PENGUINBO O KS

BIGSUR

JackKerouacwasborninLowell,Massachusetts,in1922,theyoungest
ofthreechildreninaFranco-Americanfamily.HeattendedlocalCatholic
andpublicschoolsandwonafootballscholarshiptoColumbiaUniversity
inNewYorkCity,wherehefirstmetNealCassady,AllenGinsberg,and
WilliamS.Burroughs.Hequitschoolinhissophomoreyearaftera
disputewithhisfootballcoach,andjoinedtheMerchantMarine,
beginningtherestlesswanderingsthatweretocontinueforthegreater
partofhislife.Hisfirstnovel,TheTownandtheCity,appearedin1950,
butitwasOntheRoad,firstpublishedin1957andmemorializinghis
adventureswithNealCassady,thatepitomizedtotheworldwhatbecame
knownas“theBeatgeneration”andmadeKerouaconeofthemost
controversialandbest-knownwritersofhistime.Publicationofhismany
otherbooksfollowed,amongthemTheDharmaBums,The
Subterraneans,andBigSur.Kerouacconsideredthemalltobepartof
TheDuluozLegend.“Inmyoldage,”hewrote,“Iintendtocollectall
myworkandreinsertmypantheonofuniformnames,leavethelongshelf
fullofbooksthere,anddiehappy.”HediedinSt.Petersburg,Florida,in
1969,attheageofforty-seven.

JACKKEROUAC

TheTownandtheCity

TheScriptureoftheGoldenEternity

SomeoftheDharma

OldAngelMidnight

GoodBlondeandOthers

PullMyDaisy

TripTrap

Pic

ThePortableJackKerouac

SelectedLetters:1940–1956
SelectedLetters:1957–1969

AtopanUnderwood

OrpheusEmerged

POETRY

MexicoCityBlues

ScatteredPoems

PomesAllSizes

HeavenandOtherPoems

BookofBlues

BookofHaikus

THEDULUOZLEGEND

VisionsofGerard

DoctorSax

MaggieCassidy

VanityofDuluoz

OntheRoad

VisionsofCody

TheSubterraneans

Tristessa

LonesomeTraveller

DesolationAngels

TheDharmaBums

BookofDreams

BigSur

SatoriinParis

BigSur

JACKKEROUAC

PENGUINBOOKS

P ENGUINBOOKS

PublishedbythePenguinGroup

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FirstpublishedintheUnitedStatesofAmericabyFarrarStraus&Giroux1962

PublishedinPenguinBooks1992

Allrightsreserved

P UBLISHER’ SNOTE

T hisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductof

theauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,living

ordead,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

THELIBRARYOFCONGRESSHASCATALOGUEDTHEHARDCOVERASFOLLOWS:

Kerouac,Jack,1922–1969.

BigSur.

I.T itle.

PS3521.E735B51981

813′.5481–8279

ISBN978-1-101-54881-3

ExceptintheUnitedStatesofAmerica,thisbookissoldsubjecttotheconditionthatitshall

not,bywayoftradeorotherwise,belent,resold,hiredout,orotherwisecirculatedwithout

thepublisher’spriorconsentinanyformofbindingorcoverotherthanthatinwhichitis

publishedandwithoutasimilarconditionincludingthisconditionbeingimposedonthe

subsequentpurchaser.

T hescanning,uploadinganddistributionofthislookviatheInternetorviaanyothermeans

withoutthepermissionofthepublisherisillegalandpunishablebylaw.Pleasepurchaseonly

authorizedelectroniceditions,anddonotparticipateinorencourageelectronicpiracyof

copyrightedmaterials.Yoursupportoftheauthor’srightsisappreciated.

MyworkcomprisesonevastbooklikeProust’sexceptthatmy
remembrancesarewrittenontheruninsteadofafterwardsinasick
bed.BecauseoftheobjectionsofmyearlypublishersIwasnot
allowedtousethesamepersonaenamesineachwork.OntheRoad,
TheSubterraneans,TheDharmaBums,DoctorSax,MaggieCassidy,
Tristessa,DesolationAngels,VisionsofCodyandtheothersincluding
thisbookBigSurarejustchaptersinthewholeworkwhichIcall
TheDuluozLegend.InmyoldageIintendtocollectallmyworkand
re-insertmypantheonofuniformnames,leavethelongshelffullof
booksthere,anddiehappy.Thewholethingformsoneenormous
comedy,seenthroughtheeyesofpoorTiJean(me),otherwise
knownasJackDuluoz,theworldofragingactionandfollyand
alsoofgentlesweetnessseenthroughthekeyholeofhiseye.

ACK

EROUAC

Contents

Cover
AbouttheAuthor
ALSOBYJACKKEROUAC
TitlePage
Copyright
Foreword
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“SEA”
“SEA”

Foreword

JackKerouacwasthehandsomehighschoolfootballstarofLowell,
Massachusetts,whoscoredawinningtouchdownandcaughtthe
attentionofLouLittle,Columbia’sfamousfootballcoach,whooffered
himacollegescholarship.

Kerouaccamefromaworking-classFrenchCanadianfamily—his

fatherwasaprinter—andthetripfromLowelltoMorningsideHeights
wasepochal.Suddenlytheall-Americanboy,whoquicklyhadfallenout
offavorwithLittle,wassittingintheWestEndBaroppositefellow
ColumbianAllenGinsberg,notlongoutofNewJersey,andthetwo,
joinedbyWilliamBurroughs,alittleolderandoutofSt.Louisvia
Harvard,posedinthesamephotograph—“acting,”asGinsbergputit,“as
ifwewereInternationalDebauchésasinGide.”

EnterNealCassady,thelegendarydriver,Ginsberg’sfabled

“cocksmanandAdonisofDenver,”whoblewintoNewYorkwithhis
girlfriendLuanneandafired-updeterminationtolearnallaboutwriting
fromAllen,Jack,andBill,inreturnforwhichhe’dtellthemallabouthis
lifeintheWest,andtheBeatGenerationwasreadytoroll.Infact,
KerouacwroteOntheRoadaboutthefirstyearsafterNealshowedup,
butittooksevenmoreyearstogetitpublished,andthoseweretheyears
thatsawthewriter,withathickeningknapsackofmanuscripts,asthe
trueliterarynomadofhisday.Then,whenOntheRoadcameoutin
1957andmadehimfamous,theknapsackwasunloadedandallthebooks
publishedhelter-skelter.

Tristessa,maybeKerouac’sslyhomagetoBonjourTristesse(which

hadmadeFrançoiseSaganastarovernightin1955),isabouthislove
affairwithaMexicoCityprostitute,andcameoutasanAvonpaperback
original.VisionsofCodyisasecondtakeontheheroofOntheRoad,
thistimeincorporatingtape-recordedconversationsbetweenJackand
Neal(adecadeormoreinadvanceofthetechniqueàlaWarholand
“oralbiography”).

InBigSurwehavetheplaintivebutmagnificentaftermath:the“King

oftheBeatniks”goingacrossthecountryinaPullmansleeperforone
moreroundwiththeboysandgirlsbeforeretirementtohisstudy,bottle,
andtypewriter,andthen,in1969,ofamassiveabdominalhemorrhage

broughtonbydrink,death.Hewasforty-seven.

JackKerouacwastheAmericanheroinlooksanddeedswhodaredto

haveaseriesoflong,tendernervousbreakdownsintheproseofhis
dozenorsobooks.Hisworkatitsbestbroughtsomethingoftheluminous
pleasuresoftheFrenchImpressionistsintoAmericanwriting,and
somethingtooofthebroodingsyntacticcircuitryofProust.Aboveall,he
wasatenderwriter.Itwouldbehardtofindamean-spiritedwordabout
anybodyinallhiswriting.

RAM

AROYAN

HECHURCHISBLOWING

asadwindblown“Kathleen”onthebellsinthe

skidrowslumsasIwakeupallwoebegoneandgoopy,groaningfrom
anotherdrinkingboutandgroaningmostofallbecauseI’druinedmy
“secretreturn”toSanFranciscobygettingsillydrunkwhilehidinginthe
alleyswithbumsandthenmarchingforthintoNorthBeachtosee
everybodyalthoLorenzMonsantoandI’dexchangedhugeletters
outlininghowIwouldsneakinquietly,callhimonthephoneusingacode
namelikeAdamYulchorLalagyPulvertaft(alsowriters)andthenhe
wouldsecretlydrivemetohiscabinintheBigSurwoodswhereIwould
bealoneandundisturbedforsixweeksjustchoppingwood,drawing
water,writing,sleeping,hiking,etc.etc.—ButinsteadI’vebounceddrunk
intohisCityLightsbookshopattheheightofSaturdaynightbusiness,
everyonerecognizedme(eventhoIwaswearingmydisguise-like
fisherman’shatandfishermencoatandpantswaterproof)and’t’allends
uparoaringdrunkinallthefamousbarsthebloody“Kingofthe
Beatniks”isbackintownbuyingdrinksforeveryone—Twodaysofthat,
includingSundaythedayLorenzoissupposedtopickmeupatmy
“secret”skidrowhotel(theMarson4thandHoward)butwhenhecalls
formethere’snoanswer,hehastheclerkopenthedoorandwhatdoes
heseebutmeoutontheflooramongbottles,BenFaganstretchedout
partlybeneaththebed,andRobertBrowningthebeatnikpainterouton
thebed,snoring—Sosaystohimself“I’llpickhimupnextweekend,I
guesshewantstodrinkforaweekinthecity(likehealwaysdoes,I
guess)”sooffhedrivestohisBigSurcabinwithoutmethinkinghe’s
doingtherightthingbutmyGodwhenIwakeup,andBenandBrowning
aregone,they’vesomehowdumpedmeonthebed,andIhear“I’llTake
YouHomeAgainKathleen”beingbellropedsosadinthefogwindsout
therethatblowacrosstherooftopsofeerieoldhangoverFrisco,wow,
I’vehittheendofthetrailandcantevendragmybodyanymoreevento
arefugeinthewoodsletalonestayuprightinthecityaminute—It’sthe
firsttripI’vetakenawayfromhome(mymother’shouse)sincethe
publicationof“Road”thebookthat“mademefamous”andinfactso
muchsoI’vebeendrivenmadforthreeyearsbyendlesstelegrams,
phonecalls,requests,mail,visitors,reporters,snoopers(abigvoicesaying

inmybasementwindowasIpreparetowriteastory:—AREYOU
BUSY?)orthetimethereporterranupstairstomybedroomasIsat
thereinmypajamastryingtowritedownadream—Teenagersjumping
thesix-footfenceI’dhadbuiltaroundmyyardforprivacy—Partieswith
bottlesyellingatmystudywindow“Comeonoutandgetdrunk,allwork
andnoplaymakesJackadullboy!”—Awomancomingtomydoorand
saying“I’mnotgoingtoaskyouifyou’reJackDuluozbecauseIknow
hewearsabeard,canyoutellmewhereIcanfindhim,Iwantareal
beatnikatmyannualShindigparty”—Drunkenvisitorspukinginmy
study,stealingbooksandevenpencils—Uninvitedacquaintancesstaying
fordaysbecauseofthecleanbedsandgoodfoodmymotherprovided—
Medrunkpracticallyallthetimetoputonajovialcaptokeepupwithall
thisbutfinallyrealizingIwassurroundedandoutnumberedandhadtoget
awaytosolitudeagainordie—SoLorenzoMonsantowroteandsaid
“Cometomycabin,noone’llknow,”etc.soIhadsneakedintoSan
FranciscoasIsay,coming3000milesfrommyhomeinLongIsland
(Northport)inapleasantroometteontheCaliforniaZephyrtrain
watchingAmericarollbyoutsidemyprivatepicturewindow,reallyhappy
forthefirsttimeinthreeyears,stayingintheroometteallthreedaysand
threenightswithmyinstantcoffeeandsandwiches—UptheHudson
ValleyandoveracrossNewYorkStatetoChicagoandthenthePlains,
themountains,thedesert,thefinalmountainsofCalifornia,allsoeasy
anddreamlikecomparedtomyoldharshhitchhikingsbeforeImade
enoughmoneytotaketranscontinentaltrains(alloverAmerica
highschoolandcollegekidsthinking“JackDuluozis26yearsoldandon
theroadallthetimehitchhiking”whilethereIamalmost40yearsold,
boredandjadedinaroomettebunkcrashinacrossthatSaltFlat)—Butin
anycaseawonderfulstarttowardsmyretreatsogenerouslyofferedby
sweetoldMonsantoandinsteadofgoingthrusmoothandeasyIwakeup
drunk,sick,disgusted,frightened,infactterrifiedbythatsadsongacross
theroofsminglingwiththelachrymosecriesofaSalvationArmymeeting
onthecornerbelow“Satanisthecauseofyouralcoholism,Satanisthe
causeofyourimmorality,Sataniseverywhereworkintodestroyyou
unlessyourepentnow”andworsethanthatthesoundofolddrunks
throwingupinroomsnexttomine,thecreakofhallsteps,themoans
everywhere—Includingthemoanthathadawakenedme,myownmoan
inthelumpybed,amoancausedbyabigroaringWhooWhooinmyhead
thathadshotmeoutofmypillowlikeaghost.

NDILOOKAROUNDT HEDISMALCELL

,there’smyhopefulrucksackall

neatlypackedwitheverythingnecessarytoliveinthewoods,evenunto
theminutestfirstaidkitanddietdetailsandevenaneatlittlesewingkit
cleverlyreinforcedbymygoodmother(likeextrasafetypins,buttons,
specialsewingneedles,littlealuminumscissors)—Thehopefulmedalof
St.Christopherevenwhichshe’dsewnontheflap—Thesurvivalkitallin
theredowntothelastlittlesurvivalsweaterandhandkerchiefandtennis
sneakers(forhiking)—Buttherucksacksitshopefullyinastrewnmess
ofbottlesallempty,emptypoorboysofwhiteport,butts,junk,horror....
“OnefastmoveorI’mgone,”Irealize,gonethewayofthelastthree
yearsofdrunkenhopelessnesswhichisaphysicalandspiritualand
metaphysicalhopelessnessyoucantlearninschoolnomatterhowmany
booksonexistentialismorpessimismyouread,orhowmanyjugsof
vision-producingAyahuascayoudrink,orMescalinetake,orPeyotegoop
upwith—Thatfeelingwhenyouwakeupwiththedeliriumtremenswith
thefearofeeriedeathdrippingfromyourearslikethosespecialheavy
cobwebsspidersweaveinthehotcountries,thefeelingofbeinga
bentbackmudmanmonstergroaningundergroundinhotsteamingmud
pullingalonghotburdennowhere,thefeelingofstandingankledeepinhot
boiledporkblood,ugh,ofbeinguptoyourwaistinagiantpanofgreasy
browndishwaternotatraceofsudsleftinit—Thefaceofyourselfyou
seeinthemirrorwithitsexpressionofunbearableanguishsohaggedand
awfulwithsorrowyoucantevencryforathingsougly,solost,no
connectionwhateverwithearlyperfectionandthereforenothingto
connectwithtearsoranything:it’slikeWilliamSewardBurroughs’
“Stranger”suddenlyappearinginyourplaceinthemirror—Enough!
“OnefastmoveorI’mgone”soIjumpup,domyheadstandfirstto
pumpbloodbackintothehairybrain,takeashowerinthehall,newT-
shirtandsocksandunderwear,packvigorously,hoisttherucksackand
runoutthrowingthekeyonthedeskandhitthecoldstreetandwalkfast
tothenearestlittlegrocerystoretobuytwodaysoffood,stickitinthe
rucksack,hikethrulostalleysofRussiansorrowwherebumssitheadon
kneesinfoggydoorwaysinthegoopyeeriecitynightI’vegottoescape
ordie,andintothebusstation—Inahalfhourintoabusseat,thebus

says“Monterey”andoffwegodownthecleanneonhiwayandIsleep
alltheway,wakingupamazedandwellagainsmellingseaairthebus
drivershakingme“Endoftheline,Monterey.”—AndbyGoditis
Monterey,Istandsleepyinthe2A.M.seeingvaguelittlefishingmasts
acrossthestreetfromthebusdriveway.NowallI’vegottodoto
completemyescapeisget14milesdownthecoasttotheRatonCanyon
bridgeandhikein.

“O

NEFAST MOVEORI’MGONE

”soIblow$8onacabtodrivemedown

thatcoast,it’safoggynightthosometimesyoucanseestarsintheskyto
therightwheretheseais,thoyoucantseetheseayoucanonlyhear
aboutitfromthecabdriver—“Whatkindacountryisitaroundhere?I’ve
neverseenit.”

“Well,youcantseeittonight—RatonCanyonyousay,youbetterbe

carefulwalkinaroundthereinthedark.”

“Why?”
“Well,justuseyourlamplikeyousay—”
AndsureenoughwhenheletsmeoffattheRatonCanyonbridgeand

countsthemoneyIsensesomethingwrongsomehow,there’sanawful
roarofsurfbutitisntcomingfromtherightplace,likeyou’dexpectitto
comefrom“overthere”butit’scomingfrom“underthere”—Icansee
thebridgebutIcanseenothingbelowit—Thebridgecontinuesthecoast
highwayfromoneblufftoanother,it’sanicewhitebridgewithwhiterails
andthere’sawhitelinerunnindownthemiddlefamiliarandhighwaylike
butsomething’swrong—Besidestheheadlightsofthecabjustshootout
overafewbushesintoemptyspaceinthedirectionwherethecanyon’s
supposedtobe,itfeelslikebeingupintheairsomewherethoIcansee
thedirtroadatourfeetandthedirtoverhangontheside—“Whatinthe
hellisthis?”—I’vegotthedirectionsallmemorizedfromalittlemap
Monsanto’smailedmebutinmyimaginationdreamingaboutthisbig
retreatbackhomethere’dbeensomethinglarkish,bucolic,allhomely
woodsandgladnessinsteadofallthisaerialroaringmysteryinthedark—
WhenthecableavesIthereforeturnonmyrailroadlanternforatimid
peekbutitsbeamgetslostjustlikethecarlightsinavoidandinfactthe
batteryisfairlyweakandIcanhardlyseethebluffatmyleft—Asfor
thebridgeIcantseeitanymoreexceptforgraduatingseriesofluminous
shoulderbuttonsgoingofffurtherintothelowsearoar—Thesearoaris
badenoughexceptitkeepsbashingandbarkingatmelikeadoginthe
fogdownthere,sometimesitboomstheearthbutmyGodwhereisthe
earthandhowcantheseabeunderground!—“Theonlythingtodo,”I
gulp,“istoputthislanternshininrightinfrontofyourfeet,kiddo,and
followthatlanternandmakesureit’sshininontheroadrutandhopeand

prayit’sshininongroundthat’sgonnabetherewhenit’sshining,”inother
wordsIactuallyfearthatevenmylampwillcarrymeastrayifIdareto
raiseitforaminutefromtherutsinthedirtroad—TheonlysatisfactionI
cangleanfromthisroaringhighhorrorofdarknessisthatthelamp
wobbleshugedarkshadowsofitslittlerimstaysontheoverhangingbluff
attheleftoftheroad,becausetotheright(wherethebushesare
wigglinginthewindfromthesea)thereaintnoshadowsbecausethere
aintnolightcantakehold—SoIstartmytrudge,packaback,justhead
downfollowingmylampspot,headdownbuteyessuspiciouslypeeringa
littleup,likeamaninthepresenceofadangerousidiothedoesntwantto
annoy—Thedirtroadstartsupalittle,curvestotheright,startsdowna
little,thensuddenlyupagain,andup—Bynowthesearoarisfurther
backandatonepointIevenstopandlookbacktoseenothing—“I’m
gonnaputoutmylightandseewhatIcansee”Isayrootedtomyfeet
wherethey’rerootedtothatroad—Fatlottagood,whenIputoutthelight
Iseenothingbutthedimsandatmyfeet.

TrudgingupandgettingfurtherawayfromthesearoarIgettofeel

moreconfidentbutsuddenlyIcometoafrighteningthingintheroad,I
stopandholdoutmyhand,edgeforward,it’sonlyacattlecrossing(iron
barsimbeddedacrosstheroad)butatthesametimeabigblastofwind
comesfromtheleftwherethebluffshouldbeandIspotthatwayand
seenothing.“Whatthehell’sgoingon!”“Followtheroad,”saystheother
voicetryingtobecalmsoIdobutthenextinstantIheararattlingtomy
right,throwmylightthere,seenothingbutbusheswigglingdryandmean
andjusttheproperhighcanyonwallkindofbushesfitforrattlesnakestoo
—(whichitwas,arattlesnakedoesntliketobeawakenedinthemiddle
ofthenightbyatrudginghumpbackedmonsterwithalamp.)

Butnowtheroad’sgoingdownagain,thereassuringbluffreappears

onmyleft,andprettysoonaccordingtomymemoryofLorry’smapthere
sheis,thecreek,Icanhearherlapplingandgabbingdownthereatthe
bottomofthedarkwhereatleastI’llbeonlevelgroundanddonewith
boomingairssomewhereabove—ButthecloserIgettothecreekasthe
roaddipssteeply,suddenly,almostmakingmetrotforward,thelouderit
roars,IbegintothinkI’llfallrightintoitbeforeIcannoticeit—It’s
screaminglikearagingfloodedriverrightbelowme—Besidesit’seven
darkerdowntherethananywhere!Therearegladesdownthere,ferns
ofhorrorandslipperylogs,mosses,dangerousplashings,humidmistsrise
coldlylikethebreathofdeath,bigdangeroustreesarebeginningtobend
overmyheadandbrushmypack—There’sanoiseIknowcanonlygrow

louderasIsinkdownandforfearhowlouditcangrowIstopandlisten,
itrisesupcrashingmysteriouslyatmefromaragingbattleamongdark
things,woodorrockorsomethingcracked,allsmashed,allwetblack
sunkenearthdanger—I’mafraidtogodownthere—Iamaffrayedin
theoldEdmundSpensersenseofbeingfrayedbyawhip,andawetone
atthat—Aslimygreendragonracketinthebush—Anangrywarthat
doesntwantmepokinaround—It’sbeenthereamillionyearsandit
doesntwantmeclashingdarknesswithit—Itcomessnarlingfroma
thousandcrevassesandmonsterredwoodrootsalloverthemapof
creation—Itisadarkclangororintherainforestanddoesntwantnoskid
rowbumtocarrytotheseawhichisbadenoughandwaitinbackthere—
Icanalmostfeeltheseapullingatthatracketinthetreesbutthere’smy
spotlampsoallIgottadoisfollowthelovelysandroadwhichdipsand
dipsinrisingcarnageandsuddenlyaflattening,asightofbridgelogs,
there’sthebridgerail,there’sthecreekjustfourfeetbelow,crossthe
bridgeyouwokenbumandseewhat’sontheothershore.

Takeonequickpeekatthewaterasyoucross,justwateroverrocks,

asmallcreekatthat.

Andnowbeforemeisadreamymeadowlandwithagoodoldcorral

gateandabarbedwirefencetheroadrunningrightonleftbutthiswhere
Igetoffatlast.ThenIcrawlthruthebarbedwireandfindmyself
trudgingasweetlittlesandroadwindingrightthrufragrantdryheathers
asthoI’djustpoppedthrufromhellintofamiliaroldHeavenonEarth,
yairandThankGod(thoaminutelatermyheart’sinmymouthagain
becauseIseeblackthingsinthewhitesandaheadbutit’sonlypilesof
goodoldmuledunginHeaven).

