobody was at the reception-desk. The phone lay there, off the hook, waiting for an expected-voice. A Spanish voi ce answered his initial enquiry. Senor Blenneeck? His name was pronounced wrongly. Si, he replied, puzzled, what do you want?

This is a friend of Senor Bamberg. You are ere to pick up the chemical? The voice was heavy, and accented. Blanik just did not answer that one, but told him to carry on. You meet me - in one hours time. Eleven oclock? He gripped the headpiece tightly, as a slight spasm of pain gripped his stomach. Well make it twelve. Who are you anyway? Once again, his bowels and stomach sta rted to react. Will you have the stuff with you? The calm voice answered that everything was ready, and that his name was Alfonso Meras. Look, I have to make it to the John, real fast. Can I call you back -or where sh ould I meet you? Take a taxi. To the Number 74, twenty four, Rio Lerma. Its an office- building go to the third floor. Room number 143, one, four, three. You tink you find th is? The voice seemed perfectly in control. Blanik noted the details on the back of one of the Hotels advertising-cards, assu red the caller he would be there, and rang off; neither party speaking again. He went up the stairs three at a time and burst into what he thought was a lavat ory-closet. It contained only a bath and shower-basin. He spun around to leave and head across the corridor but before he could even open the door, he had swu ng back and was gratefully sick on to the top end of the bath. Ten minutes late r, he came out of the toilet, feeling at least, more comfortable but very hungry . He shook Tony awake, who complained sorrowfully, about his throbbing head. T hough apparently, his insides were all together, He was told that they both had some place to be by midday. Blanik grabbed a towels drained the remains of the wine-bottle, and went toward the bathroom. Hey, an clean up that stuff you spilt last night! Shortly after eleven they emerged into the bright noisey morning street. Opposi te the hotel there was a small milk shop that also sold cakes and coffee. They w ere both in good humour and joking about the half remembered incidents of the pa trol the night before. Both took coffee and some simple donut like confectionar y. The coffee was abominable brown wash stated Mike. They paid, and soon picked up a cab, at the corner of the street, down which the y had stumbled the night before. Tony was carrying the empty suit-case and neit her of them was nervous. Or, so each assured the other. They both looked a bit on the rough side, though. In the taxi, Mike thought on that it was only Tuesday morning. The city was ver y busy as the noon-time peak of activity increased. Along the Reforma, large b anners proclaimed the forth-coming International Sport happening. Tony wondered who was paying for the whole circus. The first morning, in any city, after a late-night arrival, was for Blanik a natural-born trip. His senses reeled under the stimulus of so many varying external triggers. Just the newness of the fac ial structures, sent his speeded-up computer systems wildly racing, to find refe rence and meaning. It was not a long ride, about five minutes. They left the cab outside of an imp osing set of offices. Through the glass-doors and beyond the high, cool entranc e-lobby was a fashionable Arcade. It was full of city strollers, shopping and j ust window-gazing, at the many lingerie and other clothing stores. It was cool inside there appeared to be no shortage of fashionable customers or the necessar y loot. It all had class. Even the elevator operator, who looked at them, as they entered his wrought-iron gates, as if they were the possible subject, of some objection to be raised, wo re a knocked-up uniform. Tony gave him a laughing smile and attempted to press a dime into his palm, as he closed the gates hurriedly behind them, on reaching the third floor. The corridor outside the elevator was cold and windowless. It was lined with ob long sheets of veined-cream marble, and had about it, the air of a mortuary. A tall-girl, with short-cropped blonde-hair, came out of one of the unnumbered doo rs and Mike passed some comment to her. She turned, gave him a very unpleasant

and unpleasing smile, and to add spite, as she continued down the corridors sway ed her finely balanced-hips; with intention. Bitch , said Tony, out loud. Room one-forty-three was at the opposite end of the building to the elevator hal l. It was tucked away in a small L-shaped dead-end. There were a number of doo rs in the narrow space. Some were of all wood, the others half-frosted glass an d wood. Over one of them, was a hand-written sign that read: SANTIAGO PLANTATIONS S.A. ;that was oneforty. The room that they were standing outside, had just a small gold-lettered, private notice, over the door. Blanik kn ocked, twice. The heavy-looking guy that opened the door, at first fractionally, clicked his f ingers rapidly, motioning them to come in. It was not a large room, the walls were a pale-yellow and the window carried gre en curtains. It was illuminated by a neon-light and was bare, except for a stee l, glass topped desk and a number of wooden chairs. There was no carpet coverin g the floor. Behind the desk was a thin-faced, almost jaundice-riddled man, in a double-breas ted black suit. He had the air of a stock-broker. Even down to the small-spect acles with the gold-rims. In his left hand was a small cigar, the light fumes f rom which filled the limits of the room. The hands were immaculately cared for. The right one was fingering the nigger-brown mouchoir de poche, that just show ed itself at the breast-pocket. Some flecks of cigar-ash rolled down the finely chalk-striped lapels. He had not stood up, as the two visitors had entered, bu t merely pointed to the two vacant seats, in front of him. He studied them bot h, intently. Blanik returned the stare, and the off-hand Buenos Dias. Either side of the empty desks were the two real spiks, who he presumed to be bodyguards. They looked p retty dumb, and mean. The desk was empty, except that was, for a slim, black-le ather note-case, a lighter and an open packet of cigarillos. You are Senor Meras? he queried. Your phone-call was not expected -I was going to ring you, or rather, somebody called Serrao, this morning. Where is he, then, n ow? Offering to both of them a small cigar, and Tony taking one, the accented-voice replied, I am here, instead of Senor Serrano, he is, how you say, the big-man, and very busy. You must be Meester Blenneek. I am appy to meet you. Leaning bac k in his chair, he continued, I telephone you last night. Also I expec tree of yo u. Everyting okay? Blanik assured him that it was. He asked a similar pointed-question, in return. The two heavies in the room irritated him. The guy had not mentioned them, an d he supposed that he was just meant to ignore them. They were both standing. The other man was still watching him and Tony, keenly and alternately. He answe red Blaniks doubt and said the little things were in fact in his hands. He wanted to know about their trip down. I understand tat you not fly all the way to Mexico City. He went on. People in S an Francisco, they give me the wrong message. Peraps you tell me, where is the o ther man? Or is he steel coming to ere? Blanik did not feel at all in the mood for conversation, nor, for what he decide d was a non-essential cross-examination. What he really had in mind was a good meal and then to sleep off the mild hang-over, that was slowly starting to echo in his head. When youve been smoking the grass, on and off, for a year, you so on became a real hay head, and a hard nights boozing hurt that head, hard. Tony , too, was looking all washed out - he was gazing blankly through the curtained window, into the tall, white-tiled light-well outside. Blanik had not noticed any packets, or a case of any kind, in the office -probab ly the stuff was in the desk, or even elsewhere, to be picked up later. Look Mister Meras, both of us have sore heads, so how about you just comm through with the stuff. Then we can split, we got a good ride ahead of us. Okay? He s ounded impatient. Whats with all these questions, anyway? You know that we are the right carriers, fro, u the California end. So how about it?

The small grey eyes narrowed even more and for the first time, they felt the unp leasant hint of the real man, behind the polished outer cloak. Tapping his fing ers on the glass sheet that covered the grey-metal, he slowly said, Si, I know you are the gentlemen from San Francisco. You wish to get to the busi ness? First, I tink you answer a question from me. I am tinking about the money , the dollars for the chemical. You have it all wit you, now? Puzzled, Blanik just answered, No. The voice then asked, from behind a thick veil of grayish smoke, Well, gentlemen , when do you tink you ave it? Now, wait a minute. I thought all that side of the deal had been settled by Bamb erg? replied Blanik, questioningly. What is all this - we are jus supposed to pi ck up the dope. Right? His voice was raised, as he began to think that maybe the whole thing had been a wasted journey - that it had all fouled-up. Across the desk, his charm slowly vanishing, the stockbroker spoke in a sharp, insistent tone. Meester Blenneek. We are not here to play a party. Do you have the money wit yo u? He glanced swiftly to each of the guards in turn. They had not under- stood any of the preceding exchange, but no doubt sensed the direction of the events. Tony, who had also remained silent, from the time they had entered the room, but who had also been listening to the confused exchange, let out an exclamation. Christ, what is all this? He half-turned to Mike who returned the surprised-glance of the tense figure. These geeks are just after the bread. That were supposed to have., Oh boy, dont sa y Grasping the twin-reaction on the other side of the desk, the thin-faced man sto od upland ordered something, in Spanish, to his two back-up units. They both ca me forward, from either side of the desk. Lets get outta here, fast! shouted Blanik, throwing the empty leather case up at t he guy, who was coming for him. With one hand, Tony opened the door behind him, with the other he slickly pulled a shank from his rear-pocket. Four other sets of eyes fixed on to the long, thin blade of a black stiletto spr ing-knife, as it clicked out, into position. You bastards stay where you are - dont move any closer. Tonys voice was nervous, b ut had some threatened-force behind it. Get out behind me, Mike the door is open! he yelled. To their mutual horror, the two approaching men also drew chivs, from out of the ir trouser-bands. What happened next, was just a catatonic mixture of different shouting and the c rash of furniture. Tony had shouted some words that went unheard, as Mike grabbed one of the wooden office-chairs, and hurled it cross-wise at the nearest of the men. Their boss exclaimed something in Spanish; this caused the one opposing Tony to pause. With a twisting upward movement, he made a swinging-slash at the neck of the bul ky figure. A thin streak of blood spurted from his right wrist, along with a su ppressed short cry. Even Blanik felt the thin needle-stab of pain. He was now partly out of the door and holding it open with his right foot, for T ony to follow. He was still caught on the wrong side of the door. Half-open, it blocked the only exit-space, between the desk and the wall. A heavy-arm slammed into the glass panel of the door, and crashed it shut. Tonys back came up against it, as Blanik tried hopelessly to force it open once again . Helpless, he watched as the darker shapes filled in the remaining area of lighte d glass. It was all happening too fast. There was a cry from Tony, that sound ed like, Jeez Christ, that was followed by a cut-off, hurting, sharp moan of pain. The shadowed figures fell and struggled, near the base of the door. The loud voice of the Jefe interrupted the silence of the corridor. As Mike bac

ked away, toward the corner of the passage, the door was opened. Through the le gs of the suited-figure, he could see the torso of Tony, slumped across the floo r. Oh Lord, please dont say hes dead. he prayed, as he backed further away. You fuckin bastards If youve killed him, Ill get you, you pigs He continued to back away. One of the two bulls, the one without the wrist-wound, came slowly after him. B lanik turned about, and throwing his body around the first corner, headed down the long corridor. Not bothering to look back, he could hear well enough the ru nning footsteps, coming up behind him. He had a start of twenty yards and was probably ten years younger than his pursu er. His breathing was normal and easy. Making it to where the elevator doors s tood closed, he glanced up at the pointed finger arrow, that indicated the level s of the two cages. Neither of them was anywhere near to Floor Three. He had n ow, the choice of two directions, one of which must surely lead to a staircase. Choosing the right-hand corridor, as the chasing steps drew closer, he began to run quickly along it. Maybe the guy would take the wrong turn at the elevators? His wishful thinking, as he paused for two seconds, was broken by the repeated , hearing footsteps. Turning again to the right, he stopped, At the end of another polished corridor of company offices, which, even if he stepped into one, would offer no security at all, there was an all-glass door. He started to run down the last fifty feet . The hollow clump of his own feet on the service-inlets of the floor, was acco mpanied by another fast metre of paces. One of the office doors opened for a br ief moment, a pale face had glanced out, then the door hastily shut. Next to th e extinguisher, through the wired-glass, he could see the grey outline of a fire -escape. Bracing himself against one wall, he kicked at the push bar that had f ailed to give under the weight of his hands. The damned door had probably never been opened since the day it was installed. He looked back the dark figure had just turned into the corridor, and seeing hi s quarry in difficulty, in a dead end, had ceased running. The approaching, rap id breathing was trapped, and muffled in the length of the passage. In the han d, Blanik could see the flat steel of a blade. Then the door gave way, to his s houlder. A long rectangle of sky broadened swiftly, as a rush of warm, fresh-ai r covered him. Something metallic crashed into the glass at the side of his head. He ducked o ut on to the metal-grating platform of the ladder. He slammed the emergency-doo r closed and then, barely holding the rusted-rail, on the outside of the escape, leapt his way down. Above, a few clattering steps followed several seconds later, then ceased. He t oo, paused at last. His heart was knocking violently against his breast-bone. The pain caused him to bend double. His mind turned back to Tony. Perhaps he w as dying? What was that cracked-scene they had become involved in, up there? It was sure a sick joke, or sumthin. Trying to expel any further thoughts along that line from his present, he walked on down, to the last of the grating-sections. As he had half-expected, the lad der to the escape had been pulled up, and secured, about twenty feet above the ground-level. He could not stay here. Nor return to one of the doors at anothe r level - all the doors must only open from the inside. He would have to drop i t. He kneeled down on the flat platform. Then, lying on his left side, with his fe et and face outwards, he edged over the few inches until his whole body was alon g the rim of the grating. With most of his body-weight still on the platform, h e reached forward and down. Carefully, he was able to hook his hands backward r ound one of the rungs of the ladder, below. One leg he then slowly brought out and allowed to hang free vertically, under the ladder. It was his right leg, an d this he brought finally to catch a lower rung, with his instep. His body was now balanced, and twisted, like that of a tree-monkey. He consider

ed quickly just how he was going to make that crucial move. His hands were cros sed wrongly, he changed them over. Pushing himself out of balance, he allowed his body to. fall, out and underneat h the ladder. The whole thing jerked downward a number of inches, when the movi ng weight of his one hundred and sixty pounds came upon it. The chilling thoug hts of a possible failure of the fixing bracket shuddered through his skeleton. It worked, his body was now hanging free, though bent and taut, upside down bene ath the street-ladder. His left leg was also dangling free. This he lifted up, to lock through one of the rungs and to take the increasing strain from his arms. There was a sweat beginning to line his forehead and palms, as he swung there. The metal of the ladder becoming moist, and filling his nostrils with an acrid s cent. About a foot away from where his head was hanging, there was a pointed ir on-guard, or man-trap, that protruded viciously. He was grateful to have not be come involved with that. Relaxing a little, he looked down. It was still a good drop, even with his body swinging free. Still, he could not be hanging around like this, for very long. Letting his two feet fall slowly free, he began to swing, hand over hand down the ladder-section, rung by rung. It was not that difficult, except that his fi ngers were tired now, and slippery. Reaching the last rung, he paused for one m oment - the drop had been shortened by two or three feet. He allowed the motion of his body to cease, and then let go. Landing with his feet together, his rubber-soled boots took some of the shock. His upper body fell heavily over to the left, on the concrete surface. For some seconds he just lay winded. His feet and ankles felt as if they were still wor king to order. The whole drop had only taken minutes, but a sense of urgency wa s still coursing through his head. Hell! One of those guys will be along here soon, he reckoned. Feeling his temple, which was grazed and bleeding, he began to run slowly back, down the alleyway, away from the front of the building, he g lanced back to the escape. There was nobody on it higher up it looked as if he had dropped about ten or twelve feet. The whole alleyway was a network of black , metal grids, ladders and platforms. Why had that idiot pulled the chiv, was h is first clear thought. We couldve made it out of that bad scene, anyhow. At the end of the trash-filled alley was a narrow street of shops. Holding his shirt-sleeve up against the warm-blood that was running down his face, he walke d hurriedly along, close to the wall. His face was pale and strained, as he wen t along, the burning sensation of the wound an exaggerated, sickening pain. One or two people stopped and stared at him. Although he was not aware of it, he w as in fact, staggering and drifting, all over the sidewalk, like some freaked ou t alkie. An what was he going to do now? On the other side of the street was a motor-cycle cop but you did not mix it with the Law - they would just find it al l so amusing. The cop did not notice him. He prayed that Tony would not be on the way out - Oh, man, what about the way th e cat had screamed. It was hurting him to think and his head was throbbing as if it were hollow. He realised that he should pick up a cab and head back to th e hotel. To get out of there, would be a start. That, if the opposition had no t arrived there first. He had given one of his hips a good clout, as he had kee led over. The way he was walking along, like some hip-shot old-timer, did manag e to raise an inner-amusement. There was a cab free, across the other side of the first main-stem that he came to. The signals were at red. Taking his fore-arm away from his head, some stic ky blood ran down into his left eye. The door, this side of the cab was blocke d by another vehicle. Crossing in front of the cab, he pushed some old guy out of the way, and threw himself in, next to the driver, just as the lights changed . He found that he could hardly speak his tongue was dry and swollen and felt to b e filling the whole of his mouth. The driver asked him three times, in Spanish , just where he wanted taking. Getting no answer he pulled over to the side of t

he avenue. Turing, he saw for the first time, the stained-shirt and shocked con dition of his speechless passenger. Again, he said some words in Spanish. Blanik looked at him hopelessly. Taking some piece of card from hie shirt-pocke t, he made a writing motion with his hand. Given a pencil, in shaky capital-let ters he wrote down the name of the hotel. Then he fell back into the seat again , half-overwhelmed by a delayed nervous-reaction, than any more physical cause, or fatigue. The cab-driver feeling the urgency of the situation, which he could partially understand, just drove as rapidly as possible perhaps the extranjero wa s stabbed? At the hotel he was given a crumpled note, and his fare, not interes ted in any change, got slowly out of the cab. It was the right place. The door to the flop-house was open, but chained across on the inside. After p ressing the bell a few times, he stood, or rather leaned, against the wall, taki ng in long, deep breaths of air. A row of shadowed-faces stared at him from the cafe and cobblers shop, across the street. The door was finally opened by the m other of the establishment. Once inside, he found that he was able to speak again. The good woman asked him if the addition was for the two of them. As he gave her the money for the room , she at first pretended not to notice his dirty and battered- condition. Then, more out of sympathy than necessity, she opened a drawer in the desk and took o ut a small medicine-case. On giving him a bottle of what looked like iodine, an d the key to his room, she was thanked, in both English and Spanish. He added s ome phrase, like, Non tiempo and started up the stairs. On the landing he pause d and turned to smile gratefully at the woman below. He asked her to ring for a taxi. Once in the room his whole being relaxed and a slight fit of shivering began. W ell, at least, there was nobody here to meet him. He swilled his face and hands , and bathed his temple with the stinging antiseptic. The wound on his left tem ple was quite broad, perhaps two inches square, but not at all deep or serious. He must have done that falling over. There was a bruise-patch on his cheek-bon e where he had been hit by a fist. He drank three glasses of the pleasant clear water. Luckily they had not brought much gear with them. Tonys mountain-sack was on a c hair. He had better bring it along. His mind went back to the final scene in t hat room, once again. Shit, I must not get all hung up on that, he thought, I m ust get outta here. Fast. Throwing his personal things and the few pieces of c lothing lying about, into his grip, his eyes took in the room, once, he grabbed the two bags and went downstairs. Both the mother, and the daughter were behind the desk. The girl held out a thi n glass of brown-liquor to him. Setting down one of the pieces of baggage; he s wallowed it in one toss - he thought it tasted of brandy. It was good. Thankin g them, he opened the front-entrance. Outside a cab was waiting. A voice behin d him called out, Senor, senor, pasaportes. The mother came after him, with the two documents in her hand, the one green, the other dark-blue. He took them quickly and threw the bags into the rear seat of the taxi. Seated next to the driver, he waved his hand in the direction of the centre of town. I t had all taken about five minutes. Easily, even slightly hysterically he began to laugh. The driver looked side-wa ys at him, puzzled. Especially so, when his passenger bent forward in his seat and with his head between his knees, began talking to himself. What the hell is going on?, he said, quietly. What the hell is going on? His mind o perations were completely fogged. The man at the wheel asked him where it was t hat he wished to go, and was motioned to just carry on driving. They drove down as far as the Park, then turned back up the Reforma. It was no w nearly two in the afternoon. The weather was clear and sharp, with a high, ye llow sun. On the street, although it was very warm, everybody seemed to be real ly alive. There were dozens of fine young women, out walking with either mother s or chaperones. But he could not concentrate on any object on the outside. Th e graze on the side of his head was still throbbing like a pulse. Inside his he ad also, was the pain of confusion. Passing by one of the large tourist-hotels,

an idea did force itself into being, above the entangled-knots of thought. At least in one of those places, he would be anonymous. Whoever Meras was, he coul d hardly check all the hotels in the City. As they came up to the Columbus Colu mn, he told the driver to pull in at the large Hotel there. To hell with the ex pense, whatever it might be. A porter took the two grips. Blanik returned his dubious look with one of indif ferent coldness. Within minutes he had signed the ornate register, with a ficti tious-one, and told the clerk that he was not to be reached, for anybody. He was taken to a room on the fourth floor - it was large and over decorated, in the style of the turn of the century. He pulled the heavy curtains together an d shut out the glaring afternoon-sunlight, then took off his bloody and soiled s hirt. For the first time, since that pale office, he felt safe, for a while. N ot even the noise of the city-traffic disturbed the grey room. He rang the room -service, asked for two beers, not Mexican, and some meat sandwiches, any thing. From his pocket he took out his billfold and counted out over four hundred and fifty dollars. All of this he had borrowed from Maggie. The sudden thought of h er, caused him to exclaim a loud, Damn! You bet this whole thing had better work out, f or her sake, as well as his. She would not be amused, if somehow he had managed to blow it. Also in the fold was the small piece of white-card, with the three numbers writt en on it, that Bamberg had given to him, now almost two weeks ago. That was in another city, and in what seemed to be another world. As his mind started once again to revolve with any possible explanation for what had happened earlier tha t day, there was a light knock at the door. A sickening wave of paranoia swept over him. He nervously crossed the floor and asked who was there. A young Mexican voice answered, Room Service, Senor. He o pened the door and smiled to himself, as he indicated to the boy to take the tra y over to the bed-side table. After tipping the kid, he locked the door once ag ain. Crossing the room he removed the alabaster-lamp from off the table and rea lised just what a state his nerves were at. He would eat first then, ring the Mexico City number on the card. Or should he ring San Francisco, and Bamberg? He dismissed that idea f or the moment. His b ody felt shattered and weary, as he threw himself on to the high double- bed, pu lling some of the thin-blankets apart and crawling his legs between them. The beef sandwiches were good and he finished them quickly. Lying on his back, with his head against the top board of the bed, he took a good few pulls at the ice-cold Danish beer. Slowly, he began to try to analyse the events of that mor ning. That beer, sure did taste good. Obviously those sharks had only known of part of their plan, for doing this thin g. Somebody knew why they were here in Mexico, but had also expected them to ha ve a large roll with them. But how had they known of his arrival in the City. Or even, that they had left the States? Somewhere there was a singer. A fink, perhaps at both ends of the Let-up? The k ind of bread that the guy had expected to harvest together, was worth some risk. He imagined that to observe their arrival, one of the police check- points, on the highway that led to the capital, or easier still, over at the air- port, ha d been used. Somebody sure had been following the game with a special eye. He admitted to himself, that he was an idiot, not to have rung the Bamberg this mo rning, before going over to that office. It was the last thing that he had th ought of, then. And what if Tony were dead? The dumb-guy had asked for it, pulling out that shan k. He had been against any of them bringing gear along. That old bit about not carrying a tool, and therefore not having to use one, or be the object used, wa s only too true. Neither of them had been clear-headed from the night before, e ither. He drank some of the brandy, ordered as an after-thought, and finished one of th e beers. No doubt the for-real contact here, would sort out some of the questio ns in his head. He felt sure that what had happened was no affair of Bambergs, t hat would make no sense, he mentioned some doubt about the pigeons down here, o r was that Dallas? This city sure had a reputation for corrupt crime, though, bo

th sides of the Law, he might have expected trouble. It looked as if some smar t ass, in one or the other of the gangs, had blown it right off, and had his own informed angle lay out the false delivery, in the hope of a simple half-a-milli on dollar take. He had not known of the bread deal. He laughed at the way it had worked out, this far. First of all Floyd, an now To ny. The guy was a freak, anyway. He should just forget all about him and let h im disappear. He had not forgotten that the crum had screwed his lady, in his o wn pad. What did the Good hook say? Thou shalt not. Pouring out half the other bottle of booze, he thought about having a good doss. Then he would take a sho wer, maybe a bath, and ring that other number. Taking off his jacket, he notic ed the small-card in the left-hand pocket. It all suddenly hit him. 0 It was ano ther city number, with some words that he read to mean to call the number. It w as the card that he had picked up from the floor that morning, as they had left the Roosevelt , the card that he had ignored, upon the bedroom door when they ar rived back the previous night. He was actually looking at it for the first time , now. If only he had seen it before they left that morning, then the obvious d uality in the initial set-up, would have had his reaction alerted and no doubt h e would have tied-up the other number first. Wasnt that just the way it unfolded He put the paper-card back in the jacket. So, what was he going to do about Ton y? It was useless to even think of the Law as a solution. That would finish th e whole job. Maybe this Serrano could figure it out? His mind turned to other i deas. What if the whole thing did fall through? Or, if it was going to get hea vier? He would have to stay on top of it from here on in he had no intention of ending up in a Last Taxi, on a ride out of the City, feet first. An if he had r eally blown the meet, what was he going to do then, back in the States? Turning on to one side, he put the glass down and pulled a blanket up close, aro und his neck - he felt quite chilly. The booze, maybe? As always, he would just have to wait and see. His brain was still flashing, with probability and with counter-probability. It had even occurred to him, that maybe Floyd was part of all this - but that was ridiculous. Or was it? Perhaps it all led back to San Francisco and North Beach. He began to think about his woman once more, and was he feeling tired. It was good to have eaten those sandwiches. His body was fa lling, so it seemed, deep into the mattress. Sleep came very easily. He was sitting out there, under the open, shining sky, in the summer-fields. Th e heat was the same as that which he could still remember from the break in the working day, back home. He would be glad to return soon to that yellow farmhous e, among the trees -tall and still, in the distance. Somebody was playing a sim ple air, on a reed like instrument, behind the boundary-hedge. Strangely, he w as now standing in another more barren field, though, nearby, he could still hea r the women, working and laughing in the vine rows. Just as he heard, yet again , the monotone of that simple- tune, a white horse, of many hands, passed in fro nt of him across, over the stubble-earth. It might have been sunset. The folds and waves of the soil were alight, the reddened-peaks and if tipped with forgebeaten ice. He ran to and mounted the returning- animal, whose tall sides were now the same fired-orange, of the surrounding landscape of tracked winter fields , and the vision ended. Free. And then he was riding, riding, riding, racing a way. They were galloping, almost floating, far from the music) and the fields. He and the horse, so close together. They came to the edge of a large lake, ev en an inland-sea. The hemisphere of the heaven was light-blues but not the blue of day, but a Painters night-dream colour. It filled the whole lifted-horizon. He would have asked the horse, where they were and also, to where they were rid ing, so far and alone. The charging-animal, its muscles full with heated blood, just neighed wildly, and continued on, out, into the glass-like water. He dare d not release the grip that he had on the stallions heavy mane. Then the surging water appeared to be freezing, as it splashed up, bef ore his eyes. It was lik e some formalised Chinese portrait, of cloud. These concrete -flames of the oce an were burning up about him, taking him, consuming him. He began to struggle f or breath and a way out of the trap, and woke up, his head twisting, violently, from side to side. The room was darker now. He did not ascertain first of all, just whether he was

back at the Roosevelt, or not. He was covered in a coating of perspiration. T hrowing the bedclothes off himself, he took a towel and wiped the moisture from his eyes. There was a dull, red-toned pain over his left eye - he had been drea ming, or was it a nightmare. FOR LISA Nearby, a church bell rang out the hour. He missed the slow-heard count, but it was either eight, or seven. After a shower, he would ring that other number an d play it by ears from there. Pulling on his soiled, but only pair of trousers, he took one of the large Hotel towels and crossed the empty corridor to the bat hroom opposite. His left temple was caked with dried-blood. It smarted and began to dissolve as the warm water played upon it. At least the spot did not feel swollen, just th at there was still a slight throbbing. As he stood head forward, the water rain ing on the back of his neck, his thoughts came wheeling back to the situation, i n which he had landed himself. First thing, as soon as he was dressed, was to c all Serrano, or whoever it was they would sort it all out. He rubbed himself d own, masochistically, with the hard loofah, that was hanging in the shower and s tepped out on to the cork-floor, did a few minutes of semi- exercises, then drie d his body. Back in the bedroom, he finished off the now-flat bottle of beer. He judged him self to be much more of all one piece. He crossed to the window. Away to the n orth-west there was a view over a large part of the city, with a wide strip of d istant silvery-water. There was already a dusk falling over the narrow, grid ir on streets. A few lights shone out, here and there although darkness itself was many hours away. Walking back to the bed, he sat down and began to dry his hair. The towel touch ed the still-fresh wound. He said Shit! stood up quickly and went over to the lef t-hand mirror of the large reproduction dressing-table. As he thought the dama ge was not serious but filled in a fair area. It was not bleeding now, but was just a red, pulpy-mess. It looked as if somebody had hit him with a small wrenc h. He decided to leave it as it was, perhaps it would dry up better that way. In the mirror, he caught sight of Tonys mountain-sack, resting against the foot o f the bed. What was he going to do with that? Inside it, he came across a plastic wallet that contained the insurance and othe r registration-papers for the Oldsmobile. That was something at least he could pick up. the wagon in Monterrey. It was no use to think of what he should do w ith the guys gear, until after he had made contact with Bambergs people. And tr ied to straighten the whole stinkin fiasco together. Taking out his own battered -looking wallet, he lifted the phone to the bed and flashed the operator, Senori ta, please get me 11-7980. The operator repeated the numbers individually, and held the line, as she rang t he number. There was a short ring, a switchboard-click and a manes voice asked quietly, Quien es? Senor Blanik, americano, from Bamberg in San Francisco The voice answered with a Momento, and then there was silence. Blanik wondered if they already knew of what had happened earlier that day. A second voice in the background said something, that he did not catch. Then the initial voice asked him in good English, whether he wished to talk in E nglish or Spanish. Before Blanik could answer, one way or the other, the quiet voice continued, We were expecting you sooner, Mister Blanik. I hope you had an easy journey? Replying, Blanik came straight out with just why he had not been able to ring an y earlier. He asked sharply, Do you know a man called Meras and just who are you , while I am asking the questions? My name is Serrano, Jose-Rodriquez Serrano. Keep peaceful, Senor. What do you want with Meras - it is not his real name, just one he uses.

