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inventions of black kids in ghettos. Thinking was impossible without
the force of feeling; I couldn't have added two and two unless driven
through the motions by hatred or an equivalent passion; I couldn't
have read a paragraph of Austen or James unless I shrieked each
word. Mrs. Stanger had remained behind to wash. I had nothing
to do but sit, feel the life, watch Stanger and Mildred, drink my
bourbon. Then a big, wild lady plopped into Mrs. Stanger's chair.
Her dress was channeled to discover tits, her talk was electrified by
the topics of slick magazines - decadent New York, divorce, and
the problems so many had these days with kids. She mentioned grass–
raps, politics, syphilis, and runaways, and then said, "I used to play
kissing games, but, today, a kid spots a hair on his crotch and runs
right out to fuck." She waited for my comment. I grinned agreement.
Between her tits the stream of little hair was bleached. Her particular
kid, she said, making a bomb, had blown out his eye. "Blew it out,"
she sneered, as if amazed at his incompetence. My head shook sym–
pathetically while it supposed, inside, that along with the tiger haunt–
ed by former ass and thigh, you throw in first-class eats, marijuana,
servants, and the job, say twenty thousand. "Blew it olit," she repeat–
ed, apparently encouraging me to say something. I tried for a sexual–
philosophical tone. "There is nothing left not to do, is there?" She
looked puzzled and annoyed, as if, despite her blatant tits and end–
less mouth, she hated double messages. "I mean, you know, make
bombs. Fuck. What have you." The men fighting had begun to shout.
One claimed the other had kicked him in the balls, which was against
the rules. Soon the blows were thicker and louder. The tits laughed,
then slapped her hand lightly on my face and gave it a little push,
the way one responds to a naughty child with affectionate repudia–
tion. "You're a gas," she said, her hand lingering for a moment on
my lips, but, sensing a prior claim, she withdrew it. Mrs. Stanger
had appeared and stood looking down at us. I tried to keep the tits
sitting by turning my back slightly to Mrs. Stanger. But the tits,
unnerved by her presence, rose from the chair and turned her ass
to me, as though to display another pair of tits
iri
departure. Mrs.
Stanger reassumed her chair. I leaned toward her in humble admira–
tion and squeezed her knee. "I wanna marijuana, Mrs. Stanger."
"You might begin caIling me Nell. Why do you want a mari–
juana? Didn't you like fucking me?"