NDINT HEMORNING

(aftersleepingbythecreekinthewhitesand)Ido

seewhatwassoscaryaboutmycanyonroadwalk—Theroad’supthere
onthewallathousandfeetwithasheerdropsometimes,especiallyatthe
cattlecrossing,wayuphighest,whereabreakinthebluffshowsfog
pouringthroughfromanotherbendoftheseabeyond,scaryenoughin
itselfanywayasthooneholewasntenoughtoopenintothesea—And
worstofallisthebridge!Igoamblingseawardalongthepathbythe
creekandseethisawfulthinwhitelineofbridgeathousandunbridgeable
sighsofheightabovethelittlewoodsI’mwalkingin,youjustcantbelieve
it,andtomakethingsheart-thumpinglyhorribleyoucometoalittlebend
inwhatisnowjustatrailandthere’stheboomingsurfcomingatyou
whitecappedcrashingdownonsandasthoitwashigherthanwhereyou
stand,likeasuddentidalwaveworldenoughtomakeyoustepbackor
runbacktothehills—Andnotonlythat,theblueseabehindthecrashing
highwavesisfullofhugeblackrocksrisinglikeoldogresomecastles
drippingwetslime,abillionyearsofwoerightthere,themoogrusbig
clunkofitrighttherewithitsslaverouslipsoffoamatthebase—Sothat
youemergefrompleasantlittlewoodpathswithastemofgrassinyour
teethanddropittoseedoom—Andyoulookupatthatunbelievablyhigh
bridgeandfeeldeathandforagoodreason:becauseunderneaththe
bridge,inthesandrightbesidetheseacliff,hump,yourheartsinkstosee
it:theautomobilethatcrashedthruthebridgerailadecadeagoandfell
1000feetstraightdownandlandedupsidedown,isstilltherenow,an
upsidedownchassisofrustinastrewnskitterofsea-eatentires,old
spokes,oldcarseatssprungwithstraw,onesadfuelpumpandnomore
people—

BigelbowsofRockrisingeverywhere,seacaveswithinthem,seas

plollockingallaroundinsidethemcrashingoutfoams,theboomandpound
onthesand,thesanddippingquick(noMalibuBeachhere)—Yetyou
turnandseethepleasantwoodswindingupcreeklikeapicturein
Vermont—Butyoulookupintothesky,bendwayback,myGodyou’re
standingdirectlyunderthataerialbridgewithitsthinwhitelinerunning
fromrocktorockandwitlesscarsracingacrossitlikedreams!From
rocktorock!Allthewaydowntheragingcoast!SothatwhenlaterI

heardpeoplesay“OhBigSurmustbebeautiful!”Igulptowonderwhyit
hasthereputationofbeingbeautifulaboveandbeyonditsfearfulness,its
BlakeangroaningroughrockCreationthroes,thosevistaswhenyoudrive
thecoasthighwayonasunnydayopeninguptheeyeformilesofhorrible
washingsawing.

T WASEVENFRIGHT ENINGAT T HEOT HERPEACEFULEND

ofRatonCanyon,

theeastend,whereAlfthepetmuleoflocalsettlerssleptatnightsuch
sleepfullsleepsunderafewweirdtreesandthengotupinthemorningto
grazeinthegrassthennegotiatedthewholedistanceslowlytothesea
shorewhereyousawhimstandingbythewaveslikeanancientsacred
mythcharactermotionlessinthesand—AlftheSacredBurroIlater
calledhim—Thethingthatwasfrighteningwasthemountainthatroseup
attheeastend,astrangeBurmeselikemountainwithlevelsandmoody
terracesandastrangericepaddyhatontopthatIkeptstaringatwitha
sinkingheartevenatfirstwhenIwashealthyandfeelinggood(andI
wouldbegoingmadinthiscanyoninsixweeksonthefullmoonnightof
September3rd)—Themountainremindedmeofmyrecentrecurrent
nightmaresinNewYorkaboutthe“MountainofMienMo”withthe
swarmsofmoonyflyinghorseslyricallysweepingcapesovertheir
shouldersastheycircledthepeaka“thousandmileshigh”(inthedream
itsaid)andontopofthemountaininonehauntednightmareI’dseenthe
giantemptystonebenchessosilentinthetopworldmoonlightasthoonce
inhabitedbyGodsorgiantsofsomekindbutlongagovacatedsothat
theywerealldustyandcobwebbynowandtheevillurkedsomewhere
insidethepyramidnearbywheretherewasamonsterwithabig
thumpingheartbutalso,evenmoresinister,justordinaryseedybutmuddy
janitorscookingoversmallwoodfires—Narrowdustyholesthrough
whichI’dtriedtocrawlwithabunchoftomatoplantstiedaroundmy
neck—Dreams—Drinkingnightmares—Arecurrentseriesofthemall
swirlingaroundthatmountain,seentheveryfirsttimeasabeautfulbut
somehowhorriblygreenverdantmistenshroudedjunglepeakrisingoutof
greentropicalcountryin“Mexico”socalledbutbeyondwhichwere
pyramids,dryrivers,othercountriesfullofinfantryenemyandyetthe
biggestdangerbeingjusthoodlumsoutthrowingrocksonSundays—So
thatthesightofthatsimplesadmountain,togetherwiththebridgeand
thatcarthathadflippedovertwiceorsoandlandedflumpinthesand
withnomoresignofhumanelbowsorshredneckties(likeaterrifying
poemaboutAmericayoucouldwrite),agh,HOOHOOofOwlslivingin
oldevilhollowtreesinthatmistytangledfurtherpartofthecanyon

whereIwasalwaysafraidtogoanyhow—Thatunclimbablytangled
steepcliffatthebaseofMienMorisingtogawkydeadtreesamong
bushessodenseanduptoheathersGodknowshowdeepwithhidden
cavesnoonenotevenIsposetheIndiansofthe10thCenturyhadever
explored—Andthosebiggookyrainforestfernsamonglightningstruck
conifersrightbesidesuddenblackvineclifffacesrisingrightatyourside
asyouwalkthepeacefulpath—AndasIsaythatoceancomingatyou
higherthanyouareliketheharborsofoldwoodcutsalwayshigherthan
thetowns(asRimbaudpointedoutshuddering)—Somanyevil
combinationsevenuntothebatwhowouldcomeatmelaterwhileIslept
ontheoutdoorcotontheporchofLorenzo’scabin,comecirclemyhead
comingreallowsometimesfillingmewiththetraditionalfearit’llget
tangledinmyhair,andsuchsilentwings,howwouldyouliketowakeup
inthemiddleofthenightandseesilentwingsbeatingoveryouandyou
askyourself“DoIreallybelieveinVampires?”—Infact,flyingsilently
aroundmylamplitcabinat3o’clockinthemorningasI’mreading(ofall
things)(shudder)DoctorJekyllandMisterHyde—Smallwonder
maybethatImyselfturnedfromsereneJekylltohystericalHydeinthe
shortspaceofsixweeks,losingabsolutecontrolofthepeace
mechanismsofmymindforthefirsttimeinmylife.

ButAh,atfirsttherewerefinedaysandnights,rightafterMonsanto

drovemetoMontereyandbackwithtwoboxesofafullgrublistandleft
metherealoneforthreeweeksofsolitude,aswe’dagreed—Sofearless
andhappyIevenspottedhispowerfulflashlightupatthebridgethefirst
night,rightthruthefogtheeeriefingerreachingthepalebottomofthat
highmonstrosity,andevenspotteditoutoverthefarmlessseaasIsatby
cavesinthecrashingdarkinmyfisherman’soutfitwritingdownwhatthe
seawassaying—Worstofallspottingitupatthosetangledmadcliffsides
whereowlshootedooraloo—Becomingacquaintedandswallowingfears
andsettlingdowntolifeinthelittlecabinwithitswarmglowof
woodstoveandkerosenelampandlettheghostsflytheirassesoff—The
Bhikku’shomeinhiswoods,heonlywantspeace,peacehewillget—
Thowhyafterthreeweeksofperfecthappypeaceandadjustmentin
thesestrangewoodsmysoulsowentdownthedrainwhenIcameback
withDaveWainandRomanaandmygirlBillieandherkid,I’llnever
know—WorththetellingonlyifIdigdeepintoeverything.

Becauseitwassobeautifulatfirst,eventhecircumstanceofmy

sleepingbagsuddenlyeruptingfeathersinthemiddleofthenightasI
turnedovertosleepon,soIcurseandhavetogetupandsewitby

lamplightorinthemorningitmightbeemptyoffeathers—AndasIbend
poormotherheadovermyneedleandthreadinthecabin,bythefresh
fireandinthelightofthekerosenelamp,herecomethosedamnedsilent
blackwingsflappingandthrowingshadowsallovermylittlehome,the
bloodybat’scomeinmyhouse—Tryingtosewapoorpatchonmyold
crumblysleepingbag(mostlyruinedbymyhavingtosweatoutafever
insideofitinahotelroominMexicoCityin1957rightafterthegigantic
earthquakethere),thenylonallrottenalmostfromallthatoldsweat,but
stillsoft,thososoftIhavetocutoutapieceofoldshirtflapandpatch
overtherip—Irememberlookingupfrommymiddleofthenightchore
andsayingbleakly“They,yes,havebatsinMienMovalley”—Butthe
firecrackles,thepatchgetssewn,thecreekgurglesandthumpsoutside
—Acreekhavingsomanyvoicesit’samazing,fromthekettledrumbasin
deepbumpbumpstothelittlegurglyfemininecricklesovershallowrocks,
suddenchorusesofothersingersandvoicesfromthelogdam,dibble
dabbleallnightlongandalldaylongthevoicesofthecreekamusingme
somuchatfirstbutinthelaterhorrorofthatmadnessnightbecomingthe
babbleandraveofevilangelsinmyhead—Sonotmindingthebatorthe
ripfinally,endingupcantsleepbecausetooawakenowandit’s3A.M.
sothefireIstokeandIsettledownandreadtheentireDoctorJekyll
andMisterHydenovelinthewonderfullittlehandsizedleatherbookleft
therebysmartMonsantowhoalsomust’vereaditwithwideeyesona
nightlikethat—Endingthelastelegantsentencesatdawn,timetogetup
andfetchwaterfromgurglycreekandstartbreakfastofpancakesand
syrup—Andsayingtomyself“Sowhyfretwhensomethinggoeswrong
likeyoursleepingbagbreakinginthenight,useselfreliance”—“Screw
thebats”Iadd.

MarvelousopeningmomentinfactofthefirstafternoonI’mleftalone

inthecabinandImakemyfirstmeal,washmyfirstdishes,nap,and
wakeuptoheartherapturousringofsilenceorHeavenevenwithinand
throughoutthegurgleofthecreek—WhenyousayAMALONEandthe
cabinissuddenlyhomeonlybecauseyoumadeonemealandwashed
yourfirstmealdishes—Thennightfall,thereligiousvestalfightingofthe
beautifulkerosenelampaftercarefulwashingofthemantleinthecreek
andcarefuldryingwithtoiletpaper,whichspoilsitbyspeckingitsoyou
againwashitinthecreekandthistimejustletthemantledripdryinthe
sun,thelateafternoonsunthatdisappearssoquicklybehindthosegiant
highsteepcanyonwalls—Nightfall,thekerosenelampcastsaglowinthe
cabin,IgooutandpicksomefernslikethefernsoftheLankavatara

Scripture,thosehairnetferns,“Looksirs,abeautifulhairnet!”—Late
afternoonfogpoursinoverthecanyonwalls,sweep,coverthesun,it
getscold,eventhefliesontheporchareassosadasthefogonthe
peaks—AsdaylightretreatsthefliesretreatlikepoliteEmilyDickinson
fliesandwhenit’sdarkthey’reallasleepintreesorsomeplace—Athigh
noonthey’reinthecabinwithyoubutedgingfurthertowardstheopen
doorsillastheafternoonlengthens,howstrangelygracious—There’sthe
humofthebeedronetwoblocksawaytheracketofityou’dthinkitwas
rightovertheroof,whenthebeedroneswirlsnearerandnearer(gulp
again)youretreatintothecabinandwait,maybetheygotamessageto
comeandseeyoualltwothousandofem—Butgettingusedtothebee
dronefinallywhichseemstohappenlikeabigpartyonceaweek—And
soeverythingeventuallymarvelous.

Eventhefirstfrighteningnightonthebeachinthefogwithmy

notebookandpencil,sittingtherecrossleggedinthesandfacingallthe
Pacificfuryflashingonrocksthatriselikegloomyseashroudtowersout
ofthecove,thebingbangcovewithitsseasboominginsidecavesand
slappingout,thecitiesofseaweedfloatingupanddownyoucanevensee
theirdarkleerinthephosphorescentseabeachnightlight—Thatfirstnight
IsitthereandallIknow,asIlookup,isthekitchenlightison,onthe
cliff,totheright,wheresomebody’sjustbuiltacabinoverlookingallthe
horribleSur,somebodyupthere’shavingamildandtendersupperthat’s
allIknow—Thelightsfromthecabinkitchenuptheregooutlikealittle
weaklighthousebeaconandendssuspendedathousandfeetoverthe
crashingshore—Whowouldbuildacabinuptherebutsomeboredbut
hoaryoldadventurousarchitectmaybegotsickofrunningforcongress
andoneofthesedaysabigOrsonWellestragedywithscreamingghosts
awomaninawhitenightgown’llgoflyingdownthatsheercliff—But
actuallyinmymindwhatIreallyseeisthekitchenlightsofthatmildand
tendermaybeevenromanticsupperupthere,inallthathowlingfog,and
hereIamwaybelowintheVulcan’sForgeitselflookingupwithsad
eyes—BlankingmylittleCamelcigaretteonabillionyearoldrockthat
risesbehindmyheadtoaheightunbelievable—Thelittlekitchenlighton
thecliffisonlyontheendofit,behindittheshouldersofthegreatsea
houndcliffgorisingupandbackandsweepinginlandhigherandhigher
tillIgasptothink“Lookslikearecliningdog,bigfrigginshouldersonthat
sonofabitch”—Risethandsweepethandscarethmentodeathbutwhatis
deathanywayinallthiswaterandrock.

Ifixupmysleepingbagontheporchofthecabinbutat2A.M.thefog

startsdrippingallwetsoIhavetogoindoorswithwetsleepingbagand
makenewarrangementsbutwhocantsleeplikealoginasolitarycabin
inthewoods,youwakeupinthelatemorningsorefreshedandrealizing
theuniversenamelessly:theuniverseisanAngel—Buteasyenoughto
saywhenyou’vehadyourescapefromthegookycityturnintoasuccess
—Andit’sfinallyonlyinthewoodsyougetthatnostalgiafor“cities”at
last,youdreamoflonggrayjourneystocitieswheresoftevenings’ll
unfoldlikeParisbutneverseeinghowsickeningitwillbebecauseofthe
primordialinnocenceofhealthandstillnessinthewilds—SoItellmyself
“BeWise.”

HOUGHT HEREAREFAULT ST OMONSANT O’SCABIN

likenoscreened

windowstokeepthefliesoutinthedaytimejustbigboardwindows,so
thatalsoonfoggydayswhenit’sdampifyouleavethemopenit’stoo
cold,ifyouleavethemclosedyoucantseeanythingandhavetolightthe
lampatnoon—Andbutforthatnootherfaults—It’sallmarvelous—And
atfirstit’ssoamazingtobeabletoenjoydreamyafternoonmeadowsof
heatheruptheotherendofthecanyonandjustbywalkinglessthana
halfmileyoucansuddenlyalsoenjoywildgloomyseacoast,orifyou’re
sickofeitherofthesejustsitbythecreekinagladeyspotanddream
oversnags—Soeasyinthewoodstodaydreamandpraytothelocal
spiritsandsay“Allowmetostayhere,Ionlywantpeace”andthose
foggypeaksanswerbackmutelyYes—Andtosaytoyourself(ifyou’re
likemewiththeologicalpreoccupations)(atleastatthattime,beforeI
wentmadIstillhadsuchpreoccupations)“Godwhoiseverything
possessestheeyeofawakening,likedreamingalongdreamofan
impossibletaskandyouwakeupinaflash,oops,NoTask,it’sdoneand
gone”—AndintheflushofthefirstfewdaysofjoyIconfidentlytell
myself(notexpectingwhatI’lldointhreeweeksonly)“nomore
dissipation,it’stimeformetoquietlywatchtheworldandevenenjoyit,
firstinwoodslikethese,thenjustcalmlywalkandtalkamongpeopleof
theworld,nobooze,nodrugs,nobinges,noboutswithbeatniksand
drunksandjunkiesandeverybody,nomoreIaskmyselfthequestionO
whyisGodtorturingme,that’sit,bealoner,travel,talktowaitersonly,
infact,inMilan,Paris,justtalktowaiters,walkaround,nomoreself
imposedagony...it’stimetothinkandwatchandkeepconcentratedon
thefactthatafterallthiswholesurfaceoftheworldasweknowitnow
willbecoveredwiththesiltofabillionyearsintime...Yay,forthis,
morealoneness”—“Gobacktochildhood,justeatapplesandreadyour
Cathechism—sitoncurbstones,thehellwiththehotlightsofHollywood”
(rememberingthatawfultimeonlyayearearlierwhenIhadtorehearse
myreadingofproseathirdtimeunderthehotlightsoftheSteveAllen
ShowintheBurbankstudio,onehundredtechnicianswaitingformeto
startreading,SteveAllenwatchingmeexpectantasheplunksthepiano,
Isitthereonthedunce’sstoolandrefusetoreadawordoropenmy

mouth,“IdonthavetoREHEARSEforGod’ssakeSteve!”—“Butgo
ahead,wejustwantagetthetoneofyourvoice,justthislasttime,I’lllet
youoffthedressrehearsal”andIsittheresweatingnotsayingaword
forawholeminuteaseverybodywatches,finallyIsay“NoIcantdoit”
andIgoacrossthestreettogetdrunk)(butsurprisingeverybodythe
nightoftheshowbydoingmyjobofreadingjustfine,whichsurprisesthe
producersandsotheytakemeoutwithaHollywoodstarletwhoturns
outtobeabigboretryingtoreadmeherpoetryandwonttalklove
becauseinHollywoodmanloveisforsale)—Soeventhatmarvelous,
longremembrancesoflifeallthetimeintheworldtojustsitthereorlie
thereorwalkaboutslowlyrememberingallthedetailsoflifewhichnow
becauseamillionlightyearsawayhavetakenontheaspect(asthey
must’veforProustinhissealedroom)ofpleasantmentalmoviesbrought
upatwillandprojectedforfurtherstudy—Andpleasure—AsIimagine
Godtobedoingthisveryminute,watchinghisownmovie,whichisus.

EvenwhenonenightI’msohappysighintoturnovertoresumemy

sleepbutaratsuddenlyrunsovermyhead,it’smarvelousbecauseIthen
takethefoldingcotandputabigwideboardonitthatcoversbothsides,
soIwontsinkintothecanvasconfinesthere,andplacetwoold
sleepingbagsovertheboard,thenmyownontop,Ihavethemost
marvelousandratfreeandinfacthealthy-for-the-backbedintheworld.

Ialsotakelongcurioushikestoseewhat’swhatintheotherdirection

inland,goingupafewmilesalongthedirtroadthatleadstoisolated
ranchesandloggingcamps—Icometogiantsadquietvalleyswhereyou
see150foottallredwoodtreeswithsometimesonelittlebirdrightonthe
topmostpeaktwigstickingstraightup—Thebirdbalancesupthere
surveyingthefogandthegreattrees—Youseeonesingleflowernodding
onacliffsidefaracrossthecanyon,orahugeknotinaredwoodtree
lookinglikeZeus’face,orsomeofGod’slittlecrazycreationsgoofing
aroundincreekpools(zigzagbugs),orasignonalonelyfencesaying
“M.P.Passey,NoTrespassing,”orterracesofferninthedripping
redwoodshade,andyouthink“Alongwayfromthebeatgeneration,in
thisrainforest”—SoIanglebackdowntothehomecanyonanddown
thepathpastthecabinandouttotheseawherethemuleisonthesea
shore,nibblingunderthatonethousandfootbridgeorsometimesjust
standingstaringatmewithbigbrownGardenofEdeneyes—Themule
beingapetofoneofthefamilieswhohaveacabininthecanyonandit,
asIsayAlfbyname,justwandersfromoneendofthecanyonwhere
thecorralfencestopshim,tothewildseashorewheretheseastopshim

butastrangeGauguinesquemulewhenyoufirstseehim,leavinghis
blackdungontheperfectwhitesand,animmortalandprimordialmule
owningawholevalley—IevenfinallylaterfindoutwhereAlfsleeps
whichislikeasacredgroveoftreesinthatdreamingmeadowofheather
—SoIfeedAlfthelastofmyappleswhichhereceiveswithbigfaroff
teethinsidehissofthairymuzzle,neverbiting,justmuffingupmyapple
frommyoutstretchedpalm,andchompingawaysadly,turningtoscratch
hisbehindagainstatreewithabigeroticmotionthatgetsworseand
worsetillfinallyhe’sstandingtherewitherectiledongthatwouldscare
theWhoreofBabylonletaloneme.

AllkindsofstrangeandmarvelousthingsliketheweirdRipleysituation

ofahugetreethat’sfallenacrossacreekmaybe500yearsagoand’s
madeabridgethereby,theotherendofitstrunkisnowburiedintenfeet
ofsiltandfoliage,strangeenoughbutoutofthemiddletrunkoverthe
waterrisesstraightanotherredwoodtreelookinglikeit’sbeenplatedin
thetreetrunk,orstuckdownintoitbyaGodhand,Icantfigureitoutand
stareatthischewingfuriouslyonbigchokinghandfullsofpeanutslikea
collegeboy—(andonlyweeksbeforefallingonmyheadintheBowery)
—EvenwhenaranchercargoesbyIday-dreammadideaslike,here
comesFarmerJonesandhistwodaughtersandhereIamwitha60-foot
redwoodtreeundermyarmwalkingslowlypullingitalong,theyare
amazedandscared,“Arewedreaming?cananybodybethatstrong?”
theyevenaskmeandmybigZenansweris“YouonlythinkI’mstrong”
andIgoondowntheroadcarryingmytree—Thishasmelaughingin
cloverfieldsforhours—Ipassacowwhichturnstolookatmeasit
takesabigdreamycrap—BackinthecabinIlightthefireandsitsighing
andthereareleavesskitteringonthetinroof,it’sAugustinBigSur—I
fallasleepinthechairandwhenIwakeupI’mfacingthethicklittle
tangledwoodsoutsidethedoorandIsuddenlyrememberthemfromlong
ago,eventotheparticularclumpnessofthethickets,stembystem,the
twistofthem,likeanoldhomeplace,butjustasI’mwonderingwhatall
thismessis,bang,thewindclosesthecabindooronmysightofit!—SoI
conclude“Iseeasmuchasdoors’llallow,openorshut”—Adding,asI
getup,inaloudEnglishLordvoicenobodycanhearanyway,“Anissue
broachedisanissuesmote,Sire,”pronouncing“issue”like“iss-yew”—
Andthishasmelaughingallthroughsupper—Whichispotatoeswrapped
infoilandthrownonthefire,andcoffee,andhunksofSpamroastedona
spit,andapplesauceandcheese—AndwhenIlightthelampof
aftersupperreading,herecomesthenightlymothtohisnightlydeathat

mylamp—AfterIputoutthelamptemporarily,there’sthemothsleeping
onthewallnotrealizingI’veputitonagain.

Meanwhilebythewayandhowever,everydayiscoldandcloudy,or

damp,notcoldintheeasternsense,andeverynightisabsolutelyfog:no
starswhatevertobeseen—Butthistooturnsouttobeamarvelous
circumstanceasIfindoutlater,it’sthe“dampseason”andtheother
dwellers(weekenders)ofthecanyondontcomeoutonweekends,I’m
absolutelyaloneforweeksonend(becauselaterinAugustwhenthesun
conqueredthefogsuddenlyIwasamazedtohearlaughingand
scratchingallupanddownthevalleywhichhadbeenmineonlymine,and
whenItriedtogotothebeachtosquatandwritetherewerewhole
familieshavingoutings,someofthemyoungerpeoplewho’dsimply
parkedtheircarsuponthehighbridgebluffandclimbeddown)(someof
theminfactgangsofyellinghoodlums)—Sotherainforestsummerfog
wasgrandandbesideswhenthesunprevailedinAugustahorrible
developmenttookplace,hugeblastsoffrighteninggalelikewindcame
pouringintothecanyonmakingallthetreesroarwithareallyfrightening
intensitythatsometimesbuiltuptoaboomingwaroftreesthatshookthe
cabinandwokeyouup—Andwasinfactoneofthethingsthat
contributedtomymadfit.

