bob the bum's christmas

bob was a bum his brain was in a constant hum from drinking whiskey wine and gin o what a state they left him in he was in for the long haul and did stumble trip and fall from tijuana to bangor maine landing on sidewalks feeling no pain no barroom light was e'er so dim as not to shine through fog to him and he would crawl on hands and knees through their doorways, if need be up to the rail he would slink hoping some kind stranger would buy him a drink but since the truth can not be hid hardly anyone ever did so, if the tale can be believed bob found himself on christmas eve in west new york - or was it hackensack? looking up at snowflakes as he lay on his back and every flake was a memory of all that he had hoped to be and as they piled up on his face he thought he heard a far off trace of a happy song of long ago through the more rapidly falling snow and then amidst the wintry whirl he spied the face of a little girl the little match girl - no surprise and then before his wondering eyes the little drummer boy appeared then st peter with his long white beard the ghostly trio cleared their throats st peter and the girl struck notes on harps that they had brought along - the three began to sing a song "since this christmas may be your last let us sing of good times past before the crackling family fire before your straits were not so dire when end of year brought promise bright and happy children's pure delight at presents purchased with honest wages you laughed at winter's furious rages - " the song went on, the words grew faint but on the wind he heard the plaint of a little girl at a tavern door crying "daddy, daddy, please no more come home before you spend all your pay" yes, that was the song of yesterday now he was tired - oh so tired - beneath the snow the bum expired

pals, part 3: dangerous

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night turned to dawn the world moved on on the details i will not dwell but evening finally fell i told my brain, don't start but with a palpitating heart i made my way back to ray's cafe wondering what i would say for i was trembling with fear that jane would not be there but if the truth i could tell i was also afraid of the strange spell she had cast on my fevered brain that i could not explain and i told myself i believed i would actually be relieved if she did not even show and then i could safely go back to the warm embrace of the life i had learned to face life just goes on and on another night, another dawn what is wrong with that anyway? that would be hard to say now jane had entered the mixture and changed the whole picture could i ever go back again to the way i had always been? in my brain i heard a roar my steps brought me closer to the door i pushed it open with a force of will and then everything grew still that is, in my own perception to everyone else, without exception nothing in the room, or the world, had changed everything was still the same again, henry was not there but seated in "his" chair as if she had every right to be was my woman of mystery she was looking down at the table as though she were not able to unravel some mysterious rune or hear some forgotten tune i approached with some hesitation and fearful trepidation she suddenly raised her head "oh, there you are," she said as if it were the most natural thing my presence to her to bring i steadied myself on the table and responded as well as i was able "i will only be a minute" i brought back a glass with liquor in it what could be more civilized? a hurricane whirled behind my eyes "as i was saying", she resumed and started in on what i would soon recognize as her obsessions which branched off in many directions like henry she was a fund of knowledge perhaps not learned in any college of wide repute - but rather the strange fancies the wind would gather and scatter to the desperate brains of those who walk in wind and rain and seek to look behind the curtain of this world so flickering and uncertain she expounded on the "new hope" but scorned the masons and the pope einstein and darwin, freud and marx were only fit to feed the sharks it all made perfect, and no sense i was her perfect audience her flow of words fell down on me like raindrops on a calm blue sea then suddenly - she stopped i thought perhaps she wanted to cop a cigarette - and offered my pack but she was staring out the window behind my back i turned and looked - nothing - she shook her head - "for a minute i thought i saw - wait - i forgot - " and with this and other mumbles she jumped to her feet and stumbled out the door - leaving me in a cloud of wavering mystery perhaps at this juncture i should take the time to puncture any thought you might entertain that jane was a "dangerous dame" and in view of what i will relate as to my and her ultimate fate that she was some kind of "femme fatale" and not just an unfortunate gal another speck of human dust wandering blind , as we all must who fell in with the wrong crowd - the roaring in my brain is getting loud - part 4: reenter henry