Very briefly and curtly Blanik continued and filled in, on just what had happene d that morning, on the Rio Lerma. As he progressed with his account of the inc ident, he could hear some exclamations and urgent asides, in Spanish, at the ot her end of the line. In a reply to a question about his present location, he he sitated to give the name of the Hotel. The other guy understood his reluctance and nervousness. This is not good, Senor Blanik. Have you heard any more from the other man, the one that was stabbed? More important to me, you see, if you will excuse me, is do you still do the job. To bring the packets over to the Estados. I think you are the only one now, yes? You bet I do, said Blanik, but I thought you might know about all this. You know w ho the guy was? An maybe what has happened to the Canadian? For all I know, he could be in the lake, by now. The voice responded and sounded genuinely sympathetic which surprised Blanik . It went on to explain about the Mordida, the bite and how it worked around the City. I also think I know, peraps I know who killed your. . .excuse me, who kni fed your friend. I promise to find out where he is. What is his name? He went o n to say that he was glad that Blanik was still going through with the collectio n. Was almost certain that somebody in San Francisco had arranged the whole ph ony steer. He knew nothing of it. Blanik then wanted to know where they might meet. An I want to get clear of this town, as soon as possible. Twice as fast, if I am going to be holding all that stuff on me. You understand? They made an arrangement to meet the next morning, about ten. He was all washed out and had no wish to go shopping that evening. The address was not downtown and he was told to take a taxi out to the house. And, Senior, do not worry. This time it will be okay. It is possible, that I fi nd your friend for you. If you wish it, you can drive from here out to the aero puerto - do you have an automobile here? Blanik left the question open and promised to ring again, should any-thing unusu al come up. He replaced the old-fashioned receiver and decided to go out to the street, to get some chow. Neither his mind, nor his stomach had thought about food for the last few hours; he had not eaten all day, apart from those sandwic hes. He certainly was not going to sit down in the Hotel food factory. He was a long way over from that bar and restaurant where they had eaten on the night they ar rived. Perhaps it would be cooler to stay clear of that neighbourhood. Not tha t it was likely that he was going to run into any more flak. Looking at the sma ll map of the Centro de la Cuidad that was on the writing- desk, he thought that h e might just walk on down the main drag, toward the Park, and see where his nos e led him to in the way of a good place. One thing was certain, he was not abou t to stop in the company of that brass-railed bed all evening. Out on the Reforma, it was elevating, magnificent. The air was soft to the face and there were many strikingly-visual triggers, the trees heavy with spring fol iage were masked in the pale rays of the evening sun. Beneath them, the strolli ng Mexicans were abroad before dinner. Here and there, a cage of small singing birds was for sale. The young women, tall or short, mainly dark haired did exud e an earth sensuality, in the manner they walked and stood, that was matched by the simplicity of their fashion. Pity Mama was always there, to see that any ac knowledge compliment or smile was not too open an invitation. For a mile or so, he easily forgot the events that had brought him down here. T here was a light scurrying-rustle in the trees that lined the broad Pasco - it f ollowed him and chased about his ears like some gentle but deep figure for a ban k of cellos. He stopped and bought a cigar from a stall it was only a peso and went by the name of a Puro. The old man gave him a light. He was just another stroller, a man walking alone, beneath the shadow of some tr ees on a late-Spring evening, in Mexico City. The understanding, even jealousy that he felt for the ordinary people of this almost Latin country, somehow manag ed to lift him over, into their world. He soon easily identified with part of a

n existential-happiness, born here, often in a world of poverty and primitive ig norance, that was at the same time, highly intuitive and often truly unsophistic ated, in the original sense of the word. Perhaps it was as a result of the air u p here, he thought. Or the Bull and the earth, scorched for many a year. His c igar was still lit, but in order to keep it so, he had to draw on it, if he was sucking a hollow tube. It stank and was of coarsely-rolled tobacco. He came ba ck into another world of thought. The graze on his temple was still hurting som e; it brought with it the whole, relentless flowing questioning and the doubts a bout what had happened. What if Tony was dead, cold. Should he drop the whole thing, fast, and get out of the country. He still had to take the load over int o Texas, and all that might involve. He prayed that it would all come out strai ght in the morning. At least he had only his own hang-ups to worry about now. Alone. That was the way it had always been before. The weight felt so much les s that way. Then he laughed out loud, and he knew of just how easily he had fal len into all that crap that morning. He had really asked for it, head-on. And he had practically burned the meet. He drew opposite the next large square, crossed the central walk and turned left into a street that he did not recall. About two blocks down, the large blue an d white cross, hung outside of a Farmacia, caught his attention. He was down here , you could get all kinds of pills, without a physicians note. Perhaps a handful of bolts would shift all these crazy thoughts from his head. He went into the store, set out like some private clinic. The young assistant gave him, without question, the tube of Romilla, for which he had directly asked. When asked for a second, the guy gave him an uptight presum ptive look and wanted to see a receta. Blanik indicated that he spoke no Spanish and showed the guy once with his fingers that he was interested in another stick . The answer was negative once more. So, he pointed to the wound and demonstra ted that it was throbbing badly. This seemed to satisfy the punk and he was cau tiously handed a further tube, this time, not in a paper bag. The two came to n ine pesos and he left, pleased. A few doors further along, there was a plastic-looking bar. He sat down at the first tables inside the open doorway and ordered a Limon. It was brought quickly, with a glass of iced water. He took the cap from one of the tubes, removed the snub of cotton-wool and shaking eight or nine of the small blue tablets into hi s hand, swallowed them in two throws. Nobody seemed disturbed by this, either s ide of the bar. Leaving that uncomfortable place, he reckoned he should just go on, wandering th rough the streets and find a small simple restaurant. This quarter of the centr e was not as commercial as the area about the Central Park, or on the San Juan d e Letran. There were many small craftmans shops and tavern type clubs on the nar row streets. Most of the shops were still open the passages were jammed and cro wded with small trucks and people. They were mainly Mexican folk, out for a dri nk, or an early evening snack. He was pleased to see only the occasional Americ an-tourist. There were any number of holes in the wall to choose from, as well as the restau rants proper. Passing by a window of metal trays, full of fish dishes, beneath a fragmentation of ice, he spotted some crayfish. Concluding there with , that he might wander about for another , making up his mind, he pulled back the bead -curtain and entered. The outfit was not busy, although it was now getting on for nine. There were t wo sulky, waist-coated men and a small dyed-blonde serving at the marble-counter . He took out a stool and enquired the price of the fish, and also that of the steaming snails which she was pouring from a large black pot into a tureen. Nei ther was too unappealing, so he ordered a dozen of the snails and six of the ove rgrown, pink-white shrimps. He had tasted snails before, often he and the local boys would go collecting the m, super snails, down in the Yucatan; he had seen them eaten raw. These were so mething different. They had been boiled in an oily stock, well- laced with wine and peppers. The blonde brought him some bread and white-wine, and gave him a pleasant smile, f or free.

After the first glass from the carafe, he remembered that he should lay off the vino, already having swallowed those boosters. But a few glasses should not hur t his head. The girl collected a few plates, she asked him in a slow mixture of English and Spanish just what he had done to the side of his head. He told her that he had been in an accident and asked her what her name was, as a lead-in. Answer. Elvir a, she quickly turned away to the serving hatch at the far end of the room. He carried on eating the shrimps. They were beyond expectation. The meat inside t he scales was white and tasted of lobster, or maybe crab. Even though the wine w as rough, and only that of the house, it brought forth the texture of the meat and he made a short exercise of the plateful. He wiped his mouth with the cloth-na pkin and still feeling hungry ordered a portion of refried-beans. The blonde lo oked at him in disbelief , but handed him a plate of the brownish mess. He laug hed openly at the expression on her face. Now if you feel good inside. Outside the bar he felt the immediate effect of the wine, and of the pills. The whole of the street was in cerebral movement. The smells of the kitchens and t he full drains competed for a place in his nostrils. Standing up against one h andy corner he took in the mlange of the activities. As far as he could make out , most of the coming and going was directly involved with eating. People fetchi ng or delivering the raw materials for a thousand tables and tastes. Even a few live-chickens added their desperate cries to the general uproar. All appeared to be fully engaged in, and even making light of their particular job in hand. He was reminded of what the old Mexican Consular official whom he had met briefl y, a good while back, in Quebec. Once that wise head had summed up the radical difference, that Blanik had told him about, between the humanity of the Souther n peoples and the biting, soured life-attitude of so many of their Northern fell ow-species, that difference that was so much part of Blaniks experience. The ol d man had said that it was so; that even in the poorest Spanish or Italian house hold, whether the dish was just oiled pasta, or paella Valenciana, then there wa s always to be found the idea of the family unit and the breaking of bread. He told Blanik that these Northern races would never be civilised until they cease d to think of eating as a mere function that the machine had to be refueled; aft er all, he had asked doubtfully, we are Homo Sapiens, the wise one, not just an imals at a trough! Until the simple-act of a meal was given its due importance, both in relation to God, or the family, with time and conversation then he coul d only see in all of this modernity, just a shallow, instant- cooked barbarism. That had been a well-turned idea, as well. To his right, he saw what looked to be an even narrower and more- crowded alley. Oblivious to the pressing vehicles about him, he ran across to it. Soon, onc e again, he was lost in the dozens of different sights that moved about him. He stopped to stare at the ranks displayed in the window of a narrow shop that sol d boots. None of them, either for riding, or walking were expensive. He was te mpted to enter and try on a pair of the tall brown-suede ones but, then, it was Maggies geld. He surprised himself, in thinking of her. He wondered what his wo man was doing that evening and wished her to be there, beside him. She was prob ably out prowling the streets. As always, eminently sensible she would have pro bably avoided that lousy mess he had gotten into. His thoughts of her were destroyed by the noise of a crowd of people shouting, o utside a hotel-entrance across the street. He walked over and pushing his way t hrough to the front of a largish crowd, about thirty or more, saw in the doorway the huddled, timid figure of a man about thirty, though his degradation gave hi m the air of an older person. It was clear that he had just finished, or was em erging from an epileptic seizure. The eyes were completely without control, and the crouched torso was shaking, doll-like from the waist to the shoulders. Som e bitch was screaming angrily at him. Without anticipating or fully realising w hat he was doing, Blanik pushed forward, lifted the mans slack head and slapped h im twice, fairly heavily, across the face. The dolls grease-covered beret fell t o the ground. Some calmness returned for a minute, then his neck looked to bend in two and this was followed by more jerking-reflex and slobbering frothing sali va. Blanik did not have the heart to hit him again. He turned around, back to

the crowd. An old woman immediately began to yell at him, also backed by three o r four others. They found his action worthy of the vilest cursing. He found hi mself becoming a second object of abuse by the rabble, for simply trying to snap the victim out of his sorry state. Dodging a blow from the skinny arm of one o f the women, he took flight and barged his way out, through the ring of bodies, and ducked down the first turning he came to. A short half-covered passage led through to an enclosed square. Laughing at the banality of the whole scene, he took shelter, as it were, entering the doorway of the first bar. Apart from the bar-maids, B-girls or whatever, and a couple o f middle aged men, the joint was empty. Not wanting to get involved with any of that show outside again, he decided to stay and called for a beer, sitting at t he chromium-railed bar. One of the girls came up to him. Her coated-face was n o prettier than her tinseled bod and he waved her away. Calling him some insult , for her trouble, she made sure he heard it. He thought the night was starting out rather fine. As long as he did not get si ck, or drunk, or picked up by the Mexican agencia, then he would be alright. Al l the previous thought of the fracas, and of Tony, had cleared. He walked down to the back of the room, where another bar of some sort was indicated by a green , neon-light arrow. It was down stairs. As he might have guessed this too was empty, apart from an elderly cat in a dust-covered tuxedo, seated at a piano. P erhaps he was the owner, or employed to entertain the guests at the un-filled ta bles, along the wall. Hearing Blanik pull out a chair and order another beer fr om the waitress who had followed him downstairs into the half-lit area, the pian ist began to play. The sounds from the street were quickly forgotten. Blanik w as amused to be listening to another mans playing for a change. At first this wa s some up tempo popular tune , but then sensing the preoccupation and even mutua llyshared spirit of his solo audience, the performer paused, thought and then ac ted. Blanik half-recognised the melody though he was not aware that it was bein g played for his satisfaction, not the pianists. Only once, about twenty measure s in, was there a faint smile from the older man, which was returned in honest-f riendliness and acceptance. It was a modern piece, either Mexican or Spanish. Perhaps de Falla, or even a s ong by Revueltas. At any rate, it contained an element of that eloquent sadness , the feeling of hondo, of deep emotion, so peculiar to parts of this land and And alucia, in the Motherland. The pace was not fast and he naturally sympathised w ith the subtle and expressive-feelings that the artist was trying to raise from out of the inadequate instrument. The song-like piece might well have been a wo rk for another instrument or ensemble transcribed for piano. Whatever it was, i t was not lacking in content and emotive power. The music slowly began to exclu de all conscious ideas and drive some other motor of different dimensions. Blan ik took a long pull at the beer, shifted back into the seat, and closed his bloo dshot eyes. It was all so long ago. When he had first come South. He had only been fifteen and just why he had chosen, if that had been a choice, to run to Mexico, rather than one of the big cities, was still unclear. As he had first encountered it then, well it had been like another continent, another planet. It was perhaps some tale he had read, or heard on the radio back home, some remote, inspired ta le of John Lloyd Stephens but, he had sure lit out that day. He remembered the day even. It was the first day of Spring. His Ma had gone over to some neighbo urs, with his younger sister and brother that was all of three miles away. And his old man had taken the pick-up into Webster that morning, for repair-work. T he chance had arisen so although the seed of the thought had been there for mont hs. Taking the only money in the house, from his fathers cash-box, about fifty, and one of the heavy, sheathed-Bowie knives from the wall, he had just started walking, out toward Ortonville and the road Southward. All he had taken, in the way of extra clothes was the old flying-jacket, and his Sunday-boots, all tied up in a blanket with a hunk of beef and some apples. He did not think himself t o have been obsessed with Huck Finn. Since he had been able, the eldest, he ha d worked in the vacation and each weekend, as part of the farm. His father had

sure spared him little. What had been good enough for himself, was surely sound enough for his son? The work was only sometimes really hard. Autumn mainly, pr eparing for the winter. In summer the days were long and hot, but by Fall the b urning was finished and the first cool wind was sensed) one first day, and was a Divine-sent, pleasing release. He supposed that he had took off, that time, li ke many another country-Jack to see what went on, out there. The wireless could talk for months, but that was not the World. South Dakota had been hard going , at its very easiest, not to mention the blanketing Winter. The life had not b een eased by a father, who found in the memory of his own childhood, in a half-s od and adobe hut and almost religious symbol, worthy of constant re-iteration. It was all hard graft, prayer and unlaughing simplicity. Pleasure had been take n only as a kind of reciprocal duty, fractionally balanced to the amount of labo ur expended-that was how it was though. The whole of his old mans life philosophy, revolved around the constant recall of the Black Blizzard in 1933. Fortunatel y, his mother had allowed him to read as he wished, although that too had been a gainst Pas wishes. Winter had been long, and often the communities and the farms had been isolated - he could still feel that cold. It had gone on freezing one time, f or a whole month, without one day above the mark. He imagined that the cold of Siberia was not much worse. He thought back to the night-time, when if he was not studying or practising at the piano, he would go lie up on a platform of corrugated-metal sheets he had bu ilt in one of the outhouses, and there, wrapped in animal-skins and old blankets , would read by the light of a storm-lantern. He would read anything, of factua l interest. On his twelfth birthday, he would ever remember that, he had been t aken to Sioux City. Against his fathers will, again, he had been given a book of his own choosing; a University book about World Archeology. Could be that was the reason he had sought an escape down to Mexico? From that time on he had read all he could about the old civilisations and had treasured his private-fantasie s. But, there was always more wood to be split, or more chores to be done. And as he became older, often talk of College and engineering. The man playing the piano took his fingers from the keys, and looked to his uniq ue audience. You like dis music, Si? Dismissing his rolling memories for some m oments, Blanik nodded and asked him to continue. Outside there was the noise of customers and some laughing. The player continued with part of the same, or a similar piece, the folk-like round of the tune swaying into a form that took the listener once again, drifting into the past. As he remembered it, a truck-driver had picked him up and he had been well clear of the State, two hundred miles out, by nightfall. He had to lie about his age and intention. Most of the folk who gave him rides were kind enough; and so lo ng as he avoided hanging about the centre of the towns that he came into, then h e saw few cops. And he was sure that nobody had tried for his ass, even in his innocence. Some guy selling hearing-aids had covered for his lack of I.D. at th e border. It took him weeks to make it to the Yucatan. (No rain in six months) He ended up there, not intentionally, but more because it was just about as far South as yo u could ride. The only way to get that ride, he had found was to hang about in the gas-stations and smile sweetly. He had even got down to begging for lifts. This was all eleven years ago. Even as he had made that first natural trip, it h ad been perceived as a dream, the what, where and how of his experience, fused t ogether into a fast-scribbled receipt of opening, even There had not been any where near as much traffic on the roads back then; especi ally away from the central stem of the country. Once at the South, life, even i f often lonely had become static and easier - the sun had been there, every day. The local native Indians had looked after him for about two months. With a ga ng of destitute kids, he had scavenged in any, and every corner, there was alway s some work worth a couple of pesos or a plate of tortillas. In the late Spring he had been able to wander about the whole of the plateau. It was high, not s ub-tropical there were few insects, or mosquitoes and he had always found some c

orner to sleep. Either in the abandoned huts of the Indians, or often on a ledg e, in the moss-covered ruins of some Mayan edifice. There had definitely been a n altering of his whole metabolism after a time, or more a psychic-merging with the surrounding, sensual earth. Finally, destitute, he had been given some work in the evening at a primitive Tourist Pavilion, near Progreso. He got all the shit thrown at him, but the kitchen-work was not hard and he had been given food and a place on a verandah to sleep. As long as he did not get into Merida, the n nobody was concerned about the young gringo; he was old on the local slave marke t. He had sure found plenty of time to think. When the Summer approached, it had begun to get really uncomfortable. It had all begun to boil over about the finish of August. He had taken off, back North to escape the pressure of the summer, and while walking through a small village near Veracruz, had been stopp ed by a member of the local Guardia. Usually, in his brief contacts with the Me xican authorities, he had passed himself off as an eighteen-year old American to urist, minus his motor-cycle and personal belongings, who was trying to make it to Mexico City in order to get home. More for some thing to do, than suspicion of any crime against him, they had detained him in the comisaria for the night and checked with their Chief Somewhere, there was a central-record of his disappea rance from the U.S. While there had been little they could do about sending him straight back to his folks, they could deport him as an illegal and undesirable vagrant in Mexico. That was just what they had done. One week later, after a guarded train journey , across the whole country, he was deposited at Reynosa and handed over to the I mmigration Office. It had been a good run. His possessions were nil, just a sp lit-topped, ukulele like instrument, the clothes he stood in; he still had the j acket and a pair of rope-soled albarquatas. He had held on to about five dolla rs he had been locked inside a private office for the night, had weighed up the choice of route, that had then open to him. He smiled to think of the crazy, al most lunatic-ideas that had come to him that night. It was like the start of so me pre-written story. He had not been frightened by the threats and obtuseness of the fat policeman who had taken him in. That night he had forced a window ca tch, escaped to the outside of the town and hidden for two days, without eating, down among the flats and vegetation by the river. Then, one night he had just gone off walking, rolling into the side of the road at the first sign of any hea d-lights. First he had made it to the Coast and then bummed a ride North, on a rig. There had been the intention to travel up to New York, he thought. The em pty meat-box had loaded at Houston and was headed for Mobile and Atlanta. And that was how he came to be in Florida and later, the Key West Chain. He did not make it up to old Yew York Town for another year, for although he had never been there, he thought the contrast might have knocked him out. He had been six teen by then, he could pass for a year or two older and had sure learned a first hand about just what a kid might do for his bread, around the fleshpots of Miam i Beach. It had all been so much of another country then. The whole of the Amer icas had been less opened up, they had not even completed the vast initial netwo rk of Highways for the Defense Department and most of the South still lived in t he last century, as far as any emancipation or modern communications were concer ned. He was glad not to be sixteen in these times, having to split home and the n trying to make it. The jungle had become fiercer and more over-grown since th e days of Jimmie Rodgers. As his thoughts returned to the old farm and his fol ks, he thought also of how much he had changed, and of the way the very structur e of the land and its communities were fragmenting, as never before. This was t he Technological Age, they reckoned. What did his father think about the War, and where were his fathers honest- ideal s now, he wondered? Perhaps by now they both were dead or had just bought a new Ford station wagon. Possibly his brother was in Asia, a Specialist Five, fighti ng for his country. His sister he had never known, except as a person to be avo ided. She had been the youngest and had come under his mothers particular care. She was probably majoring in Catering, or working as a hairdresser in Souix Fal ls, for a hundred and twenty a week. He would think of them all, perhaps two o r three times a year, usually over Christmas. He could imagine that they were h

appy. The only thing he did thank his Pa for, was that he had forced him to pla y a musical-instrument. What a force that had been. The memory of the cut of t hat leather strap against his legs still brought a confused hatred, well remembe red. After such a beating, he used to end up in a nearby copse, shouting his an ger to the sky and listening to the commiserating moan of the wind and the trees . Often it was worth while getting a hammering, for his old fellow, for the ne xt few days appeared to have worked off his frustration and his son was left in peace. He had never returned home. Once while crossing from East to West he had driven through Minneapolis, one afternoon and had considered going over to see them al l. The possible hysterical-reaction from those good folk and the long necessary explanations and apologies expected, had deterred him from that loop South. Pe rhaps his mother would have liked to have met him as a man; though they had neve r been close, or shared an overt-love for each other - she was always working at something, when he was a child and had often remained tight faced and silent fo r days on end. To go back home might have been too painful for everybody. His expression altered, as he caught a memory of those weekend-long rows. Rows that were as predictable as a chronic pernicious anaemia and its price. Rows that we re not even arguments; there had rarely been any dialog between his parents. Ro ws would just start out of nothing important and then in a release of negative-e nergy, evolve into a dominant sadness and keyed-up intensity that would hardly h ave run-down before the next trivial disagreement once again brought the whole i rrational misunderstood and unimportant slanging match back into the arena. But there was one memory that yet again came wandering into his recollection It was the one event that had never left his waking or sleeping picture. His gran dmother on his mothers side, a Mrs. Cloakey, had lived with them for years and as long back as he could recall, she had been ill and bed-ridden. One night in De cember, he had been left in the small back-bedroom to look after her, while his mother went to fetch his Pa, who was out in the barn fixing some machine. He wa s about ten, nearly eleven. And he was aware that the old woman was dying. He had sat opposite her pillow, not, more curious. The other two children had b een dismissed from the approaching crisis. The room had been illuminated by two glass-bowled kerosene lamps. Outside it was snowing and as dark as any death-w atch. The old lady had sat up in bed, suddenly, with her hands stretched out, h igh and forward. He had stepped quickly from the chair. With one almost ecstat ic cry, Mrs. Cloakey had let fall her small Bible, and he had stood, rigid with fear and wonder as that thin grey-face and figure underwent some unique metamorp hosis, before his eyes. For a matter of only seconds, that eighty years old wom an had been restored to a youthful twenty, the hair, the eyes, the neck and shou lders, the structure of the face, all were altered momentarily into a smiling, g lowing cameo, and not of the present-time. There had been, he some quality of radiant, welcoming home- coming, as in some face pack commercial, the end of one journey, the willed and hoped for entrances to some further condition. As he had emerged from the brief limit of the vision and had moved close to the death-bed, he had witnessed a curious and never satisfactory explained unit of l ight, not a halo, rather a mass of some extracted energy, which rose hovering ab ove the head of that already stilled-corpse. He had caught his granma in his arm s, as she had toppled sideways, from her final living-position. It was only mon ths, maybe a year later, that he had told his mother of that beautiful, even mys tic experience. In an old brown travelling-bag, she had found three or four for mal studies of her mother and although not one of the plates matched that impres sed-picture, there was no doubt about the seconds fixed identity of that strange beauty. He had had more occasion to recall that any of his stern, not unhappy but uncolo urful family. After the first few years travelling, the idea of going back home had not crossed his mind again, not one time. After shaking the hand of the cat who had been using the ivories, he went slowly out of the bar, almost forgetting to pay for the couple of beers. The player h