ButthemostmarvelousdayofallwhenIcompletelyforgotwhoIwas

whereIwasorthetimeadayjustwithmypantsrolledupabovemy
kneeswadinginthecreekrearrangingtherocksandsomeofthesnags
sothatthewaterwhereIstooped(nearthesandyshore)togetjugfuls
would,insteadofjustsluggishlypassingbyshallowovermud,withbugsin
it,nowcomerushinginapuregurglyclearstreamanddeeptoo—Idug
intothewhitesandandarrangedundergroundrockssonowIcouldstick
ajuginthereandtilttheopeningtothestreamanditwouldfillup
instantlywithclearrushingunstagnatedbuglessdrinkingwater—Making
amillrace,iswhatit’scalled—Andbecausenowthewaterrushedso
fastanddeeprightbythesandystoopingplaceIhadtobuildakindof
seawallofrocksagainstthatrushsothattheshorewouldnotbesilted
awaybytherace—Doingthat,fortifyingtheoutsideoftheseawallwith
smallerrocksandfinallyatsundownwithbentheadovermysniffling
endeavors(thewayakidsniffleswhenhe’sbeenplayingallday)Istart
insertingtinypebblesinthespacesbetweenthestonessothatnowater
cansneakovertowashawaytheshore,evendowntothetiniestsand,a
perfectseawall,whichItopwithawoodplankforeverybodytokneelon
whentheycometheretofetchtheirholywater—Lookingupfromthis

workofanentireday,fromnoontillsundown,amazedtoseewhereI
was,whoIwas,whatI’ddone—TheabsoluteinnocencelikeofIndian
fashioningacanoeallaloneinthewoods—AndasIsayonlyweeks
earlierI’dfallenflatonmyheadintheBoweryandeverybodythought
I’dhurtmyself—SoImakesupperwithahappysongandgooutinthe
foggymoonlight(themoonsentitswhiteluminescencethrough)and
marveledtowatchthenewswiftgurglingclearwaterrunwithitspretty
flashesoflight—“Andwhenthefog’soverandthestarsandthemoon
comeoutatnightit’llbeabeautifulsight.”

Andsuchthings—Awholemessoflittlejoyslikethatamazingme

whenIcamebackinthehorroroflatertoseehowthey’dallchanged
andbecomesinister,evenmypoorlittlewoodplatformandmillrace
whenmyeyesandmystomachnauseousandmysoulscreaminga
thousandbabblingwords,oh—It’shardtoexplainandbestthingtodois
notbefalse.

ECAUSEONT HEFOURT HDAYIBEGANT OGET BORED

andnoteditinmy

diarywithamazement,“Alreadybored?”—Eventhothehandsomewords
ofEmersonwouldshakemeoutofthatwherehesays(inoneofthose
littleredleatherbooks,intheessayon“SelfReliance”aman“isrelieved
andgaywhenhehasputhisheartintohisworkanddonehisbest”)
(applicablebothtobuildingsimplesillylittlemillracesandwritingbig
stupidstorieslikethis)—Wordsfromthattrumpetofthemorningin
America,Emerson,hewhoannouncedWhitmanandalsosaid“Infancy
conformstonobody”—Theinfancyofthesimplicityofjustbeinghappyin
thewoods,conformingtonobody’sideaaboutwhattodo,whatshouldbe
done—“Lifeisnotanapology”—Andwhenavainandmalicious
philanthropicabolitionistaccusedhimofbeingblindtotheissuesof
slaveryhesaid“Thyloveafarisspiteathome”(maybethephilanthropist
hadNegrohelpanyway)—SoonceIagainI’mTiJeantheChild,playing,
sewingpatches,cookingsuppers,washingdishes(alwayskeptthekettle
boilingonthefireandanytimedishesneedtobewashedIjustpourhot
hotwaterintopanwithTidesoapandsoakthemgoodandthenwipe
themcleanafterscouringwithlittle5-&-10wirescourer)—Longnights
simplythinkingabouttheusefulnessofthatlittlewirescourer,thoselittle
yellowcopperthingsyoubuyinsupermarketsfor10cents,alltome
infinitelymoreinterestingthanthestupidandsenseless“Steppenwolf”
novelintheshackwhichIreadwithashrug,thisoldfartreflectingthe
“conformity”oftodayandallthewhilehethoughthewasabig
Nietzsche,oldimitatorofDostoevsky50yearstoolate(hefeels
tormentedina“personalhell”hecallsitbecausehedoesntlikewhat
otherpeoplelike!)—Betteratnoontowatchtheorangeandblack
Princetoncolorsonthewingsofabutterfly—Besttogohearthesound
oftheseaatnightontheshore.

MaybeIshouldnagoneoutandscaredorboredorbelaboredmyselfso

much,tho,onthatbeachatnightwhichwouldscareanyordinarymortal
—EverynightaroundeightaftersupperI’dputonmybigfishermancoat
andtakethenotebook,pencilandlampandstartdownthetrail
(sometimespassingghostlyAlfontheway)andgounderthatfrightful
highbridgeandseethroughthedarkfogaheadthewhitemouthsof

oceancominghighatme—ButknowingtheterrainI’dwalkrighton,
jumpthebeachcreek,andgotomycornerbythecliffnotfarfromone
ofthecavesandsittherelikeanidiotinthedarkwritingdownthesound
ofthewavesinthenotebookpage(secretarialnotebook)whichIcould
seewhiteinthedarknessandthereforewithoutbenefitoflampscrawlon
—IwasafraidtolightmylampforfearI’dscarethepeoplewayup
thereonthecliffeatingtheirnightlytendersupper—(laterfoundoutthere
wasnobodyupthereeatingtendersuppers,theywereovertime
carpentersfinishingtheplaceinbrightlights)—AndI’dgetscaredofthe
risingtidewithits15footwavesyetsittherehopinginfaiththatHawaii
warntsendingnotidalwaveImightmissseeinginthedarkcomingfrom
milesawayhighasGroomus—OnenightIgotscaredanywaysosaton
topof10footcliffatthefootofthebigcliffandthewavesaregoing
“Rare,herammedthegaterare”—“Rawrooroar”—“Crowsh”—the
waywavessoundespeciallyatnight—Theseanotspeakinginsentences
somuchasinshortlines:“Whichone?...theoneploshed?....the
same,ahBoom”...Writingdownthesefantasticinanitiesactuallybut
yetIfeltIhadtodoitbecauseJamesJoycewasntabouttodoitnowhe
wasdead(andfiguring“NextyearI’llwritethedifferentsoundofthe
AtlanticcrashingsayonthenightshoresofCornwall,orthesoftsoundof
theIndianOceancrashingatthemouthoftheGangesmaybe”)—AndI
justsittherelisteningtothewavestalkallupanddownthesandin
differenttonesofvoice“Kabloom,kerplosh,ahropeyotterbarnacledbe,
crowsh,areropetheangelsinallthesea?”andsuch

—Lookingup

occasionallytoseerarecarscrossingthehighbridgeandwonderingwhat
they’dseeonthisdrearfoggynightiftheyknewamadmanwasdown
thereathousandfeetbelowinallthatwindyfurysittinginthedark
writinginthedark—Somesortofseabeatnik,thoanybodywantstocall
meabeatnikforTHISbettertryitiftheydare—Thehugeblackrocks
seemtomove—Thebleakawfulroaringisolateness,noordinaryman
coulddoitI’mtellingyou—IamaBreton!Icryandtheblackness
speaksback“LespoissonsdelamerparlentBreton”(thefishesofthe
seaspeakBreton)—NeverthelessIgothereeverynighteventhoIdont
feellikeit,it’smyduty(andprobablydrovememad),andwritethesesea
sounds,andallthewholeinsanepoem“Sea.”

Alwayssowonderfulinfacttogetawayfromthatandbacktothe

morehumanwoodsandcometothecabinwherethefire’sstillredand
youcanseetheBodhisattva’slamp,theglassoffernsonthetable,the
boxofJasmineteanearby,allsogentleandhumanafterthatrocky

delugeoutthere—SoImakeanexcellentpanofmuffinsandtellmyself
“Blessedisthemancanmakehisownbread”—Likethat,thewhole
threeweeks,happiness—AndI’mrollingmyowncigarettes,too—And
asIsaysometimesImeditatehowwonderfulthefantasticuseI’ve
gottenoutofcheaplittlearticleslikethescourer,butinthisinstanceI
thinkofthemarvelousbelongingsinmyrucksacklikemy25centplastic
shakerwithwhichI’vejustmadethemuffinbatterbutalsoI’veuseditin
thepasttodrinkhottea,wine,coffee,whiskyandevenstoredclean
handkerchiefsinitwhenItraveled—Thetoppartoftheshaker,myholy
cup,andhaditforfiveyearsnow—Andotherbelongingssovaluable
comparedtotheworthlessnessofexpensivethingsI’dboughtandnever
used—LikemyblacksoftsleepingsweateralsofiveyearswhichIwas
nowwearinginthedampSursummernightandday,overaflannelshirt
inthecold,andjustthesweaterforthenight’ssleepinthebag—Endless
useandvirtueofit!—Andbecausetheexpensivethingswereofilluse,
likethefancypantsI’dboughtforrecentrecordingdatesinNewYork
andothertelevisionappearancesandneverevenworeagain,useless
thingslikea$40raincoatIneverworebecauseitdidntevenhaveslitsin
thesidepockets(youpayforthelabelandthesocalled“tailoring”)—
AlsoanexpensivetweedjacketboughtforTVandneverwornagain—
TwosillysportsshirtsboughtforHollywoodneverwornagainandwere
9buckseach!—Andit’salmosttearfultorealizeandremembertheold
greenT-shirtI’dfound,mindyou,eightyearsago,mindyou,onthe
DUMPinWatsonvilleCaliforniamindyou,andgotfantasticuseand
comfortfromit—Likeworkingtofixthatnewstreaminthecreektoflow
throughtheconvenientdeepnewwaterholenearthewoodplatformon
thebank,andlosingmyselfinthislikeakidplaying,it’sthelittlethings
thatcount(clichésaretruismsandalltruismsaretrue)—Onmydeathbed
IcouldberememberingthatcreekdayandforgettingthedayMGM
boughtmybook,IcouldberememberingtheoldlostgreendumpT-shirt
andforgettingthesapphiredrobes—Mebbethebestwaytogetinto
Heaven.

Igobacktothebeachinthedaytimetowritemy“Sea,”Istandthere

barefootbytheseastoppingtoscratchoneanklewithonetoe,Ihearthe
rhythmofthosewaves,andthey’resayingsuddenly“IsVirginyoutrying
tofathomme”—Igobacktomakeapotoftea.

Summerafternoon—

Impatientlychewing

TheJasmineleaf

Athighnoonthesunalwayscomingoutatlast,strong,beatingdown

onmynicehighporchwhereIsitwithbooksandcoffeeandthenoonI
thoughtabouttheancientIndianswhomusthaveinhabitedthiscanyon
forthousandsofyears,howevenasfarbackatthe10thCenturythis
valleymusthavelookedthesame,justdifferenttrees:theseancient
IndianssimplytheancestorsoftheIndiansofonlyrecentlysay1860—
Howthey’vealldiedandquietlyburiedtheirgrievancesandexcitements
—Howthecreekmayhavebeenaninchdeepersinceloggingoperations
ofthelast60yearshaveremovedsomeofthewatershedinthehillsback
there—Howthewomenpoundedthelocalacorns,acornsorshmacorns,
Ifinallyfoundthenaturalnutsofthevalleyandtheyweresweettasting
—Andmenhunteddeer—InfactGodknowswhattheydidbecauseI
wasnthere—Butthesamevalley,athousandyearsofdustmoreorless
overtheirfootstepsof960A.D.—AndasfarasIcanseetheworldis
toooldforustotalkaboutitwithournewwords—Wewillpassjustas
quietlythroughlife(passingthrough,passingthrough)asthe10thcentury
peopleofthisvalleyonlywithalittlemorenoiseandafewbridgesand
damsandbombsthatwontevenlastamillionyears—Theworldbeing
justwhatitis,movingandpassingthrough,actuallyalrightinthelong
viewandnothingtocomplainabout—Eventherocksofthevalleyhad
earlierrockancestors,abillionbillionyearsago,haveleftnohowlof
complaint—Neitherthebee,orthefirstseaurchins,ortheclam,orthe
severedpaw—AllsadSo-Issightoftheworld,rightthereinfrontofmy
noseasIlook,—AndlookingatthatvalleyinfactIalsorealizeIhaveto
makelunchanditwontbeanydifferentthanthelunchofthoseolden
menandbesidesit’lltastegood—Everythingisthesame,thefogsays
“Wearefogandweflybydissolvinglikeephemera,”andtheleavessay
“Weareleavesandwejiggleinthewind,that’sall,wecomeandgo,
growandfall”—Eventhepaperbagsinmygarbagepitsay“Weare
man-transformedpaperbagsmadeoutofwoodpulp,wearekindaproud
ofbeingpaperbagsaslongasthatwillbepossible,butwe’llbemush
againwithoursisterstheleavescomerainyseason”—Thetreestumps
say“Wearetreestumpstornoutofthegroundbymen,sometimesby
wind,wehavebigtendrilsfullofearththatdrinkoutoftheearth”—Men
say“Wearemen,wepullouttreestumps,wemakepaperbags,wethink
wisethoughts,wemakelunch,welookaround,wemakeagreateffortto
realizeeverythingisthesame”—Whilethesandsays“Wearesand,we

alreadyknow,”andtheseasays“Wearealwayscomeandgo,falland
plosh”—Theemptyblueskyofspacesays“Allthiscomesbacktome,
thengoesagain,andcomesbackagain,thengoesagain,andIdontcare,
itstillbelongstome”—Theblueskyadds“Dontcallmeeternity,callme
Godifyoulike,allofyoutalkersareinparadise:theleafisparadise,the
treestumpisparadise,thepaperbagisparadise,themanisparadise,the
sandisparadise,theseaisparadise,themanisparadise,thefogis
paradise”—Canyouimagineamanwithmarvelousinsightslikethese
cangomadwithinamonth?(becauseyoumustadmitallthosetalking
paperbagsandsandsweretellingthetruth)—ButIrememberseeinga
messofleavessuddenlygoskitteringinthewindandintothecreek,then
floatingrapidlydownthecreektowardsthesea,makingmefeela
namelesshorroreventhenof“OhmyGod,we’reallbeingsweptaway
toseanomatterwhatweknoworsayordo”—Andabirdwhowasona
crookedbranchissuddenlygonewithoutmyevenhearinghim.

UT T HERE’SMOONLIT FOGNIGHT

,theblossomsofthefireflamesinthe

stove—There’sgivinganappletothemule,thebiglipstakinghold—
There’sthebluejaydrinkingmycannedmilkbythrowinghisheadback
withamiffleofmilkonhisbeak—There’sthescratchingoftheraccoon
oroftheratoutthere,atnight—There’sthepoorlittlemouseeatingher
nightlysupperinthehumblecornerwhereI’veputoutalittledelight-plate
fullofcheeseandchocolatecandy(formydaysofkillingmiceareover)
—There’stheraccooninhisfog,therethemantohisfireside,andboth
arelonesomeforGod—There’smecomingbackfromseaside
nightsittingslikeamutteringoldBhikkustumblingdownthepath—
There’smethrowingmyspotlightonasuddenraccoonwhoclambersup
atreehislittleheartbeatingwithfearbutIyellinFrench“Hellothere
littleman”(allotibonhomme)—There’sthebottleofolives,49¢,
imported,pimentos,Ieatthemonebyonewonderingaboutthelate
afternoonhillsidesofGreece—Andthere’smyspaghettiwithtomato
sauceandmyoilandvinegarsaladandmyapplesaucerelishemydear
andmyblackcoffeeandRoquefortcheeseandafterdinnernuts,mydear,
allinthewoods—(Tendelicateolivesslowlychewedatmidnightis
somethingnoone’severdoneinluxuriousrestaurants)—There’sthe
presentmomentfraughtwithtangledwoods—There’sthebirdsuddenly
quietonhisbranchwhilehiswifeglancesathim—There’sthegraceof
anaxehandleasgoodasanEglevskyballet—There’s“MienMo
Mountain”inthefogilluminedAugustmoonmistamongotherheights
gorgeousandmistyrisingindimmertierssomehowrosyinthenightlike
theclassicsilkpaintingsofChinaandJapan—There’sabug,ahelpless
littlewinglesscrawler,drowninginawatercan,Igetitoutanditwanders
andgoofsontheporchtillIgetsickofwatching—There’sthespiderin
theouthousemindinghisownbusiness—There’smysideofbacon
hangingfromahookontheceilingoftheshack—There’sthelaughterof
theloonintheshadowofthemoon—There’sanowlhootinginweird
Bodhidharmatrees—There’sflowersandredwoodlogs—There’sthe
simplewoodfireandthecarefulyetabsentmindedfeedingofitwhichis
anactivitythatlikeallactivitiesisno-activity(WuWei)yetitisa
meditationinitselfespeciallybecauseallwoodfires,likesnowflakes,are

differenteverytime—Yes,there’stheresinouspurgeofaflame-
envelopedredwoodlog—Yesthecross-sawedredwoodlogturnsintoa
coalandlookslikeaCityoftheGandharvasorlikeawesternbutteat
sunset—There’sthebhikku’sbroom,thekettle—There’sthelacedsoft
fudoverthesand,thesea—There’salltheseavidpreparationsfordecent
sleeplikethenightI’mlookingformysleepingsocks(so’snottodirtythe
sleepingbaginside)andfindmyselfsinging“Adondeesme
sockiboos?”—Yes,anddowninthevalleythere’smyburro,Alf,theonly
livingbeinginsight—There’sinmidofsleepthemoonappearing—
There’suniversalsubstancewhichisdivinesubstancebecausewhere
elsecanitbe?—There’sthefamilyofdeeronthedirtroadatdusk—
There’sthecreekcoughingdowntheglade—There’stheflyonmy
thumbrubbingitsnosethensteppingtothepageofmybook—There’s
thehummingbirdswinginghisheadfromsidetosidelikeahoodlum—
There’sallthat,andallmyfinethoughts,evenuntomydittywrittentothe
sea“Itookapee,intothesea,acidtoacid,andmetoye”yetIwent
crazyinsidethreeweeks.

Forwhocouldgocrazythatcouldbesorelaxedasthat:butwait:there

arethesignpostsofsomethingwrong.

HEFIRST SIGNPOST

cameafterthatmarvelousdayIwenthikingupthe

canyonroadagaintothehighwayatthebridgewheretherewasa
ranchermailboxwhereIcoulddumpmail(alettertomymotherand
sayinginitgiveakisstoTyke,mycat,andalettertooldbuddyJulien
addressedtoCoalyRustnutfromRuntyOnenut)andasIwalkedwayup
thereIcouldseethepeacefulroofofmycabinwaybelowandhalfmile
awayintheoldtrees,couldseetheporch,thecotwhereIslept,andmy
redhandkerchiefonthebenchbesidethecot(asimplelittlesight:ofmy
handkerchiefahalfmileawaymakingmeunaccountablyhappy)—And
onthewaybackpausingtomeditateinthegroveoftreeswhereAlfthe
SacredBurrosleptandseeingtherosesoftheunborninmyclosed
eyelidsjustasclearlyasIhadseentheredhandkerchiefandalsomy
ownfootstepsintheseasidesandfromwayuponthebridge,saw,or
heard,thewords“RosesoftheUnborn”asIsatcrossleggedinsoft
meadowsand,heardthatawfulstillnessattheheartoflife,butfelt
strangelylow,asthopremonitionofthenextday—WhenIwenttothe
seaintheafternoonandsuddenlytookahugedeepYogicbreathtoget
allthatgoodseaairinmebutsomehowjustgotanoverdoseofiodine,or
ofevil,maybetheseacaves,maybetheseaweedcities,something,my
heartsuddenlybeating—ThinkingI’mgonnagetthelocalvibrations
insteadhereIamalmostfaintingonlyitisntanecstaticswoonbySt.
Francis,itcomesovermeintheformofhorrorofaneternalconditionof
sickmortalityinme—Inmeandineveryone—Ifeltcompletelynudeof
allpoorprotectivedeviceslikethoughtsaboutlifeormeditationsunder
treesandthe“ultimate”andallthatshit,infacttheotherpitifuldevicesof
makingsupperorsaying“WhatIdonownext?chopwood?”—Isee
myselfasjustdoomed,pitiful—AnawfulrealizationthatIhavebeen
foolingmyselfallmylifethinkingtherewasanextthingtodotokeepthe
showgoingandactuallyI’mjustasickclownandsoiseverybodyelse—
Allallofit,pitifulasitis,notevenreallyanykindofcommonsense
animateefforttoeasethesoulinthishorriblesinistercondition(ofmortal
hopelessness)soI’mleftsittingthereinthesandafterhavingalmost
faintedandstareatthewaveswhichsuddenlyarenotwavesatall,withI
guesswhatmusthavebeenthegoopiestdowntroddenexpressionGodif

Heexistsmust’veeverseeninHismoviecareer—Éhvache,Ihateto
write—Allmytrickslaidbare,eventherealizationthatthey’relaidbare
itselflaidbareasalottabunk—TheseaseemstoyelltomeGOTO
YOURDESIREDONTHANGAROUNDHERE—Forafterallthe
seamustbelikeGod,Godisntaskingustomopeandsufferandsitbythe
seainthecoldatmidnightforthesakeofwritingdownuselesssounds,
hegaveusthetoolsofselfrelianceafteralltomakeitstraightthrubad
lifemortalitytowardsParadisemaybeIhope—Butsomemiserableslike
medontevenknowit,whenitcomestouswe’reamazed—Ah,lifeisa
gate,away,apathtoParadiseanyway,whynotliveforfunandjoyand
loveorsomesortofgirlbyafireside,whynotgotoyourdesireand
LAUGH...butIranawayfromthatseashoreandnevercameback
againwithoutthatsecretknowledge:thatitdidntwantmethere,thatI
wasafooltositthereinthefirstplace,theseahasitswaves,theman
hashisfireside,period.

Thatbeingthefirstindicationofmylaterflip—Butalsoonthedayof

leavingthecabintohitchhikebacktoFriscoandseeeverybodyandby
nowI’mtiredofmyfood(forgottobringjello,youneedjelloafterallthat
baconfatandcornmealinthewoods,everywoodsmanneedsjello)(or
cokes)(orsomething)—Butit’stimetoleave,I’mnowsoscaredbythat
iodineblastbytheseaandbytheboredomofthecabinItake20dollars
worthofperishablefoodleftandspreaditoutonabigboardbelowthe
cabinporchforthebluejaysandtheraccoonandthemouseandthe
wholelot,packup,andgo—ButbeforeIgoIrealizethisisntmyown
cabin(here’sthesecondsignpostofmymadness),Ihavenorighttohide
Monsanto’sratpoison,asI’vebeendoing,feedingthemouseinstead,asI
said—Solikeadutifulguestinanotherman’scabinItakethecoveroff
theratpoisonbutcompromisebysimplyleavingtheboxonthetopshelf,
sonobodycancomplain—Andgoofflikethat—Butduringmyabsence,
but—You’llsee.

IT HMYMINDEVENANDUPRIGHT

andabidingnowhere,asHuiNeng

wouldsay,Igodancingofflikeafoolfrommysweetretreat,rucksack
onback,afteronlythreeweeksandreallyafteronly3or4daysof
boredom,andgohankeringbackforthecity—“Yougooutinjoyandin
sadnessyoureturn,”saysThomasàKempistalkingaboutallthefools
whogoforthforpleasurelikehighschoolboysonSaturdaynighthurrying
clackingdownthesidewalktothecaradjustingtheirtiesandrubbingtheir
handswithanticipatoryzeal,onlytoendupSundaymorninggroaningin
blearybedsthatMotherhastomakeanyway—It’sabeautifuldayasI
comeoutofthatghostlycanyonroadandstepoutonthecoasthighway,
justthissideofRatonCanyonbridge,andtheretheyare,thousandsand
thousandsoftouristsdrivingbyslowlyonthehighcurvesallooingandaa
ingatallthatvastbluepanoramaofseaswashingandraidingatthecoast
ofCalifornia—IfigureI’llgetarideintoMontereyrealeasyandtakethe
busthereandbeinFriscobynightfallforabigballofwinoyellingwith
thegang,IfeelinfactDaveWainoughtabebackbynow,orCodywill
bereadyforaball,andthere’llbegirls,andsuchandsuch,forgetting
entirelythatonlythreeweekspreviousI’dbeensentfleeingfromthat
gookycitybythehorrors—Buthadnttheseatoldmetofleebacktomy
ownreality?

Butitisbeautifulespeciallytoseeupaheadnorthavastexpanseof

curvingseacoastwithinlandmountainsdreamingunderslowclouds,like
asceneofancientSpain,orproperlyreallylikeasceneofthereal
essentiallySpanishCalifornia,theoldMontereypiratecoastrightthere,
youcanseewhattheSpaniardsmust’vethoughtwhentheycamearound
thebendintheirmagnificentsloopiesandsawallthatdreamingfatland
beyondtheseashorewhitecapdoormat—Likethelandofgold—Theold
MontereyandBigSurandSantaCruzmagic—SoIconfidentlyadjustmy
packstrapsandstarttrudgingdowntheroadlookingbackovermy
shouldertothumb.

