64
PARTISAN REVIEW
strikes. You're balmy if you go out, says he to me, this is a
country where you're balmy·indeed if you think one man's better
than another. How do you reckon that, I asks. Why, the
other day, says he, just
to
show you, I meets up with the King.
He is coming down the lane, the King is, says Pot, there's a
regiment of hussars ahead and a one of dragoons behind, and
he is riding in a fine carriage, and here am I crossing the road,
but a shirt to my back and that a dirty one, and he leans out
the window and tells his footman to pull up the horses. And
did he talk
to
you, says my father. You're bloody well right,
says Pot, and he beams all over his face, that's what I mean
when I say that in this country everybody's equal and one man's
like another, not even the King is too proud to t!llk to me. And
what does he say
to
you, says my father. What does he say,
says Pot, and his face it is foolish and bright like a pan after
scrubbing, he says to me, the King says, he says, says Pot,
Gwan,
Pot-imagine
a King now not being too proud to talk to
one like me-Gwan, Pot, he says, gwan home, you sonofabitch,
git outa my blawsted way.
That's the story I tell her, not that it's right to the point
but it's enough to the point so's my lady catches on, and
I'm
thinking about this, hearing the Take a number-, take a seat–
gals, the windows are open, there's a mob of painters and plas·
terers outside, they are fixing up the joint, making it pretty·
pretty, there's a young woman bigshot standing in the middle
of the floor pointing out things to a young man bigshot, she is
planning the joint, she has a look on her face like she is working
in her private home, this is the kitchen, this is the bedroom, this
is the dining room, she is going to make things nice and comfy
in here, the benches are close-packed, you can smell your next
to your next seat neighbor's armpits, we all are looking at the
young woman on account of there's little else
to
look at, the
smell of paint and wind driving through sunshine comes through
the window, the Moonface bozo asks me a question.
I hope dey don't give me no woman visitor dis tims, he
says, you tink dey will?
No kidding, like a eat's got a mouse, that's the way this
place hasgot me.-Damfino, I tell him, damfino, I-oh, I dunno.
No kidding, this is the way it's got me.
If
I was running
a grocery store or a confectionary store, if I had stayed in the
furniture business goosing my way up, that's what my mother
wanted me to do till I got a story published in a proletarian