ad refused his offered bill, that had given him a real kick. Outside, the night felt sensual and warm; receptive for anything. He carried on walking, just rec ording the exhibited canvas, on through the narrow streets. It was now getting late; the crowd had thinned out. The air was still full of a ny noise, or music, and from the sidewalk-kerbs and in the doorways, closer huma n-smells. There were plenty of women, shadows on the bars of the dimly-lit funpalaces. Most of them were as hard as ice picks, or really shot through and wer e only interested in the monetary skin. He just carried on walking, and crossin g a broader street, came to a small stone-built plaza, where he took a seat. Ob serving the slow play of the fountains jets, he thought over just what he might d o to fill in the late hours. The night is young, he thought. Amusing, how even the most self-centered and su fficient man can feel tie need of company, in some strange town. Too early to b e going back to that dead hotel. He felt good and free. Though lonely. He nee ded some action to keep those recent memories well clear. Possibly there was so me bar, or night hole, not so square, that he might bolt to. Most of the highclass joints were up around the other end of the Paseo; it depended on what kind a action the customer was looking for, anyway. If his lady was here, with him, they couldve flown back to that Hotel together, and worked it all out. That was the one great thing, about sharing his loving with his Welsh Miss she was alway s there. But, man, did he need her, right now. He crossed, to walk through to the mainstem. See if he might pick up some passi on flower, even just to talk to over a drink, or three. The city was full of di fferent classes of professional. Surely he might shoot a line, with one, some pla ce? Passing by a noisy Hotel, he glanced over to the left and noticed a flashin g sign, at the next corner. It was well-advertising some dive called the JAZZ Ca ve JAMBOREE. Odd notes of a horn could be heard, as he approached the steps. It sounded possible, and interesting. He walked slowly down the dirty concrete steps and found an open hallway. It was empty. He looked at his watch. It wa s about eleven. Maybe the joint did not get moving, until way after midnight. Thats if there was going to be anything jumpin at all. He peered through the two blanket drapes in the centre of the back wall. On a s mall stage, a four piece combo was setting up. It all looked kinda rough, not r eally a classy blown-up club. On the walls, some hero had painted poorly- figur ative murals of guys making the sounds. The tables, that ran in two lines, forw ard from the stage, were merely adequate, the seats less so. It looked like a p lace just to come and dance. But he was not complainin over that. He counted ni ne people, sitting with drinks, waiting for the musicians to get into it. A quiet voice behind him. He turned his neck and in stepping back, asked the gu y standing there, in English, about going in the club, and when the show was goi ng up. The man answered in Spanish and motioned with his hand that one had only to buy drinks. That was fine with Blanik. Nothing else was happenin. He entered the room as the quartet hit its first set. The-lights were lowering slightly. He pulled out a seat at one of the tables, close to the music. It s ure sounded fine, to his ears. Nothing special to kick off with, just some ligh tweight modern dance jazz. Sure was a pity that there was nobody sitting around to dance with. A waiter came along and asked him for his order. He asked for a straight rum with a cut of lime, and some ice, to hell with the pills. His h ead started to beats as the men began to make the sounds move. He watched inten tly, catching the air escaping from the horn. For over an hour he must have just sat there, digging the way that Mr. Charlie, the horn player, in spite of the limitations of the numbers, was trying to get o ut some tight, even tones. They were both laying into it and the guy, a half ca ste was feeling the matching response from the loner at the first table. Even the club-floor had started to fill-in. Mostly young couples, coming down here t o dance, after dinner. All of them looked very much caught up in whatever early romantic dream they were unknowingly involved in. Half-dancing with himself, h e left the table and went to look for the piss house. It was all cruising along

nicely now. Just so with that sublime music. He started to laugh to himself, to think that Music, the great all original turn on was all to do with ethereal vibrations of the Life sea; such parts of vibrations, such insidious vibrations. On his return from the john, much to his marked surprise there was an obviously Mexican chick sitting at the table He awkwardly indicated that his was the glas s on the table, and asked if she would mind his company. She raised her palms u pwards in a gesture of indifference and turned to watch the dancers. Blanik could see the fine line of her chin, with the suggestion of India n blood in her slightly splayed-nose. He wondered what she was doing there, alo ne, and fully expected some guy to show up, shortly, and embarrassedly join them . For all he knew, she could be some student trying to get to be a lawyer. The music was now beginning to ease down. For the next ten minutes, he just sat there watching and listening. As the band finished a muted-rendering of The InCrowd, the figure to his left moved suddenly, and turned, to smile honestly at him. His mouth opened in an astonished reply, as he said half of an introducti on, then realising that maybe the girl did not speak the lingo, just returned h er action. Then, she did not lower her eyes, as he half-expected her to do, but continued t o stare into his eyes. All kinds of sensitive reactions were triggered off, ins ide of Blanik, by this response. He felt the veins and muscles tightening at th e side of his neck, and shifted in his seat, more out of an anticipation than an y nerves. Things were looking up. The drummer led, rapping into the next numbe r. He stood up and asked the lady to dance. She was only of medium-height, with long black hair, that was left free to hang half-way down her short back. Under the light in the centre of the room, he s aw for the first time that she was olive skinned. Wearing a many coloured shirt and some sort of locket, with a wide dark-skirt, she had more the appearance of a villagedancer, than the usual kind of broad you met in such cellars, in such and every city. The music was much slower now and he found himself dancing some kind of slow, uncomfortable waltz with her. It was not the kind of beat he wa s used to of late, for dancing, back home. He could still feel her eyes surveyi ng him After a few minutes of semi formal dancing he felt her body move deliber ately closer to his; her small breasts felt warm, even against his jacket. This kind of thing was just not supposed to happen, in a straight club, in Mexico Ci ty. Well not to a guy in jeans, with a clot of dried blood on the side of his b ean. To put aside his doubts, his left hand was gripped tightly by a bunch of s mall, damp fingers, like warmed weeners. Pulling away from the girl, slightly, he looked her straight in the eyes, and sm iled. This is a pleasure and a surprise, Senorita. he told her. She moved in clo se to him again. He could smell the body of her hair against his face. They w ere dancing together now, like old lovers, and he wondered, without too much bot her, what goes on? The horn player was really putting it down. After that set, and sitting back at the table, she asked him first, if he spoke Spanish and added that she did not speak much American. They both sat silent fo r one minite, then burst out laughing together. French was the only tongue that was common to them both. Neither had a very godd command of that. So, in a mix ture of all three, they simply told each othe a few identifying facts about them selves. Her name she said, was Lisa; she was a State nurse in one of the city ho spitals. She said she was only eighteen and that she came from a place called M eyehualco, outside the city. After asking whether she was alone, or waiting for someone else, he called the waiter over to order a coke for her, she did not wa nt anything harder. She went on to say that she was with him if he wanted that, and they went on exchanging difficult and vague details about one another. She was curious about the graze, and told him that it was not very dangerous. The time began to yawn and the drinking was boring. With no suggestion or hint from himself, and not all sure that he had heard right, suddenly she asked him, in Spanish, if he wanted to sleep with her that night. He asked her to repeat w hat she had said. This she did and he followed this by quite calmly taking hold of his hand at the side of the table. In affirmation he lifted up that hand an

d kissed it. What happened next, just about blew his mind. Blind to any of the other people in the club, she took the drink list from the centre and taking a small ballpoint from her leather purse, wrote on the back of the card Ciente Pesos, in well-formed script. He looked up enquiringly from the card to see that she was still smiling at him. And held her a moment longer. He shook his head his movement was not a negative answer to her proposition, but rather a lack of comprehension. Of what the whole thing was about. He felt that he could marry such a woman, let alone buy her body. What the hell was she in the game for? W hat kind of a setup was this? Was she going to take him out for a ride and the old fourth floor angry knife-holding boy-friend thing? She mistook the meaning of his shaken head and taking hold of his hand again, tr ied to explain, that her usual price was a couple of hundred pesos. This she sa id was to the old men, and saying some words about sympatico, she ran her finge rs through his blond hair and along one of his arms. She made it clear that the young American was on a specials-ticket. He wanted to ask her a few questions. How come, if she was peddlin herself, was she down here, not in one of the cat houses, or holding a telephone service. Those ladies did not usually bother mak ing out, or playing up to a prospective buyer. He knew he would not get through , verbally, and let it go. She sure was a fine piece of ass, a sweet honey box ; and he wanted to get there. He looked at her, yet again, studying the eyes of a woman, in a childs face. Making up his mind, he asked quietly whether she wanted to come back to his Hote l. For some unmentioned reason, she did not wish that. So, as he nodded his ag reement to her, she began to get up, to leave he grabbed her arm and made her si t down again. I would also, like to dance with you. he said, almost angrily. She did not pick u p the insinuation in the sentence, but was happy to start dancing again; She too k his hand and followed him out, on to the empty floor. A big blonde, with a bosom that matched the deep scale of her voice had just joi ned the band. Lisa could dance real well and they moved easily together. They danced to four numbers in that set, after the fourth of which Lisa meaningfully hinted that she wanted to get out of the hole. She took him by the arm, out to the entrance-alcove to collect her coat. With one arm about each other they we nt slowly up the stairs, It had been stifling in the cellar, the walls had been damp with condensation and other respiratory refuse. The fresh, cool night air was great and tasted better than all of those rums. A firm hand gripped his left shoulder. Spontaneously he dropped that side of hi s body to the left, and swung back up and away his right arm drawn back, ready. The figure in front of him stepped back. Scuse me, meester. You ave forgot to pay the beel. A short fellow, with black cur ly hair and a lousy American accent, seconded by a heavy, up behind him, held ou t the small piece of Paper and awaited any trouble or explanation. Blanik was relieved, that it was nothing more bothersome. He had thought for on e half second that it was a friend of that stockbroker gentleman from that morni ng, or even some pimp from the check-out. He made some excuse and paid the bill , without questioning it. The girl had also kept interjecting words to try and keep things cool. They left, and headed across the square and through a narrow passage that led st raight out to the Reforma. It must be well past midnight, he thought the parade -alley was void of strollers. There was a line of idle, off-duty cabs alongside one of the street cafes. Lea ving the destination to Lisa and the driver, he slumped back into the rear seat. He felt her hand take his in the shadow, as she leaned across and whispered to him. She seemed as amused by the situation as he was. At least his head was n ot hurting him now. And you couldnt describe him as pissed. Sure, he had been w ith the ladies of the street before, the sisters of charity, both in the States and down here. Sometimes a real man needed that Southern comfort. Though from the start, this was something different. He wondered again, just what she was i n it for, the laughs? The noise of the old sedan prevented his talking to her. They drove rapidly away from the city centre, past the Chapultepec Park, and ou

t into the long grey avenues to the North. Most of the houses were silent, with out lights, shuttered and barred. He was easy and just shut his eyes and waited for their destination. At the corner of two darkened streets, as they came to a halt, the girl paid the cab fare, against his will. Outside it was coldly deserted and misty. The on ly sign of life was the small red lamp that hung from a bracket, at the angle of the building. Now did you Stop on red, or find it to be a welcome port light o f refuge? He let it go. It had not occurred to him, before now, just where the y might be headed, except maybe, that he was being set up for a mugging. That if the play ran true to form, then somebody was out to roll him, on this one. H e imagined earlier, that the girl was going to take him back to some place of he r own. Just have to go along, as far along as you could go. She was now standing in front of him, with her back toward him at the top of the short flight of steps. Only after the small grille had been drawn back, silent ly, in the right hand panel of the door, and they were both standing in the diml y-lit entrance hall. Did his mind, mixed still with alcohol and the last traces of the bolts, fully realise that he was in a bordello, a cab joint. Two bent figures were seated in shadow, at the side of a lighted desk at the end of the h all passageway. Neither of them looked alive, they were more part of a painting , still and fixed in their black drape like characters from one of Van Goghs peas ant sketches, he thought. They were old and female. Some words were said to th e girl, who walked back toward him. The price of a room was fifteen pesos. Thi s he handed to one of the crooked landladies. The other rose slowly and stepped , more dragged her sticks down a crumbling corridor to the right, indicated a small cubicle with an open piss hole half seen, and opened the wooden door to a tiny room. Before she left, she muttered something about una hora to Lisa and the n pulled the door closed. He did not know whether he was still high on the pills, or whether it was the sc ene itself, that made him burst out laughing. It was hilarious The whole settin g of the events had a positive cinematic-quality about it he could see himself o n the reel, at so many frames a minute, the whole way he was receiving and perce iving the sequence now was like that of an overexposed work print. Lisa looked across to her man, who was now up against the door, his eyes just monitoring the whole staged scene. But this shoot was different f or it was in real time, wit h every eye putting all the movements in the can. She seemed puzzled, then hers elf also began to see the apparently funny angle of it all. There was the bed. It looked old and battered, simple enough for its special and frequent usage. For bedding there was just one thin sheet upon a hard looking mattress and two p illows, covered with a patterned red cloth; that was turned back. In the corner , by the door was a cracked bidet and a pair of small hand towels they looked as if they were, at least one-time-clean. There wasnt a window in the room and i t was close and stuffy. On the floor were three pieces of cheap cord carpet and against one wall an upright, unpainted wooden chair. The only light hung, nake d and white from one corner - it was not as bright as it had appeared, as he ent ered this playroom. Without any word, Lisa began to undress. Slowly he took off his boots. He hoped it was not going to be a professional six minute special. If so, he fe lt that he may as well up and leave, right then. That would be no joy, at all. It did not seem likely, though. The room was silent now, apart from the brief whisper of fabric against skin. He sat down on the edge of the bed the cover was coarse and the mattress hard. She finished undressing and stood there in a p air of dark-blue pants, with her multi-coloured rayon silk shirt upon her should ers. Where the soft texture of skin moulded itself through the smooth covering of the material there was a tactile suggestion that called to his touch senses. The colours of the dyes were extinguished by a real, more meaningful shade. How long do we stay here? he asked her, half in Spanish, as he took hold of her ha nds. She understood what he meant and just shrugged her shoulders. In reply t o a question of hers, that was all about venereal disease, or so he gathered, he clean I hope you are.

Smiling, like some madonna, she took his shirt from him and went to hang it over a small hole, the size of a quarter that was in the door. Turning back to him, as he unbuckled his belt, she demonstrated that the old dears usually got some kicks, in watching their clients working. Blanik was now stripped completely, s till on the edge of the bed. So was Lisa, except for her pants. She was amused by his mounting erection and came across and inspected the end of his long arm, for any signs. She stepped back and he took a long, objective look at her. Wa s that a hint of shyness in her smile? She had the solid figure of a Mexican pea sant girl. Her hips were the vehicle for the birth, still or alive, of many chi ldren. Lying back on the bed, but still looking over at her, he wondered again what she was at, selling herself. Her whole body was a light-olive colour, and areas of it, the small of the back, the inside of her arms and thighs, the back of her calves shone as if polished with oil and pads of fine suede-leather. Th e small even perfect breasts had the same soft sheen and pigment, with pointed immature dark-nipples. Though, here w as the body of a real-woman. Was this, possibly designed by chance, to carry an d rear children, to work in the home, slaving over the refried beans and tortill as, or grinding the cereal, and even at harvest to be out in the fields, working the day long, with the men? Then of an evening, to ease a mans pain with a subtl e and shared pleasure. Or was it just a poor limited condition, like that of an animal. Could the female machine ever rise above the imposed-restriction of th e design specification? Was this all that he would find in her, this whole being , with such an erotic heaviness - the like of which you might seek in some oil b urning midnight dream, or in a one time read Persian love-poem? Standing up from the bed, he went over to the chair, took out his billfold from his jeans and gave to her, without a ceremony of words a hundred pesos bill, a nd then a second. She seemed to query the action, and motioned as if she did n ot want any part of the geld. Laughingly, he told her sharply, Keep it babe, your e worth every cent Not, outwardly embarrassed, she allowed the stranger to strip the remaining clot h from her evenly muscled legs. Having done so, he rose up in silence and gentl y kissed her neck and shoulders. Slowly, they both sought to begin to explore t he body and reaction of the other. He was pale skinned, though not flaccid, whe n compared to her natural colour, and texture. She stepped back about four feet and in turn her eyes descended over his body and legs. She made some crude rem ark and grinned lewdly. Looking back at her, he felt slightly sick as he took i n her overall beauty and small rounded belly. His throat dried and he swallowed hard. About her shoulders the long, heavy hair hung, in eaves, and fell to the middle of her back. Wetting his lips, on the outside, he shook his head in dis belief. Telling her that she was magnificent, in three languages, he stepped slowly behi nd her and commenced to kiss and run his lips the entire length of her back. Fr om the broad full down past the concave small of her back, to where her rounded yet slightly muscular buttocks swelled out. He freely allowed his mouth and che eks to caress, where they would, she tasted good. His fingers, at the same time responded, to hold and gently stroke the front of her body. Her thighs were st ill those of a young girl, not weighed with the flesh of age and childbirth. Hi s broad flat hand arced over her short waist and smoothly down, into her groin. He too, gasped a little, as she said something that went unheard; as she turne d and clung to him, as a shelter, for the first time. Picking her up behind the knees he laid her down on the narrow bed. Her breathi ng was now also heavier. To his great pleasure, she began to return his kisses willingly, as her eyes sought his for some impossible confirmation. She was kis sing him full on, and inside his mouth, even biting his lower lip delicately, to rmentingly, as her warm hands began slowly exploring the different hidden surfac es of his body and rigidity. Blanik found himself over her, burying his face in her rough hair, and was overcome to the extent of turning his nostrils away, by the bliss like mixture of scents that filled them. There was the close dark sm ell of animal hair, its texture like fine wire. This mixed with some sweet man m

ade odour like a cologne that he could taste on her neck. And slowly he became aware of perhaps that subtlest and most exotic, most erotic, even alchemical, of natural perfumes that of a womans body exuding its natural oils to trap the male , that lost lion and all his pride Together they turned alongside each other, both warm and close. The light was s till burning in the box like room. He took her with both hands, by the chin and she in turn clung to him. As he looked down at this human animal, that was abo ut to devour and be devoured he realised that there was, in the sexual act, a hu nger satisfaction characteristic, a demand for a physical satisfaction, though it was not to be found easily, by merely biting off hunks of the cake. Y ou had to mix the ingredients and bake. The eyes were slightly glazed and star ed over at him, a clouded emotion, that was already far deeper than his own. Sh e had begun to twist her whole body closer into his. She hardly wished to delay the fall, into the slowly opening pit. Her hands ran and held, clutching, at h is neck and arms, holding his lips and folds of turning skin. As his tongue sou ght deeper and deeper, about her soft mouth, she would jerk away or react in tur n, with such passion until finally forced to break her mouth away0 Her full lips began to feel like velvet. As his biting, moving lips sought the hollows of her shoulders again and again, her fingers softly touched his eyes an d nose. The exploration proceeded mutually and happily the seeking mouths and c urling fingers moving to no pattern or plan. He buried his teeth into the moist hollow bowls of her frame with a marked gentleness. He found himself moving al so, and beginning to pant now like an expectant animal. And he was unconscious ly whispering words to her, foolishw words, meaningful words, the longest of sou nd rushing phrases, and short half-shouted exclamations. This is all happening far too fast? But she had been holding the reins this far. His lips were tired, swollen with blood and salty. They lay quietly together for many minutes, barely moving, the wound up energy dissipating, a little. The n, he lightly turned her over, on to her stomach and made loved to the length of her back with his body. Moving slowly, rocking back and forth, he sought firs t beneath the mass of hair and found the tightened fibres of her bent neck and h ead. Down, on past her low then against, and between her soft flanks, his limbs and erect inches slowly and sensitively progressed. Finally, crouched between her open legs, he twisted about and bent to bite the soles of her feet, with th e teeth of a child. Turning back he reached forward for her wrists and bit slow ly into the wet soft mounds of her hands. Lisa twisted her face to one side and grasped hold of the hair of the man. With one hand also clutching his left breast, Lisa turned quickly under features and began to work her mouth deliberately on him, to face his body across his ch est and stomach. Still beneath him, she pushed him lightly to one side. Her te eth found, with her lips and tongue, soft areas of skin to torment. Her stiff t ongue circled and pushed with increasing earnest application about the very cent res of his erotic being. She was it seemed, in this display of free passion, op enly celebrating all her innate ability to please a man, and if necessary, to ho ld him. For herself a delirious and open act of worship and an open sensual rel ease. Lifting her head back to his mouth, Blanik kissed her many times and in m any ways, all over her joyful, shining face and neck. Her hands took him now, as she lay back, staring up at him, once more. A sligh t choking voice whispered to him, Lo quiero, lo quiero por favor. One of her legs was quivering, with a nervous, muscular reaction, he slowly began to enter her. The walls of heat closed tightly, but easily about him. Leaving her half open mouth, he placed his face against her taut neck. Both of them began to enter t ogether that stage in human emotion, which apart from the extremes of childbirth s or killing, is rarely so uninhibitedly animal. The moaning breathing, and repeated steady roar of exertion was growing more fre quent and louder, as the twin human producing-machines began to increase their r ate of combustion and energy conversion. The crossed physical momentum was like a pain he wanted to tell her to take it easy but she was far lost already. The re was no conscious will left at all. In either one of them. He too had become

part of some primitive coupling that was thundering and heaving to an uncontrol lable peak. He let the thing flow. The twisting, jerking figure beneath him, fastened to the skin of his flanks, an d to his shoulders, yet harder and harder. As the legs drew themselves up about his hips, he heard what sounded like short pieces of prayer from the half open, crazed mouth. Short cries cut out into the stillness of the room. Then, in some unmeasured height of freedom, in a blinding moment of shattering e cstasy, they both reached a summit of that sensual and spiritual ritual. Foll owing three or four loud cries that brought pressure and then tears to his eyes, he found himself cast free, his body turning and crossing, again and again, alm ost automatically, for a suspended part of time, with that of the moaning-woman, locked, semi conscious, beneath him. Apart from the sound of their sliding, murmuring bodies, and a more gentle, eas ed breathing, a silent peace settled over the room; and its bodies. A hand cle ared the moisture from his forehead, as he carefully kissed and thanked the girl , for so many things. They pressed quietly together for long minutes words were superfluous, the tender exchanged-actions, almost comforting. He sat up and shook his head, suddenly. As he went to rise up from the platform , Lisa pulled him back. She looked slyly at him and said some Spanish, which he did not understand. It all became clearer, as with a wicked, yet welcome purpo se she reached to stroke his waist and to caress his neck; within moments she wa s laying, this time on top of him, her breasts sucking stickily to his ribs. W ith a half-roar of laughter he followed her initiative and set his mouth deep in to her left arm-pit, as the half-play, half-fight began. Kneeling up he took ho ld of one of her hands and spent minutes biting, licking, and sucking the finge rs and flesh. Half whimpering, soft acknowledgements of pleasure were returned for his efforts. Her lips were of a greyish colour, with a fine moustache of tiny, wet black hair s above. Some of her teeth were capped with gold. Her tongue, broad and thick was quite unlike the sharp spear-shaped tool that one finds in the more Northern lands. Above the soft mat of pubic hair, wet and glistening, there were a numb er of marks, that could have been from the birth of a child or a pregnancy. Lisa, half crouched between his thighs was holding herself with her hands grippi ng the tops of his shoulders. His legs were slightly bent, beneath, with his fe et pressed up against the foot of the bed. His thought turned away from the hea d close against his side, the teeth biting gently about his right nipple. Why m ost modern beds in the United States did not have a bed board, at the foot of th e bed now that was strange? Surely symptomatic of some malaise? Swiftly the bending, moving, body continued to caress the whole length of his lo wer body. His feet also found action to give pleasure, through and between. Th ey were both laughing together now, more a joy filled chuckling, in short hilari ous bursts. Pulling her up, level with his face, he felt, in her mouth, with hi s fingers, for her tongue; so, holding it with his teeth, his hands reaching for her buttocks, he found himself, once entering into her body and very being. Yet this time, and easily, there was merely a calmness, a flowing and mutual sen sation of two given bodies and souls merging. Her nails sank deep into his shou lders, then down to his groin and beneath his arse. Rocking very slowly to and fro, she settled sit upon him, across his pelvic frame, her head falling away to one side. It was as if she was blind, or incapable of knowing what was happeni ng. The whole of the front of her body, lying at an angle away from him. It gl istened like a piece of newly-oiled wood. Her stomach was taut and flattened, her small breasts stretched to one of her ribs. Below the movement of the lungs , where the mixture of rough and fine hairs met in a warm, oilsmooth union, all w as a slow turning, locked pool of liquid, viscous sensation. Again the tightening muscles and mounting tensions did their slow work. This ti me only once did her wondering eyes move away from his gaze, and close slowly th at she might see more closely. There was none of the violence of a freshly-rele ased passion, or desire just a long mounting flood of happy joy, that broke last

ly, into a mutual half-sobbing, half-mad exclamation of orgasmic relief. Both of them, barely able to talk, her eyes just seeking his, the moist half hid den emotion just discernable, their blackness as she allowed her relaxing, shudd ering body to slip down, closing with hiss still on top of his breathing torso, and still united, mentally and physically with her lover. Quietly, with hardly a movement between them, he kissed the corners of her wet, lined lips, her nose , and the secret corners of her face, as a wave of fulfilled, content exhaustio n swept over the two of them. The green area, outside the house, or was it a fortified hall, was full of rough ly clad workers and contrasted brighter costumed folk. He could see them the ba y of the observation rooms at the end of the eastern wing He felt sure, that the y could not see him as they impatiently awaited the next event, following the ho rse races. Directly below, in the paved courtyard, the two yew trees, so old, t he male and the female , were silent in the still, often seen afternoon. There came the sound of brass trumpets, from the end of the mile long field. There, at the North end of the sporting-ground, upon a raised bank, sat a good hundred or more persons, on stone ranked benches. In the centre, beneath a fluttering canopy, decorated with large red flowers on a green, broadcloth ground was one h uge silk clad figure, surrounded and flattered by a dozen brilliantlydressed youn g men. The colours of their garments merged and clashed, like the reflections, in some piece of traded Venetian-glass. Turning from the half lights of the narrow, open window, he glanced across to th e sleeping thin gowned figure, behind the half drawn curtain of the cushioned be d. The Lady was unwell in this time; and could not be expected to face the exci tement of the Spring tournament, out there in the field. For almost one cycle o f the moon, she had made it her wish to remain alone, with no time for her ladie s of the chamber and scarcely more for himself. Most of her time had been spent alone, in the magnolia-bower, near the small pond, in the first warmth of the y ear, observing the multitude of new-born frogs, carpeted amongst the lilies0That morning, at prayer, in the oratory, high in the house, he had atoned for any c ause that might have brought her to this condition. Her mother had told him, j ust two days before, that she was not with child which would have explained so m any unspoken-matters. Prayer had obviously brought little release either to her or himself, and likewise, his enquiries the vaguest of responses, unheard and u ngiven. He had decided that after the visit of his Lord was passed, he would se nd her elsewhere that her secret-pining might, in the solitude of a quieter plac e, wear itself hence. A short rap on the chamber-door interrupted his reflection, as through the half open, staircase door he heard the shout of many excited voices. The people wer e demanding their second hand blood and amusement. His boy had come to assist h im across the patterned yard, through to the saddling tents. He handed the casq ue and gloves to the young man and carrying his linked metal shirt walked, again to the bed. The figure hardly stirred the saddened eyes opened slightly and ag ain just questioned. There were no words. Bowing his head, he quit the room un happy, without her mascots or a given flower. Mounted, he sat clad in his guard plate and leg pieces awaiting the call of the signaller, near the canopy. His sign and crossed pennants were displayed over t he brown tent behind him. As the call rang out, he rode slowly forward to the f lag mark, where he was handed the bright-red wooden lance. Having saluted the c hief guest and then the restless, chattering crowd, he waited. Glancing upward, there was no sign of a movement at the third storey window. The horse too, sli ghtly nervous, seemed to expect the second blast, the following repeated clash o f a sword against the shield of the far-challenger. He was well acquainted with the opposing prince and had been forced to accept the long arranged match, for his own, and his familys honour; though a refusal was no sign of cowardice. The rows of brown-faces stilled and the hubbub quietened. Above these, he could see a long range of hills, the white of a stone tower and above on the ridges, patc hes of winter-snow, , scattered over the slopes. There came the half-heard cry, of Let go, from a nearby steward. The mount reacte

d instinctively, and the walk soon quickened to a slow canter, and as he lifted his weapon up slowly, into the striking position, across the draped neck of th e animal, it quickened yet further. The moving, swaying shape, approaching him had little definition. He thrust his feet into the front of the saddle pieces a nd hunched down into the leather, that he might see more clearly, through the pi erced visor. Soon the sound of the beating drums was replaced solely by that of his own mounts thundering charge. As the nearing silvered shape bore down on hi m, his whole body tightened, his thighs seeking to grip the moving flanks, , yet harder. Then the tearing crash, against his body and the cry of his, they bot h crashed to the ground. His whole lower body felt split in two as he lay there , in the sand and the stones. Part of the fluted guard plate was shorn from his right shoulder. He tried to raise himself, his mouth and eyes full of dust. H e did not desire death, he thought, as the visor was gently lifted. What of the caravan now and the silks for his Lady? Trapped there, as the horse struggled t o free itself, from its silvered and beaten trappings, he could see, through the water-veil of his unmasked eyes the rows of small mistycoloured figures, scarcel y aware of, and ignorant of his pain. Then it was over. A hand lifted his head as he passed into a half-sleep. Was this the expected gift of battle? He awoke with a sudden falling movement the girl was lying across him, with her dark hair threaded about his face. As he twisted her head away, to one side and sat up, she also opened her eyes. She kissed his shoulder and reached down to clasp his lefthand. She smelled very good, and he told her so. A scent of mois tened skin, diluted salt solution and an ingredient of the feminine. She began to say that she was unhappy about some thing and got up from the bed. Crossing the floor, she turned on some waterto fill the bidet. Above the sound of the water, she told him that it was water. As she squatted over the basin and began to wash her body and crutch she waved his attention away, meaning that he should not be audience to her necessary ablutions. He lay back on the bed the splashing of the water and his own breathing the only sound. Lisa began singing, softly to herself. He had always respected women, in that one way; that they were somehow, the natural Knowers. They needed very li ttle in the manner of a logical explanation for their lives. Most of them just had to get on with it, instinctively. If they were honest women they did help a man, even if only as a reflection of some part of his personality. To make lov e and live, was then like a piece of arranged Ballet. But, as he often remarked , one had to be as fit as a ballet-dancer, both physically and mentally. As Mag gie would put it, a fat ass and a fat head usually went together. To exult in the human, or animal physical joy of anothers body it was as if first, ones very Soul had to be free, to rise above the limit of the mere human wishes. Or, more sim ply so far back to the baseline, as to be just la chose bien fait. Most women were fine creatures when they were just Mamas and not trying to be part of a world that they could never, or rarely did understand. For the majority o f them, the only meaningful act in their lives was childbirth. It made them fee l clever, somebody had said. These days, they expected to find some more dynami c style in life, though most were unprepared to work off the traditional and cla ustrophobic feminine characteristics. If they wanted to play parts not only betwe en the sheets, then there just had to be a cruel Self-realisation. The same wa s true, though balanced differently, on the male side of the cushion. Half-aware of a more emancipated life, some modern women suddenly got to wonderi ng, once the early routines of mating were satisfied, from where the big empty u niverse had sailed in from. Sure, while they remained natural and free they wer e amusing, just like spade chicks. He had known women all over the States, who, h alf free of their own trap, did not want to get into the other domestic trip and what that might mean. For the educated ones, the pill and a chance to earn rea l bread was providing an escape hatch. And there you were, some were even havin g children, on their terms. All that freedom was fine, if you knew how to use it . Most of the ladies though, were so far from being a natural woman, to begin w ith, that any attempt to align their life styles was useless. And they wondered why the man went crazy.