ThisisthefirsttimeI’vehitchhikedinyearsandIsoonbegintosee

thatthingshavechangedinAmerica,youcantgetarideanymore(butof
courseespeciallyonastrictlytouristroadlikethiscoasthighwaywithno
trucksorbusiness)—Sleeklongstationwagonafterwagoncomessleering

bysmoothly,allcolorsoftherainbowandpastelatthat,pink,blue,white,
thehusbandisinthedriver’sseatwithalongridiculousvacationisthat
withalongbaseballvisormakinghimlookwitlessandidiot—Besidehim
sitswifey,thebossofAmerica,wearingdarkglassesandsneering,even
ifhewantedtopickmeuporanybodyupshewouldn’tlethim—Butin
thetwodeepbackseatsarechildren,children,millionsofchildren,all
ages,they’refightingandscreamingovericecream,they’respilling
vanillaallovertheTartanseatcovers—There’snoroomanymoreanyway
forahitchhiker,thoconceivablythepoorbastardmightbeallowedto
ridelikeameekgunmanorsilentmurdererintheverybackplatformof
thewagon,buthereno,alas!hereistenthousandracksofdrycleaned
andperfectlypressedsuitsanddressesofallsizesforthefamilytolook
likemillionaireseverytimetheystopataroadsidediveforbaconand
eggs—Everytimetheoldman’strousersstarttogetcreasedalittleinthe
fronthe’smadetotakedownafreshpairofslacksfromthebackrack
andgoon,likethat,bleakly,thohemighthavesecretlywishedjustagood
oldtimefishingtripaloneorwithhisbuddiesforthisyear’svacation—But
theP.T.A.hasprevailedovereveryoneofhisdesiresbynow,1960’s,it’s
notimeforhimtoyearnforBigTwoHeartedRiverandtheoldsloppy
pantsandthestringoffishinthetent,orthewoodfirewithBourbonat
night—It’stimeformotels,roadsidedriveins,bringingnapkinstothegang
inthecar,havingthecarwashedbeforethereturntrip—Andifhethinks
hewantstoexploreanyofthesilentsecretroadsofAmericait’snogo,
theladyinthesneeringdarkglasseshasnowbecomethenavigatorand
sitstheresneeringoverherpreviouslyprintedblue-linedroadmap
distributedbyhappyexecutivesinnecktiestothevacationistsofAmerica
whowouldalsowearneckties(afterhavingcomealongsofar)butthe
vacationfashionissportsshirts,longvisoredhats,darkglasses,pressed
slacksandbaby’sfirstshoesdippedingoldoildanglingfromthe
dashboard—SohereIamstandinginthatroadwiththatbigwoeful
rucksackbutalsoprobablywiththatexpressionofhorroronmyface
afterallthosenightssittingintheseashoreundergiantblackcliffs,they
seeinmetheveryapotheosicaloppositeoftheireveryvacationdream
andofcoursedriveon—ThatafternoonIsayabout5thousandcarsor
probably3thousandpassedmenotoneofthemeverdreamedofstopping
—Whichdidntbothermeanywaybecauseatfirstseeingthatgorgeous
longcoastuptoMontereyIthought“WellI’lljusthikerightin,it’sonly14
miles,Ioughtadothateasy”—Andonthewaythere’sallkindsa
interestingthingstoseeanywaylikethesealsbarkingonrocksbelow,or

quietoldfarmsmadeoflogsonthehillsacrossthehighway,orsudden
upstretchesthatgoalongdreamyseasidemeadowswherecowsgrace
andgrazeinfullsightofendlessbluePacific—ButbecauseI’mwearing
desertbootswiththeirfairlythinsoles,andthesunisbeatinghotonthe
tarroad,theheatfinallygetsthroughthesolesandIbegintodeliverheat
blistersinmysockiboos—I’mlimpingalongwonderingwhat’sthematter
withmewhenIrealizeI’vegotblisters—Isitbythesideoftheroadand
look—Itakeoutmyfirstaidkitfromthepackandapplyunguentsandput
oncornpadsandcarryon—Butthecombinationoftheheavypackand
theheatoftheroadincreasesthepainoftheblistersuntilfinallyIrealize
I’vegottohitchhikearideornevermakeittoMontereyatall.

Butthetouristsblesstheirheartsafterall,theycouldntknow,onlythink

I’mhavingabighappyhikewithmyrucksackandtheydriveon,eventho
Istickoutmythumb—I’mindespairbecauseI’mreallystrandednow,
andbythetimeI’vewalkedsevenmilesIstillhaveseventogobutIcant
goonanotherstep—I’malsothirstyandthereareabsolutelynofilling
stationsoranythingalongtheway—Myfeetareruinedandburned,it
developsnowintoadayofcompletetorture,fromnineo’clockinthe
morningtillfourintheafternoonInegotiatethosenineorsomileswhenI
finallyhavetostopandsitdownandwipethebloodoffmyfeet—And
thenwhenIfixthefeetandputtheshoesonagain,tohikeon,Icanonly
doitmincinglywithlittletwinkletoestepslikeBabeRuth,twisting
footstepseverywayIcanthinkofnottopresstoohardonanyparticular
blister—Sothatthetourists(lesseningnowasthesunstartstogodown)
cannowplainlyseethatthere’samanonthehighwaylimpingundera
hugepackandaskingforaride,butstillthey’reafraidhemaybethe
Hollywoodhitchhikerwiththehiddengunandbesideshe’sgota
rucksackonhisbackasthohe’djustescapedfromthewarinCuba—
Or’sgotdismemberedbodiesinthebaganyway—ButasIsayIdont
blamethem.

Theonlycarthatpassesthatmighthavegivenmearideisgoinginthe

wrongdirection,downtoSur,andit’sarattlyoldcarofsomekindwitha
bigbearded“SouthCoastIstheLonelyCoast”folksingerinitwavingat
mebutfinallyalittletruckpullsupandwaitsforme50yardsaheadandI
limprunthatdistanceondaggersinmyfeet—It’saguywithadog—He’ll
drivemetothenextgasstation,thenheturnsoff—Butwhenhelearns
aboutmyfeethetakesmecleartothebusstationinMonterey—Justas
agestureofkindness—Noparticularreason,andI’vemadenoparticular
pleaaboutmyfeet,justmentionedit.

Ioffertobuyhimabeerbuthe’sgoingonhomeforsuppersoIgointo

thebusstationandcleanupandchangeandpackthingsaway,stowthe
baginthelocker,buythebusticket,andgolimpingquietlyinthebluefog
streetsofMontereyeveningfeelinglightasfeatherandhappyasa
millionaire—ThelasttimeIeverhitchhiked—AndNORIDESasign.

HENEXT SIGNISIN

RISCOIT SELF

whereafteranightofperfectsleepin

anoldskidrowhotelroomIgotoseeMonsantoathisCityLights
bookstoreandhe’ssmilingandgladtoseeme,says“Wewerecoming
outtoseeyounextweekendyoushouldhavewaited,”butthere’s
somethingelseinhisexpression—Whenwe’realonehesays“Your
motherwroteandsaidyourcatisdead.”

Ordinarilythedeathofacatmeanslittletomostmen,alottofewer

men,buttome,andthatcat,itwasexactlyandnolieandsincerelylike
thedeathofmylittlebrother—IlovedTykewithallmyheart,hewasmy
babywhoasakittenjustsleptinthepalmofmyhandwithhislittlehead
hangingdown,orjustpurring,forhours,justaslongasIheldhimthat
way,walkingorsitting—Hewaslikeafloppyfurwraparoundmywrist,I
justtwisthimaroundmywristordrapehimandhejustpurredandpurred
andevenwhenhegotbigIstillheldhimthatway,Icouldevenholdthis
bigcatinbothhandswithmyarmsoutstretchedrightovermyheadand
he’djustpurr,hehadcompleteconfidenceinme—AndwhenI’dleft
NewYorktocometomyretreatinthewoodsI’dcarefullykissedhim
andinstructedhimtowaitforme,“Attendspourmuékitigingoo”—But
mymothersaidintheletterhehaddiedthe

NIGHT AFT ERILEFT

!—But

maybeyou’llunderstandmebyseeingforyourselfbyreadingtheletter:-

“SundayJuly20,1960,DearSon,I’mafraidyouwontlikemyletter

becauseIonlyhavesadnewsforyourightnow.Ireallydontknowhow
totellyouthisbutBraceupHoney.I’mgoingthroughhellmyself.Little
Tykeisgone.Saturdayalldayhewasfineandseemedtopickup
strength,butlateatnightIwaswatchingT.V.alatemovie.Justabout
1:30A.M.whenhestartedbelchingandthrowingup.Iwenttohimand
triedtofixhimupbuttonoavaile.Hewasshiveringlikehewascoldso
IrappedhimupinaBlanketthenhestartedtothrowupalloverme.And
thatwasthelastofhim.NeedlesstosayhowIfeelandwhatIwent
through.Istayeduptill‘dayBreak’anddidallIcouldtorevivehimbutit
wasuseless.Irealizedat4A.M.hewasgonesoatsixIwrappedhimup
goodinacleanblanket—andat7A.M.wentouttodighisgrave.Inever
didanythinginmywholelifesoheartbreakingastoburymybeloved
littleTykewhowasashumanasyouandI.Iburiedhimunderthe

Honeysucklevines,thecorner,ofthefence.Ijustcantsleeporeat.I
keeplookingandhopingtoseehimcomethroughthecellardoorcalling
MaWow.I’mjustplainsickandtheweirdestthinghappenedwhenI
buriedTyke,alltheblackBirdsIfedallWinterseemedtohaveknown
whatwasgoingon.HonestSonthisisnolies.Therewaslotsandlotsof
emflyingovermyheadandchirping,andsettlingonthefence,fora
wholehourafterTykewaslaidtorest—that’ssomethingI’llneverforget
—IwishIhadacameraatthetimebutGodandMeknowsitandsawit.
NowHoneyIknowthisisgoingtohurtyoubutIhadtotellyou
somehow...I’msosicknotphysicallybutheartsick...Ijustcant
believeorrealizethatmyBeautifullittleTykeisnomore—andthatI
wontbeseeinghimcomethroughhislittle“Shanty”orWalkingthrough
thegreengrass....P.S.I’vegottodismantleTyke’sshanty,Ijustcant
gooutthereandseeitempty—asis.WellHoney,writesoonagainand
bekindtoyourself.Praythereal“God”—YouroldMomXXXXXX.”

SowhenMonsantotoldmethenewsandIwassittingtheresmiling

withhappinessthewayallpeoplefeelwhentheycomeoutofalong
solitudeeitherinthewoodsorinahospitalbed,bang,myheartsank,it
sankinfactwiththesamestrangeidiotichelplessnessaswhenItookthe
unfortunatedeepbreathontheseashore—Allthepremonitionstyingin
together.

MonsantoseesthatI’mterriblysad,heseesmylittlesmile(thesmile

thatcameovermeinMontereyjustsogladtobebackintheworldafter
thesolitudesandI’dwalkedaroundthestreetsjustbemusedlyMona
Lisa’ingatthesightofeverything)—Heseesnowhowthatsmilehas
slowlymeltedawayintoamawkofchagrin—Ofcoursehecantknow
sinceIdidnttellhimandhardlywantatellitnow,thatmyrelationshipwith
mycatandtheotherpreviouscatshasalwaysbeenalittledotty:some
kindofpsychologicalidentificationofthecatswithmydeadbrother
Gerardwho’dtaughtmetolovecatswhenIwas3and4andweusedto
lieontheflooronourbelliesandwatchthemlapupmilk—Thedeathof
“littlebrother”Tykeindeed—Monsantoseeingmesodowncastsays
“Maybeyououghtagobacktothecabinforafewmoreweeks—orare
youjustgonnagetdrunkagain”—“I’mgonnagetdrunkyes”—Because
anywaytherearesomanythingsbrewing,everybody’swaiting,I’vebeen
daydreamingathousandwildpartiesinthewoods—Infactit’sfortunate
I’veheardofthedeathofTykeinmyfavoriteexcitingcityofSan
Francisco,ifIhadbeenhomewhenhediedImighthavegonemadina
differentwaybutthoInowranouttogetdrunkwiththeboysandstill

onceinawhilethatfunnylittlesmileofjoycamebackasIdrank,and
meltedawayagainbecausenowthesmileitselfwasareminderofdeath,
thenewsmademegomadanywayattheendofthethreeweekbinge,
creepinguponmefinallyonthatterribledayofSt.CarolynByTheSea
asIcanalsocallit—All,allconfusingtillIexplain.

MeanwhileanywaypoorMonsantoamanofletterswantstoenjoybig

newsswappingswithmeaboutwritingandwhateverybody’sdoing,and
thenFagancomesintothestore(downstairstoMonsanto’soldrolltop
deskmakingmealsofeelchagrinbecauseitalwayswastheambitionof
myyouthtoendupakindofliterarybusinessmanwitharolltopdesk,
combiningmyfatherimagewiththeimageofmyselfasawriter,which
Monsantowithouteventhinkingaboutithasaccomplishedatthedropof
ahat)—Monsantowithhishuskyshoulders,bigblueeyes,twinklingrosy
skin,thatperpetualsmileofhisthatearnedhimthenameSmilerin
collegeandasmileyouoftenwondered“Isitreal?”untilyourealizedif
Monsantoshouldeverstopusingthatsmilehowcouldtheworldgoon
anyway—Itwasthatkindofsmiletooinseparablefromhimtobe
believablyallowedtodisappear—Wordswordswordsbutheisagrand
guyasI’llshowandnowwithrealmanlysympathyhereallyfeltIshould
notgoonbigbingesifIfeltsobad,“Atanyrate,”sezhe,“youcango
backalittlelaterhuh”—“OkayLorry”—“Didyouwriteanything?”—“I
wrotethesoundsofthesea,I’lltellyouallaboutit—Itwasthemost
happythreeweeksofmylifedammitandnowthishastohappen,poor
littleTyke—YoushouldhaveseenhimabigbeautifulyellowPersianthe
kindtheycallcalico”—“WellyoustillhavemydogHomer,andhowwas
Alfoutthere?”—“AlftheSacredBurro,heha,hestandsingrovesof
treesintheafternoonsuddenlyyouseehimit’salmostscarey,butIfed
himapplesandshreddedwheatandeverything”(andanimalsaresosad
andpatientIthoughtasIrememberedTyke’seyesandAlf’seyes,ah
death,andtothinkthisstrangescandalousdeathcomesalsotohuman
beings,yeatoSmilereven,poorSmiler,andpoorHomerhisdog,andall
ofus)—I’malsodepressedbecauseIknowhowhorriblemymothernow
feelsallalonewithoutherlittlechuminthehousebackthere3thousand
miles(andindeedbyJesusitturnsoutlatersomesillybeatnikstryingto
seemebrokethewindowpaneinthefrontdoortryingtogetinand
scaredhersomuchshebarricadedthedoorwithfurniturealltherestof
thatsummer).

Butthere’soldBenFaganpuffingandchucklingoverhispipesowhat

thehell,whybothergrownupmenandpoetsatthatwithyourown

troubles—SoBenandIandhischumJonesyalsoachucklypipesmoker
goouttothebar(Mike’sPlace)andsipafewbeers,atfirstIvowI’m
notgoingtogetdrunkafterall,weevengoouttotheparktohavealong
talkinthewarmsunthatalwaysturnstodelightfulcoolfoggyduskinthat
townoftowns—We’resittingintheparkofthebigItalianwhitechurch
watchingkidsplayandpeoplegoby,forsomereasonI’mbemusedby
thesightofablondewomanhurryingsomewhere“Where’sshegoing?
doesshehaveasecretsailorlover?issheonlygoingtofinishhertyping
afterhoursintheoffice?whatifweknewBenwhateveryoneofthese
peoplegoinbyisheadedfor,somedoor,somerestaurant,somesecret
romance”—“Yousoundlikeyoustoredupalotofenergyandinnerestin
lifeinthosewoods”—AndBenknowsthatforsurebecausehe’sbeen
monthsinthewildernesstoo,alone—OldBen,muchthinnerthanheused
tobeinourmadderDharmaBumdaysof5yearsago,alittlegauntin
fact,butstillthesameoldBenwhostaysuplateatnightchucklingover
theLankavataraScriptureandwritingpoemsaboutraindrops—Andhe
knowsmeverywell,heknowsI’llgetdrunktonightandforweekson
endjustongeneralprinciplesandthatadaywillcomeinafewweeks
whenI’llbesoexhaustedIwontbeabletotalktoanybodyandhe’ll
comeandvisitmeandjustsilentlyatmysidebepuffinghispipe,asI
sleep—Thekindofguyheis—ItryingtoexplainaboutTyketohimbut
somepeoplearecatloversandsomeaint,thoBenalwayshasalittlekitty
aroundhispad—Hispadusuallyhasastrawrugonthefloor,witha
pillow’ponwhichhesitscrosslegged,byasmokingteapot,his
bookshelvesfullofSteinandPoundandWallaceStevens—Astrange
quietpoetwhowasonlybeginningtoberecognizedasabigrosysecret
sage(oneofhislines“WhenIleavetownallmyfriendsgobackonthe
sauce”)—AndI’monmywaytothesaucerightnow.

BecauseanywayoldDaveWainisbackandDaveIcanseehim

rubbinghishandsinanticipationofanotherbigwildbingewithmelikewe
hadtheyearbeforewhenhedrovemebacktoNewYorkfromthewest
coast,withGeorgeBasothelittleJapaneseZenmasterhepcatsitting
crossleggedonthebackmattressofDave’sjeepster(WillietheJeep),a
terrifictripthroughLasVegas,St.Louis,stoppingoffatexpensivemotels
anddrinkingnothingbutthebestScotchoutofthebottlealltheway—
AndwhatbetterwaytogobacktoNewYork,Icouldhaveblown190
dollarsonanairplane—AndDave’snevermetthegreatCodyandwillbe
lookingforwardtothat—SomeandBenleavetheparkandslowlywalk
tothebaronColumbusStreetandIordermyfirstdoublebourbonand

gingerale.

Thelightsaretwinklingonoutsideinthatfantastictoystreet,Icanfeel

thejoyriseinmysoul—InowrememberBigSurwithaclearpiercing
loveandagonyandeventhedeathofTykefitsinwitheverythingbutI
dontrealizetheenormityofwhat’syettocome—WecallupDaveWain
who’sbackfromRenoandhecomesblattindowntothebarinhis
jeepsterdrivingthatmarvelouswayhedoes(oncehewasacab-driver)
talkingallthetimeandnevermakingamistake,infactasgoodadriver
asCodyalthoIcantimagineanybodybeingthatgoodandaskedCody
aboutitthenextday—Butoldjealousdriversalwayspointoutfaultsand
complain,“AhwellthatDaveWainofyoursdoesnttakeshiscurvesright,
heeasesupandsometimesevenpokesthebrakealittleinsteadofjust
ridinthatoldcurvearoundonincreasedpower,manyougottaworkthose
curves”—Obviousatthistimenow,bythewayandparenthetically,that
there’ssomuchtotellaboutthefatefulfollowingthreeweeksit’shardly
possibletofindanyplacetobegin.

Likelife,actually—Andhowmultipleitallis!—“Andwhathappened

tolittleoldGeorgeBaso,boy?”—“LittleoldGeorgeBasoisprobablydyin
ofT.B.inahospitaloutsidaTulare”—“Gee,Dave,wegottagosee
him”—“Yessir,let’sdothattomorrow”—AsusualDavehasnomoney
whateverbutthatdoesntbothermeatall,I’vegotplenty,Igooutthe
followingdayandcash500dollarsworthoftravelerschecksjustso’sme
andoldDavecanreallyhaveagoodtime—Davelikesgoodfoodand
drinkandsodoI—Buthe’sgotthisyoungkidhebroughtbackfrom
RenocalledRonBlakewhoisagoodlookingteenagerwithblondhair
whowantstobeasensationalnewChetBakersingerandcomesonwith
thattiresomehipsterapproachthatwasnatural5or10andeven25years
agobutnowin1960isapose,infactIdughimasaconmanconning
Dave(thoforwhat,Idontknow)—ButDaveWainthatleanrangyred
headWelchmanwithhispenchantforgoingoffinWillietofishinthe
RogueRiverupinOregonwhereheknowsanabandonedminingcamp,
orforblattinaroundthedesertroads,forsuddenlyreappearingintownto
getdrunk,andamarvelouspoethimself,hasthatcertainsomethingthat
younghipteenagersprobablywantaimitate—Foronethingisoneofthe
world’sbesttalkers,andfunnytoo—AsI’llshow—ItwasheandGeorge
BasowhohitonthefantasticallysimpletruththateverybodyinAmerica
waswalkingaroundwithadirtybehind,buteverybody,becausethe
ancientritualofwashingwithwaterafterthetoilethadnotoccurredinall
themodernantisepticsm—SaysDave“PeopleinAmericahaveallthese

racksofdrycleanedclotheslikeyousayontheirtrips,theyspatterEaude
Colognealloverthemselves,theywearBanandAidorwhateveritis
undertheirarmpits,theygetaghasttoseeaspotonashirtoradress,
theyprobablychangeunderwearandsocksmaybeeventwiceaday,they
goaroundallpuffedupandinsolentthinkingthemselvesthecleanest
peopleonearthandthey’rewalkinaroundwithdirtyazzoles—Isntthat
amazing?givemealittleniponthattit”hesaysreachingformydrinkso
Iordertwomore,I’vebeenengrossed,Davecanorderallthedrinkshe
wantsanytime,“ThePresidentoftheUnitedStates,thebigministersof
state,thegreatbishopsandshmishopsandbigshotseverywhere,downto
thelowestfactoryworkerwithallhisfiercepride,moviestars,executives
andgreatengineersandpresidentsoflawfirmsandadvertisingfirms
withsilkshirtsandnecktiesandgreatexpensivetravelingcasesinwhich
theyplacethesevariousexpensiveEnglishimportedhairbrushesand
shavinggearandpomadesandperfumesareallwalkinaroundwithdirty
azzoles!Allyougottadoissimplywashyourselfwithsoapandwater!it
hasntoccurredtoanybodyinAmericaatall!it’soneofthefunniest
thingsI’veeverheardof!dontyouthinkit’smarvelousthatwe’rebeing
calledfilthyunwashedbeatniksbutwe’retheonlyoneswalkinaround
withcleanazzoles?”—Thewholeazzoleshotinfacthadspreadswiftly
andeverybodyIknewandDaveknewfromcoasttocoasthadembarked
onthisgreatcrusadewhichImustsayisagoodone—InfactinBigSur
I’dinstitutedashelfinMonsanto’southousewherethesoapmustbekept
andeveryonehadtobringacanofwaterthereoneachtrip—Monsanto
hadntheardaboutityet,“DoyourealizethatuntilwetellpoorLorenzo
Monsantothefamouswriterthatheiswalkingaroundwithadirtyazzole
hewillbedoingjustthat?”—“Let’sgotellhimrightnow!”—“Whyof
courseifwewaitanotherminute...andbesidesdoyouknowwhatit
doestopeopletowalkaroundwithadirtyazzole?itleavesagreat
yawningguiltthattheycantunderstandallday,theygotoworkall
cleanedupinthemorningandyoucansmellallthatfreshlylaundered
clothesandEaudeCologneinthecommutetrainyetthere’ssomething
gnawingatthem,something’swrong,theyknowsomething’swrongthey
dontknowjustwhat!”—WerushtotellMonsantoatonceinthebook
storearoundthecorner.

