Posted by Anonymous on 2019/01/29 under Life He was facing Seventh Avenue, at Times Square. It was past midnight and he had been sitting in the movies, in the top row of the balcony, since two The policeman passed him, giving him a look. Rufus turned, pulling up the collar of his leather jacket while the wind nibbled delightedly at him through his The Avenue was quiet, too, most of its bright lights out. Here and there a woman passed, here and there a man; rarely, a couple. At corners, under the Beneath them Rufus walked, one of the fallen— for the weight of this city was murderous— one of those who had been crushed on the day, which was Now he stood before the misty doors of the jazz joint, peering in, sensing rather than seeing the frantic black people on the stand and the oblivious, mixed
o’clock in the afternoon. Twice he had been awakened by the violent accents of the Italian film, once the usher had awakened him, and twice he had been
awakened by caterpillar fingers between his thighs. He was so tired, he had fallen so low, that he scarcely had the energy to be angry; nothing of his
belonged to him anymore— you took the best, so why not take the rest?— but he had growled in his sleep and bared the white teeth in his dark face and
crossed his legs. Then the balcony was nearly empty, the Italian film was approaching a climax; he stumbled down the endless stairs into the street. He
was hungry, his mouth felt filthy. He realized too late, as he passed through the doors, that he wanted to urinate. And he was broke. And he had nowhere
to go.
summer slacks, and started north on Seventh Avenue. He had been thinking of going downtown and waking up Vivaldo— the only friend he had left in the
city, or maybe in the world— but now he decided to walk up as far as a certain jazz bar and night club and look in. Maybe somebody would see him and
recognize him, maybe one of the guys would lay enough bread on him for a meal or at least subway fare. At the same time, he hoped that he would not be
recognized.
lights, near drugstores, small knots of white, bright, chattering people showed teeth to each other, pawed each other, whistled for taxis, were whirled away
in them, vanished through the doors of drugstores or into the blackness of side streets. Newsstands, like small black blocks on a board, held down
corners of the pavements and policemen and taxi drivers and others, harder to place, stomped their feet before them and exchanged such words as they
both knew with the muffled vendor within. A sign advertised the chewing gum which would help one to relax and keep smiling. A hotel’s enormous neon
name challenged the starless sky. So did the names of movie stars and people currently appearing or scheduled to appear on Broadway, along with the
mile-high names of the vehicles which would carry them into immortality. The great buildings, unlit, blunt like the phallus or sharp like the spear, guarded
the city which never slept.
every day, these towers fell. Entirely alone, and dying of it, he was part of an unprecedented multitude. There were boys and girls drinking coffee at the
drugstore counters who were held back from his condition by barriers as perishable as their dwindling cigarettes. They could scarcely bear their
knowledge, nor could they have borne the sight of Rufus, but they knew why he was in the streets tonight, why he rode subways all night long, why his
stomach growled, why his hair was nappy, his armpits funky, his pants and shoes too thin, and why he did not dare to stop and take a leak.
crowd at the bar. The music was loud and empty, no one was doing anything at all, and it was being hurled at the crowd like a malediction in which not
even those who hated most deeply any longer believed. They knew that no one heard, that bloodless people cannot be made to bleed. So they blew what
everyone had heard before, they reassured everyone that nothing terrible was happening, and the people at the tables found it pleasant to shout over this
stunning corroboration and the people at the bar, under cover of the noise they could scarcely have lived without, pursued whatever it was they were after.
He wanted to go in and use the bathroom but he was ashamed of the way he looked. He had been in hiding, really, for nearly a month. And he saw himself
now, in his mind’s eye, shambling through this crowd to the bathroom and crawling out again while everyone watched him with pitying or scornful or
mocking eyes. Or, someone would be certain to whisper Isn ’t that Rufus Scott? Someone would look at him with horror, then turn back to his business
with a long-drawn-out, pitying, Man! He could not do it— and he danced on one foot and then the other and tears came to his eyes.