In a fall from some natural state, not necessarily of innocence, most modern men and women, or young people lived in a world, where their most basic attitudes, moral, sexual and social, even the whole basis of communication, tribal and pers onal had completely fallen apart. There was this long road toward a Civilisatio n, up an inverted hill, that just grew more and more foothills as one scrambled upwards. It must have only been in the last one hundred to two hundred years, t hat the ordinary folk, drawn by gravity and pressures to the new Cities had give n up their inborn natural ethics for some devised and peculiar substitutes, many in the name of already discredited State religions. Both Eros and her brother ha d been denied, in the simplest of terms, And so there was now this almost polar reaction to return to a once-known, expected freedom. All the time, the answer to all the hangups was back there, out in the country, i n the skin to the waist, in the growing wheat, or about the Maypole village gree n, with the apples. Maggie had once told him that the hill-people of Nepal still had no understandin g of the byways of pornography, even how it might come to be marketed. They fou nd it all self evident and accepted the customs, naturally or not. Lisa finished drying herself and came silently across, to where he was lying, mo tionless on the bed. In her right hand she had a damp towel, with which she cle aned his armpits and crutch, after first running it over his face and neck0 On h er left thigh was a small bluish-bruise, where he had perhaps unconsciously bitt en her. The memory of that last hour or more, the smell of her fresh washed bod y and the gentleness of her hand about his thigh caused his senses to react and she laughed at his weak masculinity. Then she began to dress, twisting round fo r him to fasten her onion sack. He supposed climate had a great deal to do with it. Montesquieu had certainly b elieved so. He wondered, if all women were naturally without any intellectual o r worldly ambition. And as animalistically sensual as the dark ladies from the Southern lands, with their slow turning, earth mother warmth. He recalled blond e Nordic women he had known, to whom an orgasm, all the stops out and free, was a rare and restrained occurrence, an event that was more the yielding of some pr ecious secret, than a shared ego destroying moment, of creative magic. He like d to imagine, that if you could transfer them and their instincts, to the realms of Apollo, you could also break that shell and joyfully free the spirit. And what of the odd Jewish women he had well-loved, up in New York? Who, hung-up as they often were, in all sorts of things that should not be in their world, h ad in other ways not been at all frigid or reserved. One, called Suzzanne, fro m Barnard, used to ride him for hours in the classical Tibetan position of shakti -asana, with her calves and ankles locked tightly, about him; that was, until h e could no longer stand upright. With shaking knees he would slowly lower her t o the bed as her repeated muscular contractions would cease. It was he knew par t of an important Tantric ceremony - he honestly used to believe that such a wom an needed some being more animal, or more demon-like, than a mere modern man was c apable of offering. He could envisage what effect the Pill might have over the course of ten years, upon the receptivity of the female and the male ability to sa tisfy the freedom brought about by the catalyst. They helped to finish dressing each other; neither of them spoke, except that sh e would now and again cast a shy, questioning glance toward him. On leaving the love box, they were stopped before the end of the hall-way, by one of the bent, old crones, who demanded another ten pesos from them. Blanik only then realis ed just how long he had spent in that room, with the girl. Outside, a taxi stood waiting. They both sank back into the deep, worn seat aft er giving the driver the name of his Hotel. Lisa was falling asleep upon his ri ght shoulder. The return journey did seem to take a long time. It was early in the morning - he had come right down now and his head felt open and clear. He touched the wound on his head. It had healed, was unbroken and no longer paine d. This beautiful girl had not pressed, or damaged it one time, in all their p

lay. The old recognised sparks of creativity were firing maybe he should go ba ck to that bar-piano? Against her wishes, or so he thought, he asked her to get out of the taxi with h im, at the Hotel. She said she was tired and must get back. He could not persu ade her to come in and have a drink with him. There were a few matters, he woul d have liked to have asked her. And also to thank her for all her honest-given comfort. She made a sign that she would walk with him, a little way, down the m ain drag. With her hair back and the way she walked, she had all the appearance of a soldad era, except for a rifle. To a question about just why she took money from strang ers for her excellent services she said it was only for the money, and anyway sh e liked men. She usually only went with foreigners, he understood her to say. If she was to start going with the Mexican locals, she would soon have a reputat ion. Or her father or brother would put a knife across her throat. She told hi m, with difficulty, that there were many laws, unwritten, civil and religious ag ainst respectable women with supposedly immoral inclinations. If you were a res ident in a cat-house then he supposed that to be alright. She added that she ob tained birth-control pills at the hospital. After about half-an-hour of this drawn out explanation and excursion, she stopp ed in front of him, shook his hand, thanked him with a swift kiss, then ran off, with short steps, away under the trees and down a side street. He did not atte mpt to run after her, just said out loud, Thank you girl you sure did me good! He walked back quickly to the nearby Hotel. Near the lift, crashed out, on a l ongcouch was a drunken foreign tourist; to Blanik he looked either German, or Eng lish. He was invited to join the crumpled figure for a drink, loudly. What di d eroticism mean to a guy like that? A pig fuck? As the lush rose and came towar d him, he was pushed to one side Blanik ran up the stairs to the fourth landing and found his room. Just kicking off his boots, he threw himself forward on the bed and burying his face in a pillow was all set to fall into sleep. Then he remembered about the a rranged meeting in the morning; must not louse that up, he thought. He took the telephone from the table, over to the bed. He gave the operator his room numbe r and the time of eight oclock, and wished her goodnight. He replaced the phones with effort, leaning to put it back on the table. The memory of earlier that d ay had been completely wiped out. But was he tired? Sleep would come easy, and soon. He turned over on to his sto mach as usual. Some minutes later, he stood up again, stripped down completely and washed his mouth out, wearily. Back in the bed, between the clean, smooth s heets, this time, he could still smell upon his body the pungent sweet sweat of himself, and of that woman. The inside of his lower lip was sore, he would just have to get on, and dream that she was there next to him he wished she were for real, and had come back with him. What was her name , Lisa?

What was that line by the Englishman Browning, some thing about, I let Lisa go an d what good is there in Life since? That sure had been a strange kind of bat The thing, itself, that next morning, did not take any time, or trouble. He ha d woken, with a swollen lip, and the lower side of his face was also puffy. He reckoned it to be the dope. After a hot shower, the irritation eased; and after the couple of coffees brought up to his room. The whole haze above the busines s started to clear. He was going on over, and would just have to play it from t here. Before checking out, he went through Tonys gear. There was only the folder conta ining the papers for the rig - the keys had been left with that station, in Mont errey. He would need the sack the suitcase had gone, in that freaky office. Th

is time, it was going to be altogether. With the few of Tonys pieces that he lef t behind, he did include a note, giving the home address that he had read inside the pass; that they should be sent on, should nothing be apparent, within one month. Once he was moving again, in the Taxi, swinging through the fresh morning street s, at about half past nine, the feeling of an escape was high, in his idling tho ughts. He had no idea where the address of that handler might be. The taxi tur ned off the Aneida Morelos, on to the Letran, and then out, on to the broad Niio Perdido and thereafter, Blanik just sat back, ignoring the street signs, until they made it to their destination. It was a good halfhour from the city itself; along an auto route, and near to a p rivate Golf Club. He thought it was called San Pedro, or something, on chancing to see a sign. For some minutes he sat in the Taxi. Just waiting. He wished to see if there w as any reaction, from the silent, overgrown entrance porch. Sure enough, the mo dern door opened briefly a maximum of two inches. The whole place had the air o f a farmhouse, converted to a residencia. There was no outward sign of just wha t activity, or what kind of person might be found there. He paid the cab driver , who was puzzled, by his fares reluctance to leave his company. As he walked to the tiled porch, the door, not to his surprise, opened. Inside it was cool. There was very little light. The house was fully shuttered . The furniture was only essential pieces, chairs and tables. Of good quality. In the rooms that he was led through, there was nothing in the manner of pictu res, of decoration, to indicate a personal taste, of a person, who did actually live there. Serrano was in a large room, at the rear, with two pair of French windows. The y looked out, upon a tree shaded garden, along one side of which was parked a lo ng American sedan. Blanik had been guided to the room by what he presumed to be the bosss right hand man. He was introduced as Alvarez. There were few formali ties. A polite regret for the unfortunate happening of the day before. The fr iendly, but withheld voice promised he had some news of all that. The first thing was the transaction. The number Two went out, through the open window, toward the dark green machine. Blanik was offered a seat; but he prefer red to stand. Nothing was discussed; for the moment. There was a curious anonymous aura about the middle aged Mexican, standing ther e, in a dark, well cut, but non descript suit; his brown silk tie and cream shir t, as regular as his clearly expensive and tasteful shoes. Even the mans eyes. were without movement or any outward mark of character, as they calmly surveyed the appearance and potential of the younger man. The bastard is probably wonder ing how I come to be in this thing, or maybe how anybody could be so naive to fa ll into that crummy operation yesterday. And nothing was said. The other mark returned with ten packets, sealed in some kind of yellow oilskin-like, desicca nt paper . They were heavy. Blanik without instruction, began to place them ca refully into the mountain sack, which he had brought in with him, leaving his ow n grip in the hallway. The goods were not as bulky as he had expected, or been led to believe. As he bent to fasten down the double-straps, he caught a faintsmile that crossed the face of his opposite number. This was followed by a request that he be seat ed, which he accepted this time. The business side settled, as it were, so short a transaction the flat, scarcely modulated voice of Serrano commenced to details without comment, the facts that he was aware, of, regarding the whereabouts of Tony and any clarifying details

of the whole Meras fiasco. His friend, he was told was in a private-hospital with some serious damage to on e of his lungs, following an argument with a knife . He was also beaten up, but that was not important. He had been found in an alley, near the Rio Lerma, abo ut one oclock yesterday and at first had been taken, to a general hospital. His identification had only been possible when one of Serranos own men had located h im. Apparently he was unconscious. Blanik was advised not to go and see him. Apart from any risk to the completion of the deal, it had taken money, and a lo t of talk to square the whole matter with the police, and to have the body trans ferred to a private-clinic. It looked like a period of a month or more before t hey could move to Canada. He was given an assurance that everything would be ar ranged in due course. The boss-man did insist, once again, that Blanik had no c ontact with the clinic as he put it, there already was one piston missing and th e others were part of the same engine. Blanik told them of the things back at the Hotel and also gave the guy Tonys pass port from his grip as they stood in the porch. There was even a tone of sympath y or concern, even if only for his own bread, as the man put forward a strong bu t cold hand, and wished Blanik, Good Luck. The second man, who had not interrupt ed any of the previous elucidation of events was to drive him over to the airpor t, and round to the dirt-road at the front. He loaded his two pieces of baggage into the back and sat down alongside the dri ver. If every detail fell into its expected temporal position; then he should b e back in Monterrey late that afternoon, and even get clear of the country by th e next day. God and the Fates being willing. The confusion was lessened. There was no trouble from his head now. The fligh t was a bore, as usual. Nobody had hassled him, not on a domestic and he had sl ept for most of the way up. That wagon just had to be all fixedtogether. The idea of crossing the river was a bandoned: along with any plan just to fly into Texas with the dope in that suitc ase. With the scab on his forehead, the two heavy pieces of luggage, his total appearance and the tension he would surely have been picked out of the line, fo r a few additional questions. Also there was the rest of the gear in the Oldsmo bile. Picking up the tank was not quite as smooth as he expected. He had to direct th e taxi driver, from the airport out the same direction as before and estimate th e location of Augustins place. He had no idea of the address. Upon finding the repair shed, it was deserted. There was a further delay of twenty minutes or mo re, and a mounting cab-fare, as they patrolled acres of tired, sleeping, mud-bro wn paved and walled streets seeking the address of the owner, that had been on an enameled plate over the door of the workshop. Augustins home was over behind the bullring. The driver of the taxi must have ask ed six people, before he found the right place. Blanik spotted the Olds standin g out on the mud it was probably safer here than in the garage, even under a ba r and chain. The son of the house was not there. Blanik was surprised at the m eanness of the living quarters. He was invited inside the makeshift building it was constructed half out of box-like wooden panels and had a half foundation in dun coloured, poorlymade bricks. Everything was coated, rather than painted i n a watered down blue, that might have been a pastel if it had been rinsed clean . As he waited for the owner of the business to dress himself, he was attended by the female section of the household, the eldest of whom, the grandmother, pres ent the guest with a cup of the thinnest coffee he had ever tasted. All about t he walls of the room, that was littered with beds and blankets, there were the symbols of a heavy, even pagan religious belief. The master of the house appeared, moving languidly, half asleep. He shook Blani

ks hand and apologised for the surrounding state of chaos. He looked as if he wa s carrying the load of some enormous mortgage upon his vest clad shoulders. Or as if he had tried to do too much with his business. Perhaps this was just the way the guy wanted to exist, in a semi permanent, half shadow of clothing, dust and fumes, both animal human, and neutral. It was all very easy and cosy, if th at was the word he could imagine the crab like, crawling brigade of clothes lice underneath those blankets. Kinda hard for a guy to start to study engineering, in this gypsy-encampment. They settled for the work done on the wheel. The guy had welded it and he only wanted five bucks. Blanik gave him ten and told him to keep it. It was around five oclock by the time he finished there he supposed the guy had no alternative to living in that rat-hole, he had possibly had to build it himself; and it was of a comparative luxury there had been a television in one corner. Before heading out past the University he pulled over to a large Mexican style S upermarket and bought a large pack of peanuts, some milk and some fresh fruit, a nd tomatoes. He had not eaten all the day. It was strange, to be driving the O lds alone, he felt the company of the other two beside him, for the first few mi les. So good to be moving again the thought of the drive, up to the border and on into the Texas country even excited him. The fuel balance was low and he pulled into the first station outside the city t here was a great deal of beat up commuting traffic on the highway all heading ou t to their own private little-haciendas and cabbage-patches. After having the t yres and the rest, checked he pulled to one side of the gravel-forecourt. He ha d to stache the stuff in the mountain-sack, somewhere tight and inaccessible. H e had neither the time, nor the tools to fix up anything under the bodywork. He couldnt just leave it in the trunk, however inconspicuously. Looking about the inside of the vehicle he noticed the frayededge along the upper squab of the rear seat. It was a possibility. There already was a split there, of a couple of inches. Sliding over into the r earsection, He began to widen and lengthen this it would take one of the packages . From deep down inside the cover he withdrew, more like ripped, a number of th ick pieces of polyurethane foam and a tubular-shaped narrow, alloy section. Th ese he threw to one side as he went to transfer the sack from the trunk to the i nside of the auto. There was nobody observing him from the service station, it just appeared that he was re-arranging some belongings. With his penknife he cut along the seams a strip further and began to force the packets, solid enough, down deep into the guts of the seat. The last two were d ifficult. He considered just what other corner he could use to conceal this rem ainder. Under the seat was not practical, there was no space beneath the suppor ting laths and spars. Damn, he said to himself; to have to hide the stuff in tw o places was doubling the risk of one of the customs officials putting his hand to it. He took out half the packets, and, after a careful re-arrangement, the problem w as solved. Tucking one edge of the vinyl cover underneath the other, it did ha ve the appearance of an innocent split or tear. He placed two of the road maps and a services guide to Mexico just against where the seat met the rear-window ledge. To complete the obscuration he casually threw a pair of Tonys jeans acros s the whole vulnerable patch. It would do. Or, rather, it would have to. Wit h his own grip also on the backseat, the empty mountain sack and a sleeping sack rolled about some dirty-clothing it all looked casual and above suspicion. He reversed the wagon off the lot, pointed it roughly North and put his foot down. It was four fast but dragging hours up the road to Laredo, Tamps. Twice the roa d had become so boring that he had made errors in his driving. The first was a senseless skid that happened, as he was going up through those winding cuttings, near Sabinas Hidalgo. He had not imagined that he would be coming that way aga in, alone or with such an inward desire to get out of a country, that until now had been merely pleasantly real to him. They called the road the American Highw

ay which it was, a few major refinements apart. That first drift had not matter ed, he had corrected and continued moving, keeping it around seventy, eighty. He had thought of the tube of boosters in his jackets inside cigarette pocket. A handful of these would back up his concentration, at least until he was over th e line, and could get some sleep in. The second incident was near it though. Coming up fast behind a small van, in t he mid evening dusk, somewhere between seven and eight, he had swung the machine right out, to overtake there was no sign of anything from the opposite direction . He got past the van alright, missed the road-sign that indicated the immedia te bend that led on to a bridge. This had come up like a slide in front of him, with his position all wrong he had been way over to the left, on a left handed bend that ran into the bridge. Four tense moments followed as he had taken his foot off the pedal and steered to realign himself . He had swiveled, half out o f control, between the white marker bollards on either side of the bridge. One brief glimpse of the night blackened gorge, below and to the right, had been eno ugh. The only pause in the whole flat trip was when he was flagged down by a Road Ins pection Station, forty miles this side of the border. They were only looking f or wetbacks vegetables and did not seem over-keen about that. The whole run up to Laredo was a featureless, high road drag, dry and devoid of human or topographical interest. The main idea being to just make that far bord er-line, just as fast as the road would allow. It had gone nine as the lights of the Mexican border administration came into e yes were not used to the glare of the sodium lighting, following the coldness of the highway and he motored slowly into one of the kerbs of the small-islands, in front of and separating, the inspection points. The jolt in the vehicle kn ocked him awake and also the border official. There were no other officials or automobiles at the check-point. The rotund figure was not concerned, glanced at Blaniks passport and waved him through. That was one over with the next was the killer. The United States post showed just about as much activity as their neighbours, A few additional-figures sat slumped behind lighted desks, well heated in positio ns of possible attention, dreaming of the end of the shift and getting back to s ome eggs and pancakes. The official who checked him through wore a black tag with the name of Lollard o n it. His spectacles hid the movements of his eyes as he made an initial summar y of the driver and his business. His question about the ownership of the vehic le and the difference in names was satisfied , as Blanik told him the outline of some tale, the steering coming away and his friends detention in a hospital in Mon with concussion - the scab on the drivers forehead appeared to corroborate th e fabrication. Blanik was asked to step out of the automobile, for the Man to h ave a poke around and also to open the trunk. He seemed satisfied with both cases, and asked the owner, upon seeing the half i nflated rubber raft what his use for such a thing could be. Fishing, maybe or u nderwater diving Blanik told him, in a flash of inspiration, that they had inten ded to do some archeological exploration of some sea cliff s, before the motor a ccident. That was it then the guy seemed happy and wished Blanik a very goodnig ht, as he drove forward, under the barrier. That was it then. Laredo was almost deserted. It was the middle of the week. The streets were no t only physically empty, but also sorrowfully depressing and dirty brown, as if all the folks had long gone, escaping from the melancholy that hung in clouds ab out the street corners. One or two bars joined the other deserted shop windows i n a vacuum of illumination. A drizzle of mist added to the lifeless picture. He wanted to have a quick look at one of the maps and pulled into a side street where he stood over on a small corner of waste land and let his bladder cool its elf. Then back in the warm crate, opened the four windows automatically for som e fresh air, and on a diet of peanuts and tomato studied the map. His main reas on for doing this was that he just did not look forward to that drive up to San Antonio. Any other road would do, so long as it was not so monotonous. He had enough of just holding that wheel. There was a backroad that went near Beeville,

which he could take and then turn Northwards, to San Antonio. In the glove box he found a packet of straights, and at the same time wondered i f Tony had left that baggie of weed in the door. After eating one of the apples , he lit up one of the coarse little blacks. He did not smoke as a rule, but hi s nerves needed this one. He couldnt remember, if it was here, in Matamoros or in Reynosa, where they had b rought him to, the time they had deported him from Mexico. All of the towns had been taken over, by mainly American interests, since that time; all kinds of el ectronic and clothing industries. The labouring peasants, though exploited, did benefit from being on the fringe of the capitalistic system. Some of them had found the better of the two lands. A basic material wealth was the right of ev eryman was a philosophy that could not be denied the workers. As well as a full bowl to come home to and other root requirements or essentials , wasnt there also a maximum right to a minimum degree of civilisation? That fir st and basic wealth a baseline for any degree of civilisation. What he had alwa ys found so ugly, in the values of the modern American was, that in spite of the rich abundance of consumer goods and other quantitively valuable assets to ever yday life, there had not been a similar, overall civilising of those social grou ps, that enjoyed the filling in the pie. It had gone onto an often tragic perso nal relationship to those goods and as Pierre had said, back in Del Rio, if the Pie was too rich then there is an indigestion, or a reactionary flatulence in those that eat the filling, or the crust. And that vacuous and damaging blowout soon shot back, right through the economy in terms of a slump, or more humanly in exploitation and deprivation for those groups that didnt even get a look at the f resh, first hand cake. He knew that it was time that the big corporations that held the resources, got around to balancing the degree of consumer exploitation against the senseless variety of social, or personal side effects or yet again the whole complex structure would crack up. He watched the progress of three loca2heroes, along the pavement. They were not even aware that such problems existed, or were outside them. Even in the States the masses of the people were still ignorant, or trapped in s ome fantasy world, of unattainable parts, which, even if they might be achieved certainly offered no key to happiness. The people, once merely dumb wished to b e part of a truly, democratic Democracy, cannon fodder, could if but it had to be generated freely; the State alternative had proved itself to be unworkable an d impersonal. But the mass of workers knew little of any idea alternative, or o f a true participation, and an individual freedom. They were not to blame the ru ler is the wind, the people are as grass , the jester had said. You can put a man in prison, restrict his movements but you cannot really tell any man how to be Free. And the people he was thinking about, were those around here, not out in the Third World. He drove slowly out of the town, on State 59 . He thought that he recognised t he road, from way back. That time he had ended up in Miami and down the Keys. That was how he had come to learn about the Big Sell. When you were down on yo ur heels, real broke and looking a very rough seventeen, well nobody wanted to k now not even for cleaning up the cats shit. Sure though, you could always sell y ourself, which is what it comes down to, one way or the other. For about a mont h, he had played the night ride Stud game, for the dear old ladies. Some of the m werent that old either, just plain bitches. The idea was, to get the money on the nail, before going one step nearer to the lady, then you had to get to work to try and get her loaded with luck then, she would pass out, fall out or cop ou t, you were left, even if you had found it necessary to go through with some phy sical fiction holding the bread but not the baby. It was a real crummy job thou gh and the hours were strange. You could always find plenty of gash hounds, who were out looking for fresh meat though, you could make two hundred in a night if your morals, or your lifestyl e had a large hole to be filled. He had not ended up on that scene, which was a let out. That had been due to a cat called Henry, who was going round the clu

bs. A bass-player, he had netted Blanik in on some gig he had scored for in For t Pierce. That had been one of the sweetest times in his life, he often conside red not only had the older man covered for him when his repertoire would not str etch so far, but he had also learned a great deal from him about loosenin up on t he back beat and the use of a ring of base ideas in impro. And he had never me t, since, any women like those beetles, who formed a line-up, at the hotel club. One of them used to sit in and use the skins some nights. They were all so ea sy, not just about the screwin bit, but also with the meals, the place to doss or anything. He couldnt even recall one of their names. A few half-image faces passed through his mental screen. What was that club cal led again The Midnight Shop, or Ship? Was he free then, he wondered? The highway was slow, but that suited him fine. He was in no hurry. He needed a shave, the short-hairs were already aggravating his neck. There wa s no pain from the wound now - all his thoughts were beyond Dallas and in some o ther reality that he felt he was halfway towards. Like he was going to run as a free agent, again, and playing and writing out the , so many ideas, bring so much of the sublimate ideal, to a continuation. Driving throu gh the township of Freer felt that there was nothing about the buildings that mi ght have given a stranger from another World , any idea that a race inhabited th ese blank boxes, which was anything other, than a group of semi-mobile robots. A set of gas station signs, or a dairy advertisement were slim clues of any cons cious, other than animate creature made his life and death environment here. Th ere was scarcely an imprint of any one mind, that had said, the walls of my cave will reflect the tuning of my imagination, or, that because I think and act, a s a supposedly civilised man, I will express that knowledge, that superior situati on, in my whole life style, within, or without. Blanik saw no reason, for ins tance, why an engineer or a service mechanic should not express his lifestyle on the walls of his house, or on the front row of metallic silvered shapes, or, an automobile carcass hung to the side of his home, in black and white. Naturally , it just had to be done well and with that very originality that had pulled Man , the maker, thinker and player from out of the pit. What would Lisa, or a person with a desire, or an uncorrupted wish for human, wa rm and reasonable social intercourse make of the frequently savage alienation of the inhabitants of these miniature urban communities. Her soul would die, in a n attempt to become a spare part of an ersatz way of Life. She was a beautiful lady though. His stomach turned, to think about that cloud of hair. She had reminded him of his Foxy Queen from New Orleans, Cherry. Wit h her good mix of French and Negro blood she had been a similar kind of dark meat . In possession of a natural grace and wit, in spite of a lack of any higher fo rmal education, she had expected, and made of him, a man. The only problem had been just that she demanded and took so much from him emotionally, that his whol e fabric began to disintegrate, about nine months after their meeting. Quite a few times he had ended up down on the Gulf Coast - well it was warm and the people were also, if you were in the open enough to meet them. That year, S ixty three, he had been coming back from Mexico, too, heading East. After a thr ee-month drift about Mazatlan and the islands, staying with some friends of Henr ys; after an insane fight with some forty-year old dance instructor, he had clear ed out, with no bread, heading once again, for New York. He had met Cherry in a dinette near the Star of Hope in Houston. He had just ri dden up from Brownsville on a short Freight that came up the same line as the Gu lf Lines Valley Eagle, all along the coast. An that must have been the last box he ever rode yeah, that was. He if anybody still took their chance with an upsw ing. The best ride he ever touched for was on a clear March morning, with the w ind all about to blow you to where you were going, if you couldnt set anything up . He had jumped one of three empty meat boxes on a Special, that was rollin real slow out of Amarillo, heading West. He could still see the road crossing and h ear the bonging of the yard bell, and how he had waved to the other brakeman rid ing up front, as it went forward, with no speed to clear the Ice Stores. He had

run around the far side and right up along the line, visible only to the engine er, too busy to glance in his mirror until too late. If he could swing into one of the boxes he had casedout in the early hours. That was all over now, it was said there were no easy trains anyway. Well perha ps just a few of the mythical outfits that ran for the hoboes; they would still run on a few old memories. Could be that Hobo and Transit Carrying Rail Road st ill blew its way North? So, after an hour of talking to that Susan that time, after she had finished thr owing the hash, they had gone up to New Orleans together. What she had been loo king for he did not know even now, maybe just somebody to hold on to for awhile. She had sure shown him a lot of tricks. With rubber-bands, what were they tic klers? But mainly, she had shown him how much a woman might love a man, if only he would be just that. And lay it straight to her, unfearful of his precious an d tight male ego. What was that song she used to darn well sing? One of Jelly R olls little ditties in about Stavin Chain, all honest and Im a winnin Boy, dont you deny my name. pick it up and shake it jus like Stavin Chain. He sang it through a few times and had him laughing to himself. And the road ju st went on driving, in front and behind him. Crawling into a one spot town, that proudly introduced itself, as George West, he decided to pull over to a bus station coffee-house and pick up at least a cof fee and some donuts. It was said that New Orleans, once so real to him so south ern soft, yet so very, often squalidly real; it was said, that all those few fi le edged characteristics had been worn down. He had been a proper Jack in the b ox back then. Maggie never credited the tales that he told, about the can of mo lasses that existed as people in that town. The bus station in George West was where it all happened. He wondered just whom George West had been some local bull-handler, or, maybe there had just been a G eorge Hotel, or newspaper, with a George East, to the East, twelve miles? It was nearly midnight. There were various bodies uncomfortably draped about the plac e, that served as a staging-post and snack-bar. He could smell the dust and dry sweat hanging over the crumpled travelling passengers, in suspension temporaril y. The dried up old dears, the dulled expression of a pregnant-girl, the joys o f bus travelling showed itself in the strain and weariness of those faces. It was a curious Plastic Reality, that this establishment was a standardised sym bol of, although only terminal it was a part of the Condition. He sat drinking the coffee; the donuts were not for consideration. Around him the curious marke rs of an unsympathetic and to him unreasonable culture drew his unwilling attent ion. There certainly was nothing in the Rest-room, to possibly help anybody achie ve a necessary psychological break. A plastic price sign had replaced the traditional chalked board, and the variety of adulterated, almost artificial items, unique in their blandness, were served up on plastic plates for tasteless consumption. There were no complaints. To wash the sludge down, there were any number of cyclamate and colouring-rich soda s and shakes. A large sign over the counter induced you to try a Johnsons Farm D og, the delicious Meal on a Stick; Blanik did not think he would bother to test th e validity of the description. All about the feeding hole there were monstrous waste containers , shaped like some thousand pound Army howitzer-shell rejects. You were supposed to either dispose of or throw up any of the uneatable grease offerings into these Mark 1 vessels. Blanik walked out of the death of night hole just as soon as he had swilled down the liquid wash. There was something that smelled in those places, of a pathet ic, meagre limitation of what Life could be all about. He could never quite bal ance whether the worst manifestations of the plastic were as a result of a natur al, unalterable Law, or if it was all part of some mammoth imposed Lie. Probably part of both, except that surely other minds might be shown other ways?