Bynowwe’rebeginningtofeelgreat—Faganhasretiredsaying

typically“Okayyouguysgoaheadandgetdrunk,I’mgoinhomeand
spendaquieteveninginahotbathwithabook”—“Home”isalsowhere
DaveWainandRonBlakelive—It’sanoldroominghouseoffourstories

ontheedgeoftheNegrodistrictofSanFranciscowhereDave,Ben,
Jonesy,apaintercalledLannyMeadows,amadFrenchCanadiandrinker
calledPascalandaNegrocalledJohnsonallliveindifferentroomswith
theirclutterofrucksacksandfloormattressesandbooksandgear,each
onetakingturnsonedayaweektogooutanddoalltheshoppingand
comebackandcookupabigcommunaldinnerinthekitchen—Alltenor
twelveofthemsharingtherent,andwiththatrotationofdinner,theyend
uplivingcomfortableliveswithwildpartiesandgirlsrushingin,people
bringingbottles,allataboutaminimumofsevendollarsaweeksay—It’s
awonderfulplacebutatthesametimealittlemaddening,infactawhole
lotmaddeningbecausethepainterLannyMeadowslovesmusicandhas
installedhisHiFispeakerinthekitchenalthoheappliestherecordsina
backroomsothedailycookmaybeconcentratingonhisMulliganstew
andallofasuddenStravinski’sdinosaursstartdinningoverhead—Andat
nighttherearebottlecrashingpartiesusuallysupervisedbywildPascal
whoisasweetkidbutcrazywhenhedrinks—Aregularnuthouse
actuallyandjustexactlytheimageofwhatthejournalistswanttosay
abouttheBeatGenerationneverthelessaharmlessandpleasant
arrangementforyoungbachelorsandagoodideainthelongrun—
Becauseyoucanrushintoanyroomandfindtheexpert,likesayBen’s
roomandask“HeywhatdidBodhidharmasaytotheSecond
Patriarch?”—“Hesaidgofuckyourself,makeyourmindlikeawall,dont
pantafteroutsideactivitiesanddontbugmewithyouroutside
plans”—“Sotheguygoesoutandstandsonhisheadinthe
snow?”—“NothatwasFubar”—OryougorunninintoDaveWain’s
roomandthereheissittingcrossleggedonhismattressonthefloor
readingJaneAusten,youask“What’sthebestwaytomakebeef
Stroganoff?”—“BeefStroganoffisverysimple,’t’aintnothinbutagood
wellcookedbeefandonionstewthatyouletcoolafterwardsthenyou
throwinmushroomsandlotsasourcream,I’llcomedownandshowway
soon’sIfinishthischapterinthismarvelousnovel,Iwantafindoutwhat
happensnext”—OryougointotheNegro’sroomandaskifyoucan
borrowhistaperecorderbecauserightatthemomentsomefunnythings
arebeingsaidinthekitchenbyDuluozandMcLearandMonsantoand
somenewspaperman—Becausethekitchenwasalsothemaintalking
roomwhereeverybodysatinaclutterofdishesandashtraysandall
kindsofvisitorscame—Theyearbeforeabeautiful16yearoldJapanese
girlhadcometherejusttointerviewme,forinstance,butchaperonedby
aChinesepainter—Thephonerangconsistently—EvenwildNegro

hepcatsfromaroundthecornercameinwithbottles(EdwardKooland
severalothers)—TherewasZen,jazz,booze,potandalltheworksbutit
wassomehowobviated(asasupposedlydegenerateidea)bythesightof
a‘beatnik’carefullypaintingthewallofhisroomandcleanwhitewith
nicelittleredbordersaroundthedoorandwindowframes—Orsomeone
issweepingoutthelivingroom.ItinerantvisitorslikemeorRonBlake
alwayshadanextramattresstosleepon.

UT DAVEISANXIOUSANDSOAM

ItoseegreatCodywhoisalwaysthe

majorpartofmyreasonforjourneyingtothewestcoastsowecallhim
upatLosGatos50milesawaydowntheSantaClaraValleyandIhear
hisdearsadvoicesaying“Beenwaitinforyaoldbuddy,comeondown
rightaway,butI’llbegointoworkatmidnightsohurryupandyoucan
visitmeatworksoon’sthebossleavesroundtwoandI’llshowyoumy
newjoboftirerecappinandseeifyoucantbringalittlesomethinlikea
girlorsumptin,justkiddin,comeondownpal—”

Sothere’soldWilliewaitingforusdownonthestreetparkedacross

fromthelittlepleasantJapaneseliquorstorewhereasusual,accordingto
ourritual,IrunandgetPernodorScotchoranythinggoodwhileDave
wheelsaroundtopickmeupatthestoredoor,andIgetinthefrontseat
rightatDave’srightwhereIbelongallthetimelikeoldHonoredSamuel
Johnsonwhileeverybodyelsethatwantstocomealonghastoscramble
backthereonthemattress(afullmattress,theseatsareout)andsquat
thereorliedownthereandalsogenerallykeepsilentbecausewhen
Dave’sgotthewheelofWillieinhishandandI’vegotthebottleinmine
andwe’reoffonatripthetalkingallcomesfromthefrontseat—“By
God”yellsDaveallgladagain“it’sjustlikeoldtimesJack,geeold
Willie’sbeensadforya,waitinforyatocomeback—SonowI’mgonna
showyahowoldWillie’sevenimprovedwithage,hadhimreconditioned
inRenolastmonth,herehegoes,areyoureadyWillie?”andoffwego
andthebeautyofitallthisparticularsummeristhatthefrontrightseatis
brokenandjustrocksbackandforthgentlytoeveryoneofDave’s
drivingmoves—It’slikesittinginarockingchaironaporchonlythisisa
movingporchandaporchtotalkonatthat—Andinsteadawatchingold
menpitchhorseshoesfromthisheretalkingporchit’sallthatfinewhite
cleanlineinthemiddleoftheroadaswegoflyinglikebirdsoverthe
HarrisonrampsandwhatnotDavealwaysusestosneakoutofFrisco
realfastandavoidallthetraffic—Soonwe’resetstraightandpointed
headondownbeautifulfourlaneBayshoreHighwaytothatlovelySanta
ClaraValley—ButI’mamazedthatafteronlyafewyearsthedamnthing
nolongerhasprunefieldsandvastbeetfieldslikeatLawrencewhenI
wasabrakemanontheSouthernPacificandevenafter,it’sonelongrow

ofhousesrightdowntheline50milestoSanJoselikeagreatmonstrous
LosAngelesbeginningtogrowsouthofFrisco.

Atfirstit’sbeautifultojustwatchthatwhitelinereelintoWillie’s

snoutbutwhenIstartlookingaroundoutthewindowthere’sjustendless
housingtractsandnewbluefactorieseverywhere—SezDave“Yes
that’sright,thepopulationexplosionisgonnacovereverybitofbackyard
dirtinAmericasomedayinfactthey’llevenhavetostartpilingupfriggin
levelsofhousesandothersoverthatlikeyourcityCityCITYtillthe
housesreachahundredmilesintheairinalldirectionsofthemapand
peoplelookingattheearthfromanotherplanetwithsupertelescopeswill
seeapricklyballhangininspace—It’slikerealhorriblewhenyoucome
tothinkofit,evenuswithallourfancytalks,shitmanit’sallmillionsof
peopleandeventspilingupalmostunimaginablenow,likeraving
babboonswe’llallbepiledontopofeachotheroroneanotheror
whateveryou’resposedtosay—Hundredsofmillionsofhungrymouths
ravingformoremoremore—Andthesadnessofitallisthattheworld
hasntanychancetoproducesayawriterwhoselifecouldreallyactually
touchallthislifeineverydetaillikeyoualwayssay,somewriterwho
couldbringyousobbingthruthebedfuckinbedcribsofthemoontoseeit
allevenuntothegoddamnedlastgorydetailofsomedismalrobberyof
theheartatdawnwhennoonecareslikeSinatrasings”(“Whennoone
cares,”hesingsinhislowbaritonebutresumes):—“Somestrictsweeper
sweepingitallup,ImeantheincrediblehelplessnessIfeltJackwhen
CélineendedhisJourneyToTheEndOfTheNightbypissinginthe
SeineRiveratdawnthereIamthinkinmyGodthere’sprobably
somebodypissingintheTrentonRiveratdawnrightnow,theDanube,the
Ganges,thefrozenObi,theYellow,theParaña,theWillamette,the
MerrimacinMissouritoo,theMissouriitself,theYuma,theAmazon,the
Thames,thePo,thesoandso,it’ssofrigginendlessit’slikepoems
endlesseverywhereandnooneknowsanybetternoldBuddhayouknow
wherehesaysit’slike“Thereareimmeasurablestarmistyaeonsof
universesmorenumerousthanthesandsinallthegalaxies,multipliedby
abillionlightyearsofmultiplication,infactifIweretogoonyou’dbe
scaredandcouldntcomprehendandyou’ddespairsomuchyou’ddrop
dead,’that’swhathejustaboutsaidinoneofthosesutras—Macrocosms
andmicrocosmsandchillicosmsandmicrobesandfinallyyougotallthese
marvelousbooksamanaintevengottimetoreademall,whatyougonna
dointhisalreadypiledupmultipleworldwhenyouhavetothinkofthe
BookofSongs,Faulkner,CésarBirotteau,Shakespeare,Satyricons,

Dantes,infactlongstoriesguystellyouinbars,infactthesutras
themselves,SirPhilipSidney,Sterne,IbnElArabi,thecopiousLopede
VegaandtheuncopiousgoddamnCervantes,shoo,thenthere’sallthose
CatullusesandDavidsandradiolisteningskidrowsagestocontendwith
becausethey’veallgotamillionstoriestooandyoutooRonBlakeinthe
backseatshutup!downtoeverythingwhichissomuchthatitisof
necessitydontyouthinkNOthinganyway,huh?”(expressingexactlythe
wayIfeel,ofcourse).

Andtocorroborateallthataboutthetoo-much-nessoftheworld,in

fact,there’sStanleyPopovichalsointhebackmattressnexttoRon,
StanleyPopovichofNewYorksuddenlyarrivedinSanFranciscowith
JamiehisItalianbeautygirlbut’sgoingtoleaveherinafewdaystogo
workforthecircus,abigtoughYugoslavkidwhorantheSevenArts
GalleryinNewYorkwithbigbeardedbeatnikreadingsbutnowcomes
thecircusandawholebigon-the-roadofhisown—It’stoomuch,infact
rightthisminutehe’sstartedtellingusaboutcircuswork—Ontopofall
thatoldCodyisupaheadwithHISthousandstories—Weallagreeit’s
toobigtokeepupwith,thatwe’resurroundedbylife,thatwe’llnever
understandit,sowecenteritallinbyswiggingScotchfromthebottleand
whenit’semptyIrunoutofthecarandbuyanotherone,period.

UT ONT HEWAYT OCODY’SMYMADNESSALREADYBEGANT OMANIFEST

IT SELF

inastrangerway,anotheroneofthosesignpostsofsomething

wrongImentionedawaysback:IthoughtIsawaflyingsaucerinthe
skyoverLosGatos—Fromfivemilesaway—IlookandIseethisthing
flyingalongandmentionittoDavewhotakesonebrieflookandsays
“Ahit’sonlythetopofaradiotower”—ItremindsmeofthetimeItook
amescalinepillandthoughtanairplanewasaflyingsaucer(astrange
storythis,amanhastobecrazytowriteitanyway).

Butthere’soldCodyinthelivingroomofhisfineranchitohomesittin

overhischesssetponderingaproblemandrightbythefreshwoodfirein
thefireplacehiswife’ssetoutbecausesheknowsIlovefireplaces—She
agoodfriendofminetoo—Thekidsaresleepingintheback,it’sabout
eleven,andgoodoldCodyshakesmyhandagain—Haventseenhimfor
severalyearsbecausemainlyhe’sjustspenttwoyearsinSanQuentinon
astupidchargeofpossessionofmarijuana—Hewasonhiswaytowork
ontherailroadonenightandwasshortontimeandhisdrivinglicensehad
beenalreadyrevokedforspeedingsohesawtwobeardedbluejeaned
beatniksparked,askedthemtotradeaquickridetoworkattherailroad
stationfortwosticksoftea,theycompliedandarrestedhim—Theywere
disguisedpolicemen—ForthisgreatcrimehespenttwoyearsinSan
Quentininthesamecellwithamurderousgunman—Hisjobwas
sweepingoutthecottonmillroom—Iexpecthimtobeallbitterandoutof
hisheadbecauseofthisbutstrangelyandmagnificentlyhe’sbecome
quieter,moreradiant,morepatient,manly,morefriendlyeven—Andtho
thewildfrenziesofhisoldroaddayswithmehavebankeddownhestill
hasthesametauteagerfaceandsupplemusclesandlookslikehe’s
readytogoanytime—Butactuallyloveshishome(paidforbyrailroad
insurancewhenhebrokehislegtryingtostopaboxcarfromcrashing),
loveshiswifeinawaythotheyfightsome,loveshiskidsandespecially
hislittlesonTimmyJohnpartlynamedafterme—Poorold,goodoldCody
sittintherewithhischessset,wantsimmediatelytochallengesomebody
toachessgamebutonlyhasanhourtotalktousbeforehegoestowork
supportingthefamilybyrushingoutandpushinghisNashRamblerdown
thequietLosGatossuburbstreet,jumpingin,startingthemotor,infact

hisonlycomplaintisthattheNashwontstartwithoutapush—Nobitter
complaintsaboutsocietywhateverfromthisgrandandidealmanwho
reallylovesmemoreoverasifIdeservedit,butI’mburstingtoexplain
everythingtohim,notevenBigSurbutthepastseveralyears,butthere’s
nochancewitheverybodyyakking—AndinfactIcanseeinCody’seyes
thathecanseeinmyowneyestheregretwebothfeelthatrecentlywe
haventhadchancestotalkwhatever,likeweusedtododrivingacross
Americaandbackintheoldroaddays,toomanypeoplenowwanttotalk
tousandtellustheirstories,we’vebeenhemmedinandsurroundedand
outnumbered—Thecircle’sclosedinontheoldheroesofthenight—But
hesays“Howeveryouguys,comeondownround’boutonewhenthe
bossleavesandwatchmeworkandkeepmecompanyawhilebefore
yougobacktotheCity”—IcanseeDaveWainreallyloveshimatonce,
andStanleyPopovichtoowho’scomealongonthistripjusttomeetthe
fabled“DeanMoriarty”—ThenameIgiveCodyin“OntheRoad”—But
O,itbreaksmyhearttoseehe’slosthisbelovedjobontherailroadand
afteralltheseniorityhe’dpiledupsince1948andnowisreducedtotire
recappinganddrearyparolevisits—Allfortwosticksofwildlocoweed
thatgrowsbyitselfinTexasbecauseGodwantedit—

AndthereoverthebookshelfistheoldphotoofmeandCodyarmin

armintheearlydaysonasunnystreet—

IrushtoexplaintoCodywhathappenedtheyearbeforewhenhis

religiousadvisorattheprisonhadinvitedmetocometoSanQuentinto
lecturethereligiousclass—DaveWainwassupposedtodrivemeand
waitoutsidetheprisonwallsasI’dgointherealone,probablywitha
pepupnipbottlehiddeninmycoat(Ihoped)andI’dbeledbybigguards
tothelectureroomoftheprisonandtherewouldbesittingahundredor
soconsincludingCodyprobablyallproudinthefrontrow—AndIwould
beginbytellingthemIhadbeeninjailmyselfonceandthatIhadnoright
neverthelesstolecturethemonreligion—Butthey’realllonelyprisoners
anddontcarewhatItalkabout—Thewholethingarranged,inanycase,
andonthebigmorningIwakeupinsteaddeaddrunkonafloor,it’s
alreadynoonandtoolate,DaveWainisontheflooralso,Willie’sparked
outsidetotakeustoQuentinforthelecturebutit’stoolate—Butnow
Codysays“It’salrightoldbuddyIunderstand”—AlthoourfriendIrwin
haddoneit,lecturedthere,butIrwincandoallsortathingslikethatbeing
moresocialthanIamandcapableofgoinginthereashedidandreading
hiswildestpoemswhichsettheprisonyardhummingwithexcitementtho
IthinkheshouldnadoneitafterallbecauseIsayjusttoshowupforany

reasonexceptvisitinginsideaprisonisstillSIGNIFYING—AndItellthis
toCodywhopondersachessproblemandsays“Drinkinagain,hey?”(if
there’sanythinghehatesistoseemedrink).

WehelphimpushhisNashdownthestreet,thendrinkawhileandtalk

withEvelynabeautifulblondewomanthatyoungRonBlakewantsand
evenDaveWainwantsbutshe’sgothermindonotherthingsandtaking
careofthechildrenwhohavetogotoschoolanddancingclassesinthe
morningandhardlygetsawordinedgewiseanywayasweallyakand
yelllikefoolstoimpressherthoallshereallywantsistobealonewith
metotalkaboutCodyandhislatestsoul.

WhichincludesthefactofBillieDabneyhismistresswhohas

threatenedtotakeCodyawaycompletelyfromEvelyn,asI’llshowlater.

SowedogoouttotheSanJosehighwaytowatchCodyrecaptires—

ThereheiswearinggogglesworkinglikeVulcanathisforge,throwing
tiresallovertheplacewithfantasticstrength,thegoodoneshighupona
pile,“Thisone’snogood”downonanother,bing,bang,talkingallthetime
alongfantasticlectureontirerecappingwhichhasDaveWainmarvel
withamazement—(“MyGodhecandoallthatandevenexplainwhile
he’sdoingit”)—ButIjustmentioninconnectionwiththefactthatDave
WainnowrealizeswhyI’vealwayslovedCody—Expectingtoseea
bitterexconheseesinsteadamartyroftheAmericanNightingogglesin
somedrearytireshopat2A.M.makingfellowslaughwithjoywithhis
funnyexplanationsyetatthesametimetoaTperformingeverybitofthe
workhe’sbeingpaidfor—Rushingupandrippingtiresoffcarwheels
withajicklo,clang,throwingitonthemachine,startingupbigroaring
steamsbutyellingexplanationsoverthat,darting,bending,flinging,
flaying,tillDaveWainsaidhethoughthewasgoingtodielaughingor
cryingrightthereonthespot.

Sowedrivebacktotownandgotothemadboarding-housetodrink

somemoreandIpassoutdeaddrunkonthefloorasusualinthathouse,
wakingupinthemorninggroaningfarfrommycleancotontheporchin
BigSur—Nobluejaysyakkingformetowakeupanymore,nogurgling
creek,I’mbackinthegrookycityandI’mtrapped.

NST EADT HERE’ST HESOUNDOFBOT T LESCRASHING

inthelivingroomwhere

poorLexPascalisholdingforthyelling,itremindsofthetimeayearago
whenJarryWagner’sfuturewifegotsoreatLexandthrewahalf
gallonfulloftokayacrosstheroomandhookedhimrightacrosstheeye,
thereuponsailingtoJapantomarryJarryinabigZenceremonythat
madecoasttocoastpapersbutalloldLex’sgotisacutwhichItrytofix
inthebathroomupstairssaying“Hey,thatcut’salreadystoppedbleeding,
you’llbealrightLex”—“I’mFrenchCanadiantoo”hesaysproudlyand
whenDaveandIandGeorgeBasogetreadytodrivebacktoNewYork
hegivesmeaSt.Christophermedalasagoingawaygift—Lexthekind
ofguyshouldntreallybelivinginthiswildbeatboardinghouse,shouldhide
onaranchsomewhere,powerful,goodlooking,fullofcrazydesirefor
womenandboozeandneverenoughofeither—Soasthebottlescrash
againandtheHiFi’splayingBeethoven’sSolemnMassIfallasleepon
thefloor.

Wakingupthenextmorninggroaningofcourse,butthisisthebigday

whenwe’regoingtogovisitpoorGeorgeBasoattheTBhospitalinthe
Valley—Daveperksmeuprightawaybringingcoffeeorwineoptional—
I’monBenFagan’sfloorsomehow,apparentlyI’veharanguedhimtill
dawnaboutBuddhism—someBuddhist.

ComplicatedalreadybutnowsuddenlyappearsJoeyRosenberga

strangeyoungkidfromOregonwithafullbeardandhishairgrowing
rightdowntohisnecklikeRaulCastro,oncetheCaliforniaHighSchool
highjumpchampwhowasonlyabout5foot6buthadmadethe
incredibleleapofsixfootnineoverthebar!andshowshishighjump
abilitytoobythewayhedancesaroundonlightfeet—Astrangeathlete
who’ssuddenlydecidedinsteadtobecomesomesortofbeatJesusandin
factyouseeperfectpurityandsincerityinhisyoungblueeyes—Infact
hiseyesaresopureyoudontnoticethecrazyhairandbeard,andalso
he’swearingraggedbutstrangelyelegantclothing(“Oneofthefirstof
thenewBeatDandies,”McLeartoldmeafewdayslater,“didyouhear
aboutthat?there’sanewstrangeundergroundgroupofbeatniksor
whateverwhowearspecialsmoothdandyclotheseventhoitmayjustbe
ajeanjacketwithshinoslacksthey’llalwayshavestrangebeautifulshoes

orshirts,orturnaroundandwearfancypantsunpressedacoursebutwith
tornsneakers”)—Joeyiswearingsomethinglikebrownsoftgarments
likeatunicorsomethingandhisshoeslooklikeLasVegassportsshoes
—ThemomentheseesmybatteredbluelittlesneakersthatI’dusedat
BigSurwhenmyfeetgosore,thatisincasemyfeetgotsoreonarocky
hike,hewantsthemforhimself,hewantstoswapthesnazzyLasVegas
sportsshoes(paleleather,untooled)formysillylittletightfittingtho
perfectsneakersthatinfactIwaswearingbecausetheMontereyhike
blisterswerestillhurtingme—Soweswap—AndIaskDaveWainabout
him:Davesays:“He’soneofthereallystrangestsweetestguysI’veever
known,showedupaboutaweekagoIheartell,theyaskedhimwhathe
wantedtodoandneveranswers,justsmiles—Hejustsortawantstodig
everythingandjustwatchandenjoyandsaynothingparticularaboutit—
Ifsomeone’stoaskhim‘Let’sdrivetoNewYork’he’djumprightforit
withoutaword—Onasortofapilgrimage,see,withallthatyouth,usold
fucksoughtatakealessonfromhim,infaithtoo,hehasfaith,Icanseeit
inhiseyes,hehasfaithinanydirectionhemaytakewithanyonejustlike
ChristIguess.”

It’sstrangethatinalaterreveryIimaginedmyselfwalkingacrossa

fieldtofindthestrangegangofpilgrimsinArkansasandDaveWainwas
sittingtheresaying“Shhh,He’ssleeping,”“He”beingJoeyandallthe
disciplesarefollowinghimonamarchtoNewYorkafterwhichthey
expecttokeepgoingwalkingonwatertotheothershore—Butofcourse
(inmyreveryeven)Iscoffanddontbelieveit(akindofstory
daydreamingIoftendo)butinthemorningwhenIlookintoJoey
Rosenberg’seyesIinstantlyrealizeitISHim,Jesus,becauseanyone
(accordingtotherulesofmyrevery)wholooksintothoseeyesis
instantlyconvincedandconverted—Sothereverycontinuesintoalong
farfetchedstoryendingwiththinkingI.B.M.machinestryingtodestroy
this“SecondComing”etc.(butalso,inreality,afewmonthslaterIthrew
awayhisshoesintheashcanbackhomebecauseIfelttheyhadbrought
mebadluckandwishingI’dkeptmybluesneakerswiththelittleholesin
thetoes!)

SoanywaywegetJoeyandRonBlakewho’salwaysfollowingDave

andgoofftoseeMonsantoatthestore,ourusualritual,thenacrossthe
cornertoMike’sPlacewherewestartoffthe10A.M.withfood,drink
andafewgamesofpoolatthetablesalongthebar—Joeywinningthe
gameandastrangerpoolsharkyouneversawwithhislongBiblicalhair
bendingtoslidethecuesticksmoothlythroughcompletelyprofessionally

competentfingerstanceandsmashinghomelongstraightdrives,like
seeingJesusshootpoolofcourse—Andmeanwhileallthefoodthese
poorstarvedkidsallthreeofthemdopackinandeat!—It’snotevery
daythey’rewithadrunkennovelistwithhundredsofdollarstosplurgeon
them,theyordereverything,spaghetti,followthatupwithJumbo
Hamburgers,followthatupwithicecreamandpieandpuddings,Dave
WainhasahugeappetiteanywaybutaddsManhattansandMartinisto
thesideofhisplate—I’mjustwailingawayonmyoldfataldouble
bourbonsandgingeraleandI’llbesorryinafewdays.

Anydrinkerknowshowtheprocessworks:thefirstdayyougetdrunk

isokay,themorningaftermeansabigheadbutsoyoucankillthateasy
withafewmoredrinksandameal,butifyoupassupthemealandgoon
toanothernight’sdrunk,andwakeuptokeepthetootgoing,andcontinue
ontothefourthday,there’llcomeonedaywhenthedrinkswonttake
effectbecauseyou’rechemicallyoverloadedandyou’llhavetosleepit
offbutcantsleepanymorebecauseitwasalcoholitselfthatmadeyou
sleepthoselastfivenights,sodeliriumsetsin—Sleeplessness,sweat,
trembling,agroaningfeelingofweaknesswhereyourarmsarenumband
useless,nightmares,(nightmaresofdeath)...well,there’smoreofthat
uplater.

