Off the Road - 39

a jazz novel on a typewriter

4

Columbus goes to the high pyramid. The Transamerica is the picture of doric gray in the center of downtown.  It was no longer the tallest welding in San Francisco, but it might still be the most famous.

Night reached up from the sewers bringing up the wretch bile but Sal and Faith did not care it was an afterthought on the whisps of forever. Forth to a freefall onto gracelessly graceful grace. They trundle into the dark doors of a light building that advertised that “Democracy, it is not a spectator sport.” Let alone a game of chess or Checkers.

Inside it was whiter than white with pictures of the Beats in all phases. The Beats knew that a broken heart or a worn-out body would run many additions and City Lights was proof of the 100 proofs of that.

There were all of the types: there were the Dharma bums who hungered for attention from anyone and struck up conversations about nothing or as close to nothing as would be allowed; there were the subterraneans, who looked at the bottom shelf looking for treasures that no one else had seen; and the Lonesome traveler in a small note reading a paperback of some description. Then there were people who pretended to know about individual beats and were happy to expunge the air wisdom to any and every person who they could sham from looking at books. In this case, there were two sailors taking leave from their ship they were cooped up and tearing down the waves trying to get in while the sailors were trying to get out into a port with a plan to find a person who is a match for their idiosyncrasies. The sailors were like untrampled flowers looking for someone to trample them. The cleanliness of the close was just this side of dirty, either from work or from going to sleep until 4 PM depending on the individuals’ preference.

Every now and again be door would open and there were still birds singing because the light of the downtown immerses them in the colorful glow.

In one corner there was a man and a woman who obviously were married: the woman was trying to reform the man to the more like her desires and the way she did is by boring him so completely that he lost all possible interest in life. The man was also able to because he knew that the way to vex his wife was to treat her with kindness. Then Sal turned around and saw Dean and Alice talking about the book they were holding, and they were engaged in such a way as he had never seen either of them before. Sal did not want to intrude upon their salvation but eventually, Alice turned to look at him and also clasp Dean’s hand in a way that was too lurid for nighttime television.

There was a point where each couple did not want to be the first one to make a move but Faith, with hope and charity, immediately saw that this was happening and decided that she would be the first person to extend her hand to Alice and say: “I’ve heard so much about Dean but not so much about you. My name is Faith pleased to meet you.” Her plump little hand reached out with a clawing and cloying viciousness, one that said that Faith did not like Alice.

Alice did not know what she had done to deserve the attention that was scoured upon her but she limply held out her hand. “Alice, and I am from the city of the Angels and of course this hag with the withered visage is Dean.” Dean was completely suave and did not engage in the vete-a-tete that the women were so fond of. Instead, he just Faith’s hand and said only that he was enchanted.

Faith looked at him and said: “You look exactly as Sal described you.”

Dean was nonchalant: “It is often said that you should be yourself because everyone else is taken, and if you can fake that then the world is your limit.” It was only Sal who noticed that Dean eased back a have step and that made Sal realize that even Dean was surprised at how ruthless a partner that he had picked, or more precisely, she had obviously him. The question on Dean’s face was subtle but Sal guest that it was the “why” that was in question.

But before they could jostle each other further a woman with a white shirt clanged the gong and announced that the poetry reading was now and forevermore in session. The audience quieted down and the readings began but there was a great deal of hubbub critiquing be reading as to whether it was equal to the original Beats. The judgment was soundly negative. But the reading went on and there were snaps that reminded people of the real thing even if it was decaffeinated with saccharine and artificial genuine cream flavor. Occasionally one or two people would try to get a wave going by shouting “Go! Go! Go!” but they were always shut down because this was a place effete ragamuffin who wanted class with their refuse.

At one point Alice leaned over to Faith and asked something but neither Sal nor Dean heard what it was, but Faith turned back and replied in short sharp sentences that seemed to deliver a punch. Alice then pulled out a fan to help to disguise the fact that her face had been flushed before not after.

Then the readings pittered off to a patter like the excessive suite music of the spheres. Alice led the way to the doors with verve in a bittersweet Symphony and Dean and cell followed because none of them crossed Alice without some good reason. Then Faith pulled up the rear by going in front though she did take notice that Dean and Alice were kvetching and quietly murmuring about the change that Faith had made in Sal.

They were not amused.