There was some bar or restaurant in England, near Oxford, or was it Cambridge, that Maggie was always using as an example of what one mans pursuit of an excelle nt ideal could produce, in the way of a contribution to a society - he could not remember the name of the place, some name like the Whistleford Arms. But then, this was only a small town bus stopover. Back in his own bus he clicked the tuner about until he centred on the serious m usic station beaming from Dallas. The piece that came out of the tiny limited speaker was one of Ravels Waltzes for piano. You could hardly hear the track non e of the light impressionistic colouring that made so many of that composers work s a masterly anticipation, of post War ideas, in the meaning of the higher, in a literal sense, aspects of sound. It was good to be at least on the way, back home. The music did at least dissol ve the boredom of the driving. He just had to keep moving though and get this t hing off loaded and then finito, all the way home, to Baghdad by the-Bay. The highway was broken by small sections of construction and repair; but soon he was approaching the suburban sections of San Antonio if his mind did not deceiv e him there was a detour on this side of the city. The one hope for the country , although there was an opposition that not only had to be reckoned with, but fo ught to a decisive position; there was the hope of the increasing majority of we ll educated, under twentyfive groups. Though these guys were not going to co-o perate with any open hypocrisy. The whole American experience, the whole trip, had been that of the pioneer and it h ad been a condition readily met and had filled a new World with hope, ideas and invention. Blanik could feel that same spirit building up, to question and real ign the priority of a Materialist Reality. That same searching, questioning fac tor was the driver behind the Philosophy of another generation. They hoped to res hape the values and patently clear injustice that so many folk, to these young i dealists, so unnecessarily suffered. Cross-sectioned, right through the heap. He altered the position of the condenser. As if to complement that particular l ine of his thoughts, he picked up a late-night station from Fort Worth that was putting down some heavy electric music. The announcer came in with some hype ab out clothes and then cut out. A track began playing that Blanik soon recognised , from frequent listening. Strange individual phenomena, Mr. Dylan. Some cat had summed him up to be a pic aresque Saint of Bleeker Street. About a year ago, Clark had made him sit down and listen to a solid two hours of the mans recordings. The Blues based tracks, he had heard to be a fine extension of a real American tradition, except that th e cat was unlike his primary Southern influences, in that he had used a range of worldly experience, to criticise modern inhumanity. Blanik had not followed C lark into his utter obsession with Mr. Dylan, in fact, he found the pained voic e often wearisome. There were millions of others, particularly the children of the Second World War, who for some reason seemed to see the cat as a divine rein carnation. An Ishmael, with a waxen image. The cut, It takes a Lot to laugh, it takes a Train to cry was a hard, yet lyrical , electric-blues number, in a very sensual mood. The words, with an open, sexua l insinuation, were no less meaningful, for that. Here was the idiom, an honest talking Train-Blues, extended out, long before any current sensibility could be gin to identify with it. It was like a Sonny Boy train number, going down the t rack, with an all electric loco up front. The piano was right along too, with a slow, but close-shifting backcloth: Dont the moon look good, Ma, shinin through the trees? Dont the brakeman look good, Ma flaggin down the Double EE? Dont the sun look good goin down over the sea, but dont my girl look fine, when shes comin after me The blatant and raw introductory statement, held together, even more tightly, by

a lead guitar he thought could be Bloomfield on a break from the Butterfield Ba nd; a leading line that was right there. It was hardly a mature work, but then any artist had to find many pieces before he might put down his most perfect exp ression. Even more so, when you were trying to relate an advancing subjective v ision to a rigid, surrounding conventionality. Particular to music, the means f or the expression of some new potential in sounds and ideas, as Blanik knew too well, was a sensory psychic battle rarely comprehended, outside the innovators pe rsonal reference. This song and dance man, from the lake shores of Minnesota could have only come out of North America, and its still boiling maelstrom of styles. There was an e xtraordinary power in the voice, although this was not one of his harsher songs. Funny how very few straight people knew of this Tattered man of the South; hi s sources were there, but his main referred to themes part of the North. Clark had played for him an album of introspective, sad works, though of great h uman validity, called, John Wesley Harding. In it there was the almost psychotic portrayal of a man, forced, perhaps by his own paradox of weakness and strength, to move into a corner. A man obliged to quit the game of Poker, leave his stak e on the table and to reconcile himself with some unknowns. Perhaps it even sym bolised the whole modern condition of Man! The first time he had heard it, the s tatements made had set him thinking for days. A long phrase on a harp, highballing and wailing its way across a bridge, to th e last verse brought his present thought to rest, as he listened: Well, the winter-time is comin, The windows are filled with frost; I went to tell everybody, but I could not get across. . . . . . Dont say I never warned you, When your train gets lost. The song drew to a close, with the singing harp gradually fading into the shadow , as did the regular, measured notes of the lead guitar, softly covered by a cou ple of runs on the piano. Finally, there reentered, the heavy repeated chord of the bass guitar and the whole thing, falling over and over itself, concluded, even optimistically. It was a very fine and direct song, though Blanik knew w ell, that back to Strangers in the Night was only a matter of degree. The next track played, was nowhere; and he turned the band off. He thought he m ust be somewhere near Austin. He was on a fine stretch of an Interstate. It ha d been delectable listening to that Dylan track. It all kicked off not far from here bout three, four hundred miles north. One of these days, if he ever go t round to buying a vehicle again he would fix himself up with one of those slot stereo outfits. That would be quite something to sit out in the Texas-night, l istening to Schubert, or the Blues of Mister Hurt. That was real-Magic. His thought went back to Mr. Dylan. Was he just some weepin Willie? His music me ant little to most of the adult, straight Americans, but then, neither did very much else. It was not so easy to put the man into a category. Perhaps he was t ypical of the American Jew, the Gentile, Jew, strung out, between too many oppos ing values. Malamud had portrayed Frank Alpine in such a position caught, as a trapeze artist, with at least, three conflicting points of balance. At base, th ere were the traditional, inborn values, so often resented, that were faced with the necessity and the desire, to get out there with the money lender , in the m arket place, to be a dynamic part of the great gains. And over, against these, th ere was the weight of a possible Soul, as the Middle Ages, or even soul brother un derstood it, the conscience of ones acts, the personal guilt. The conclusions an y man might arrive at, especially if he were in the unwilling position of a rebe l victim, or an answer angel and entertainer could only be those of a solitary, seeking Individual, pursuing a relevant Truth, half caught in a romantic escapis t dream. It was easy to dismiss the fellas work as being merely at a popular level though

JWH. had netted in six million units. He used to ask Clark if he thought some o f the songs would pass a real examination of Time and reason in that, that troub adour could be thought to have symbolised the awakening of a sector of Americas y outh, in the mid sixties, many part of a minority, yet a well educated group, wi thin the Great Society, who had begun to strongly question, the sad demise of the States, from the days of Franklin, and of the Jeffersonian enlightenment. Blanik had once even thought of the cat as a hepped up version of the Southern p oet, Sydney Lanier, crossed with the ear of Stephen Foster, perhaps, in regard to his success in uniting music and poetry. Though that, was a rather far out, extended comparison. There were some strange, personal similarities, between th e two men, and their sympathies though the literary and musical ideas of both th e schemers, there in the best of the work, were still an unknown and unrecognise d achievement. Where might such a heart find a resting place in this Computer T ime? Macon, Georgia, perhaps? There was, above all, one effect, that he openly recognised and credited that fol ksinger with, putting the hype to one side, and that was the outstanding nature of verismo that he got on to the tapes. There was a key in the voice perversely out of tune, and time, that he would be prepared to support, against anybodys contr adiction, if they could have only heard it. Dallas was a long way off, in terms of roadmiles. The driving would be nothing after Waco the highway swung North-East, it was all flat. He had always been a mused to know that at the South, there was nobody who listened to the indigenous Negro music, certainly no majority audience. The growth and popularity, even p rostitution of the root experience had been a total Northern City happening, tur ned on in about the middle thirties. Even today, very few sixteen, seventeen ye ar-old kids were listening to Mr. Dylan around Dallas. There was only a minor underground awareness; you got the idea talking to the city folks down here, tha t they were tuned in to absolutely no worthwhile art experience, even at the low est Popular level. Even the cold grey skyed Northern manufacturing, urban envir onments were preferable to this other isolation that you felt walking down Texas Streets. His thoughts returned to the lady from New Orleans. Although that town had been full of real people, he had finally just had to go, up the road. In New York, he had felt that he would be in contact with the ideas and the music being creat ed and played. There had been no bad vibes when he had left, other than the sur face and emotional sorrow. She had fully come to realise what his ambition was leading to, and having come to terms with that, had just wished him to return so me Spring day. But he never had. He had arranged a lift as far as Charleston th at time, and then bummed rides right across the Carolinas to Washington. It was about November, if his memory was not false. Hell of a time to be going any pl ace; or doing any real work. There was just no light. Anyhow, although he could not recall how he came to be right down, he could remember, that he finished up, his pipes all full of a bronchial mess, for three or four days, in Wilmington, Delaware. Oh, yeah, Wilmington - he must have really been behind on his time to have ended up there - it was the kind of community that was such, in name only. The sort of hole that would make ya sick, without walking up Third Street, wit h half your body giving out on you, from the rain, and the temperature boiling t hrough yer veins. It had been his first time North in about two years and it h ad cracked him open he had not reckoned on the weather hitting him so hard. How had he come to end up in Jannunzios Seventy-five a nightan no extras? He had b een forced to stay in that small room, at the top of the stairs, for four days . A bottle, a bag of lemons and one of those cards of red bombers had kept him company until the fever ran down. That was right he also had spent up on a hand ful of King Edwards from that cigar-store on the corner. It had cleaned him out , his last ten-bill. That whole doss house had been a sore, a sad black-pearl. He could still visual ise that room, a real piece of physical poetry. His empty fifth had joined the three dozen others , that formed a glass piled layer of carpet. There was only a mattress dyed with urine and alcohol. He had his own pit with him the only p iece of blanket was about the size of a childs cot and was covered with blood, or

medicine, or both. It looked to have every bug on it from measles to third deg ree bubos. The dirt that lined the bathroom-sized window had replaced any need for a curtain. The dust and grime that were plastered over the distemper-green walls and ceiling, gave the whole box an unreal and transient texture. As if it had been veiled, or clouded in such a fashion, to give some mystical effect, as of a tomb or supernatural environment. Except that room had the spattered expl osions of, and he laughed out loud, at the memory psychedelically hued spew that decorated the wall next to the bed, well, the mattress or cot , f or want of a better image; those vegetating, decaying messes had only been too real. Mostly he had been given sleep and the days had passed, in a half coma, sucking the od d lemon waiting for the illness to lose its grip. If he had tried to run to New York and maybe not found his contacts about, well it could have been the pneumo nia. For four days he had just lain there, with the boss down at the foot of the stairs, in the dark lobby, bedroom office area, watching the box. The foot of the sleeping, plank had been thrust against the door, and with reason. The crie s in the night had reminded him of the animals he used to find, half dead in tho se strangling loop snares on the holding back, South Dakota way. He had gotten out of that dump just as soon as his head was clear and with a pair of twisted b rogues from the Sally Ann, across the other side of Third, had made it up to New ark in a morning. And you sure learned a lot, real fast in the Big City like that you just did not find a job on a workbench overnight. To play, you have to know the right peopl e, my boy, or have sold your shirt to the right buddy. He had lived on Myrtle, with the Italians; at least you could eat cheap about there. As the winter had come in, he had moved in with an odd pair, in a long narrow pad. The one was a half-Indian, writer of obscure material for even obscurer magazines, whom he had been passed on to, by some friends. The other was a free wheeler, with about for ty little scenes going. Blanik had even acted as backup man, in the New York ve rsion of the Michigan or Napoli Roll. The tourists had taken the switch like na turals, but that game only ran for the season. Johdi was all burned out. And Blanik had become part of his load as the greynes s and aching cold of Winter had come blowing around the corner of East 14th and Third. He had timed it all wrong, coming into the City with the weather. The w hole idea of playing had become drug down, in a stifling state of chronic neuros is. As he remembered it, he spent most of the time thinking about he South, sit ting on a davenport looking for crabs and dealing death to them with the lighted ends of incensesticks, while listening to the Archdukes Trio. Miller had recorded visions of that nightmare, that was called the City, perhaps thirty years ago. As Blanik had settled into a position of alienation, he had come to understand just who the Clowns might be. And it was not Wanky. The whole of that City was a savage demonstration of the two poles in Man, the Heroic and th e Despicable. To Blanik it was mainly just a question of balance, the resources and the knowledge were there, the examples of the unification of both, admitted ly for an immediate financial gain stood about monuments, like the Forum; Das sy mbols of oppression or of Might. For a thousand years they could prevent the li ght filtering those below. There was a connection between the strange Non-Life of so many of the people he had met that winter in Manhattan, and the dereliction and waste he had unhappily witnessed-the inhuman reality of those that rode in the latest models, or toile d on a margin of sanity, for some of the organisations, to whom the work of an O dilon Redon, or a present day Seer meant nothing or as much as an unheard half-t one from Coltrane. Those mere machines were just as remote from the sadness of the ghettoes or the beaneries and alkie bars - that was where they might find all the action they could take never mind Naked City. There was a blindness that saw neither the 4ity of the one, nor the ugly, spirit crushing condition of the other. It had ended up making him sick, also. And the City-Fathers, the pressrunners, the social structurers who got all indignant and harshly-punitive when their lousy system and the Sell did not work and produ ced the growing percentage of personal and institutional failure, Down at the bottom, he had started to use some stuff. He had already sniffed a

few straws - just to forget about the bitter cold and his own slow collapse, the disintegration of his musical hopes. He had no strong yen to go over; he was n ot that much of a sucker. He caught up with the train, just as it had begun to gather speed. The sight of the other guy going down, and fast, with his hot and cold mix, was enough to have kept him from going home with the shopping after a month of wrapping the man up, in his purple coat. Sure you stayed warm, until you came to go out again. One night he had just gotten his verification and it was snowing, on the outside too. It had been playing Christmas Grottoes for about one week solid and even the third man hadnt found a reef. Santa Claus had come by about one week before. Blanik had laid out for a paper of cocaine, just in case he found that the cur tain had really come down. So he had ended up on a sub-zero that ended somewher e up the Hudson, leaping from exhilaration and a kickback; finding the beard-gre y of the trees and the winter-road a Palette of sublime colours and momentary fragmented images. He had rediscovered on coming back down the North East extension, a whole bag of impossible to reco ver sounds and found keys and themes. It was still very heavy and black, as he ha d come crawling, up those sea green, worn old steps in the apartment house. But he knew what he had to do. The charity of some music freaks from Columbia had seen him through for one more week an all straightened out, up in the think tank, that is, he had got a fat ar se driving a dodgem like fork lift for some raw stock film distributor. After f our months of it, and a smell of the New York Muse, had taken off, for the last time to the West. At least the garbage heap was there. Dallas seemed a long way to ride yet. He pulled into the deserted-lot in front of a Trailer Sales Office and locking the doors and windows told himself to get some sleep. It was the middle of the morning and tomorrow would be time enough for Big D. He came into the city at about thirty after eight. His body and mind were still numbed from the strain of the driving. More so now, than the evening before th e few hours sleep had not done much. There was a dull pain in his nuts and his buttocks were drawn by the heat from the synthetic seat-cover. He promised hi mself a good blow-out, from soup to fruit, the first thing he did. As he approached downtown Dallas he found himself caught in the morning drift of commuters. The traffic at least kept moving. He was in no mood for any playin g for position on the Freeway. Everybody was oblivious to the others on the roa d. Their set faces reflected the tension of the demand in living in the city. Very few looked happy to be heading in to work, or noticed the fine weather outs ide. The skyline of the centre of town looked just as he had imagined it, in hi s memory the same unpleasing assemblage of high rise building, that met the limi ted requirements of the shareholders, and that was all. At least down in Housto n, they were trying. He was forced to keep a speed of around fifty, to avoid c ollisions on the crowded lanes. Within ten minutes he had come to the narrower streets that formed the older par t of the downtown area. There were numerous people on the sidewalks, walking to the offices and stores. Most of them looked sick their yellowed faces had the appearance of jaundice, he thought, and pressed the window button to make sure t hat it was not his eyes, or some shading in the glass, playing tricks with him. No, the zombie like figures moved along their routine tracks, blind to any othe r occurrence. Most of the Life was spent in that same state? Cocooned in an air conditioned, plastic environment, they emerged five times a week, to earn and t hen feed off whatever spoils they decided themselves to be worth. The degree of exploitation varied between the dubious joy and benefit of working for Griffs, or the more realistic and worthwhile economic leader like Atlantic Richfield. Idling, at a set of signals, he smiled at two well stacked young women, probably steno typists of some kind, who also snatched a glimpse of the unshaven observe r. As he might have expected, there was no return smile. They continued their

high heeled walk but probably missed the coarse comment that he let out as the l ight changed. Pity, they both looked to be good physical women, at least. They would probably end up marrying some jerk they picked up at an Autumn Ball. Whether they might ever be content was another question. He would leave that one. His head was aching. A few years of half drunken love making, some child ren, then a saddening emptiness, enlivened little by a swine of a husband, whose demands were met, only from a contractual obligation. Feeling wretchedly dirty, with his saliva-empty mouth trying to bake his tongue he decided to dump the stuff some place first. He was not going to let this one foul up, or end up pulling a blade from his own ribs. Over at the Adolphus, if he was right, he could leave the sack in a locker while he found out just what was happening over the connections and where the meet was to be. Turning left, he drove through an area that they were clearing for redevelopment and headed ov er to the Hotel. Once, he had seen a classic Blues concert there, with Sonny Bo y, but that was just about ancient History. If things were cool over there, he could fix up to have a shower. His driving was automatic now, not just the shi ft, but the whole of his reactions. He had almost made it, this far and his bod y had started to relax. He felt himself to be in that state somewhere in between happy and sad. Mixed, half high, half down. It was similar to the sensation following the elation, o n completion of a composition when the final notated score had been played f or the first time. The sweetness of the success overshadowed by a foreseen emptine ss. Now, he was tired, or even tired of this whole thing. He prayed silently t o whoever watched over these events, that all would go well from here on in. H e did not accept that Fate could be overcome easily, but more that one had to av oid unnecessary confrontation with the ladies. All that had happened in Mexico, was already behind and done with. He would only have to fall over his own feet now, that was one thing positive. Parking a block from the main entrance, keeping his eye open, for any curious pe destrians, he leaned over into the rear of the wagon and extracted the ten seale d packs from the rearseat. It took no time and they were soon, once again, bene ath the tightly pulled draw cord of the sack. There was no trouble in placing t hem all vertically and concealing them well with the inner-flap. The two sets o f buckles were also done up, with some care. Dallas was notorious for its suspi cious bulls; he could do without any hassle, from those quarters. There was no bother, either on entering, or once inside the Hotel lobby. His ap pearance might have attracted some attention in the evening, but at this time of the morning, he was just another repairman. He deposited the sack in a 50 cen t locker, considered that he might be wise to leave the key somewhere other, tha n on his body, and crossed the Reception hall to a line of call booths. He mig ht as well get it over with. When the lazy voice answered, Ed here what dya want?, Blanik asked him to repeat h is name again. This the voice did, then, after a pause asked the caller directl y, if he was the guy on the milk run from Mexico City. Yes, I am. Where should we meet and at what time? He heard a voice shout, Hes here. Quite curtly he was asked, Say, when did you get in? We was thinkin that ya might a gotten lost, down there. Everythin okay? You b rought the goodies with you? Blanik answered him in few words, but affirmed that he did have the stuff. He wanted to know what the score was and how soon they should meet, the sooner the better, The drawling voice at the other end of the exchange told him to hold for five minutes and he would have something for him. Rather than stand there rest lessly, Blanik quickly said he would shortly ring back. He left the booth and c rossed to the iced water stand. He drank rapidly six of the full, cone shaped c ups, then collapsed into one of the large leather armchairs. He closed his eyes . A soft buzzing slowly wrapped itself about his ears. Hell, he thought, I am totally shattered. His neck muscles were beginning to ache and stiffen. He dialed the number once more, and the same voice answered. Apparently Ed had rung his boss and fixed it all up. Blanik was to drive out, to the Old Denton R

oad, which was off Thirty-five East, going North and meet him at a private house over there . No specific time was arranged, but he told the guy that he could be out there in an hour or two. He was in no hurry, f or anybody else. That al l seemed to be okay. Outside the Hotel he placed the locker key under the dash and left the Olds there, after putting what luggage he had in the trunk and sec uring the door he just started walking downtown, intending to walk into the firs t reasonable restaurant he came to, even one of those Texas Pancake factories wo uld do, and hit their coffee machine. Another odd thing in Dallas, there were no easy, comfortable bars. All the boozing was done at home, or in the Hotels i t was all to do with some vested religious interests in the city, he had been to ld. There was some weird thinking about, for this end of the twentieth Century. He chose to go into one place, that looked on a human scale; trouble was, they h ad some morning TV Show filling the floor. He thought he would try for a quiete r hole. This he found, in the middle of the next block. After two shots of cof fee his stomach began to jump. He knew he had not eaten anything in the way of a meal, for twenty four hours or more. He ordered a breakfast and sat reading t he morning daily. It was full of crime of one sort or another, ranging from nei ghbourhood disturbances to murder, first degree. It was all a kind of downer an d he did not give more than a couple of minutes to it. There were three young soldiers sitting across the other side of the place. He could read the name tags on their starched, green summer weight uniforms. Herna ndez, Whiteman and Smith. All maybe going off to the War in a few days. They s ure did not look happy about some detail. What do three PFCs like that know abou t anything? Or the complex and curious motives for any countrys involvement in a military dbacle? Nobody was ever going to tell them. The three of them looked fine healthy pieces of ungrounded beef, for the statistic book . There were apo logists for Ians constant return to a fighting position, in the clash of ideologi es, to a logical climax of the War, or Wehr situation. That the culminating orgasm of different nations and even civilisations, in a purging bloodbath of mutual i nhumanity, however rationalised, was the necessary and unavoidable Review Field, where the re-adjustments of mass natural philosophies were made; coupled with adm ittedly incredible and undeniable advances in the applied Sciences; this would a ppear to be a Law of the Beast. That it would never be radically altered was ju st as inevitable, though it was rather unfortunate, for three individuals who f ound themselves all burned up in the name of some debateable and otherwise obtai nable progress. Were those three boys, sockin it to the ham and eggs, at all able to understand the natural-paradox of creation and destruction? The waitress looked on with awe as he wolfed down the plate of eggs and meat. They tasted good, which was welcome. He asked for some more coffee and a couple of sweet rolls. He could feel the immediate effect of this load of fuel going into his system after a good sleep some place, and once this thing was al l settled, he would get rolling and drive straight on through. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, he found the wagon again, and was soon driving out in the direction of Love Field. The flow of automobiles had thinned out by now; what was left was travelling in the opposite direction. The highway was e levated for a mile or more. Across to the right, he saw the start of the underp ass, and beyond that) the grey anonymous shape of the Book Depository, from wher e John Kennedy had been killed; it was said. So many years ago, in terms of cal endar time, but what that act had done to the American subconscious was still ve ry much alive. Especially to the young, who had seen in that man, at least som e degree of integrity. He was reminded of that day. Walking up Amsterdam in New York, some dame had come hurtling into his body, fro m the entrance of a store. At first, he had thought that she was half raped or robbed, or that somebody inside had been murdered. It was only as he had calmed her down a little, that he had made any sense, of just whom they had shot. Lea ving the woman to sort herself out, he had crossed through the park, to Harlem, laughing to himself at the incredibility of it all. The news was all around th e town, the folk were all on the streets, gathered around car radios, or in the shops the immediacy of that event still present. For hours he had wandered the