Aboutnoonwhichisnowthepeakofagoldenblurrynewdayforme

wepickupDave’sgirlRomanaSwartzabigRumanianmonsterbeauty
ofsomekind(ImeanwithbigpurpleeyesandverytallandbigbutMae
Westbig),Davewhispersinmyear“Yououghtaseeherwalkingaround
thatZen-EastHouseinthosepurplepantiesofhers,nothingelseon,
there’sonemarriedguylivestherewhogoescrazyeverytimeshegoes
downthehallthoIdontblamehim,wouldyou?she’snottryingtoentice
himoranybodyshe’sjustanudist,shebelieveinnudismandbygodshe’s
goingtopracticeit!”(theZen-Easthousebeinganothersortof
boardinghousebutthisoneforallkindsofmarriedpeopleandsingleand
somesmallbohemiantypefamiliesallracesstudyingSubudorsomething,
Ineverwasthere)—She’sabigbeautifulbrunetteanywayinthelineof
tasteyoumightattributetoeveryslakyhungrysexslaveintheworldbut
alsointelligent,wellread,writespoetry,isaZenstudent,knows
everything,isinfactjustsimplyabighealthyRumanianJewesswho
wantstomarryagoodhardymanandgoliveonafarminthevalley,
that’sit—

TheT.B.hospitalisabouttwohoursawaythroughTracyanddownthe

SanJoaquinValley,DavedrivesbeautifulwithRomanabetweenusand

meholdingthebottleagain,it’sbrightbeautifulCaliforniasunshineand
pruneorchardsouttherezippingby—It’salwaysfuntohaveagood
driverandabottleanddarkglassesonafinesunnyafternoongoing
somewhereinteresting,andallthegoodconversationasIsaid—Ronand
JoeyareonthebackmattresssittingcrossleggedjustlikepoorGeorge
BasohadsatonthattriplastyearfromFriscotoNewYork.

ButthemainthingI’dlikedatonceaboutthatJapanesekidwaswhat

hetoldmethefirstnightImethiminthatcrazykitchenoftheBuchanan
Streethouse:frommidnightto6A.M.inhisslowmethodicalvoicehe
gavemehisowntremendousversionoftheLifeofBuddhabeginning
withinfancyandrightdowntotheend—George’stheory(hehasmany
theoriesandhasactuallyrunmeditationclasseswithbells,justreallya
seriousyounglaypriestofJapaneseBuddhismwhenallissaidanddone)
isthatBuddhadidnotrejectamorouslovelifewithhiswifeandwithhis
haremgirlsbecausehewassexuallydisinterestedbutonthecontraryhad
beentaughtinthehighestartsoflovemakinganderoticismpossibleinthe
Indiaofthattime,whengreattomesliketheKamaSutrawereinthe
processofbeingdeveloped,tomesthatgiveyouinstructionsoneveryact,
facet,approach,moment,trick,lick,lock,bingandbangandslurpofhow
tomakelovewithanotherhumanbeing“maleorfemale”insistedGeorge:
“Hekneweverythingthereistoknowaboutallkindsofsexsothatwhen
heabandonedtheworldofpleasuretogobeanasceticintheforest
everybodyofcourseknewthathewasntputtingitalldownoutof
ignorance—Itservedtomakepeopleofthosetimesfeelamarvelous
respectforallhiswords—AndhewasjustnosimpleCasanovawitha
fewfrigidaffairsacrosstheyears,manhewentalltheway,hehad
ministersandspecialeunuchsandspecialwomenwhotaughthimlove,
specialvirginswerebroughttohim,hewasacquaintedwitheveryaspect
ofperversityandnonperversityandasyouknowhewasalsoagreat
archer,horseman,hewasjustcompletelytrainedinalltheartsoflivingby
hisfather’sordersbecausehisfatherwantedtomakesurehe’dNEVER
leavethepalace—Theyusedeverytrickinthebookstoenticehimtoa
lifeofpleasureandasyouknowtheyevenhadhimhappilymarriedtoa
beautifulgirlcalledYasodharaandhehadasonwithherRahulaandhe
alsohadhisharemwhichincludeddancingboysandeverythinginthe
books”thenGeorgewouldgointoeverydetailofthisknowledge,like
“Heknewthatthephallusisheldwiththehandandmovedinsidethe
vaginawitharotarymovement,butthiswasonlythefirstofseveral
variationswherethereisalsotheloweringdownofthegal’shipssothat

thevulvayouseerecedesandthephallusisintroducedwithafastquick
movementlikestingingofawasp,orelsethevulvaisprotrudedbymeans
ofliftingupthehipshighsothatthememberisburiedwithasuddenrush
righttothebasis,orthenhecanwithdrawrealteasinglike,or
concentrateonrightorleftside—Andthenheknewallthegestures,
words,expressions,whattodowithaflower,whatnottodowitha
flower,howtodrinkthelipinallkindsofkissingorhowtocrushkissor
softkiss,manhewasageniusinthebeginning”...andsoon,George
wentallthewaytellingmethistill6A.M.itbeingoneofthemost
fantasticBuddhaCharitasI’deverheardendingwithGeorge’sown
perfectenunciationofthelawoftheTwelveNirdanaswherebyBuddha
justlogicallydisconnectedallcreationandlaiditbareforwhatitwas,
undertheBoTree,achainofillusions—AndonthetriptoNewYork
withDaveandmeupfronttalkingallthewaypoorGeorgejustsatthere
onthemattressforthemostpartveryquietandtoldushewastakingthis
triptofindoutifHEwastravelingtoNewYorkorjusttheCAR(Willie
theJeep)wastravelingtoNewYorkorwasitjusttheWHEELSwere
rolling,orthetires,orwhat—AZenproblemofsomekind—Sothatwhen
we’dseegrainelevatorsonthePlainsofOklahomaGeorgewouldsay
quietly“Wellitseemstomethatgrainelevatorissortawaitinfortheroad
toapproachit”orhe’dsaysuddenly“Whileyouguyswastalkinjustthen
abouthowtomixagoodPernodMartiniIjustsawawhitehorsestanding
inanabandonedstorefront”—InLasVegaswe’dtakenagoodmotel
roomandgoneouttoplayalittleroulette,inSt.Louiswe’dgonetosee
thegreatbelliesoftheEastSt.Louishootchykootchyjointswherethree
ofthemostmarvelousyounggirlsperformedsmilingdirectlyatusastho
theyknewallaboutGeorgeandhistheoriesabouterogenousBuddha
(theresitsthemonarchobservingthedonzinggerls)andasthotheyknew
anywayallaboutDaveWainwhowheneverheseesabeautifulgirlssays
lickinghislips“YumYum.”...

ButnowGeorgehasT.B.andtheytellmehemayevendie—Which

addstothatdarknessinmymind,alltheseDEATHthingspilingup
suddenly—ButIcantbelieveoldZenMasterGeorgeisgoingtoallowhis
bodytodiejustnowthoitlookslikeitwhenwepassthroughthelawn
andcometoawardofbedsandseehimsittingdejectedontheedgeof
hisbedwithhishairhangingoverhisbrowwherebeforeitwasalways
combedback—He’sinabathrobeandlooksupatusalmostdispleased
(buteverybodyisdispleasedbyunexpectedvisitsfromfriendsorrelatives
inahospital)—Nobodywantstobesurprisedontheirhospitalbad—He

sighsandcomesouttothewarmlawnwithusandtheexpressiononhis
facesays“Wellahsoyou’vecometoseemebecauseI’msickbutwhat
doyoureallywant?”asthoalltheoldhumorouscourageoftheyear
beforehasnowgivenawaytoaprofoundlydeepJapaneseskepticism
likethatofaSamuraiwarriorinafitofsuicidaldepression(surprisingme
byitsabjectgloomyfearfulfrown).

MEANIT WASLIKEMYFIRST FRIGHT ENEDREALIZAT IONOFWHAT T OBE

JAPANESEREALLYMEANT

—TobeJapaneseandnottobelieveinlifeany

moreandtobegloomylikeBeethovenyettobeJapaneseingloom,the
gloomofBashôbehinditall,thehugethunderousscowlofIssaorof
Shiki,kneelinginthefrostwiththebowedheadlikethebowed-head-
oblivionofalltheoldhorsesofJapanlongdust.

HesitsthereonthelawnbenchlookingdownandwhenDaveasks

him“WellyougonnabealrightsoonGeorge”hesayssimply“Idont
know”—Hereallymeans“Idontcare”—Andalwayswarmand
courteouswithmehenowhardlypaysanyattentiontome—He’salittle
nervousbecausetheotherpatients,G.I.vets,willseethathe’sreceiveda
visitfromabunchofraggedbeatniksincludingJoeyRosenbergwhois
bouncingaroundthelawnlookingatflowerswiththatbemusedsincere
smile—ButlittleneatGeorge,just5feet5andafewpoundsoverthat
andsoclean,withhissoftfeatheryhairlikethehairofachild,hisdelicate
hands,hejuststaresattheground—Hisanswerscomelikeanoldman’s
(he’sonly30)—“IguessalltheDharmatalkabouteverythingisnothingis
justsortasinkinginmybones,”heconcedes,whichmakesmeshudder—
(OnthewayDave’sbeentellingustobereadybecauseGeorge’s
changedso)—ButItrytokeepthingsgoing,“Doyourememberthose
dancinggirlsinSt.Louis?”—“Yeh,whorecandy”(he’sreferringtoa
pieceofperfumedcottononeofthegirlsthrewatusinherdance,which
wetackeduplatertoahighwayaccidentcrosswe’dyankedoutofthe
groundonebloodredsunsetinArizona,tackingthisperfumedbeautiful
cottonrightwheretheheadofChristwassothatwhenwebroughtthe
crosstoNewYorknaturallywehadeverybodysmellingitbutGeorge
pointedouthowbeautifulwe’ddoneallthissubconsciouslybecausethe
netresultwasthatallthehepcatsofGreenwichVillagewhocameinto
seeuswerepickingupthecrossandputtingtheirheads(noses)toit)—
ButGeorgedoesntcareanymore—Andanywayit’stimetoleave.

Butah,aswe’releavingandwavingbackathimandhe’sturned

aroundtentativelytogointothehospitalIlingerbehindtheothersand
turnaroundseveraltimestowaveagain—FinallyIstarttomakeajokeof
itbyduckingaroundacornerandpeekingoutandwavingagain—He

ducksbehindabushandwavesback—Idarttoabushandpeekout—
Suddenlywe’retwocrazyhopelesssagesgoofingonalawn—Finallyas
wepartfurtherandfurtherandhecomesclosertothedoorweare
makingelaborategesturesanddowntothemostinfinitesimallikewhen
hestepsinsidethedoorIwaittillIseehimstickingafingerout—Sofrom
aroundmycornerIstickoutashoe—Sofromhisdoorhesticksoutan
eye—SofrommycornerIstickoutnothingbutjustyell“Wu!”—Sofrom
hisdoorhesticksoutnothingandsaysnothing—SoIhideinthecorner
anddonothing—ButsuddenlyIburstoutandthereHEisburstingout
andwestartwavinggyrationsandduckbacktoourhidingplaces—Then
IpullabigonebysimplywalkingawayrapidlybutsuddenlyIturnand
waveagain—Hewalkingbackwardsandwavingback—ThefurtherIgo
nowalsowalkingbackwardsthemoreIwave—Finallywe’resofar
apartbyaboutahundredyardsthegameisalmostimpossiblebutwe
continuesomehow—FinallyIseeadistantsadlittleZenwaveofhand—I
jumpupintotheairandgyratebotharms—Hedoesthesame—Hegoes
intothehospitalbutamomentlaterhe’speekingoutthistimefromthe
wardwindow!—I’mbehindatreetrunkthumbingmynoseathim—
There’snoendtoit,infact—Theotherkidsareallbackatthecar
wonderingwhat’skeepingme—What’skeepingmeisthatIknow
GeorgewillgetbetterandliveandteachthejoyfultruthandGeorge
knowsIknowthis,that’swhyhe’splayingthegamewithme,themagic
gameofgladfreedomwhichiswhatZenorforthatmattertheJapanese
soulultimatelymeansIsay,“AndsomedayIwillgotoJapanwith
George”Itellmyselfafterwe’vemadeourlastlittlewavebecauseI’ve
heardthesupperbellringandseentheotherpatientsrushforthechow
lineandknowingGeorge’sfantasticappetitewrappedinthatlittlefrail
bodyIdontwantahanghimupthoheneverthelessdoesonelasttrick:
HethrowsaglassofwateroutthewindowinabigfrooshofwaterandI
dontseehimanymore.

“Wotzemeanbythat?”I’mscratchingmyheadgoingbacktothecar.

OCOMPLET ET HISCRAZYDAY

at3o’clockinthemorninghereIam

sittinginacarbeingdriven100milesanhouraroundthesleepingstreets
andhillsandwaterfrontsofSanFrancisco,Dave’sgoneofftosleepwith
Romanaandtheothersarepassedoutandthiscrazynextdoorneighbor
oftheroominghouse(himselfaBohemianbutalsoalaborer,a
housepainterwhocomeshomewithbigmuddybootsandhashislittleboy
livingwithhimthewifehasdied)—I’vebeeninhispadlisteningto
boomingloudStanGetzjazzonhisHiFiandhappenedtomentionI
thoughtDaveWainandCodyPomeraywerethetwogreatestdriversin
theworld—“What?”heyells,abigblondhuskykidwithastrangefixed
smile,“manIusedtodrivethegetawaycar!comeondownI’llshow
ya!”—SoalmostdawnandherewearecuttindownBuchananand
aroundthecorneronscreechingwheelsandheopensherup,goes
zippingtowardsaredlightsotakesasuddenscreechingleftandgoesup
ahillfullblast,whenwecometothetopofthehillIfiggerhe’llpause
awhiletoseewhat’soverthetopbuthegoesevenfasterandpractically
fliesoffthehillandweheaddownoneofthoseincrediblysteepSanFran
streetswithoursnoutpointedtothewatersoftheBayandhestepson
thegas!wegosailingdownahundredm.p.h.tothebottomofthehill
wherethere’sanintersectionluckilywiththelightongreenandthruthat
weblastwithjustonelittlebumpwheretheroadcrossesandanother
bumpwherethestreetisdippingdownhillagain—Wecomedowntothe
waterfrontandscreechright—Inaminutewe’resoaringovertheramps
aroundtheBridgeentranceandbeforeIcangulpupashotortwofrom
mylastlatebottlewe’realreadyparkedbackoutsidethepadon
Buchanan—ThegreatestdriverintheworldwhoeverhewasandInever
sawhimagain—Brucesomethingorother—Whatagetaway.

ENDUPGROANINGDRUNKONT HEFLOOR

thistimebesideDave’sfloor

mattressforgettingthathe’snoteventhere.

ButastrangethinghappenedthatmorningIremembernow:before

Cody’scallfromdownvalley:I’mfeelinghopelesslyidioticallydepressed
againgroaningtorememberTyke’sdeadandrememberingthatsinking
beachbutatthesideoftheradiatorinthetoiletliesacopyofBoswell’s
Johnsonwhichwe’dbeendiscussingsohappyinthecar:Iopentoany
pagethenonemorepageandstartreadingfromthetopleftandsuddenly
I’minanentirelyperfectworldagain:oldDocJohnsonandBoswellare
visitingacastleinScotlandbelongingtoadeceasedfriendcalledRorie
More,they’redrinkingsherrybythegreatfireplacelookingatthepicture
ofRorieonthewall,thewidowofRorieisthere,Johnsonsuddenlysays
“Sir,here’swhatIwoulddotodealwiththeswordofRorieMore”(the
portraitshowsoldRoriewithhisHighlandsflinger)“I’dgetinsidehim
withadirkandstabhimtomypleasurelikeananimal”andblearywith
hangoverIrealizethatiftherewasanywayforJohnsontoexpresshis
sorrowtothewidowofRorieMoreontheunfortunatecircumstanceof
hisdeath,thiswastheway—Sopitiful,irrational,yetperfect—Irush
downtothekitchenwhereDaveWainandsomeothersarealready
eatingbreakfastofsortsandstartreadingthewholethingtothelotof
them—Jonesylooksatmeaskanceoverhispipeforbeingsoliteraryso
earlyinthemorningbutI’mnotbeingliteraryatall—AgainIseedeath,
thedeathofRorieMore,butJohnson’sresponsetodeathisidealandso
idealIonlywisholdJohnsonbesittinginthekitchennow—(Help!I’m
thinking).

ThecallcomesfromCodyinLosGatosthathelosthisjobtire

recapping—“Becauseweweretherelastnight?”—“Nonosomething
entirelydifferent,he’sgottalayoffsomemenbecausehismortgageis
bleedinghimandallthatandsomegirlistrynasuehimforforginga
checkandallthat,somanI’vegottofindanotherjobbutIhavetopay
therentandeverything’sallfuckedupdownhere,Oholdbuddyhow
about,cantyou,IpleadorIdontplead,orhonestly,Jack,ah,lendmea
hundreddollarswillya?”—“ByGodCodyI’llberightdownandGIVE
youahundreddollars”—“Youmeanyou’llreallydothat,listenjustto

lendtomeisenoughbutifyouinsist,hm”(flutteringhiseyelashesover
thephonebecauseheknowsImeanit)“youoldloverboyyou,howyou
gonnagetdownherethereandgivemethatmoneytheresonandmake
myoldheartglad”—“I’llhaveDavedrivemedown”—“OkayI’llpaythe
rentwithitrightawayandbecauseit’snowFriday,why,Thursdayor
whatever,that’srightThursday,whyIdonthavetobelookinforanew
jobtillnextMondaysoyoucanstayhereandwe’llhavealongweekend
justgoofinandtalkinboylikeweusedtodo,Icandemolishyouatchess
orwecanwatchabaseballgame”andinawhisper“andwecansneak
intotheCityseeandseemypurtybaby”—SoIaskDaveWainandyes
he’sreadytogoanytime,he’sjustfollowingmelikeIoftenfollowpeople
myself,andsooffwegoagain.

AndonthewaywedropinonMonsantoatthebookstoreandtheidea

suddenlycomestomeforDaveandmeandCodytogotothecabinand
spendabigquietcrazyweekend(how?)butwhenMonsantohearsthis
ideahe’llcometoo,infacthe’llbringhislittleChinesebuddyArthurMa
andwe’llcatchMcLearatSantaCruzandgovisitHenryMillerand
suddenlyanotherbighugeballisbegun.

Sothere’sWilliewaitingdownonthestreet,Igotothestore,buythe

bottle,DavewheelsWilliearound,RonBlakeandnowBenFaganareon
thebackmattress,I’msittinginmyfrontseatrockingchairasnowin
broadafternoonwegoblattinagaindownthatBayShorehighwaytosee
oldCodyandMonsanto’sinbackofusinhisjeepwithArthurMa,two
jeepsnow,andabouttobetwomoreasI’llshow—ComingtoCody’sin
midafternoon,hisownhousealreadyfilledwithvisitors(localLosGatos
literariesandallkindsofpeoplethephonethereringingcontinuallytoo)
andCodysaystoEvelyn“I’lljustspendacoupledayswithJackandthe
gangliketheolddaysandlookforajobMonday”—“Okay”—Soweall
gotoawonderfulpizzarestaurantinLosGatoswherethepizzasare
piledaninchhighwithmushroomsandmeatandanchoviesoranything
youwant,Icashatravelerscheckatthesupermarket,Codytakesthe
100incash,givesittoEvelynintherestaurant,andlaterthatdaythetwo
jeepsresumedowntoMontereyanddownthatblastedroadIwalkedon
blisteredfeetbacktothefrightfulbridgeatRatonCanyon—AndI’d
thoughtI’dneverseetheplaceagain.ButnowIwascomingbackloaded
withobservers.Thesightofthecanyondownthereaswerenegotiated
themountainroadmademebitemylipwithmarvelandsadness.

T ’SASFAMILIARASANOLDFACEINANOLDPHOT OGRAPH

asthoI’mgonea

millionyearsfromallthatsunshadedbrushonrocksandthatheartless
blueoftheseawashingwhiteonyellowsand,thoserillsofyellowarroyo
runningdownmightycliffshoulders,thosedistantbluemeadows,that
wholeponderousgroaningupheavalsostrangetoseeafterthelast
severaldaysofjustlookingatlittlefacesandmouthsofpeople—Astho
naturehadaGargantuanleprousfaceofitsownwithbroadnostrilsand
hugebagsunderitseyesandamouthbigenoughtoswallowfive
thousandjeepsterstationwagonsandtenthousandDaveWainsandCody
Pomerayswithoutasighofreminiscenceorregret—Thereitis,every
sadcontourofmyvalley,thegaps,theMienMocaptopmountainagain,
thedreamingwoodsbelowourhighshelvedroad,suddenlyindeedthe
sightofpoorAlfagainfarwaygrazinginthemidafternoonbythecorral
fence—Andthere’sthecreekbouncingalongasthonothinghadever
happenedelsewhereandeveninthedaytimesomehowdarkandhungry
lookinginitsdeepertangledgrass.

Cody’sneverseenthiscountrybeforealthohe’sanoldCalifornianby

now,Icanseehe’sveryimpressedandevengladhe’scomeoutona
littlejauntwiththeboysandwithmeandisseeingagrandsight—He’s
likealittleboyagainnowforthefirsttimeinyearsbecausehe’slikelet
outofschool,nojob,thebillspaid,nothingtodobutgratefullyamuseme,
hiseyesareshining—Infacteversincehe’scomeoutofSanQuentin
there’sbeensomethinghauntedlyboyishabouthimasthoprisonwalls
hadtakenalltheadultdarktensenessoutofhim—Infacteveryevening
aftersupperinthecellhesharedwiththequietgunmanhe’dbenthis
seriousheadtoadailyletteroratleastevery-other-dayletterfullof
philosophicalandreligiousmusingstohismistressBillie—Andwhen
you’reinbedinjailafterlightsoutandyou’renotsleepythere’sample
timetojustremembertheworldandindeedsavoritssweetnessifany
(althoit’salwayssweettorememberitinjailthoharderinprison,as
Genêtshows)withtheresultthathe’dnotonlycometoachastisementof
hisbashingbitternesses(andofcourseit’salwaysgoodtogetawayfrom
alcoholandexcessivesmokingfortwoyears)(andallthatregularsleep)
hewasjustlikeakidagain,butasIsaythathauntingkidlikenessIthink

allexconsseemtohavewhenthey’vejustcomeout—Inseekingto
severelypenalizecriminalssocietybyputtingthecriminalsawaybehind
safewallsactuallyprovidethemwiththemeansofgreaterstrengthfor
futureatrocitiesgloriousandotherwise—“WellI’llbedamned”hekeeps
sayingasheseesthosebluffsandcliffsandhangingvinesanddead
trees,“youmeantotellmeyoubenalonehereforthreeweeks,whyI
wouldntdarethat...mustbeawfulatnight...lookathatoldmule
downthere...man,digtheredwoodcountrywaybackin...reminds
meofoldColoradyb’godwhenIusedtostealacareverydayanddrive
outtohillslikethiswithafreshlittlehighschoolsumptin”—“YumYum,”
saysDaveWainemphaticallyturningthatbiggoofylooktousfromhis
drivingwheelwithhisbigmadfeverishshiningeyesfullofyumyumand
yabyumtoo—“S’matterwithyouboysnotmakingextensiveplansto
bringabevyofschoolgirlsdownheretowileawayourconversation
piecesthar”saysCodyrealrelaxedandtalkingsadly.

BehindustheMonsantojeepsterfollowsdoggedly—Passingthru

MontereyMonsantohasalreadycalledPatMcLear,stayingforthe
summerwithwifeandkidinSantaCruz,McLearwithhisownjeepsteris
followingusafewmilesdownthehighway—It’sabigBigSurday.

WewheeldownhilltocrossthecreekandatthecorralfenceIproudly

getouttoofficiallyopenthegateandletthecarsthrough—Wego
bumpingdownthetwo-ruttedlanetothecabinandpark—Myheartsinks
toseethecabin.

Toseethecabinsosadandalmosthumanwaitingthereformeasif

forever,tohearmylittleneatgurglingcreekresumingitssongjustforme,
toseetheverysamebluejaysstillwaitinginthetreeformeandmaybe
madatmenowtheyseeI’mbackbecauseIhaventbeentheretolayout
theirCheeriosalongtheporchraileveryblessedmorning—Andinfact
firstthingIdoisrushinsideandgetthemsomefoodandlayitout—But
somanypeoplearoundnowthey’reafraidtotryit.

