He was watching the gum wad bounce off the clothespin when the phone rang — God suppose she… He got up slowly, in past 200 2-Ply, hesitated before he reached up — yes hello…? He cleared his throat — not here no, oh it’s you Mister Bris… not disturbing me no that’s all right, Mister Bast’s still off on some sort of business… oh you are? Didn’t realize you and he were business associates Mister Brisboy thought it was more ah… no no didn’t mean you didn’t regard him as a dear friend, I… just wouldn’t get this upset Mister Brisboy I’m sure he wouldn’t let that happen, now… No I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you talked to the president of the company, best thing to… here? Sorry I can’t no, I… wait no you don’t under… Look Mister Brisboy I’d be glad to switch you over if I could but… because I don’t know where the hell he is no look I’m just not that familiar with the company’s activit… Haven’t seen his statement in the paper about franchising out the entire health plan but you can’t believe everything you read in the… Rumors of what…? No I heard the stock was sagging a little but… well I’m sure it really is a fun company Mister Brisboy what I’ve seen so far it certainly… to tell your mother what…? Good God wouldn’t want that to happen no, look I’d just… listen I’d just wait till Mister Bast gets back and… I’m sure he will yes no reason some story about these Indians having a clouded title to this reservation means he’d be… I’m sure he’ll bring his Indian costume back yes never mentioned playing dress up but of course Mister Bast seems to have a number of talents I nev… he certainly is yes, now… No no I wouldn’t do that no, no don’t bother to come up here to wait for him no telling when he… No no very land of you but I… yes good, auf Wiedersehen that is yes…
The gum wad bounded off the clothespin, drew up, dropped and missed in the near dark, drew up again as he came back to stand at the sill knuckles gone white one hand grinding the other, the gum wad bounded, drew up — like Robert the Bruce, Christ! he pried up the window and his fist shot out, pounded the gum on the clothespin snapped up from sight past the blind and he banged down the window — got to get out of here… tripped against Tootsie Rolls 12 Count, suddenly had it papers jammed in held together and up behind Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell and he was through to the door left tipped on its hinge against a shuffle in the dark hall, a tap.
— Hello, Mister…? and then no sound but the falling waters until the door shuddered in again with his weight in the darkness threading past 200 2-Ply, coming down among the stacks of mail on the armless sofa where a hand hung off extended open toward the sill as though to seize the day, or hold it off, when it appeared.
There, a pink hair curler dropped, rolled toward the edge and stopped. He came up on one elbow and waited, finally came up all together and drew a hand over the roughage of his chin. The long hand rose from NO DEPOSIT driving the short before it — Christ got to get started got to, to get started… he bumped against Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell, picked up both cups floating teabags on Thomas Register — brought that in last night somewhere just have one to get started… and he was back to set a cup of water on Moody’s, tip a bottle over the other. On the sill where the curler lay, string appeared lowered from above bobbing a wad of gum. He stared at it, drank off one cup and then the other, picked up the blue folder and stared at that, patted pockets, rummaged — out and get cigarettes get something to eat come back and get started… and he was through to the door left tipped on its hinge against a tap, a pounding, an expletive, finally the thud of bundles against it.
— Man like what’s all this I mean you can’t get in the door.
— Like climb over it man and I mean help him, like get his foot wait, like help me get the box through… and the shuffle of moccasins, the flap of sandals repeated passing tub and 200 2-Ply — like you bring him up here this morning to practice I mean he doesn’t even bring his insterment…
— Like he’ll hum along then man… the mailbag shook over the sofa’s end, the guitar came up.
— Man like he’s still so spaced out he can’t hum shit… she swept the mail from the sofa to join the heap on the floor, dropped a battered paper shopping bag there and opened the box beside it — come on kitty kitty, man like they really shaved his ass I mean where they sewed him up it looks like this fucking football come on kitty kitty kitty…
Plunk. — Like come on man, hum… plunka plunka…