streets himself, trying to figure out9 just what had happened and just where the country would be headed, from there. He had heard later that Lyndon Johnson wa s now in the Seat. Aixan himself, about whom some strange stories were told. T hat day it had all seemed so much of a tragedy that it had even ended up with th e sick sweet air of a comedy. Maggie had been up in a small hamlet on Crete, wh en she had heard the Voice of America transmitter from Rhodes, putting out the n ews. She had told him a number of times, how the simple, yet worldly, people ha d observed a day of mourning and how the wise men of the coffee shop had spoken of the assassination as the beginning of the end and of other apocalyptic signif icance. He was not the first good man to go down, or the last. Taking the next exit, he found himself driving down a narrow suburban road. He pulled over and asked some dumb kids if this was the Denton Road. Thanking the m, he set off to look for number one thousand and nine. After driving up and do wn the road twice and finding that it ended in the six hundred block, he imagine d that he was down the wrong road, or else, once again, somebody was putting him on. About half a mile back, there had been a fire station. Driving back, he pulled on to the forecourt. The man on duty in the office was helpful he explained to him the confusion in the naming of the two roads. The one, Denton Road, the ot her Denton Old Road. Thanking him profusely, Blanik again drove back up the roa d. Funny crowd the folk in the South, he thought. Especially Texans. Their kindne ss to their kin folk, the hospitality given to visitors to their homes, was well known. If they knew you, there was always, well so he found, an atmosphere of fears or paranoia down here more so, if you were travelling alone, on the road. Perhaps it was all a remnant of those not so far-off days just as the pleasant er customs were. Or was that invert attitudes a particularly moderns and evil s ides of the booming State? Life was very fine in the big Texas cities if you had your air conditioner and t he Country Club to go and cool off at. Or, if your mornings were filled with mi nk covered lavatory seats special for the fat ass and a douche bag, all covered, in semi precious stones from Nieman Marcus, then you had it easy, so to speak. But, man, If you were a poor low white, or worse still, a color, down here, then life was a real battle. And the pretty suburban housewife doll, over there, spri nkling down her semi fertilised lawn, did not give a damn about you, and did she let you know it! He stopped that line of thinking and slowed, to look for his turning. Denton O ld Road was almost out in the fields. White, half wooden houses stood back off the road, among groups of full-grown trees. There was hardly a sign of the livi ng, along the row of gardens. There was no sidewalk just baked mud, with drive ways leading to still open garages, out of which the owners had driven that morn ing. The windows of most of the houses were screened, or covered by Venetian blinds. It was all very quiet, calm and pleasant. He wondered if he could have made a mistake, again. The sign at the corner had read Denton Old Road. Slowing right down, he saw that the house numbers, for some forgotten and illogical reason, r an on from home to home, with large numerical groups missing. One hundred and t welve, followed by one hundred and seventy six. The next, not across a side str eet, being two hundred and forty nine. He drove further up the open roads and p ulled in, across the road, opposite of number one thousand and nine. To him, it looked deserted. The paint on the pine slats was all peeling, badly. And the garden was wild and overgrown. There was no sign that anybody had been there f or months. Nor, was there any automobile parked nearby. He was puzzled and lef t his own wagon to go try the front door. It was locked, and, from what he coul d see through the broken shutter on the window, the place was unfurnished and un used. Taking a quick look see, around the garden, he did not find another entrance, wh ich was odd. It was all shuttered and bolted, on the inside. He went back to t he front porch, gave the front a good few bangs, then stepped back to the Olds. What the hell is this all about, he wondered? This was the place. Maybe the ma

n was still coming over? Or else the house was just a front? The sun was warm through the drivers open window. He decided to close it, lock t he doors and have a few minutes sleep. He had made it over here in under an hou r. So he would just wait it out, until something happened, or some body showed up. On the still street, nothing much stirred. A few magpie type birds chased throu gh the full leafed plane trees. A dog came sniffing by the side of the parked w agon, pissed against the rear wheel, nearest the kerb, and drifted on its own in tent way. The dozing figure was also semi conscious of the world, outside the m etal transportation pod. Even if he had been awake, it was doubtful9that he wou ld have noticed the small movement on the front lawn. A round piece of grey metal, resembling a large spraying rose, except that there were no holes in the face of it, twisted toward the direction of the parked mot or. It remained so, stationary for some moments, swiveled both to the left and right, then returned to its original position with the flat shielded mirror tilt ed once again to the ground. Moments later, a small blonde woman, in slacks came quickly through the screen d oor, ran over to the Oldsmobile, rapped sharply against a window and indicated t o the slowly waking figure that he should hurry back with her. Blanik sat up fr om the bench seat. At first not understanding from where the knocking, or the f emale had originated. His head felt thick and his eyes heavy. He slid across t o the side where the figure was, and opened the door. She sat down beside him, as he began to sees more clearly. What do you want - do you know Ed? He added, Ed Silva? She introduced herself as Mina and told him to bring whatever he needed over to the house. She ignored his query that the place looked empty. As he gathered h is jacket and a few things, she returned to the porch and waited there for him. He locked the car door and realised that he also, was reasonably secure. Onl y he knew where the Acid was, so nobody was going to get out of line. He moved up the gravel path to the porch. Once inside, he was led straight to a downward staircase that was let in to a co ncrete semi basement. He was keeping his eyes open there was nothing in particu lar to notice. Walking across, to what looked like a coal shoot, the blonde sli d to one side, the metal cover, set about three foot high in the wall. Reveale d was a short brightly lit passage. She asked him to step through first, which he did, as she closed the trap, behind him. The length of the passage was not m ore than twelve feet. A short, shad bellied figure, in an open necked, nylon sh irt rose from a chair and came forward to greet him, as he entered a greenish me talled room. More of a tank in fact. Hi there. My names Ed Silva hows it goin? Blanik just muttered some words, that he was tired, could do with a sleep and a shower. The tank was only about ten foot square. Against one wall were three b unks It was all compact, even comfortable. On the desk, he noticed that the pho ne showed the number that he had rung first thing that morning. He asked the gu y why the office was here, and what it was all for. Well, it was one of them Atomic Shelters. Look at those inlets, up in the corner s theyre for the air filter system. Kind of a creepy place to get holed up in fo r three months, aint it? He pointed to the tubular section over the desk. Thats a periscope we was watchin out for ya. That over there, is an automatic shit mach ine, if dere was some nooclear attack goin over your head, youd be needing that, I reckon This is really an operations centre, fer us, if ya see what I mean? He had never been down in a shelter before. It was a strange feeling just like some kind of blown up grave cist, or funeral chamber. He was not likely to get a shower down here. There was a large Trans/Receiver on the desktop. My names Mike Blanik. Are you th e Wheel in this grapevine? Ed just laughed. Nope, he will be along later, so make yourself at home. We will all get outta here, later. He asked quietly, you holding the stuff, we sure hav

e been waitin on it? Say, you like a beer? He answered Yes, to both of the questions. The woman was interested also. He was on the defensive, he had better keep it tight, until the top man came on by. It all seemed screwy, this empty house, the cellar an all. On a second table in a corner niche there was a record player and a stack of alb ums. As the fat guy sat down again, in front of the buzzer, Blanik started to l ook through the musical offering. Most of it was popular-music, of the poorest in kind, rootless and meaningless songs from individuals and group with nothing to say, or sing. There were one or two serious recordings. He asked of the woman , who was standing looking down at him, to whom they belonged. She answered tha t one of the other guys, who came to do watch down there was always listening to that serious stuff. Would you mind if I played a few inches - it would really do me a job? She said th at she was easy, if it was not too loud. Blanik thought her to be not unattract ive. Past her best, but her hair was still full. Maybe about thirty two, her s kin ravaged by too much sun. He pulled out the disc of Shostakovitchs Symphony No. 2 To October, and the broad placed it on the spindle for him. As the first movement began, the shape at th e other desk looked over in astonishment, but had no comment. Mina said somethi ng about it being romantic. Blanik told her that he was a Romantic also and invit ed her to pull up her skirt, and sit down. It went over her head. Stretching himself out, on the lowest bunk, he allowed his mind to wander. He did not hear the whole symphony, or even the first two movements. The immense s adness in the opening of the Russians composition, banned as it had been, for so many years brought a picture of the pianists bespectacled face before him. That such a mans feelings could have been expected to conform to any official ideology was barely conceivable. Even more tragic, was the fact that the ideas that such a man expressed in his music, such nobility and vision, were little known by th e majority of even the educated Western peoples. He wondered if there could ever be a time, when the desperation of such a man could make a deep and broad impres sion upon a popular front. Some of his contacts in San Francisco State had tried to demonstrate to Blanik, that the widening of musical and lyrical meaning in th e work of The Beatles, and the tremendous interest in literature and ideas, amon g young people of any education, were the beginnings of a whole revolutionary me aning to be given to such concepts of Fine Art, Culture, Poetry, Imaginative Cr eativity and any other labels that Time had pulled for the higher and more beau tiful aspiration of the human phenomena, Even the world of the steels and the p lastics, the computer and the concrete, was the enlightened thinking of riner Ma terialists, As his own mind tried to conceive of the real possibility of such a development, he felt himself slowly slipping, into a heavy sleep. When he awoke the shelter was in almost complete darkness. A small red light il luminated the area of the desk. There was no sound at all the hum of the set wa s missing. Near the entrance to the tunnel, where the heavy 4oor was locked, , open, he fou nd a light button. The clock on the seven minutes past five the black second ha nd appeared to traverse the circle9 at only half peed. He was much clearer in h is head, but was eager to get under some water. Not because he was stinking, ju st to get rid of a general grey sensation. A tape began to slowly wind itself a way, on the desk. He sat down in front of it and put his forehead into the hood of the eyepiece, on the periscope. He was disappointed to see nothing. He exa mined the front of the black metal turret. There, on the right of the housing, he saw the switch, with the white-lettered instruction: ELEVATE VIEWER. He pres sed the switch upward, and heard the very faintest of electric action. Half ima gining that still there would be no image, he peered into the eye piece, once a gain. There was the Olds. by the edge of the road, and the still house beyond. It w as all in a very short depth of focus. He wondered if this was part of the origi nal equipment, along with the shelter. Was it meant to give you a chance to watc h the final all coloured flame-up going on outside? That would be a bitter laugh , he admitted. Clicking the switch down he decided to pull on his boots and go

into the house to see if the others were anywhere about. Maybe explore the rest of the house? After a number of mouthfuls of from a carton that was on the other desk, he walked down the short length of tunnel. The hatch, through to the cellar was pulled across, but unlocked; and he stepped over the steel frame and went up th e stairs. There was nobody up there either. It did not matter much. Somebody would be sur e to show up soon. None of the rooms had a stick of furniture in them. How did they get to find such a place? Anybody just passing it casually would even thin k the house to be lived in, just a shade rundown, or that the owners were away o n a long vacation. Good place to have if you wanted to avoid the inquisitive ey es from up in the City. That A Bomb shelter was a real freak out. He did not c onsider, too long, the circumstances under which one would have to use it. A large new model Riviera was coming down the road, fast, as he glanced through one of the blinds. Recognising the two figures in the front seat he observed it drive past the house, and pull on to an empty lot, about two hundred yards furt her down. The couple walked quickly over to one thousand and nine. Ed was angry to find him standing in what, more normally, would have been the l iving room. He emphasised something, about the office being under surveillance. Blanik ignored him. Well, he asked, where do we go from here? Did you see your boss? As they made their way back down to the subterranean room, he was informed that they would all leave now and go over to a nearby Motel, where he would meek Mist er Lamathe and stay the night. Blanik saw no point in going against these plans , although he would have liked some reference to him. Still, there was nothing to lose. At least at a motel he could have a shave and a clean-up. He was to follow them, in his own machine. He had to drive quickly and stay rig ht up close, in order not to lose them. They went out onto the highway again, h eading back into the City the same route he had used earlier. There was a great deal of evening traffic. The grey Buick indicated that it was leaving the main flow and swung off down a broad secondary Boulevard. Soon it turned through th e approach drive of a rough looking food spot. A large neon sign announced it t o be The ALL-Night 77, at about fifteen second intervals. He pulled in, alongside the other automobiles in the crowded park and waited for Mister Ed. to make som e move. The stodgy, sweat soaked face leaned into his window. You wait here, okay? Mike n odded. Im drivin across to that Motel over there, check us all in. Then well be ba ck to lead you in. Okay? Blanik nodded again and looked over in the direction the guy had pointed. Across the other side of the strip, there was a tower like sign. The lower part was a crown, a monsters crown, at least twenty feet tall. This was surmounted b y a second indicator with the word MOTEL, in two foot high letters. Both the pa rts of the sign, together about thirty, forty foot tall, were revolving, slowly, counter wise to each other. A further row of giant letters, on top of what loo ked to be the office, read: CORONET MOTEL Rooms $8 UP. He wondered if the big s hot would be long, in showing up? A few minutes passed. There was the sound of a horn, behind him. He was signal ed to follow in the Buick. They drove out along the boulevard, up to the next U -turn, then back~ on the other side to the barrier that was across the entrance to the motel. He noticed a road sign to the right of the entrance that informed him that he was on the eight thousand block of the Harry Hines Blvd. He followed the crate in front, without questions from the control, through the ba rrier onto the main parking-area. To his left was an unused swimming pool. Two faded blue and white parasols were still erect over a pair of deserted tables. The oval pool did not look invitin g, even if there had been water in it. Besides, it was too early in the year, f or gay, moonlight swimming parties. There were plenty of temporary residents, i f the number of parked jalopies was anything to go by. Either side of the lot ran two identical double level units, with a third arm ac

ross the end of the compound. The balconies and stairways were painted in a gar ish orange, that looked as if it might have been better on the backside of a sea going vessel. Large white arrows showed the direction of the roundabout. It was all pre-fabricated and had the air of a makeshift transit camp, for militant detainees the harsh white illumination on the guttering, reminded him of anoth er Big House. The two machines pulled in at rooms 128 and 129; both on the ground level. He swung out of the Oldsmobile and was taking his grip from the trunk and was locki ng it, when a very loud roaring noise caused an instinctive-reaction, and he duc ked. Overhead a violent yellow coloured, Domestic canary Jet went low over the building its landing system down. He could read the companys handle, Braniff, on the fuselage. He sure approved of the colour if not the noise. The amazing fabrics of imaginations had to land somewhere. Seeing him looking skyward, Ed shouted to him ~that it was going in, to Love Field. It must have only been ove r the back wall. He was sure going to have a rare nights sleep with that party g oing on overhead. He had been rented a separate room and took the keytag from th e blonde and opened the door of 1 . 28. As he did so, another plane homed in t o the runway. He stepped back to the concrete and looked at both the plane and the fat guy, in disbelief. Just how long do we stay down here, Mr Silva? The other shrugged his shoulders, to ld him to cool it and hang on. Well do you mind if I go ahead and take a shower? He entered the comparative silence of the room. Locked the door behind him. In side it was much cooler. He regarded the bedroom. It was a typical tasteless a nd anonymous, motel room. The covers on the bed and the drapes on the balcony w indow were of the sickliest pumpkin colour but not the magical natural orange, b ut a chemical and plastic shade. The carpet also radiated an offensive bile lik e atmosphere. On the wall behind the bed were two modern paintings, which even as he caught sight of them brought a shudder of non comprehension to his chin. Al l the furniture was tubular and veneered in poor taste. As might be expected in one corner was a large colour television, for his supposed diversion. It was a ll very artificial, and even poisonous. They would have been better just leavin g the room a cell like white and spending the money on a few good books) to amuse the guests. At the back end of the room was the bathroom. White and functional, a credit to the design skill of American sanitary engineers. And it was clean. He strippe d off and reviewed himself in the mirror. His face was dry and cracked with lin es of dirt, following his long drive up, from the South. His blinkers were bloo dshot; not pretty. Even his gut looked all full and misshapen after so many hou rs at the wheel. Sixteen, including the doss not so much really. The water was easily adjusted to moderate temperature as he washed himself down, he made an exercise of it. The water raised a static electricity on the surfac e of the skin, that gave one the refreshed feeling. Maggie had told him that in England few homes had showers which had always struck him as a rather uncivilis ed quality of life. They were the means to giving that life some fine adjustmen ts. He began singing some melody by Wagner, as he thought of some of the excitin g-times he had spent in showers with his Welsh Lady. He could do with hers here , this evening. That would be one way to forget all those damn planes. He did not recall ever having spent a night in a motel, with Maggie she called them for nicating cells for adulterous prisoners. They were certainly convenient and imp ersonal. This is a weirdos place, he thought, as he pulled on a clean shirt and finished d rying his hair. He was glad not to have that junk around he could imagine just how up tight he would have been. That was really his insurance. Perhaps he sh ould call next door and see what was happening. The fat guy was stretched outs on the bed, his belly exposed for an airing, als o his feet. His woman was sitting dozing in a chair that looked out to the cent ral court. He knocked at the half open door and they both came to life. Come in quick. We both thought it was Lamathe. You got everything you wan? Both of them looked pale and ill maybe that was just the lighting in the room. Ed l

eft the room and returned five minutes later with a fifth of Bourbons in one of his meaty hands, I brought this to pass the time say, ya do drink, dont ya? He pour ed three good glasses, straight, and they all sat there, silently, just drinking for some time, waiting. It was already seven. I see ya got all cleaned up. Thats good. The boss is on his way over now, says h ell be glad to see you. The guy went across to the double bed once more and collap sed heavily upon it Aint nuthin on the TV, a while. Where you from, anyhow? Blanik worked it out that if he was going to have to damn well sit around with t hese characters for some time, then he had better try to communicate with them. He told them that he was from San Francisco and also, vaguely, just what he wa s in the game for. Ed was surprised, thought to mysel , you were all a bit different from the usual carriers we git comin in here. So thats it. His woman, of whom Blanik had once a gain, to enquire the name, also looked surprised. They went on to talk, of Mexico and the dope business. It was just like one of those head conversations, except that neither of the Texans used any thing; not even a smoke. Ed just seemed quite home with his bottle. She had run with one of the ringsters for many years and Ed had come into the line that way. He sai d, What else was there to do, if you did not get the breaks. He sure was not goi ng back into no electronic factory. The conversation was inconsequential and Bl anik soon excused himself and his glass, to go over to the motel restaurant by the gate for a hot drink for himself- and some soda for Nina. Back about ten minutes later, having found only a coffee shop, that was all Plas tic, he was smiling to himself. He had walked along the verandah, past the othe r rooms. They were all the same. The odd figure in beach shorts and a blouse h ad glanced up at him, through shades and a mass of dyed hair. There were also a few shorn, bullet heads most were probably asleep or in some bar, some location . Outside his room, parked, side on to his wagon was a large red coupe. So, t he big wheel had arrived. He entered number 129, gave the soda can to Mina and was greeted by one of the t wo newly-arrived persons in the room. Glad to meet you Mr. Blanik thats right? Sorry to have kept you hanging on the bu siness comes first. The man offering his hand, he took to be Lamathe. He was th in and wan faced and wearing a thick pair of metal frame shades. He was well dr essed in a silver grey mohair suit. From the texture of his skin and what he sa w of the withdrawn eyes and the hair, Blanik suspected the man of having a heavy habit. He shook hands and introduced himself as, Stan Lamathe he pronounced this the word bath. The other newcomer was a tall negress, sitting with her legs crossed, on the edg e of the bed. She was not brought into the introduction, but her heavily mascar ed eyes did seem to acknowledge Blaniks presence. He certainly felt bad vibratio ns from the softly spoken Number One. He knew his type too well, they used to r un all the deals inside the cage. They usually had some bitter mental ulcer that affected all their activities. Sometimes it could be talked to, even reasoned with, but mainly it spared nobody. The price was rarely too high for this kind of guy, he had nothing to lose. So he generally played the meanest and hardest games. Blanik did not like the smack of this scene and he knew that the guy coul d feel it. See that Eddy has been lookin after you. Good man, Big Eddy. Thats fine. He open ed the door of the room. Lets go into your place and talk this deal over - it aint so crowded in there. Blanik followed him. Nothing else to do. Once in number 128, the man took off his shades. The sight of his eyes caused Blanik to start. They were set back d eep in their sockets, the pupils were almost colourless, goose-grey, and complet ely without motion. He could not have guessed how old the man was anything betw een thirty and fifty. The first thing he wanted to know, was just where the stuff was, exactly. Blan ik, though tense, held his ground and insisted that the transaction be at least cleared before he disclosed where the goods were to be picked up. He did not te ll Lamathe about the incident in Mexico City, but twice assured him that the McC

oy was already in Dallas. The other man was aware that there should have anothe r two along with his opposition. His enquiry was met by an evasive answer, and it was hinted 9that they were staying on top of the cake, back in town. Lamathe was fully informed. They talked of Bamberg for some minutes and then go t down to the method of payment. Blanik told him that all he was interested in, was his divvy for his part in the deal. Whatever arrangements Bamberg had come to, that was all his business. Blanik knew that Bamberg was not worried about h is state of health. Before I tell you where to pick it up, you know, hand you the stuff, I will want to be able to call a number in SF and be told that the fifteen Gs, or thereabouts , has been deposited, in an account there. Right, get it. I know you cannot do anything this evening, so I will wait until tomorrow midday. A few phone calls and you can set all that up. I will give you the account number, and the bank for you to tell your people to transfer the geld to. Blanik had turned a lot of this over in his mind as he had ground up, toward Dal las, early that morning. He was not going to get burned, not this time around. If the contact in Dallas would not do it his way, then he intended to just take the packs on up, to SF , and let Bamberg sort it all out up there. He had no intention of letting it all slip through his feelers, at this stage of the thin g. Lamathe did not look pleased at being dictated to. Twice he started to say some thing but changed his mind. Look, I am a busy man. You hand over the merchandis e you will get your dough. Blanik could sense the frustrated anger, mounting wi thin the walls of the room. This is not the way it is supposed to be, an I dont li ke being played around Neither do I. Thats just why I want you to do it, now, my way. The banks open at ten in the morning. Even a telegram to your bank in SF would cover the transfe r. The other man interrupted him and told him that he did not have to be told how t o make a banktransfer. Blanik saw that he was getting good and riled; so he co oled it down. He knew he was on the top and wanted it to stay that way. He wa s not at all interested in whatever Bamberg had settled in the way of a secure p ayoff. The slow voice spoke resignedly, Well, okay Ill fix some deal for the morning, wi th whatever bank you wanna use. You sure a making this a bad business. The pig eons who do this run usually, they just hand over what they have brought and tha ts it. Everything is settled with your own people. What the hell are you in thi s for anyway you look just to be a rookie to me? Blanik did not rise to that. He had been in some corners, over the years, and especially after that foul up in Mexico, he was not about to get taken for a rid e by this dude or anybody else Lets get back to Big Eddy. They both went back to the other room, where the three others were watching some garbage9 on the box. It was nearly nine oclock and some sews bulletin was about to come on. Blanik returned to stand outside. The planes had ceased thundering overhead, for the time being. It was beginning to rain a little. The drops were heavy enough already and he had the idea that it would really hammer on down, later that night. He heard the boss, although Blanik doubted that he was the Number One, tell the negress to get up off her fanny and go to the auto. Her name was Suzette, and h e smiled slightly at her, as she brushed past him and went out to the coupe. O nce inside the machine, she half returned his smile. Then the others came out o n to the paved verandah. Okay, Mister Blanik, if that is the way you want it. First Im goin back, to check with the head man I will be over in the morning and should have everything fixed up to your liking. Do you have that number of your account, and the Bank, in S an Francisco? Mike pulled the billfold from his pocket and told him the details. The mark wrote the details down and said some piece about people tryin to be to o cock-suckin smart. Then he was gone, though clearly still sour about the alter ed setup.

Blanik fancied a drink and returned to the. room with the two others. Eddy poured out some more liquor for each of them, and turned the T.V. off. Hey, what did ya go an say to him? He was sure pissed off about it. Not the kinda guy I would mess with, Im tellin ya. Blanik just replied and told the sidekick tha t he was only looking after his own interest, and you could not blame a man for that. They all just stayed there for an hour or more; finished that bottle and then hi t another, While Ed took off, to the nearest liquor store, his wife Mina had beg un a drunken, lamenting apology for Ed~ and their whole condition she started to go on about how he had once held a good executive position, which was when she had really loved him. She had thought of him as some escape from the smalltime gangster racket. But instead, he had started to run along with her. He kept pr omising her, she told him, that as soon as they had enough money, they would spl it to the American Virgin Islands, or even Costa Rica~ and live by trading from a small launch. All of this, she firmly believed. He wanted to tell her, to drop the fat cat. To make it herself, while she was s till young enough. But he let her talk on. He too was half cut by now and was beginning to feel the vibrations and to get the horrors from this poor woman. S he was still attractive enough to make him think of making it with her; if there was no other choice, that is. She seemed more wised up than her male but that was not saying a great deal. Her cracked, whisky wettened lips were worthy of an attempt. But he decided to drop the idea. The tale went on and on, repeatin g itself. She wanted to know, if he would leave Eddy, if he were in her shoes. He was about to tell her that she must unravel her own hang ups, alone, when t he heavily-breathing good-husband had returned. The drinking continued until Ed was all splayed out on the bed, his trousers ope n, and free of his belly. He kept on shouting out that he wanted Mina to come a nd play pusscat with him. She appeared reluctant and gave the excuse, that for th e first time in five years she was having a conversation, with Blanik. Now, th ey were only talking about the States and different types of people in different areas, but it was some change for her and she was even drunkenly happy. Her oc casional references to her husband were either ignored or just laughed at. What in hell are you talkin about over there? Jus you let whats his name go home co me an play pusscat with me. Come on, Minaaaa. She burst into tears and yelled at him; that he was just a fat, dumb bastard, th at any woman, in her right mind would drop him. You are nothing, Eddy, an I shoul d leave you right now! Mike sat there without comment, as the shouting match developed. He was not sur e that either of them was in their right mind. Mina turned to him a number of t imes, with tears in her eyes, in case he had some magic wand and could transport them all, away from their dreadful trap he wished that he could. About eleven Ed picked up the phone and ordered some food. The room was central ly heated and had new become very stuffy. Opening the door to let some cool air through, the sound of the rain, dripping from the balcony to the fore co urt, made a pleasant soft change from the womans voice. He should leave, he thou ght. Another plane came screaming into sight and looking as if it might be about to c ome down in the court. Its navigation lights and passenger windows shone throug h the heavy rain, like some strange extra terrestrial landing code. This one wa s purple and appeared sinister, and oddly alien. He stood there thinking over t he increased odds of one of these things coming in short or too low and taking h im and the whole lot in with it. It was not a healthy corner to spend any night , let alone one with a visibility as low as this. He closed the door, went to have a piss, then pouring himself another drink, and looked at the two blurred figures 9lying over the bed, together. Mina was tell ing her man that she was still not interested in any bedtime story. He was atte mpting to get his paws inside her dress and neither of them still had any idea, that he was standing there. Both were chainsmoking, like idiots. It was he who answered the faint knock on the door and took the loaded tray from the coloured waitress. He signed the check for about nine dollars worth, and t

hanked her. The tray was piled highs with plates, spaced and covered with alumin um rings, to keep the offering warm. He set it down on the bedside table and t ook one of the largecartons of coffee from it. There was a sudden twin movement from the bed. The one pair of fat little hands , the other rose varnished, commenced to tear away the various layers~ under the plates. What was then exposed for consumption was scarcely credible. Blanik j ust sat there and surveyed the multi coloured spread of food. If that is what i t was. There were plasticine like hunks of chicken, the leg and other extremiti es, all covered, in an orange batter. Shaped mounds of soft potato, with some f orm of sticky yellow dressing masking them, stood between upright crackers. The slices of tomato had been surely painted onto the plate. There was enough for at least four people. A variety of side orders accompanied the main dish. Peas and gherkins and a few portions of card like crinkle cut French Fries. It absolutely amazed Blanik for none of it looked real, or edible. It was all p re frozen, pre cooked and package prepared. It was months since he had seen thi s particular genus of food. He could not imagine eating it. Some of it had the a ppearance of dog vomit. The Silvas soon got down to clearing some of the fodder. The tray was set up on the bed, and both of them soon had curious pieces of the ketchup covered bird b etween their greasy fingers. Come on, spluttered Ed, through his battered morsel, I ordered a dinner for you too . Its all of two fifty worth. So get in there! Blanik attempted to excuse himself it was not that he had no hunger; he just did not care for any part of the delicacies, presented so untemptingly before him. He sat there and watched the two animals work their way into the tray, until it was just a litter of left overs, skeletal fragments and bits of pulp like mush. The ice cream split was attacked and finished, in under a minute. He finishe d some of the coffee as they both fell back into a repose, then, wishing them a n unheard, short Goodnight went out to his own room. Outside it was still pouring from the heavens. He tried to expel from his mind the almost bestial-scene that he had just witnes sed and with an intoxicated, half lushed feeling, lay down on the bed. Another plane went crashing by, overhead. He half considered leaving the damned CORONET Motel, and driving some place, out in the country, to sleep it off. Even insid e the wagon would be better than all the bad vibes about him; his guts felt naus eous, and his head was loaded it was all that hard booze and the still fresh sme ll and vision of all that plastic food. His room was almost as stuffy as the one he had just left. It was always a drag for him to have to sleep in a room, with the heating left turned up, even in th e middle of Winter. Lying there, thinking about the latest moves, he promised h imself, that, in the morning, he would clear out of there as soon as possible. That guy Lamathe was out of another world, he was a criminal Evil, in some way transformed into a human-being. As he lay there, he could pick up half a dozen sounds. From the bathroom, ther e was the constant rumble of flushing mechanisms, no doubt working, common9 to all the rooms. There was also a constant wave of sighing from the air condition er, or the heating. Both were integral parts of the working unit. Like mice ab ove the plaster of a ceiling, or small birds in some commodious eaves. From the next room, not 1 29, but the other direction, he could hear the jabber jabber of television, through the thin, concrete wall. He opened the door of hi s box wide, to listen to the rain, anything but those pressing man made noises. The fixed nature of many mechanical sounds did oppress him. Then, from Eds room there came the sound of a womans brief laughing, which was followed shortly after by the unmistakable sounds of animal copulation. He listened to the traction like movements 9f or some minutes, but they were soon finished and all fell sile nt. He closed the door of the room. He wished he was two thousand miles, or mo