Monsantoalldeckedoutinhisoldclothesandlookingforwardtoa

wineandtalkfestweekendinhispleasantcabintakesthebigsweetaxe
downfromthewallnailsandgoesoutandstartshammeringatahugelog
—Infactit’sreallyahalfofatreethatfellthereyearsagoand’sbeen
hammeredatintermittentlybutnowhe’sboundhe’sgoingtocrackitin
halfandagaininhalfsowecanthenstartsplittingitdownthemiddlefor
hugebonfiretypelogs—MeanwhilelittleArthurMawhonevergoes
anywherewithouthisdrawingpaperandhisYellowjackfelttippencilsis
alreadyseatedinmychairontheporch(wearingmyhatnowtoo)

drawingoneofhisinterminablepictures,he’lldo25adayand25thenext
daytoo—He’lltalkandgoondrawing—Hehasfelttipsofallcolors,red,
blue,yellow,green,black,hedrawsmarveloussubconsciousglurbsand
canalsodoexcellentobjectivescenesoranythinghewantsonto
cartoons—DaveistakingmyrucksackandhisrucksackoutofWillieand
throwingthemintothecabin,BenFaganiswanderingaroundnearthe
creekpuffingonhispipewithahappybhikkusmile,RonBlakeis
unpackingthesteaksweboughtenrouteinMontereyandI’malready
flickingtheplasticsoffthetopofbottleswiththatexperttwitchandtwist
youonlygettolearnafteryearsofwinoinginalleyseastandwest.

Stillthesame,thefogisblowingoverthewallsofthecanyon

obscuringthesunbutthesunkeepsfightingback—Theinsideofthe
cabinwiththefirefinallygoingisstillthedearlovableabodenowas
sharpinmymindasIlookatitasanunusuallywellfocusedsnapshot—
Thesprigoffernsstillstandsinaglassofwater,thebooksarethere,the
neatgroceriesrangedalongthewallshelves—Ifeelexcitedtobewith
thegangbutthere’sahiddensadnesstooandwhichisexpressedlaterby
Monsantowhenhesays“Thisisthekindofplacewhereapersonshould
reallybealone,youknow?whenyoubringabigganghereitsomehow
desecratesitnotthatI’mreferringtousoranybodyinparticular?there’s
suchasadsweetnesstothosetreesasthoyellsshouldntinsultthemor
conversationonly”—WhichisjustthewayIfeeltoo.

Inagangweallgodownthepathtowardsthesea,passingunderneath

“Thatsonofabitchbridge”Codycallsitlookingupwithhorror—“That
thing’senoughtoscareanybodyaway”—Butworstofallforanold
driverlikeCody,andDavetoo,istoseethatupendedoldchassisinthe
sand,theyspendahalfhourpokingaroundthewreckageandshaking
theirheads—Wekickaroundthebeachawhileanddecidetocomeback
atnightwithbottlesandflashlightsandbuildahugebonfire,nowit’stime
togetbacktothecabinandcookthosesteaksandhaveaball,and
there’sMcLear’sjeepalreadyarrivedandparkedandthere’sMcLear
himselfandthatbeautifulblondewifeofhisinhertightbluejeansthat
makesDavesay“Yumyum”andCodyjustsay“Yes,that’sright,yes,
that’sright,ahhumhoney,yes.”

ROARINGDRINKINGBOUT BEGINS

deepinthecanyon—Fognightfall

sendscoldseepingintothewindowssoallthesesoftiesdemandthatthe
woodwindowsbeclosedsoweallsitthereintheglowoftheonelamp
coughinginthesmokebuttheydontcare—Theythinkit’sjustthesteaks
smokingoverthefire—IhaveoneofthejugsinmyhandandIwontlet
go—McLearisthehandsomeyoungpoetwho’sjustwrittenthemost
fantasticpoeminAmerica,called“DarkBrown,”whichiseverydetailof
hisandhiswife’sbodydescribedinecstaticunionandcommunionand
insideoutandeverywhichawayandnotonlythatheinsistsonreadingit
tous—ButIwantareadmy“Sea”poemtoo—ButCodyandDaveWain
aretalkingaboutsomethingelseandthatsillykidRonBlakeissinginglike
ChetBaker—ArthurMaisdrawinginthecorner,anditsortagoeslike
thisgenerally:—

“That’swhatoldmendo,Cody,theydriveslowlybackwardsin

SafewaySupermarketparkinglots”—“Yesthat’sright,Iwastellinyou
aboutthatbicycleofminebutthat’swhattheydoyesyouseethat’s
becausewhiletheoldwomanisshoppininthatstoretheyfigurethey’ll
parkalittleclosertotheentranceandsotheyspendahalfhourtothink
theirbigmoveoutandtheybackinoutslowlyfromtheirslot,canhardly
turnaroundtoseewhat’sinback,usuallynothinthere,thentheywheel
realslowandtremblytothatslottheypickedbutallofasuddensomecat
jumpsinitwithhispickupandthemoldmenisscratchintheirheadssayin
andwhining‘Owww,theseyoungfellersnowadays’andallthatobvious,
ah,yes,butthatBICYCLEofmineinDenverItellyouIhadittwisted
andthatwheelusedtowobblesobynecissityIhadtoinventanewway
tomaneuverthemhandlebarssee—”—“HeyCodyhaveadrink,”I’m
yellinginhisearandmeanwhileMcLearisreading:“Kissmythighsin
darknessthepitoffire”andMonsantoischucklingsayingtoFagan:“So
thiscrazycharactercomesdownstairsandaskingforacopyofAlisteir
CrowleyandIdidntknow’boutthattillyoutoldmetheotherday,thenon
thewayoutIseehimsneakabookofftheshelfbutheputsanotherone
initsplacethathegotoutofhispocket,andthebooksisanovelby
somebodycalledDentonWelchallaboutthisyoungkidinChinawanderin
aroundthestreetslikerealromanticyoungTrumanCapoteonlyit’s

China”andArthurMasuddenlyyells:“Holdstillyoubunchabastards,I
gotaholeinmyeye”andgenerallythewaypartiesgo,andsoon,ending
withthesteakdinner(Idonteventouchabitebutjustdrinkon),thenthe
bigbonfireonthebeachtowhichwemarchallinonearm-swinginggang,
I’vegottentheideainmyheadI’mtheleaderofaguerillawarfareunit
andI’mmarchingaheadthelieutenantgivingorders,withallour
flashlightsandyellswecomeswarmingdownthenarrowpathgoing
“Huponetwothree”andchallengingtheenemytocomeoutofhiding,
someguerillas.

Monsantothatoldwoodsmanstartsahugebonfireonthebeachthat

canbeseenflaringfrommilesaway,carspassingacrossthebridgeway
uptherecanseethere’sapartygoinonintheholeofnight,infactthe
bonfirelightsuptheeerieweirdbeamsandstaunchesofthebridge
almostallthewayup,giantshadowsdanceontherocks—Theseaswirls
upbutseemssubdued—It’snotlikebeingalonedowninthevasthell
writingthesoundsofthesea.

Thenightendingwitheverybodypassingoutexhaustedoncots,in

sleepingbagsoutside(McLeargoeshomewithwife)butArthurMaandI
bythelatefirekeepupyellingspontaneousquestionsandanswersright
tilldawnlike“Whotoldyouyouhadahatonyourhead?”—“Myhead
neverquestionshats”—“What’sthematterwithyourliver
training?”—“Mylivertraininggotinvolvedinkidneywork”—(andhere
againanothergreatgiganticlittleOrientalfriendforme,aneastcoaster
who’sneverknownChineseorJapanesekids,onthewestcoastit’squite
commonbutforaneastcoasterlikemeit’samazingandwhatwithallmy
earlierstudiesinZenandChanandTao)—(AndArthuralsobeinga
gentlesmallsofthairedseeminglysoftlittleOrientalgoofnik)—Andwe
cometogreatchantedstatements,takingturns,withoutapausetothink,
justonethentheother,bingandbang,thebeautyofthembeingthatwhile
oneguyisyellinglike(me):-“TonightthefullapogeeAugustmoonwill
out,earlywithajaundicedtint,andpopangelsallovermyrooftopalong
withDevassprinklingflowers”(anykindofnonsensebeingtherule)the
otherguyhastimenotonlytofigurethenextstatementbutcantakeoff
fromthesubconsciousarousementofanideafrom“angelsallovermy
rooftop”andsocanyellwithoutthinkingananswerthestupiderorrather
themoreunexpectedlyinsanersillierbrighteritisthebetter“Pilgrims
droppingturdsandsweetnemacularnamelessrailroadtrainsfromheaven
withomnipotentyouthsbearingmonkeywomenthatwillstompthrough
thestagewaitingforthemomentwhenbypinchingmyselfIprovethata

thoughtislikeatouch”—Butthisisonlythebeginningbecausenowwe
knowtheroutineandgetbetterandbettertillatdawnIseemtorecallwe
weresofantasticallybrilliant(whileeveryonesnored)theskiesmusthave
shooktohearitandnotjustfoil:let’sseeifIcanrecreateatleastthe
styleofthisgame:-

ARTHUR:“WhenareyougoingtobecometheEighthPatriarch?”
ME:“Assoonasyougivemethatoldmotheatensweater”—(Much

betterthanthat,forgetthisfornow,becauseIwanttotalkfirstabout
ArthurMaandtryagaintoduplicateourfeat).

SAYMYFIRST LIT T LECHINESEFRIEND

,Ikeepsaying“little”George

and“little”Arthurbutthefactistheywerebothsmallanyway—Altho
Georgetalkedslowlyandwasalittleabsentfromeverythingintheway
ofaZenMasteractuallywhorealizesthateverythingisindifferent
anyway,Arthurwasfriendlier,warmerinaway,curiousandalways
askingquestions,moreactivethanGeorgewithhisconstantdrawing,and
ofcourseChineseinsteadofJapanese—Hewantedmetomeethis
fatherthefollowingweeks—HewasMonsanto’sbestfriendatthetime
andtheymadeanextremelystrangepairgoingdownthestreettogether,
thebigruddyhappymanwiththecrewcutandcorduroyjacketand
sometimespipeinmouth,andthelittlechildlikeChineseboywholooked
soyoungmostbartenderswouldntservehimthohewasactually30years
old—NeverthelessthesonofafamousChinatownfamilyandChinatown
isrightbacktherebehindthefabledbeatnikstreetsofFrisco—Also
Arthurwasatremendouslittleloverboywhohadfabulouslybeautifulgirls
onthelineandhowever’djustseparatedfromhiswife,agirlIneversaw
butMonsantotoldmeshewasthemostbeautifulNegrogirlintheworld
—ArthurcamefromalargefamilybutasapainterandaBohemianhis
familydisapprovedofhimnowsohelivedaloneinacomfortableold
hotelonNorthBeachthosometimeshewentaroundthecornerinto
ChinatowntovisithisfatherwhosatinthebackofhisChinesegeneral
storebroodingamonghiscountlesspoemswrittenswiftlyinChinese
strokeonpiecesofbeautifulcoloredpaperwhichhethenhangedfrom
theceilingofhislittlecubicle—Therehesat,clean,neat,almostshiney,
wonderingaboutwhatpoemtowritenextbuthiskeenlittleeyesalways
jumpingtothestreetdoortoseewho’sgoingbyandifsomeonecame
intotheshopitselfheknewatoncewhoitwasandforwhat—Hewasin
factthebestfriendandtrustedadviserofChiangKaiShekinAmerica,
trueandnolie—ButArthurhimselfwasinfavoroftheRedChinese
whichwasafamilymatterandaChinesematterIhadnothingtosay
aboutanddidntinterestmeexceptinsofarasitgaveadramaticpictureof
fatherandsoninanoldculture—Thepintofthematteranywaybeing
thathewasgoofingwithmejustlikeGeorgehaddoneandmakingme
happysomehowlikeGeorgehaddone—Somethingancientlyfamiliar

abouthisloyalpresencemademewonderifI’deverlivedbeforeinsome
otherlifetimeinChinaorifhe’dbeenanOccidentalhimselfinaprevious
lifetimeofhisowninvolvedwithminesomewhereelsethanChina—The
pityofitisthatIhavenorecordofwhatwewereyellingandannouncing
backandforthasthebirdswokeupoutsidebutitwentgenerallylike
this:-

:-“UnlesssomeonesicksahotironinmyheartorheapsupEvil

Karmaliketitandtatthepileofthatandpullsmymotheroutherbedto
slayherbeforemydamninghumaneyes—”

ART HUR

:-“AndIbreakmyhandonheads—”

:-“Everytimeyouthrowarockatacatfromyourglasshouseyou

heapuponyourselftheautomaticStanleyGouldwintersodarkofdeath
afterdeath,andgrowingold—”

ART HUR

:-“Becauseladythoseashcans’llbiteyoubackandbecoldtoo

—”

:-“Andyoursonwillneverrestintheimperturbableknowledgethat

whathethinkshethinksaswellaswhathedoeshethinksaswellas
whathefeelshethinksaswellasfuturethat—”

ART HUR

:-“FuturethatmydamnoldswordcutterPaisanPashalostthe

Preaknessagain—”

:-“Tonightthemoonshallwitnessangelstroopingatthebaby’s

windowwhereinsidehegurglesinhispewklookingwithmewlingeyes
forbabysidewaterfalllambikinhillsidethedaythelittleArabshepherd
boyhuggedthebabylambtoheartwhilethemotherbleetedathisbay
heel—”

ART HUR

:-“AndsoJoethesillickskillitnonot—”

:-“Shhhhowwgraaa—”

ART HUR

:-“Windandcarstart—”

:-“TheangelsDevasmonstersAsurasDevadattasVedantas

McLaughlinsStoneswillhueandhurlinhelliftheydontlovethelambthe
lambthelambofhelllamb-chop—”

ART HUR

:-“WhydidScottFitzgeraldkeepanotebook?”

:-“Suchamarvelousnotebook—”

ART HUR

:-“Komideneranesspatasutyampandawandavesnoki

shadakirooparyoumemgasikaremnorasarkadiumbaronroykellegiam
myorkiayastunahaidanseetzelamphoandiamyerkayamachelmsford
alyabonneavancekoroomcemandaversel—”

:-“The26thAnnualconcertoftheArmenianConvention?”

NCIDENTALLYIFORGOT T OMENT IONT HAT DURINGT HET HREEWEEKS

ALONE

thestarshadnotcomeoutatall,notevenforoneminuteonany

night,itwasthefoggyseason,excepttheverylastnightwhenIwas
gettingreadytoleave—Nowthestarswereouteverynight,thesun
shoneconsiderablylongerbutasinisterwindaccompaniedtheAutumnin
BigSur:itseemedlikethewholePacificOceanwasblowingwithallits
mightrightintoRatonCanyonandalsooverthehighgapfromanother
endcausingallthetreestoshudderasthebiggroaninghowlcame
newsingandnoisingfromdowncanyon,whenithittherewasraiseda
roarofnoiseIdidntlike—Itseemedillomenedtomesomewhere—It
wasmuchbettertohavefogandsilenceandquiettrees—Nowthewhole
canyonbyoneblastcouldbeledscreamingandwavinginalldirectionsin
suchaconfusedmassthateventhefellowswithmewerealittle
surprisedtoseeit—Itwastoobigawindforsuchalittlecanyon.

Thisdevelopmentalsopreventedtheconstanthearingofthereassuring

creek.

Onegoodthingwasthatwhenjetplanesbrokethesoundbarrier

overheadthewinddispersedtheclapofemptythundertheycaused,
becauseduringthefoggyseasonthenoisewouldcomedownintothe
canyon,concentratethere,androckthehouselikeanexplosionmaking
methinkthefirsttime(alone)thatsomebody’dsetoffablastofdynamite
nearby.

WhileIwokeupgroaningandsicktherewasplentyofwinerightthere

tostartmeoffwiththehoundsofhair,sookay,butMonsantohadretired
earlyandtypicallysensiblytosleepbythecreekandnowhewasawake
singingswooshinghiswholeheadintothecreekandgoingBrrrrrand
rubbinghishandsforanewday—DaveWainmadebreakfastwithhis
usuallecture“Nowtherealwaytofryeggsistoputacoveroverthem
sothattheycanhavethatneatbastedwhitelookontheyellows,soon’sI
getthispancakebatterreadywe’llstartonthem”—Mylistofgroceries
wassoallinclusiveinthebeginningitwasnowfeedingguerillatroops.

Abigaxechoppingcontestbeganafterbreakfast,someofussitting

watchingontheporchandtheperformersdownbelowhackingawayat
thetreetrunkwhichwasoverafootthick—Theywerechoppingofftwo

footchunks,noeasyjob—Irealizedyoucanalwaysstudythecharacter
ofamanbythewayhechopswood—Monsantoanoldlumbermanupin
MaineasIsaynowshowedushowheconductedhiswholelifeinfact
bythewayhetookneatlittleshorthandledchopsfrombothleftandright
anglesgettinghisworkdoneinreasonablyshorttimewithouttoomuch
sweat—Buthisstrokeswererapid—WhereasoldFaganpipe-in-mouth
sloggedawayIguessthewayhelearnedinOregonandintheNorthwest
fireschools,alsogettinghisjobdone,silently,notaword—ButCody’s
fantasticfierycharactershowedinthewayhewentatthelogwith
horribleforce,whenhebroughtdowntheaxewithallhismightand
holdingitfarattheendyoucouldhearthewholetree-trunkgroaningthe
wholelengthinside,runk,sometimesyoucouldhearalengthwise
crackinggoingon,heisreallyverystrongandhebroughtthataxedown
sohardhisfeetlefttheearthwhenithit—Hechoppedoffhislogwith
thefuryofaGreekgod—Neverthelessittookhimlongerandmuchmore
sweatthanMonsanto—“Usedtodothisinaworkganginsouthern
Arizony”hesaid,whoppingonedownthatmadethewholetreetrunk
danceofftheground—Butitwaslikeanexampleofvastbutsenseless
strength,apictureofpoorCody’slifeandinasensemyown—Itoo
choppedwithallmymightandgotmadderandwentfasterandrakedthe
logbuttookmoretimethanMonsantowhowatchedussmiling—Little
Arthurthereupontriedhisluckbutgaveupafterfivestrokes—Theaxe
wasliketocarryhimawayanyway—ThenDaveWaindemonstrated
withbigeasystrokesandinnotimewehadfivehugelogstouse—But
nowitwastimetogetinthecars(McLearhadrearrived)andgodriving
southdownthecoasthighwaytoahotspringsbathhousedownthere,
whichsoundedgoodtomeatfirst.

ButthenewBigSunAutumnwasnowallwineysparklingbluewhich

madetheterriblenessandgiantnessofthecoastallthemorecleartosee
inallitsgruesomesplendor,milesandmilesofitsnakingawaysouth,our
threejeepstwistingandturningtheincreasingcurves,sheerdropsatour
sides,furtherghostlyhighbridgestocrosswithsmashingsbelow—Thoall
theboysarewowingtoseeit—Tomeit’sjustaninhospitablemadhouse
oftheearth,I’veseenitenoughandevenswalloweditinthatdeep
breath—Theboysreassuremethehotspringsbathwilldomegood(they
seeI’mgloomynowhungoverforgood)butwhenwearrivemyheart
sinksagainasMcLearpointsouttoseafromthebalconyoftheoutdoor
pools:“Lookouttherefloatingintheseaweeds,adeadotter!”—And
sureenoughitisadeadotterIguess,abigbrownpalelumpfloatingup

anddownmournfullywiththeswellsandghastlyweeds,myotter,my
dearotterI’dwrittenpoemsabout—“Whydidhedie?”Iaskmyselfin
despair—“Whydotheydothat?”—“What’sthesenseofallthis?”—All
thefellowsareshadingtheireyestogetabetterlookatthebigpeaceful
torturedhunkofseacowoutthereasthoit’ssomethingofpassinginterest
whiletomeit’sablowacrosstheeyesanddownintomyheart—Thehot
waterpoolsaresteaming,FaganandMonsantoandtheothersareall
sittingpeacefullyuptotheirnecks,they’reallnaked,butthere’sagangof
fairiesalsotherenakedallstandingaroundinvariousbathhousepostures
thatmakemehesitatetotakemyclothesoffjustongeneralprinciples—
InfactCodydoesntevenbothertodoanythingbutliedownwithhis
clothesoninthesun,onthebalconytable,andjustsmoke—ButIborrow
McLear’syellowbathingsuitandgetin—“Whatyawearingabathingsuit
inahotspringspoolforboy?”saysFaganchuckling—WithhorrorI
realizethere’sspermatazoafloatinginthehotwater—IlookandIseethe
othermen(thefairies)alltakinggoodlonglooksatRonBakerwho
standstherefacingtheseawithhisarseforalltobehold,nottomention
McLearandDaveWaintoo—Butit’sverytypicalofmeandCodythat
wewontundressinthissituation(wewerebothraisedCatholics?)—
Supposedlythebigsexheroesofourgeneration,infact—Youmightthink
—Butthecombinationofthestrangesilentwatchingfairy-men,andthe
deadotteroutthere,andthespermatazoainthepoolsmakesmesick,not
tomentionthatwhensomebodyinformsmethisbathhouseisownedby
theyoungwriterKevinCudahywhomIknewverywellinNewYorkand
Iaskoneoftheyoungerstrangerswhere’sKevinCudahyhedoesnteven
deigntoreply—ThinkinghehasntheardmeIaskagain,noreply,no
notice,Iaskathirdtime,thistimehegetsupandstalksoutangrilytothe
lockerrooms—Italladdsuptotheconfusionthat’sbeginningtopileupin
mybattereddrinkingbrainanyway,theconstantremindersofdeathnot
theleastofwhichwasthedeathofmypeacefulloveofRatonCanyon
nowsuddenlybecomingahorror.

FromthebathswegotoNepenthewhichisabeautifulclifftop

restaurantwithvastoutdoorpatio,withexcellentfood,excellentwaiters
andmanagement,gooddrinks,chesstables,chairsandtablestojustsitin
thesunandlookatthegrandcoast—Hereweallsitatvarioustablesand
Codystartsplayingchesswitheverybodywilljoinwhilehe’schomping
awayatthosemarveloushamburgerscalledHeavenburgers(hugewith
allthesideworks)—Codydoesntliketojustsitaroundandlightlychat
away,he’sthekindofguyifhe’sgoingtotalkhehastodoallthetalking

himselfforhourstilleverythingisexhaustedlyexplained,sansthathejust
wantstobendoverachessboardandsay“Heheheh,oldScroogeis
savingupapawnhey?cak!Igotya!”—ButwhileI’msittingthere
discussingliteraturewithMcLearandMonsantosuddenlyastrange
coupleofgentlemennearbystrikeupanacquaintance—Oneofthemisa
youngsterwhosaysheisalieutenantintheArmy—Iinstantly(drunkon
fifthManhattanbynow)gointomytheoryofguerillawarfarebasedon
myobservationsthenightbeforewhenitdidseriouslyoccurtomethatif
Monsanto,Arthur,Cody,Dave,Ben,RonBlakeandIwereallmembers
ofonefightingunit(andallcarryingcanteensofboozeonourbelts)it
wouldbeverydifficultfortheenemytohurtanyofusbecausewe’dbe,
asdearfriends,watchingsodesperatelycloselyoveroneanother,whichI
tellthefirstlieutenant,whichattractstheinterestoftheoldermanwho
admitsthathe’saGENERALintheArmy—Therearealsosomefurther
homosexualsataseparatetablewhichpromptsDaveWaintolookup
fromthechessgameatonequietdrowsypointandannounceinhisdry
twang“Underredwoodbeams,peopletalkingabouthomosexualityand
war...callitmyNepentheHaiku”—“Yass”saysCodycheckmating
him“seewhatyoucankuaboutthatm’boyandgetoutofthereandI’ll
nooseyouwithmyqueen,dear.”

Imentionthegeneralonlybecausetherearealsosomethingsinister

aboutthefactthatduringthislongbingeIcameacrosshimandanother
general,twostrangegenerals,andI’dnevermetanygeneralsinmylife
—Thisfirstgeneralwasstrangebecauseheseemedtoopoliteandyet
therewassomethingsinisterabouthissteelyeyesbehindgoof
darkglasses—Somethingsinistertooaboutthefirstlieutenantwho
guessedwhowewere(theSanFranciscopoets,amajornucleusofthem
indeed)anddidn’tseematallpleasedthothegeneralseemedamused—
Neverthelessinasinisterwaythegeneralseemedtotakegreatinterest
inmytheoryaboutbuddyunitsforguerillawarfareandwhenPresident
Kennedyaboutayearlaterorderedjustsuchanewschemeforpartof
ourarmedforcesIwondered(stillcrazyeventhenbutfornewreasons)
ifthegeneralhadgotanideafromme—Thesecondgeneral,even
stranger,comingup,occurredwhenIwasevenmorefargone.