ace of night - 3. davenport 7 - 5297

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no dame tonight. all right, i had been wrong before. and chuckie wouldn't be in harry's office forever, and i did not feel like looking at him or listening to him again that night - or any night. i finished my free drink, left a half buck tip - pretty generous, i thought, considering my situation - for the bartender, and got up off the stool. i was halfway to the door. "hey, pal, got a second?" the bartender was holding something out to me. i went over to him. it was a matchbook he was holding. "just take this. it might interest you, might not." i didn't feel like arguing with him. "sure, why not?" i figured there was a phone number written on it, or an address. i took it. "thanks." he just nodded, turned away. i started to head back down harry's dark hallway. then it hit me. jeez, what a chump i was - was i losing my touch, and my mind? i had been away for too long. way too long. it was some kind of frame! some cop - probably chuckie - would brace me, they would find the matchbook on me and the phone number or address on it would be the number or address of some poor slob harry had just had bumped off - probably in a very messy way, as he liked to do. or, the matchbook had some fingerprints on it that - you get the idea. i got close to the wall, and took the matchbook out of my pocket. not wasting any time, i held it in my handkerchief and rubbed it over good, even the nine or ten matches still in it.sure enough, there was a phone number - just a phone number - written in it. davenport 7 - 5297 easy enough to remember. i tossed the matchbook down at my feet. and as it fell into the shadow i saw the gold lettering on the front: johnny demarco's . best food and drink. never heard of it. i made it outside to the sidewalk. nobody braced me. i started walking down the street. i passed a couple of cabs. so maybe there was no frame. maybe i was imagining things. even so, i was right back where i was before i saw harry. davenport 7 - 5297. what did i have to lose? i decided to call it when i got back to my hotel. it started to rain. just what i needed. i still had eleven blocks to go back to the hotel and i didn't feel like wasting money on a cab. then it started to really rain. what the hell, i would take a cab. i was wearing my only decent suit and i didn't want it getting waterlogged. i ducked into the nearest doorway and waited for one. the rain was jumping in the street when one finally came by. i could barely make out that it was a cab. i jumped out and waved and it came over. i had to jump back so it wouldn't send a wave crashing over me. i reached for the rear door. "hey mister, i saw him first! it was me that called him over!" i turned and there she was. the dame. the one i knew i was g "no problem, miss. we can share. in fact, i will pay, as far as i am going." "that's mighty nice of you, mister , but you don't have to be a big shot. i'll pay my way." "i'm headed for the hotel marmont." "the belmore - it's one more block." the cabbie leaned over. "jeez, will one or both of you get in, you are wet enough already." she got in. i got in beside her, and closed the door. "did i hear you say hotel marmont, pal?" "yes, you did." he pulled out. i turned to the girl. "and what did you say your name was?" "miss lost lamb. you must be mister smooth." "the old lines are the best lines. say, a guy staying in a hotel, a girl staying in a hotel, we got a lot in common." "the belmore is a ladies residence hotel - no gentlemen beyond the lobby." "one of those places. but maybe i'm not a gentleman." "then you don't even get in the door." "ha ha. my name is jeff - jeff josephus." "i told you my name. miss lost lamb." the more she talked the more i thought i heard some kind of accent under the all american girl act. frog? kraut? russki even? "if you say so," i answered. "pleased to meet you. hey, maybe i'll see you around. living so close and all." "you never know, do you? " she turned and looked out at the rain. "nice view, huh? very scenic. i used to live around here, but i been away for a while." she ignored me. i let it go. for now. the cab kept going. we hit mostly green lights. "we must be almost there," she finally said. "here you go, pal. hotel marmont." the meter said three sixty five. i gave him four ones. "keep it. she can pay you too if she wants." i got out. it was raining harder than ever. i ran into the hotel without looking back. maybe she didn't know it, but miss lost lamb hadn't seen the last of me. 4. the wind and the rain