re 9from there. He should ring Maggie. It was only about midnight now, so he would find her sti ll awake. On second thoughts he decided to leave it, , until the morning. He would ring her and tell her to clear that transfer. He washed his mouth and nos trils clean. He was decided; best if he tried to get some sleep half-loaded Pity about the watch. Couldnt fix on just where he had lost it. He had held on to it for five years. It was a silver piece that he had bought from an old vag on the road, somewhere near Knoxville in Tennessee. It sure had been a good un. Just as he was about to pull off his clothes and crawl onto the large double b ed, there was a light, quick rap on the door. He thought it was Ed, wanting him to come and finish the bottle. He glanced thr ough the curtain. It was that Negro chick. She put her finger to her lips, as he quickly let her in. Well, this is a surprise, he said softly. Do come in. Are you alone? He had even forgotten the girls name. She was well amused2to find him standing there, in onl y his briefs. She asked him, in a whisper, about the two in the other room. They are both drunk and asleep. You can talk. What is your name, and what are you doing here? Youll get your pretty neck cut: He led her to the bed, where she sat, unmoving, as he pulled his jeans on, once again. She was extremely nervous an it showed in her dark eyes. They darted to and fro intensely, all about the room. Suzzette. We gotta speak quiet, or dey will hear us. Her voice was calm, though her right hand was shaking. Ah came to tell ya what that Lamathe was sayin tonigh t. Hes mad at yuh. Real crazy I think. . . . Blanik interrupted her, to ask her to tell him just where she fitted in with the man, Was she his mistress? She continued and told him that he just liked to ha ve her around, she was a good looker and it gave him some kick over the others. He did not ask much of her and she could have anything she wanted in the way of clothes and luxuries and junk. She informed Blanik that he worked for a group o f men, based over in Fort Worth. They were part of a large Texas Syndicate that did many deals with the oil, and rigged a lot of the Unioivangle, and materials on Construction Sites. Or so he gathered from the sketchy replies she readily gave to his centred questions. He does a lotta settlements for them dat man has a mind of de devil. He is de button-man, dey say. Tho he is good enough to me. What was he saying about me, and the deal, tonight? He done drive like a mad thin . Right back in ta de city. He wus shoutin dat nobo dy could talk to him like yuh done. Dat he would fix yuh. Blanik felt a slight tightening, of his cheek muscles. But yuh listen - jus you play it straight. An he will cool off. He knows it aint no good to go an mess yah up. Well, thank you a million. For telling me. What made you come back? You sure do nt owe me anything? She turned and looked directly at him, the corners of her cracked pink lips smil ing shyly. Well, yuh looked all up tight before. An, anyway, I kinda like a boy dat sets hisself~up against that big-Man. An, er, I like you. Okay? Blanik did not entirely believe all this. Maybe it was some kind of bad joke, o r a bum steer. He replied, Sure. But where you from, first of all? Around the M ississippi? Naaw I was born in Jacksonville, Floreeda. Right after the War. Only bin aroun h ere for a year. I was thinkin of gettin outta here, soon. Blanik half-expected her to ask him to take her along with him. She was obvious ly letting go of months of frustration, as she quickly began to tell him, of the desperately soul-less life she had been living, with Lamathe. Mike Blanik sure did not wish to get involved with him, over this piece of ass. What are you going to do now? You cant hang around here long. She answered him by picking up one of his thin, hard fingers and slowly ran it the length of her fo rward lips. And then she kissed him. The full, thick flesh came hard against h

is unready mouth then melted softly and wetly about his lips. ale tobacco smoke.

She tasted of st

Now, hang on, Miss Suzzette, what goes on? He held her, unwillingly, away from him , with his two arms stretched out to her shoulders. The last thing he wanted to do, and at the same instance wished to get to right away, was to make this hone y. Any other time, any other place, sure thing. But right now, he was shattere d and full of a demand for drunken sleep. Look, I like you and your sweet body d ont get me wrong, but I jus wont be able to give it you like I should. Im all burne d out. She held on to him yet again. She was like a child and there were even tears fi lling her blackened eyes. Man, yuh jus dont kno! I havent been wid a real beau for l ike tree months. An it hurts bad. I wanned for yuh an I to have a time together. Jus for a while? She placed her long hands behind his neck. This was all too mu ch for the half-lushed, semi-naked Blanik. He stood up from the bed. So, I am sorry. Apart from any other reason, what if one of your pretty friends was to show up what then? She began sharply to insult him and insinuated that he was just chicken over Lam athe. Some remark was made, that if he was any kinda stud, then he would sock i t to her, right there. She was gripped by his strong hands, as he laid her back ward on the bed, and kissed her passionately for several long minutes. Her thin body arched up against his pelvis and moved and turned close to him, with despe ration and demonstration. Her head fell to one side and she cried out, but soft ly. He pulled away from her pressing body and kneeled up alongside her. Miss Suzzette , you are beautiful. The half-dreaming eyes looked sadly up at his. He started to explain about just how lousy he felt physically. That he was not interested in some half-drunken, ten minute sex shuffle. Not at any time, nor with such a fine woman. She told him that she was only nineteen. Look, if you want to get out of here some time and I do wish I could take you alo ng with me tomorrow then call long distance, to a Margaret Evans, thats my woman in San Francisco. Ill see if I can help you then. I mean it She said that she di d understand about the question of time an everything else and she put her arms a bout him once again, very tightly. Baby, do I need a man like you to love, she w hispered, as her lips moved again to his, filling his mouth and heart with a bu rning-pain. Her automobile was parked outside the compound, so he walked the length of the verandah with her. Before kissing her goodbye, he told her to get some bread to gether, before splitting this scene for another worse one. Without bread you we re nowhere. She wrote down the phone number that he gave her and thanked him fo r his offer of help. Then within seconds, she had once looked back to him and t he row of orange and red indicator lights pivoted through the approach drives an d fasts out on to the Boulevard. Instead of returning straightway, to the still open room, Blanik himself continu ed out along the grass sidewalk, away from the darkened sleeping rooms. It felt about two in the morning. That was a sweet but freaky experience with the dark piece. She was truly a fine kind of Lady. He wished that he could have met her apart from all this Dallas deal. He could have split with her that night if it hadnt been for the business. She sure sounded as if she could have done with a break. That was a mean bad master she had ended up with some ways it was an eas ier ride for the travelling susans, they could always earn a few bills, even if the face was not too pretty. She had reminded him once again, of Lisa, or of Ch erry in New Orleans. They were the same kind of woman. So long as you did not go running around then they would do anything for you, even lick your feet. The y were so easily, naturally full of sugar, that they kept a man smiling. There was usually not much going on in the think-tank though. He remembered how Cherr y had come on down with him, just on the promise that he would play for her all

he had felt, with him at that time was a cardboard box that had contained his on ly possessions. His wardrobe in its totality, had been the old flying jacket, b uried with ceremony finally, near Moran, Wyoming , one summer day, and two cord shirts and his pants and half boots. The cardboard box, as he tried to catch th e passing memory, had his razor and soap, some thick grease wool socks, his Sugg y bag, full of the magic, his cigarette pouch, one short joint, for that passing stranger, a pair of soft shoes, three pesos and a whole piece of garlic. Life sure had held a funky, live style to his mirror, back then, a most certain movi ng touch that found the most basic and free harmonies in so many different modes . It was definitely linked with the refusal to become enladen with the impedime ntia of thought, the world, or even the Spirit. But with the ladies it became t oo soft, and the underbelly was exposed. Perhaps he would send that Suzzette so mething, in the way of a roll, he cursed himself for not having taken an address from her. There was somebody still in the motel offices he noticed, as he walked back and past the striped barrier. He headed across the rain wet highway, to the cafe, o r whatever on the opposite side. He could do with some sort of hot wash to clea r out his mouth and head. It was a hell of a place. The line of beat up old oil burners outside had told him what to expect. He sat down just inside the door, against the streaming win dow. Behind the counter a fat grey-haired woman was noisily heaping up plates. Yeah, wha dya like? she called over, Cawfee? Blanik answered the demand of the voice with equal abruptness. Sure, a big one. An wreck me two or three eggs. Okay ? The order was in turn passed on to the kit chen. All of this was secondary to the background of some maudlin and sentiment al crooner on the jook. Casually, slowly, he took in the elements that made up this real Boite de Nuit, as they called such holes in New Orleans. Everything was old and dirty. The floo r, the tables, all the fixtures the ceiling was thick with a layer of nicotine s tain. Even the staff looked like leftovers. Compared to this, any of the organ isation eat-houses were palaces of aesthetic and culinary bliss. The coffee was brought in a large, cracked white mug, along with the eggs. The winger was some kid of about sixteen, with a busted mouth and a grease-stiffened white chefs apron. His coarse and soiled hands, those of a farm worker, probabl y dropped the order to the table. The thick voice asked for a dollar-five. He seemed glad of the change from the quarter. Blanik knew that he was probably on ly making the price of the bite for every hour. Before getting into the plate, he crossed to the recordmachine, but there was nothing on it worth a play. As he ate, he looked about at the other nocturnal dwellers in the place. Most o f them probably worked some crazy shift-pattern. This was their leisure time. Further in, past the serving hatch, there was a pool room, full of action. Odd shapes bent and crossed the gap, to a constant roar of comment. The coffee was mudwash, though the eggs were okay you sure cant do much evil to a handful of eggs, he thought. He was ignored by the other patrons. They were either intent on another beer or standing shakily before one of the line of pin tables, bringing the total reserve and resource of their human understanding to a mastery of the flipper buttons. He was fascinated by the number of busted faces all about him. A mouth would op en in exclamation, or protest to reveal patterns of broken teeth. There was a w hole lotta shouting and whooping going on in the back room. One beer soaked, te mporarily blind creature crashed forward into the bottle-loaded tables. As he went down Blanik saw a full exposure of the mans balls and a further unique vertical shot of his upper palate. It looked as if he had broken his teeth som e time, chewin on that historical bum. He was ignored by any of the other combat ants, as yet two more figures broke from the pool table, in a full clinch, follo wed purposefully by a third, armed with two full-weight cues, which he brought e ffectively, in a high swinging motion, on to the bent head of one of the fighter s. A semi riot started to evolve which was prevented from any further advanced entanglement, by the intervention of two neutral-beefs from the backup squad in

the kitchen, who with selective and effective insertion of thumbs into eyesockets pulled the general scrapheap apart. The poor guy who had won the full crown on his bean, was dragged half conscious, to a corner, and then carried to a waiting carriage. The whole shebang had been observed by the stranger and a slow countr y number by Hank Snow had acted as a pacer to the three-round bout. To Blanik, there was this amusing side, like a vintage comedy scene, except tha t one guy had a split scalp and there were two others nursing good eyes. H3 shu ddered involuntarily this was not some set~i~X~ias for real, the sort of happy lo cation, where four times a year the Law come round to, eventually, to collect a stiff and anybody else they can find. It was not because of some draught that h e shuddered again. It was part of a circle of Hell upon this earth not quite th e lowest pit, but most certainly a firewrecked yard. His thoughts were more for the kids of the people that were the living part of this environment. These adu lts could hammer hell out of each other~ until their noses, ribs and eyes, no lo nger were in any recognisable shape, or their disintegrating livers blew out. I f you were old enough to know what you were about, then you were old enough to t ake it. Just what chance had the young offspring of this pack? The environment was the maker and the destroyer even without a marked backlash from the products of the preceding generation. And you needed a lot of ~untain~chools, a whole State of Outdoor Pursuit Programmes, if you did hope to counter the formingcondit ion. Certain in his own mind, he knew from his own story, a spell in the Reformat ory was not likely to change much, except to teach the kid all the tricks, from the numbers game, through to squeezing a bulb. The problem of showing7rather t han using was not one that was foremost in the minds of the Federal Building; in New York now, there just did not seem a hope in Hell of solving that 22 year o ld unemployable, illiterate and frustrated, coloured Boys problem. Where there is no vision, the people perish. It sure looked that way in the All right 77 there sure wasnt much light in there. The whole of the world of beauty was a terra incognita to these people who were they, the fractured code broken in heritance of some industrial domination? That half visionary, half fool Leary h ad advocated that every person should be allowed to transcend himself into a wor ld of at least spiritual in beauty except you just could not go round dropping t abs into the cracked and already damaged control systems of these lost-souls. T he turnon had to be cleverer, more subtle and more practical than that. No amou nt of mantra chanting dervishes were going to get there either. The cowboys wou ld just laugh at or ride over them. Blake had put it together with his stateme nt about finding Heaven in a grain of sand and he had meant everyman. How could you transfer, or translate even the most basic of beatific, or illuminating ide as to the mass of Unknowers. Or even would they be better off for an insight in to another World. This one was beginning to look a shade threadbare well, secti ons of its inheritance. How to bring to the ordinary man, living in his super urban environment, the joy of the beautiful, the freedom of the supra mundane? The vibrant multi coloured, thousand shaped, million particled form of two hund red wild flowers, their inherent beauty and meaning, the too long ignored link w ith that most simple of religious ideas, that image of beauty found in the expre ssion of the upright Ape, before he might even talk of such matters, before he e ven understood the relationship of all about him, above him and within his forci ng, seeking, sense dominated frames, this was what might be shown and used to ta ke off the load from the poor under developed shoulders of the modern Atlas, so bent beneath his own weight? Did you have to recover the meaning of the dyed cla y tiles that covered the close earth of the Palaces of Phaistos and Mylos that f irst flowered attempt to break through to a more than real Reality? Or seek to p iece together the mosaic of thought that brought the Imperator to his villa at F ishbourne, his fountain, his bath, and his light. For himself he knew that was all that he might do, to attempt to rediscover a key to all these things meant w hether the man in his desperate effort to escape the terms of his Time, to forge t the troops , on station, the fear of winter disease and the stupidity of so ma ny to die so young. He had felt it so much, that Music was one of the few passes through the door and he played and knew that to be so. His plates were shifted from the plastic sheeted table-and he was given an odd g

lance by the woman, he needed little encouragement to leave. He felt particula rly open and aware of some growing resentment of his strange thinking presence b y the steamed window, his mind turning and vibrating waves of an opposing pole, which contrary to the Law, under these circumstances, no welcomed attraction. He thought he had better get back, and hit the sack. Outside it was still raining, and the night looked even blacker and grimmer. Th e Coronet was still in motion, the advertising sign still lighted. A shot-through, bust-up crate swung out in front of his path, its bald tires sli ding over the shining black pavement its whole motion shaking and misbalanced as it loped away from the lot. Inside some doll like female form gesticulated wil dly at the driver, her nagging mouth, bitching and cursing, shrilly heard above the noise of the motor. Overhead another night flight picking up the markers ca me down close-throttled into the picture its dimensions filling the field of vie w in front of him. The office was in darkness. Blanik ducked under the barrier and ran the length of the dripping verandah back to his room. There were still the odd lights in t he windows, but otherwise everything was still and quiet. If there was not such a great chance to be thrown away in the deal, then he might have turned over th at possibility further just to quit the whole business and split. Yet, it had c ome down this far, so why not play it through to the final note, it was only a o ne time score. Back in the still overheated room he soon stripped off and hit the bed. Before clearing his mind of all conscious thought, the comic parade of sad characters f rom that spot across the road made a last appearance he found the question of ju st whether the Red Indian, primitive and superstitious, or the toiling peasants of fourteenth century Italy could have been any happier, in their short and mean ingless span? At least they had found simple natural joys and the Renaissance F air, at four times a year, had offered a true besotted escape. The morning was overcast and hung heavy with the threat of a rainstorm. The Si lvas were in a lousy pair of moods they just stayed around their own room until Lamathe turned up. That was not until nearly eleven. Blanik had sunk a couple of raw eggs and three jars of scorch over at the coffee shop he couldnt wait to g et out from this whacky scene. A Mexican mechanic had come wandering across to his parked auto, at maybe ten ocl ock, he was wearing the cap and badge of the Motel and had enquired if Blanik ne eded any service. he was told to check the whole thing over for an hours worth. It was late when Lamathe eventually showed up there was no Suzzette with him; sh e was probably still in her bed. But he had brought along an unsympathetic chopp er, who readily received the vibrations from Blanik. The whole conclusion of the deal was under an unpleasant cloud. It did not take long; the transfer had bee n arranged with San Francisco. It only remained for the carrier to ring that nu mber up there and, if everything was in line, then he could hand over the locker key and take off. It was about twenty minutes to twelve when he finally had the confirmation from the Golden Gate branch. It had been done. He paid the spik for the work on the machine. Sitting in the open door of the Olds, with Lamathe and his boyo sitting opposite in an offensivegreen sedan, Blanik had the distinct sensation that as soon as he handed over the key, then that would be that, maybe a black automatic and a rid e down to the river. He got out and went to haul his grip into the wagon. Lama the was also not pleased to be kept waiting. Blanik handed him the key and told him the name of the Hotel. Without any prior suggestion he was instructed that he was to remain here with t he axeman until Lamathe had personally collected the merchandise, and called bac k to say that he might leave. The guy was taking no chances himself, either. B lanik restated that everything was all there, he was not trying to pull any back door rush. But his protest was of little use, and the guy drove quickly away, d own the forecourt. Blanik had not failed to pick up the last look, of mixed-hat red and affront, that was masking the mans face, as he driven off.

Half an hour later, the phone rang in Eds room. It was all clear and the heat wa s told to cool his check out from the verandah. Blanik slammed the door of his vehicle, reversed away from the kerb and moved out. FINALE or CODA? So, he was through the Eagle had flown. He was not in any hurry. The road was full of ash dust and a blue grey haze hung over the distance, each side of the road. The hum of many small insects rose up from the acres of first crop field s. So glad to be out of that Dallas scene, he had driven straight over the Pik e to Fort Worth, which he thought of as the twin Ugly Sisters, and out on to the country road that would take him to Snyder, and missed out Abilene. Nice an ea sy, he promised himself his head was just a touch sore from the soaking it had b een given the night before, in spite of the muffling heat of midday, it was fine to see some open space again; good to catch a throatful of clean air. That had been a freak-out. The whole crazy gang and their raw environment, back there. He could not envisage what it might be like , to be a City bus driver, in either of the two jungles, handling maybe a thousand passengers in the space of a six-hour shift, a thousand to the hour, shuttling back and forth, in the peak time. They were surely heroes, servants, or paid-up fools. It would be th e greatest thing to get back to the Golden City again he should make it in under a couple of days, if all was clear. What about seeing the Ocean again maybe go out for some Eytie food with Miss. E. He felt as if Maggie was just somebody h e once knew. The whole country you could keep, as far as he was concerned, exce pt for that mystic City in the West. Its customs and manners were far different from any place the other side of the mountains. Perhaps it had been the influence of the Spanish and other religions , even the Mormons, who had once made their influence felt. Or that open smile of tolerance, which, though fast disappearing had been perhaps once born out of the wrath of that shattering morning back in 1906. Such an event with all its o vertones of divine-retribution against the Evil, must have left some deep, spir itual mark upon the collective subconscious of the inhabitants; rather like the fisherman with his long known and respected relation to the eternal law of the e lements. Though with each year, more and more factions often of a selfish comme rcial and indifferent natures finding it necessary to destroy Friscos unique Soul . Hadnt the good Governor Reagan only last year, suggested that the cable car sy stem be taken out? So much crap. The real direction was toward the ort of compro mise that had been achieved at North Point or the Square. One of the best ideas , in terms of a tourist attraction, or even just an aesthetic charge, was the pa inting of the sable car wheelhouse in glowing colours of red blue and yellow. I t was strange to see those mammoth and antique wheels, rumbling and turning, att ended by story book engineers with long spouted cans of oil, all done up in the livery of modern lithographs or record sleeves. Such ideas then, could cause th e visitor on the walkway or better still, in another more mundane and everyday R eality make other wheels move more efficiently. Not in El Ronaldos world though. The highway was empty. So was the rolling bare landscape; it sure was no wooded Vermont. Rarely these days did you see a plowman, either on the road, or in a field. The whole of the second half of the twentieth Century ever sinc e the last War had been tearing along as if the World would end next Friday. Pe rhaps it would, one payday. With a laugh, that was more of a mad cackle, he tri ed to imagine the possible place of the Individual in all of this . That man wh o, one other time, had first opened up the West. It was difficult to imagine the maintenance of such a rate of Material advance, li ke that of the last twenty five, thirty years and it all looked to be winding up . Small advances, even for instance, in medicine or engineering control, that h ad taken the innovators fifty or a hundred years, to control, from the idea to t he application, were now obsolete and archaic. The totality of the potential us

e or misuse of the new Sciences would sometimes completely absorb him, for hour upon hour. The part that a general high level of subsistence might play, in a universal Edu cation to an equally high standard of humanism, was certainly an old equation. Unless, as Clark foresaw, there was going to be no change that the only valid Mas s philosophy was to be a selfish, half-sad, bewildered conditioning toward a meanin gless materialism. Such a blind materialism, such an empty motivation, could not sustain, or progre ss, to higher state of civilisation, or Progress. There was some aspect of the Sell that was outside belief, though often only surface phenomena. Such as the musical pepper pot, or those most peculiar, gas filled, chromium plated dinner table candles, that he had seen in New York. All the inessential trivia of the manufacturers confidence trick had always seemed to be such a waste of energy an d resources, both in human and physical terms. The technology and the humanist was no new thing, even if thought of in terms of s words and ploughshares. Lloyd Wright was there, so was Bobby Seale, in his desp erate manner; de Toqueville had also felt that the contemporary individual was w orth more than to be tyrannised and stupefied into a mass of industrious animals , with the State as shepherd, in one form or the other. Stripped of their human ity, under a subtler form of oppressive despotism, seeking to find a worthwhile identity in things; this was no way to create a new race of great men. Though, he knew that there were always countering factors, if any lesson be drawn from H istory, in these unhistorical days; and that the scale and novelty of such force s was beyond estimation or contemplation. Blanik also felt that if the values o f the races were not re-aligned in this brave, new world, then it was going to b e both the rich, and the poor, to suffer, when the boat came rolling alongside. The scale of the stake was ever greater. Blanik broke from his observation of the centre line. He glanced down at the fu el measure. That mechanic back there at the motel could not have filled the tan k up, before he left. He had only been driving for about two hours, and the nee dle was already way down. The next gas station he would pull over, for a leak a lso. A sticky line of spittle gummed his lips together and the unwelcome weight of a hangover, the heat and some eyestrain, now covering his lids with a film o f tiredness. Telling the gas jerk to fill up the tank, at a place this side of Albany, he us ed the mens room, immaculately clean as usual, and bought a 15c bottle of clear i ce cold Soda he thought it a good investment. It must have been about eighty hi gh. Westward, along the desert mountain skyline , he could see tall columns of thunderheads. Should be a ball if I run into that one later, he thought. Finishing the washing of the windshield, with its thin plastered layer of mixed insect guts and blood, the attendant asked about the oil and water. There was a negative reply from the owner, who setting down the Soda can, reached into the wagon, for his black leather billfold, from out of his jacket. The overalled-kid waited patiently, as the owner went onto get back into the au to and searched about on the back seat and among the odd pieces of clothing) and along , under the dash. Reaching again, into the rear pocket of his pants, he was glad to fei the thin cover and clip of the holder in which he held their Cre dit Cards. Maggie had arranged them for convenience but in fact, they did not u se them much for normal expenses. A fat account for gas, or groceries, once a m onth from out of the blue was no credited-joke. Where the hell had he put it? He had used a fin last night. It was probably ar ound inside, somewhere though he was not the one to lose things so easily. He p aid for the gas, signing a credit voucher for the amount. At least he could mak e it home as far as the fuel-angle was concerned. He had four different cards, so that was no big thing. Before pulling out of the station, he opened the two nearside doors, and cleared everything out. Even looked behind the seat squabs. With no success. There m ust have been around three hundred dollars in there, and all his personal identi fication. That was really a drag, to have to go through the process of getting the various cards reissued. Could take a couple of months. He supposed that he

had lost it. He motored slowly out onto the road, and keeping well to the right, turned over the possibilities of just where he had had it last. Certainly he had used it so me occasion in Dallas. He could not have left it down in Mexico. There was tha t breakfast he had paid for, just as he had come into the city yesterday. H wa s he had used it in the Motel coffee shop, last evening. So, it just had to hav e gone AWOL sometime between then and this morning. Now what about that piece of dark meat, that had drifted in last night? What wa s her name, Suzanne? She had been getting in real close to him. But would she have stolen the bread she had sounded straight enough? And what if he had found it missing from his trousers this morning, he could have made a bad scene for he r. He did not think that it could be her. Or , what about the other two . Big Eddy and that pathetic woman? They had been nowhere near him, most of last night. He had not been asked to pay for anythin g in the line of booze or the meal. It must have been lifted some time during t hat long wait, through the morning. Or, was he jumping to conclusions in thinki ng that any of Lamathes characters had anything to do with it It could have been o ne of the negro maids about his room, that morning. Or reefed while he was in t hat Hotel, phoning yesterday. He took a swallow of the Soda and started to tur n the loss over, once again. His road speed had come right down, now. Maybe on ly about twenty five. What had any bone head wanted to steal the whole thing fo r? He tried to consider his own motives in making such a lift. What did you nee d with all that I. D. Usually the fingers just took the green, and left the fold and any other crap. Unless someone was after the papers? That could be it. But why should they wan t to use it? There was not much he could be taken for the cut was, for the thing , paid up in SF; he had heard that confirmed. Surely this was not some kick bac k by Lamathe he had been riled about the way the deal had gone, but what would h e want the bread, the fold for just the joke? His deliberation halted for some moments, as he slowed even more, to join a sect ion of modernised road. Then, still virtually the only machine on the road he lowered all the windows, allowing the cool early evening air to buffet and vent ilate the oppressiveness inside of the wagon, and inside his head. He decided t o ring Maggi as soon as possible, and tell her to clear that new account at the Bank just to be sure. He would do that once he got into Lubbock. Probably he w as getting all fussed up, over nuthin it was more likely that he had dropped, or lost the goddamn fold someplace. Still if he cleared that transfer, then it wo uld be out of reach of anybody flying up to help himself to the takings. It wou ld be healthier also, if he checked the loss with a few places. Funny kind of w ay to lose your stache he was not even bothered about the bills, he had a few wa iting for him, he hoped, it was more the private and odd pieces of information, that he had in mind. First of any thing like that he had lost in many years. I n his pants pocket he was aware that there remained about two bits, and some Mexi can coin. Turning on the tuner, some drawling seller of nothing was putting it over fifty to the dozen. Blanik thought over the loss of the money once again, it was Magg ies it i~*~At uatter. Come to think about it, he could not see what Lamathe co uld have been bothered with any idea of coming in on the cash for it didnt matter to him either. He hit on the idea to sell the crate in Los Angeles, for whatever; and take a tw elve dollar special up to SF. There were all the papers for the Oldsmobile. Al l in Tonys name. So that would be cool, the dealers were not that interested in that, anyhow. Until LA, he would just have to sit it out, and maybe help himsel f from a few stores, if nobody would take a card from him without identification . Ahead of him, the sun was already lower in the sky and he put on his shades. He pushed all the buttons, turning the radio off, and closing all the windows. Th

e back of his neck was aching persistently, so after another ten miles or more, he pulled over. From his bag on the rear seat he took the second tube of pills that he had bought in Mexico. Shaking out halfa dozen he washed them down with the last of the soda. They would at least keep him going, for the next four or five hours that would be a couple of hundred miles. Also his mind would be bloc ked from an excess of thought about the missing billfold, he hoped. The low spiked line of downtown Abilene appeared way over in the calm distance t o the South, outlined along the flat horizon. Well, he thought I am at least ro lling home. Long way to go though, about fifteen hundred miles. Most of it fla t and hot. Most of it boring. The insistent doubt about the disappearance of the money, and the rest soon drop ped into the background. He was bored with the driving. The aridity and genera l lack of detail on the road was enough to send you to sleep. There were a few small holdings you could not wonder that folks just packed up and made for the u rban centres. Sure was lonesome out here even behind the wheel of a auto. Away to the left reminded him of back home in South Dakota. Back thereat least one had a few trees to look at, and in Spring, the creeks ran full. A badlander had it good an easy compared to the fly blown emptiness that wa s a backyard down here. West Texas was fit for outlaws and other cowboys. Ben must have been really looking for an escape to have moved down here. The evenin g was starting to throw long shadows from the wire poles~ along the roadside. O nly the occasional big rig passed him. He was already well bored with hauling h is ass back to the West Coast. Up North it used to get very strained he remembered. After weeks of unrelieved sun and workout in the stocks, the whole house had seemed to begin to crackle wi th the static of frustration end tired spirits. Swimming, in one of the small r eservoirs at night used to be fine enough though. Two of the local jakes had dr owned there one Fall, he recalled; some probably still went down there. That fi rst autumn rain would come up, like a holy shower just about the same week every year and rinse everybody out. He and the other two kids used to run out to sta nd in it clothes anall, out on the front patch, with their faces upturned, to the opening sky. But Winter. That was something else. That was when his father would sink into long days of unapproachable depression. This used to affect in turn the whole h ousehold, the animals as well his mother slowly becoming tighter and tighter. T wo things remained in his memory with forceful impression: Firstly there were the evenings, when they were all forced to listen to his Pa s long and often repeated experiences of the depression. This was usually on a Su nday, as nobody was allowed to listen to the wireless; not even to an excess of religious music. Life near Kansas City, thirty five years ago and earlier could not have been very joyful living in the Big soddie. It was tragic though, that al l such hardship had to stay and be brought through his life by a person affectin g his whole being. But memories unlike sad love-letters are very hard to burn a way. The other everyday thing he remembered vividly, was the saying of prayer before each and every meal. His mother at the top of the table not the old man, would give forth for several minutes in gratitude to the Lord. The aproned figure, wi th her hair tied severely back, in a half-grey bun thought nothing of a long con tinuance of Biblical quotes, with the assurance of eternal damnation to the wick ed, the world and the weak, right through the whole of supper. It was about the only time that she allowed a thought to come forth and most of those were from s ome obsolete and half memorised tract. Once only had he come to fighting with his Pa; that was over some ass brained pu nishment he was about to receive for not completely finishing a chore, It had en ded up with the two of them rolling on the porch and he was then only about four teen about to attack his own flesh with a long iron poker. Being the elder of t he brothers, it was usual for him to end up with the meanest of tasks. His fath er was certain that a quasi military discipline would make quite a god fearin youn

g man out of him. The occasion for that paternal scrap had become more and more frequent as he had approached the finish of Junior High. The thought of continuing full time on the farm had then been the last intention in his head. He laughed to himself, to think how little of anything he had rea lly known or experienced at that age. There had even been talk of College. And first though unimportant, love had made an appearance some golden haired cow fr om ten miles away, who was just about the best-thing going, around the district . She had sure been fluttered and milked, the time she was sweet seventeen. Wh at a pair of udders she had offered, to those whom she chose. For those last few years at home the only real love or escape that he had found, was toward music the piano and the gut guitar. It basically began as a means o f avoiding the others, the study and practise of serious had some virtue in the eyes of his father. It became a release from the nonsense of even doing some of the chores often just part of a vented spleen or as a balance to some of the se nseless punishments that were often meted out, for the most trivial of errors a nd misdemeanors. To have to sand and polish rough pine boards for the floors an d extensions, for five or six hours on a November evening out in the yard, with a kerosene-lamp for illumination, was no joke. The repressed anger and the monot ony of such corrections would then only find a compensation at the keyboard. Now it was strange he thought, that his retreat toward the box, a flight initially, had later given him the only thing that had ever counted for any value, in his life, so far. From an early age, he remembered often just listening happily all night, to the constantly varying-rhythm of the rainwater babbling into the barrel below the w indow on his side of the bedroom. His brother however had found it to be no mor e than a sleep disturbing nuisance music was some force that had grown and domin ated his life, unawares almost. His will had been like the neck broken body of a small fledgling, moved and shaped by an aural, tonal awareness of natural Musi c, like the pulling jaw of some great cat. In spite of so many wandering, searc hing years he could feel when he played now, that there was a background continu ity like a slow stream or the long, drifting third-movement of that B Flat Trio by Louis van B, so tranquil and yet so forcefully certain. The road did not run through Snyder and he turned North, in the direction of Lub bock. The bright light of the day had now been replaced, in the early evening by a pall of charged clouds. It looked as if everything was going to let loose. He could smell a storm coming up as he slowed almost to a stop and leaned his head out of the window. It was usual that they did not last long, hereabouts but they could be heavy enough. Half an hour later, the sky cracked open. The thunder was high and muffled. T he lightning, yellow white, sheeted and spaced across the whole of the black blu e heavens to the North. He was grateful, Gott sei dank, that it was not centred over Highway 84. Few years back, while staying down on Padre Island on the Gul f, three kids camping about a mile away had been struck dead in their tent at ni ght, during a real blow. They had found them a day later just lying there as if unconscious with out a mark on any of them. Really weird. Then) a metallic patter began quite suddenly hailstones. He could see them fill ing one of the ventilation ducts, on the hood. About quarter of an inch, some o f them. As these in turn began to a heavy rain commenced, he pulled over and ha lted the wagon on the shale shoulder. Outside, there was a fine racket going on. The horizon, at every point of the c ompass except the West, had been obliterated by curtains of slashing rain and lo w scudding cloud. Winding his window right down, heedless of the rain entering as he listened to the hollow echoing moan of the flash storm with its dull accom paniment of deep-timpani bouncing and careering about the mountains of the earth and sky. Man was still at the mercy of such elemental forces. The relentles s, scything sheets of falling water continued about him for only another five ma ybe ten minutes. Then with a departing gesture as brief as that with which it h ad commenced its work, the rain was over.

He continued driving; there was still some thunder reverberating over the hills, quietening and then reappearing. In the distance the low line of mountains cou ld be seen once more, in a brightening hemisphere of light as the long grey clou ds streamed off, as broken rags. About two miles further on, he came up on a la rge station wagon, halted. He pulled in alongside and saw the broad strip of br own water rushing directly across the road. It only looked to be about one foot deep, at the most. Hi there exciting burst of a storm, for a while, back there. I think you be okay to cross that, said Blanik, helpfully, through the window. The blah faced man of the family sitting back in the wagon turned and walked tow ard the fellow travelers voice. Yeah - could be youre right. Never can tell, with these crazy things though. Where are you headed? Blanik told him and was given the return information that the car load was makin g for Seattle. It did not seem so much of a ride that he had in front of him, w hen compared with that passage North. Well, I wish you luck he shouted as the big landcruiser forded the flooded section . As he thought it was no kinda problem. Before driving on through himself, he got out to stretch himself and crossed to the other side of the road, where a small stream about ten feet broad was chargi ng along. Large mounds of compressed-hailstones still lay over the rushes and g rasses and a thin damp vapour was rising from the ground surface. He threw wat er into his eyes and over his ears and neck it was real cold. The shock cleare d several hours of dulled sensation from his brain that even ached slightly as h e drank a couple of handfuls of the soft, clear water. Driving slowly through the wash, he saw, in the cop spotter that the road behind him was a shimmering black stripe. The whole landscape was lit by a strange wa ter washed evening light that followed the storm. It was chilly too and he pro mised himself a good shot of coffee, in the next place he came to. He switched the tuner on, again. As usual, nothing. So, he just pointed the wheels to the already lowering sun and continued to drive on easily. The American travelling thing was still alive and necessary for the health of th e land. Even if the Model T had been replaced by a UHaul Self Drive removal tru ck. The whole lifestyle of Interstate cross-pollination, for all its domestic ev ils, certainly kept communities changing and vibrant. This promiscuous breed ce rtainly had taken a hard grip of the practical mechanics of the life in the twen tieth century they had been forced to seek. De Orevecoeur, wasnt it, writing, so long ago and so wisely, about the conditions of the first, farming Americans, ha d noted the process of rebirth and hope that almost nave enthusiasm and necessary application of a Soul, a Life that was too short, even too hard for many dream. Now it was already becoming darker. The effects of the mouthful of bolts had wo rn off. What about all those nights, when, until two in the morning, he had hus tled automobiles at the Drive in now well over a year ago. That was all through now, he reckoned. It was funny how the creator or artist, with his little use for and contempt of the market place, was the very user who needed a financially independent way of life. And any cat who had been so far into a music thing, e ven more so. His own ambition was to try and add to the real American musical catalogue. To contribute something from the inside recognising fully but free from the Europea n precedent. It was as if the modern developments at Santa Fe or in Kalamazoo wer e heading that way but it was their relative isolation from the base line that b othered him. Somebody like Marvin Gaye, or that heavy moaner Mr. Havens; they w ere doing all the easin of the minds. Who ever picked up, on Tranes Mr. Day? Clark was always telling him that he was too much of a Utopian. True, he could foresee an amazing broadening in the general aural and visual perception of the

Arts, over the next ten years and subsequently a corresponding breadth of understanding. That is, if the people also wanted to drink from that cup. Why take a part, when you can have the whole? Though just how do you establish a credit rating or a, asthetic and human sympathy~at a l4ass level? Life had become so mu ch richer even in a non-materialistic sense for those who were aware. It was a dismal showthat rank commercialism often swamped the still fertile fresh sown fi elds, with a negative lowest common marketable. Even the oddballs like Ives, babbit, appeared on the surface to mean so little, to so many people. It was as if their own alienation the regressive activity of those composers toward childhood innocence or a sublime spiritual understanding was the only method of confronting the common insensitivity about them. So man y, like Ives, Harris had fled an urban or city environments clutching for a natu ral sanity elsewhere. And strictly speaking it was down in the country that the tradition especially of Negro music and the religious or mountain ballads had b egun to grow independently before the reintroduction of and adulteration by forei gn influences often from the same sources. It had even taken an English foursome cellar group of some acknowledged genius to bring all that rockin R. & B. back to the Northern City White Protestant masses. It had all sounded just too right, for the young people whose very land had thrown up that virile funky beat. Gang s of those cultural tramps had finally gotten hold of something of their own. The ir cramped Souls had finally got a break. And there was that unknown instrument the Moog, there much an again an American in vention as Moondog, or a numerically programmed Horizontal Borer, Of~w. 4Cg. fft T. AihLt t~sIt. ~ It was not all a console of Ballyhoe; the main opposition to the introduction of the sound from such a deck, was the limited experience of aural perception. U nless it was found to be capable of reproducing the dominants of an intolerable confusion of modern environmental conditioning. There were lights that had started to appear in his mirrors. He was moving fast , down a broad flat bed section of highway) into Lubbock The bleakness of the l andscape, was reflected in the uniformity of the town. What a place to grow up in: It seemed more desolate than the townships up North, where he had been raise d. It was no wonder that there was a spin off of kids, moving always to the lar ge cities, you couldnt blame them. Even what they saw on the box was another rea lity no less valid for being a purely escapist fantasy. The lights were up ther e, all the time as his brother Paul used to say. When the surrounding plastic D ream became so dominant, as to occlude a simple world of inner simpler and more attainable fantasies then you were in trouble. The life to be found in the side halls, the music and the folk, had been attainable. He wheeled along a new detour road around the town and came back on to 84. The stubby outlines of roadside oil derricks, softly clanking automated donkeys, br oke through the monotonous miles and minutes. The hard line of the high semi de sert to the North, was black, against the lake of almost ultramarine sky. It wa s a calm night there was nothing else on the road. For the next hour he drove f ast, but casually slipping back into the seat, just allowing one outstretched ha nd to lightly finger the wheel. The machine was in overdrive, and also taking e verything cool. How good it would be to get back to Maggie. She was so much for real, with all her Forms and plotted ideals. She knew all right. As to getting inside her pan ts and letting go well she was just a natural cruisin Susan and was always there. Wised up women he had found a few, were really something else. He had been f ascinated for years by the enigma of why so few women were composers there were a crowd of soloists, in comparison perhaps it was all patently formed about an U nderstanding? Or, were they just limited if their being was such a well of recep tivity then shouldnt they be part of an administration scheme in matters of socia l welfare? It would seem to be a natural position no doubt any number of priori ties would be facing revision, within a matter of weeks He would be able to ope n up the Bechstein, in a days time and stretch his fingers.

His eyes were weary, and seemed to weigh his head forward. He pulled off the h ard surface and on to the next section of broad shoulder that came up. The mot or stilled and the hum of the road was no longer in his ears. He wound down the window and took an upside down look at the clouds of stars, Orion framed his ey es for one minute then his gaze wandered East to West, before pulling his head b ack in again. The reflection of his own dipped headlights, on the hard mud and gravel caught h is attention as he shifted along the seat to lie down for a short doss. It shon e forward like the light from some lone chandelier and it amused him to think of it, the cone of light that used to be thrown on to the landing at the end of th e corridor; Number E, he recalled, back at the old junior cons home near Austin. Except that, that light, had been on the further side of the gate. In the older part of the reformatory which was categorically, the over-identific ation of an optimist where the hard cases were; that had been the set up of a pr ison. He could still see the decks of screened catwalks on three sides of the b rightly-lit well light that was kept on, night and day. The hacks would patrol that rotary vision throughout the night, the steel tips of the boots ringing ou t the paces, along those narrow iron plated alleys, on the hour, every hour. He had been stuck in there possibly in error, for well over a month after his admit tance to the House. Man, why was all this stickin in his head? He should be just trying to get his h ead down for a few hours. But his thoughts would not subside, as a real-memory of that cell came up on the screen. The smell of the yellow tiles a special coc ktail of urine and carbolic, was always present, as was the ever present rubber sheeted mattress, with its body stains and shapes, and the inarticulate morose cell buddy. Shortly after, he had been transferred to another block. He could remember all that too clearly. It had kicked off one afternoon. During some kind of lecture he had been allowed to step outside, to the can. In there, he had interrupted three guys doing a high jackin job. He had been told to, Shite off, kid! It was strange to think how that accidental discovery had affected him. For tw o days after, he had picked up the vibes, down in the chow hall. His cellmate, a ladies-man in on a seduction rap, had laid it all out for him. And, sure enou gh one week later, they had come for him. How they had fixed it, was still a my stery to him. All he had known about, and remembered too well was being hauled out by five of them one afternoon, after the shop, and being taken first to the shower room and then to an unlocked cell. The big guy, Pickering, always bull shitting about how good a pitcher he had been was the one that took him first as the other four birds held on to his arms and legs. The only words that had bee n said and he could hear them now, were, Hold that punk kid down! It was hardly the sort of thing that would just sink back, into your memory bank . He could smell the stale sweat rag closeness of the blanket into which he had buried his head that smell was unlike anything he had smelled since. His head wet with fear and pain had buried itself yet deeper as the joyride had begun. I t was the emotional, rather than the piercing physical pain that had grabbed him and stayed with him, over the years. Though, they were both transitory so to s peak. There was just an odd reaction that had persisted over and above that mem orable experience and that was the habit of looking any guy straight in the kiss er and wondering to himself well now, how does this guy score his Jollies? That ever fresh, memorised incident had been prevented from developing into a fu ll size gang show by the chance inspection of the cage by some keen, young scre w. They did not come down as far as that particular Cell 99, normally. The bro ken-punk had been allowed to slip back to his own suite. He did not show for th e bucket brigade the next morning, nor for the first chow line. That afternoon after the briefest of interviews with the top man he had been moved to the corre ct section of the yard. That sure had been the longest night. Things had looked up in the last months, on the whole. You sure do get a great deal of time for reading, on the inside of the big house. With a concession fro

m above, it had become possible for him to play the prison piano; or, as the Pad re would call it the musical workbench. Somebody up there, had a taste for Tcha ikovsky, and a few doors had opened. And the music thing the playing had all se emed to begin a movement, from that time. He had gone in an amateur and come out a professional artist and maker. His re hab time was just a mockery; as they tried to freeze his mind and spirit. One June day he was free of it; the shrink, the electrics sand the pigs. There was the difficulty of finding any work at all; first you just had to drop the priso n lingo and the introspection then try to crash through the strangeness of meeti n people again, all in your one suit of clothes to stand up in. Soon he found that all he was likely to do was to peddle, and play that box arou nd. He soon got to be that sick in the head and body that finally his will to p lay at all had folded and disintegrated. The streets, the bricks and the all se emed so coloured and subjective. His whole way of seeing had been altered. Not even the lowest wharf rats bolthole in Galveston would use him, by the time he w as real drug down. Whats his name in New York, the fella he used to run with, while living with i, he had never climbed out of that chronic alienated position. After three ars in stir for pushing a few harmless porny photo she had never been able to late back the straight scene, and found that wheeling around was the only way could make it go. Joan ye re he

A thought occurred to Blanik, as he pulled out his dream-sack to cover his body with that was, just how easily were the big beefy boys comin back from Nam, going to readjust to the world? Those Boys had seen a whole lotta bad things over there i n fact they had lived in an alien climate and culture for years, some of them; t hey were almost gooks themselves and like Charlie knew how to protect themselves . The question was, were they going to become geeks, or outsiders, within thei r own country? It was always nice to go home to Maina, except that it might not mean the same thing as before once again the isolation of that experience would come into play, subtlety and who might know dangerously? Mr. Black would be loo king for some chance to get to the gold. That situation on the Gulf, that time had gone on for several weeks. He had co me right down to his boots and shoes and as it had grown steadily more desperate the irony of the whole hang out had become sharper. It had been a matter of pr ivate amusement to him, that the light had become stronger, and more clear the d eeper he moved toward the centre. He had seen clearly then, for the first time in his life that his ideas about quartertones and other sounds, which, though o ne found them as far back as 1923 for Bloch had used such insights that they wer e not part of the common reference of the public ear. His intentions had crysta llised only years later in his current ideas of using electrical amplification t hrough tapes and the synthesizer along with the range of an instrument like the cello and naturally the box to gel down a fugualor chamber work, using those fix ed and yet novel poles. And man it just looked as if it was nearly all set to go. Yeah, he would go out there and lay it on them. Just fix up that working retreat some place, that ca stle where he finally throw it all together and then. It was all very silent outside the Olds now. The wind moved as if it had blown for many miles and wished only to sigh peacefully, to play with the corners of t he weeds and ditches until recharged and mobile once again. Tomorrow it would be just on three weeks since the whole nickelassed idea had come into his head. It might have gone a great deal smoother if he had just laid it all out for hims elf~ to do. The thing had been no laugh. Where were those other two Jakes now, he wondered? Nowhere. Lost? Shifting his boots from his feet and his backside to the edge of the seat, he pl

aced his legs at an angle to the dash, underneath, and after stretching his arms and body, relaxed into a welcome sleep. The light of day awakened him, naturally. He did not figure that he had been dr eaming at all. The sticking, furry surfaces of his mouth were soon removed afte r a drink of water. He took a few minutes walk along the deserted road. Those oil pumps, or were they water pumps? Were still at it. The flat land to the Nor th was covered in a soft felt of new green grass and one or two remote copses. It was sure good to be alive. He said a few words to Manitou or whoever it was p who licensed this daily curtain call. Back in the wagon , he celebrated further the peace of the morning, by rolling a real bomber of the weed that Tony had brought along with him He had found it on ce again, when hiding the key to that locker still behind the door panel. It su re tasted good, even if the dryness of his throat did cause him to cough up the first toke. On an empty stomach, this was a real Special Breakfast. After the r oll was finished he pulled on his boots and started the motor, it sounded alrigh t. The wheels crunched over the gravel as he let out the clutch and pushed the indi cator over to Drive. A cloud of grey-dust rose behind him as he drove straight ah ead, gradually bringing the tank back on to the highway. He put her right acros s the centre line, in fact there was no painted one; just wound her right up and kept it easy about seventy for the moment. To think that there were guys on the inside, for just having or using, a few lid s of the stuff. Not even dealing. There was surely a desperation in the Federa l minds, that found it necessary to outlaw, like some feudal peasant, who had be en poaching the Kings deer in an attempt to control and stop the abuse of such a very minor problem of youths whole bag. Really all it was he thought, was a blin d attempt to crush a fringe activity and all dissent tied up with it, without r eform or due examination of the root causes. Was it all part of the War? That was the catalyst, that had always brought forwa rd the waves of change throughout the whole of Society. Nor did the reaction ju st end there. It was a pity about those, who were trampled underfoot on the for ced-marches. And for seine of those who did return. He considered just what th e rate of scientific advance would have been without war; the Chinese for instan ce had spent many centuries in a chiefly passive and defensive military situatio n. Was the upheaval of civilisations necessary, in order that something as magn ificent as a 35millimetre camera slide with its chemistry of colour emulsion and trapped physics be perfected? It would be great to get the sticks back into a bowl of Chinese chow, once agai n. He would take Maggie over to that Peking style place at Stockton and Broadwa y. And go down to the Park on the dawn patrol, and feel the mist of heavy dew a nd light rain coming off the ocean. Or, go get stoned in one of the real actio n bars and take a one time return midnight visit to the Blue Devils, just so, ne ver to forget. He might even see Happy once again mad and dreaming of earlier d ays, as usual. A few months back at New Year though never as riotous, as earli er times the Alleys had come alive once more. They still brought out the drums , bells, dragon heads and dancers, tassels of reds and blue and a whole arsenal of fire-crackers. Public celebrations like that were really out of sight they a lways had been. That Renaissance Fair, that came around every year, over the B ridge was another such festival, in just the same way just a local get together right across the age groups from the sun cracked oldsters, down to the Botticell i ringlet locked six year old free thinkers. It did all the communication excha nge moving, as the good Sir Clark might have put it. It was a good, clear and fast road. Yes, there sure was plenty of space to move out here. The drumming of the tires on the metal became like the very fast str umming of some string-instrument. It was building up. Now was he glad, to be g oing home.

The wind found very little dust to flick and twist among the roadside channels. The white patches of dew, from an hour before, had evaporated almost totally. He thought it to be about six oclock he had lost track of the time zone changes. His whole body had begun to warm to the sun away to the East as the road swung Northwards. His cruising seventy mile an hour meditation was shattered suddenly as a small blackbird like projectile flattened into the windshield. He slowed quickly halted and walked back to the feathered body lying, back down the road. There was nothing he could do but to throw the remains over into the scrub. Pi ty. He scraped the blood and the matter from the middle of the glass, with a pi ece of folded card and drove on. For the last hour he had just been hung up on the whole-exterior scene. The mo rning light was growing more intense. The thoughts that had been once directed toward that distant circling disc, might never be measured. The monuments remai ned - they spanned the Earth, from East to West. From the heat and sacrifice of some Toltec Mayan mound, some castle citadel at Chichen Itza, with its plumed s erpent warriors and jaguar skin clothed celebrants, its visitors from distant Ti kalto far over the Sea farther than one might dream, to that rumoured death-par adise Isle. Or, yet further South, high in the heavily-wooded hills, behind the present-day port of Santa Marta that rise steeply from where the children of the Coqui, stil l free from the slavery of their landlords, lost in the Sierra Nevada, might onc e again discover an amphitheatre its use and meaning, long forgotten. Its semi circular, slotted grey atone walls still reflecting the filtered rays of an unkn own source, that once was and still is, the life energy of its Indian builders. The same force had been acknowledged by the later Hellenistic Greeks, with their tightly conceived plastic abstractiona, and yet further realised in the silent astronomical and cosmicawareness of the meditating Chinese. There were no caref ully penned letters, or comment from some higher authority, that could sock tha t one home; just as one might never hold the wind its tones, or its perverse an d changing moods. The black, unfinishedsurface of the road dipped away to the West. It could be fo llowed over there running into a line of cinder peaks, away in the distance. A freight truck could be seen moving down there like some yellow miniature scale m odel. Like some oblong box carried along by mysterious and magic forces it was heading quickly toward him. A star of white sunlight, reflected a three seconds long signal, from some glass, or polished metal surface, right across the fla t valley bed. A road sign gave him the unnecessary information that Thrwell was up ahead. He should make Albuquerque about noontime at this rate. He decided to keep right o n through. To Hell with the stops. Just as soon as he could, he would ditch th is crate and get on up to frisco. All that he wanted to do was sit on that stoo l, get his ass comfortable and play once again. With Mama Evans by his side he would take that seat some place and get it all down, to the final double bar. The changes over the last year, from Maggie, through to the eventual modal ideas he had decided to use in the composition, they all had a weirdly regressive nat ure in them. A common theme of relating simply to once forgotten causes and ide as, like the germ of some reshaped ideal, transitory, not quite clear, but seldo m forgotten unless it be destroyed. The low whine of the trucks approaching wheels caught his ear, through the open w indow above the noise of his own engine. It was all but continuous the pitch dr opping for short sections, as the driver put the anchors on a little, or changed gears. The air was wonderful to feel, against his neck and face the scuff of t

he early morning had somehow become less important. In a long gentle curve, the road swung to the left as it dropped down on to the bottom of the flat. Whether or not there had been an explosion, he just could not remember. ~ad he lost control of the steering? Before that almighty thudding crash? He could fe el that he had been pushed, right into the back of the seat. There was some ob ject, heavy and warm, against his left-thigh, just above his knee. Raising a h and stiffly he felt the line of his jawbone, unshaven. That was still there. W hat had happened? He could see little. The veil across his eyes might be of b lood? Perhaps he just could not see properly? What had hit him? As his head fel l forward, his chin settled against his right shoulder. The details of his knu ckles, and veins of his other hand across his chest, were masked by a dark cover ing. Jesus, he thought, unable to speak. What was all that noise? Everything about him , seemed warm~ and sicklyheavy. Beyond the sleeve of his jacket he imagined that he saw a small triangle of brow n earth. Was he in somebodys field? Lie was supposed to be going some place wasnt he? His legs were numb as if he could not feel them. Surely, Im not on fire, h e thought, painfully! What if he was dying? The Great Captain could have even c aught up with him. He had never thought that it would be in a place like this, he was in the middle of nowhere, and of nothing. Where was the moon lit battlef ield, the passing midnight lamps, the stiffening and the sinking? If only someb ody would show up and give a hand. Now, there was a strange, unknown-song a swelling of noise and light, about the whole of his head. For the first time, he thought that he could feel a pulsing, burning sensation rising through his slumped body. He could still feel the win d against the flesh and stubble of his left cheek. Apart from that - growing, pressing pain, it was as if the rest of his body had now ceased to exist. If on ly somebody would show up. Was that also the wind that he could hear? So soft, and hardly stirring. That gentle rustling and sighing about his head. It all seemed to be coming together , flattening out in a peaceful, flowing movement. What a lousy, damned deal, this all was. By the time they got him outta here it would be too late to go far. He could have been another hundred miles down t hat road.