ManhattansandmoreManhattansandfinallywhenwegotbacktothe

cabininlateafternoonIwasfeelinggoodbutrealizedIwasgoingtobe
finishedtomorrow—ButpooryoungRonBlakeaskedmeifhecouldstay
withmeinthecabin,theotherswereallgoingbacktothecityinthe
threecars,Icouldntthinkofanywaytorejecthisrequestinaharmless

waysosaidyes—SowhentheyallleftsuddenlyIwasalonewiththis
madbeatnikkidsingingmesongsandallIwantadoissleep—ButI’ve
gottomakethebestofitandnotdisappointhisbelievingheart.

Becauseafterallthepoorkidactuallybelievesthatthere’ssomething

nobleandidealisticandkindaboutallthisbeatstuff,andI’msupposedto
betheKingoftheBeatniksaccordingtothenewspapers,sobutatthe
sametimeI’msickandtiredofalltheendlessenthusiasmsofnewyoung
kidstryingtoknowmeandpouroutalltheirlivesintomesothatI’lljump
upanddownandsayyesyesthat’sright,whichIcantdoanymore—My
reasonforcomingtoBigSurforthesummerbeingpreciselytogetaway
fromthatsortofthing—Likethosepatheticfivehighschoolkidswhoall
cametomydoorinLongIslandonenightwearingjacketsthatsaid
“DharmaBums”onthem,allexpectingmetobe25yearsoldaccording
toamistakeonabookjacketandhereIamoldenoughtobetheirfather
—Butno,hepswingingyoungjazzyRonwantstodigeverything,goto
thebeach,runandrompandsing,talk,writetunes,writestories,climb
mountains,gohiking,seeeverything,doeverythingwitheverybody—But
havingonelastquartofportwithmeIagreetofollowhimtothebeach.

WegodowntheoldsadpathofthebhikkuandsuddenlyIseeadead

mouseinthegrass—“Aweedeadmousie”Isaycleverlypoeticallybut
suddenlyIrealizeandremembernowforthefirsttimehowI’veleftthe
coverofftheratpoisoninMonsanto’sshelfandsothisismymouse—It’s
lyingtheredead—Liketheotterinthesea—It’smyownpersonalmouse
thatI’vecarefullyfedchocolateandcheeseallsummerbutonceagain
I’veunconsciouslysabotagedallthesegreatplansofminetobekindto
livingbeingsevenbugs,onceagainI’vemurderedamouseonewayor
theother—Andontopofthatwhenwecometotheplacewherethe
gartersnakeusuallyliessunningitself,andIbringittoRon’sattention,he
suddenlyyells“LOOKOUT!younevercantellwhatkindofsnakeitis!”
whichreallyscaresme,myheartpoundswithhorror—Mylittlefriendthe
gartersnaketurnsthereforewithmyheadfromalivingbeingwithalong
greenbodyintotheevilserpentofBigSur.

Ontopofthat,atthesurf,wherelongstreamersofhollowseaweed

alwaysliearounddryinginthesunsomeofthemhuge,likelivingbodies
withskin,piecesoflivingmaterialthatalwaysmademesadsomehow,
here’stheyounghepcatliftingthemupanddancingadervisharoundthe
beachwiththem,turningmySurintosomethingseachange—Something
brainchange.

Allthatnightbylamplightwesingandyellsongswhichisokaybutin

themorningthebottleisgoneandIwakeupwiththe“finalhorrors”
again,preciselythewayIwokeupintheFriscoskidrowroombefore
escapingdownhere,it’sallcaughtupwithmeagain,Icanhearmyself
againwhining“WhydoesGodtortureme?”—Butanybodywho’snever
haddeliriumtremensevenintheirearlystagesmaynotunderstandthat
it’snotsomuchaphysicalpainbutamentalanguishindescribableto
thoseignorantpeoplewhodontdrinkandaccusedrinkersof
irresponsibility—Thementalanguishissointensethatyoufeelyouhave
betrayedyourverybirth,theeffortsnaythebirthpangsofyourmother
whensheboreyouanddeliveredyoutotheworld,you’vebetrayedevery
effortyourfatherevermadetofeedyouandraiseyouandmakeyou
strongandmyGodeveneducateyoufor“life,”youfeelaguiltsodeep
youidentifyyourselfwiththedevilandGodseemsfarawayabandoning
youtoyoursicksilliness—Youfeelsickinthegreatestsenseoftheword,
breathingwithoutbelievinginit,sicksicksick,yoursoulgroans,you
lookatyourhelplesshandsasthotheywereonfireandyoucantmoveto
help,youlookattheworldwithdeadeyes,there’sonyourfacean
expressionofincalculablerepininglikeaconstipatedangelonacloud—In
factit’sactuallyacancerouslookyouthrowontheworld,through
browngraywoolfudsoveryoureyes—Yourtongueiswhiteand
disgusting,yourteetharestained,yourhairseemstohavedriedout
overnight,therearehugemucksinthecornersofyoureyes,greaseson
yournose,frothatthesidesofyourmouth:inshortthatverydisgusting
andwellknownhideousnesseverybodyknowswho’swalkedpastacity
streetdrunkintheBoweriesoftheworld—Butthere’snojoyatall,
peoplesay“Ohwellhe’sdrunkandhappylethimsleepitoff”—Thepoor
drunkardiscrying—He’scryingforhismotherandfatherandgreat
brotherandgreatfriend,he’scryingforhelp—Hetriestopullhimself
togetherbymovingoneshoenearertohisfootandhecantevendothat
properly,he’lldroptheshoe,orknocksomethingover,he’lldosomething
invariablythat’llstarthimcryingagain—He’llwanttoburyhisfaceinhis
handsandmoanformercyandheknowsthereisnone—Notonly
becausehedoesntdeserveitbutthere’snosuchthinganyway—Because
helooksupattheblueskyandthere’snothingtherebutemptyspace
makingabigfaceathim—Helooksattheworld,it’sstickingitstongue
outathimandoncethatmaskisremovedit’slookingathimwithhollow
bigredeyeslikehisowneyes—Hemayseetheearthmovebutthere’s
nosignificanceofanyparticularkindtoattachtothat—Onelittle
unexpectednoisebehindhimwillmakehimsnarlinrage—He’llpulland

tugathispoorstainedshirt—Hefeelslikerubbinghisfaceintosomething
thatisnt.

Hissocksarethicktiredmoistyslimes—Thebeardonhischeeks

itchestherunningsweatsandannoysthetorturedmouth—There’sa
twistedfeelingofno-more,never-again,agh—Whatwasbeautifuland
cleanyesterdayhasirrationallyandunaccountablychangedintoabig
drearycrockofshit—Thehairsonhisfingersstareathimliketombhairs
—Theshirtandtrousershavebecomegluedtohispersonasthohewas
tobedrunkforever—Theacheofremorsesinksinasthosomebodywas
pushingitinfromabove—Theprettywhitecloudsintheskyhurthiseyes
only—Theonlythingtodoisturnoverandliefacedownandweep—The
mouthissoblastedthere’snotevenachancetognashtheteeth—
There’snotevenstrengthtotearthehair.

AndherecomesRonBlakestartingoffhisnewdaysingingatthetop

ofhisvoice—Igodownbythecreekandthrowmyselfinthesandand
lielookingwithsadeyesatthewaterwhichnolongerfriendsmebut
sortawantsmetogoaway—Thereisntadroptodrinkleftinthecabin,
allthegoddamnjeepsaregonewithallitshealthycargoofpeopleand
I’malonewithanenthusiastickidonalark—ThelittlebugsI’dsaved
fromdrowningjustbecauseIwasbemusedandaloneandglad,now
drownunnoticedwithinmyreachanyway—Thespiderisstillmindinghis
ownbusinessintheouthouse—Alflowsmournfullyinthevalleyfaraway
toexpressjustthewayIfeel—Thebluejaysyakaroundmeastho
becauseI’mtootiredandhelplesstofeedthemanymorethey’refiguring
ontryingmeiftheycan,“They’refrigginvulturesanyway”Imoanwith
mymouthinthesand—Theoncepleasantthumpthumpgurgleslapofthe
creekisnowanendlessjabberingofblindnaturewhichdoesnt
understandanythinginthefirstplace—Myoldthoughtsabouttheslitofa
billionyearscoveringallthisandallcitiesandgenerationseventuallyis
justadumboldthought,“Onlyasillysoberfoolcouldthinkit,imagine
gloatingoversuchnonsense”(becauseinonesensethedrinkerlearns
wisdom,inthewordsofGoetheorBlakeorwhicheveritwas“The
pathwaytowisdomliesthroughexcess”)—Butinthisconditionyoucan
onlysay“Wisdomisjustanotherwaytomakepeoplesick”—“I’m
SICK”Iyellemphaticallytothetrees,tothewoodsaround,tothehills
above,lookingarounddesperately,nobodycares—IcanevenhearRon
singingathislunchinside.

What’sevenmorehorriblehetriestoshowcompunctionandwantsto

helpme,“AnythingIcando”—LaterhegoesforalonewalksoIgoin

thecabinandlieonthecotandspendabouttwohoursgroaningouta
lament:“OmonDieux,pourquoiTum’laissefairemaladecommeça—
PapaPapaaidemué—Awj’aimalaucoeur—J’envied’allerà
toilette‘piçam’interessepas—Aw‘shumalade—Owaowaowao—”(I
gointoalong“awaowaowoa”thatIguesslastedawholeminute)—Itoss
overandfindnewreasonstogroan—IthinkI’maloneandI’mlettingit
allgoawholelotlikeI’dheardmyfatherdowhenhewasdyingof
cancerinthenightinthebednexttomine—WhenIdomanageto
staggerupandgoleanonthedoorIrealizewithdoubleupondouble
horrorthatRonBlakehasbeensittingthereallthistimelisteningto
everythingoverabook—(Iwondernowwhathetoldpeopleaboutthis
later,itmusthavesoundedhorrible)—(Idiotictoo,cretinouseven,maybe
onlyFrenchCanadianwhoknows?)—“RonI’msorryyouhadtohearall
that,I’msick”—“Iknow,man,it’sokay,liedownandtrytosleep”—“I
cantsleep!”Iyellinarage—Ifeellikeyelling“Fuckyourselfyoulittle
idiotwhatdoyouknowwhatImgoingthrough!”butthenIrealizehow
oldmandisgustingandhopelessallthatis,andhereheisenjoyinghisbig
weekendwiththebigwriterhewassupposedtotellallhisfriendswhata
greatswingingballitwasandwhatIdidandsaid—Butmethinksand
mayhaphetookawayalessonintemperance,oralessoninbeatness
really—BecausetheonlytimeI’veeverbeensickerandmadderwasa
weeklaterwhenDaveandIcamebackwiththetwogirlsleadingtothe
finalhorriblenight.

UT LOOKAT T HIS

:intheafternoonrestlessyoungsterRonwantstogo

hitchhikingtoMontereyofallthingstogoseeMcLearandIsay“Okay
goahead”—“Aintyoucomingwithme?”heaskssurprisedtoseethe
championon-the-roaderwontevenhitchhikeanymore,“NoI’llstay
hereandgetbetter—Igottabealone,”whichistrue,becauseassoonas
he’sgoneandhasyelledonefinalhootfromthecanyonroaddirectly
aboveandgoneon,andI’vesatinthesunaloneontheporch,fedmy
birdsfinallyagain,washedmysocksandshirtandpantsandhungthem
uptodryonbushes,slurpeduptonsofwaterkneelingatthecreekrace,
staredsilentlyatthetrees,soonasthesungoesdownIswearonmyarm
I’maswellasIeverwas:justlikethatsuddenly.

“CanitbethatRonandalltheseotherguys,DaveandMcLearor

somebody,theotherguysearlierareallabigbunchofwitchesoutto
makemegomad?”Iseriouslyconsiderthis—Rememberingthat
childhoodreveryIalwayshad,whichIusedtoponderseriouslyasI
walkedhomefromSt.Joseph’sParochialSchoolorsatintheparlorof
myhome,thateverybodyintheworldismakingfunofmoneymeandI
dontknowitbecauseeverytimeIturnaroundtoseewho’sbehindme
theysnapbackintoplacewithregularexpressions,butsoon’sIlook
awayagaintheydartuptomynapeofneckandallwhispertheregiggling
andplottingevil,silently,youcanthearthem,andwhenIturnquicklyto
catchthemthey’vealreadysnappedbackperfectlyinplaceandare
saying“Nowtheproperwaytocookeggsis”orthey’resingingChet
Bakersongslookingtheotherwayorthey’resaying“DidIevertellyou
aboutJimthattime?”—Butmychildhoodreveryalsoincludedthefact
thateverybodyintheworldwasmakingthisfunofmebecausethey
wereallmembersofaneternalsecretsocietyorHeavensocietythat
knewthesecretoftheworldandwereseriouslyfoolingmesoI’dwake
upandseethelight(i.e.,becomeenlightened,infact)—SothatI,“Ti
Jean,”wastheLASTTiJeanleftintheworld,thelastpoorholyfool,
thosepeopleatmyneckwerethedevilsoftheearthamongwhomGod
hadcastme,anangelbaby,asthoIwasthelastJesusinfact!andall
thesepeoplewerewaitingformetorealizeitandwakeupandcatch
thempeekingandwe’dalllaughinHeavensuddenly—Butanimals

werentdoingthatbehindmyback,mycatswerealwaysadornments
lickingtheirpawssadly,andJesus,hewasasadwitnesstothis,
somewhatliketheanimals—Hewasntpeekingdownmyneck—There
liestherootofmybeliefinJesus—Sothatactuallytheonlyrealityinthe
worldwasJesusandthelambs(theanimals)andmybrotherGerardwho
hadinstructedme—Meanwhilesomeofthepeekerswerekindlyandsad,
likemyfather,buthadtogoalongwitheverybodyelseinthesameboat
—Butmywakingupwouldtakeplaceandtheneverythingwouldvanish
exceptHeaven,whichisGod—Andthatwaswhylaterinlifeafterthese
ratherstrangeyoumustadmitchildhoodreveries,afterIhadthatfainting
visionoftheGoldenEternityandothersbeforeandafteritincluding
SamadhisduringBuddhistmeditationsinthewoods,Iconceivedof
myselfasaspecialsolitaryangelsentdownasamessengerfrom
Heaventotelleverybodyorshoweverybodybyexamplethattheir
peekingsocietywasactuallytheSatanicSocietyandtheywereallonthe
wrongtrack.

Withallthisinmybackground,nowatthepointofadulthooddisaster

ofthesoul,throughexcessivedrinking,allthiswaseasilyconvertedintoa
fantasythateverybodyintheworldwaswitchingmetomadness:andI
musthavebelieveditsubconsciouslybecauseasIsayassoonasRon
BlakeleftIwaswellagainandinfactcontent.

Infactverycontented—Irosethatfollowingmorningwithmorejoy

andhealthandpurposethanever,andtherewasmeoldBigSurValleyall
mineagain,herecamegoodoldAlfandIgavehimfoodandpattedhis
bigroughneckwithitsvariouscocotte’smanes,therewasthemountain
ofMienMointhedistancejustadismaloldhillwithfunnybushesaround
thesidesandapeacefulfarmontop,andnothingtodoalldaybutamuse
myselfundisturbedbywitchesandbooze—AndI’msingingdittiesagain
“Mysoulaintsnow,wouldntyouknow,thecolorofmysoul,isinterpole”
andsuchsillystuff—AndIyell“IfArthurMaisawitchhesureisa
funnywitch!harhar!”—Andthere’sthebluejayidiotwithonefootonthe
barofsoapontheporchrail,peckingatthesoapandeatingit,leavingthe
cerealunattended,andwhenIlaughandyellathimhelooksupcutewith
anexpressionthatseemstosay“What’sthematter?wottido
wong?”—“Wowo,gotthewongplace,”saidanotherbluejaylanding
nearbyandsuddenlyleavingagain—Andeverythingofmylifeseems
beautifulagain,Ievenstartrememberingthenuttythingsofthebingeand
gobackevenfartherandremembernuttythingsallthroughmylife,it’s
justamazinghowinsideourownsoulswecanliftoutsomuchstrengthI

thinkitwouldbeenoughstrengthtomovemountainsatthat,toliftour
bootsupagainandgoclompingalonghappyoutofnothingbutthegood
sourcepowerinourownbones—AndwhenIvisittheseaitdoesntscare
meanymore,Ijustsingout“Seventythousandschemersinthesea”and
gobacktomycabinandjustquietlypourmycoffeeinthecup,afternoon,
howpleasant!

Imakeawoodrun,axeandyanklogsoutaeverywhichawhereand

leaveembythesideoftheroadtoleisurelycarryhome—Iinvestigatea
cabindownthecreekthathas15woodmatchesinitformyemergency
—Takeashotofsherry,hateit—FindanoldSanFrancisChroniclewith
mynameinitallover—Hackagiantredwoodloginhalfinthemiddleof
thecreek—Thatkindofday,perfect,endingupsewingmyholysweater
singing“There’snoplacelikehome”rememberingmymother—Ieven
plungeintoallthebooksandmagazinesaround,Ireadupon‘Pataphysics
andyellcontemptuouslyinthelamplight“’T’sa’nintellectualexcusefor
facetiousjoking,”throwingthemagazineaway,adding“Peculiarly
attractivetocertainshallowtypes”—ThenIturnmyrumblingattentionto
acoupleofunknownFinduSièclepoetscalledTheoMarzialsand
HenryHarland—ItakeanapaftersupperanddreamoftheU.S.Navy,a
shipanchorednearawarscene,atanisland,buteverythingisdrowsyas
twosailorsgoupthetrailwithfishingpolesandadogbetweenthemtogo
makelovequietlyinthehills:thecaptainandeverybodyknowthey’re
queerandratherthanbeinginfuriatedhoweverthey’realldrowsily
enchantedbysuchgentlelove:youseeasailorpeekingafterthemwith
binocularsfromthepoop:there’ssupposedtobeawarbutnothing
happens,justlaundry...

Iwakeupfromthissillybutstrangelyprettydreamfeelingexhilirated

—BesidesnowthestarscomeouteverynightandIgooutonthatporch
andsitintheoldcanvaschairandturnmyfaceuptoallthatmooching
goingonupthere,starmoochedfirmament,allthosestarscryingwith
happysadness,allthatreamandcreamofmockywayswithalleywaysof
lightyearsoldasDameMaeWhittyandthehills—Igowalkingtowards
MienMomountaininthemoonilluminatedAugustnight,seegorgeous
mistymountainsrisingthehorizonandlikesayingtome“Youdonthave
totortureyourconsciousnesswithendlessthinking”soIsitinthesand
andlookinwardandseethoseoldrosesoftheunbornagain—Amazing,
andinjustafewhoursthischange—AndIhaveenoughphysicalenergy
towalkbacktotheseasuddenlyrealizingwhatabeautifulorientalsilk
scrollpaintingthiswholecanyonwouldmake,thosescrollsyouopen

slowlyatoneendandkeepunrollingandunrollingasthevalleyunfolds
towardssuddencliffs,suddenBodhisattvassittingaloneinlamplithuts,
suddencreeks,rocks,trees,thensuddenwhitesand,suddensea,outto
seaandyou’vereachedtheendofthescroll—Andwithallthosemisty
rosedarknessesofvaryingtintandtuckawayshadestoexpressthe
actualephemeralityofnight—Onelongrollunfurlingfromtherange
fenceamongthemistyhills,moonmeadows,eventhehayricknearthe
creek,downtothetrail,thenarrowingcreek,thenthemysteryoftheAW
SEA—SoIinvestigatethescrollofthevalleybutI’msinging“Manisa
busylittleanimal,anicelittleanimal,histhoughtsabouteverything,dont
amounttoshit.”

InfactbackatthecabintomakemybedtimehotOvaltineIevensing

“SweetSixteen”likeanangel(byGodbetternRonBlake)andalltheold
memoriesofMaandPa,theuprightpianoinoldMassachusetts,theold
summernightsings—That’showIgotosleep,underthestarsonthe
porch,andatdawnIturnoverwithablissfulsmileonmyfacebecause
theowlsarecallinandansweringfromtwodifferenthugedeadtrunks
acrossthevalley,hoohoohoo.

Somaybeit’struewhatMilarepasays:“Thoughyouyoungstersofthe

newgenerationdwellintownsinfestedwithdeceitfulfate,thelinkof
truthstillremains”—(andsaidthisin890!)—“Whenyouremainin
solitude,donotthinkoftheamusementsinthetown...Youshouldturn
yourmindinwardly,andthenyou’llfindyourway...ThewealthIfound
istheinexhaustibleHolyProperty...ThecompanionIfoundisthebliss
ofperpetualVoidness...HereintheplaceofYolmoTagPugSenge
Dzon,thetigresshowlingwithapathetictremblingvoiceremindsmethat
herpiteouscubsareplayinglively...LikeamadmanIhaveno
pretensionandnohope...Iamtellingyouthehonesttruth...Theseare
thecrazywordsofmine...Ohyouinnumerablemotherlikebeings,by
theforceofimaginarydestinyyouseeamyriadvisionsandexperience
endlessemotions...Ismile...ToaYogi,everythingisfineand
splendid!.....InthegoodlyquietofthisSelf-BenefittingskyEnclosure,
thetimelysoundsIhearareallmyfellows’sounds...Atsuchapleasant
place,insolitude,I,Milarepa,happilyremain,meditatinguponthevoid-
illuminatingmind—ThemoreUpsandDownsthemoreJoyIfeel—The
greaterthefear,thegreaterthehappinessIfeel...”

UT INT HEMORNING

(andI’mnoMilarepawhocouldalsositnakedin

thesnowandwasseenflyingononeoccasion)herecomesRonBlake
backwithPatMcLearandPat’swifethebeautifulone,andbyGodtheir
littlesweet5yearoldgirlwhoissuchapleasantsighttoseeasshegoes
jonglingandjigglingthroughthefieldstolookforflowers,everythingto
herisperfectlynewbeautifulprimordialGardenofEdenmorningherein
thistorturedhumancanyon—Andaratherbeautifulmorningdevelops—
There’sfogsoweclosetheblindsandlightthefireandthelamp,meand
Pat,andsittheredrinkingfromthejughebroughttalkingaboutliterature
andpoetrywhilehiswifelistensandoccasionallygetsuptoheatmore
coffeeandteaorgoesouttoplaywithRonandthelittlegirl—PatandI
areinaserioustalkativemoodandIfeelthatlonelyshiverinmychest
whichalwayswarnsme:youactuallylovepeopleandyou’regladPatis
here.

PatisoneifnotTHEmosthandsomemanI’veeverseen—Strange

thathe’sannouncedinaprefacetohispoemsthathisheroes,his
Triumvirate,areJeanHarlow,RimbaudandBillytheKidbecausehe
himselfishandsomeenoughtoplayBillytheKidinthemovies,thatsame
darkhairedhandsomeslightlysliteyedlookyouexpectfromthemyth
appearanceofBillytheKid(IsupposenottheactualreallifeWilliam
Bonniewho’ssaidto’vebeenapimplycretinmonster).

Sowelaunchonabigdiscussionofeverythinginthecomfortable

gloomofthecabinbythewarmredglowofthegirlyfire,I’mwearing
darkglassesanywayforfun,Patsays“WellJackIdidnthaveachance
totalktoyouyesterdayorevenlastyearoreventenyearsagowhenI
firstmetyou,IrememberIwasterrifiedofyouandPomeraywhenyou
ranupmystepsonenightwithsticksoftea,youlookedlikeacoupleof
carthievesorbankrobbers—Andyouknowalotofthissneerystuff
they’vewrittenagainstus,againstSanFranciscoorbeatpoetryand
writersisbecausealotofusdontLOOKlikewritersorintellecualsor
anything,youandPomerayImustsaylookawfulinaway,I’msureI
dontfillthebilleither”—“ManyououghtagotoHollywoodandplayBilly
theKid”—“ManI’drathergotoHollywoodandplayRimbaud”—“Well
youcantplayJeanHarlow”—“I’dreallyliketojustgetmy‘DarkBrown’

publishedinParis,doyouknowthatwhenyouthinkit’spossibleaword
fromyoutoGallimardorGirodiaswouldhelp”—“Idunno”—“Doyou
knowthatwhenIreadyourpoemsMexicoCityBluesIimmediately
turnedaroundandstartedwritingabrandnewway,youenlightenedme
withthatbook”—“Butit’snothinglikewhatyoudo,infactit’smiles
away,Iamalanguagespinnerandyou’reideaman”andsoonwetalk
tillaboutnoonandRon’sbeeninandout,‘s’madejauntstothebeach
withthelittleladiesandPatandIdontrealizethesunhascomeoutbut
stillsittheredeepinthecabinbynowtalkingaboutVillonandCervantes.

Suddenly,boom,thedoorofthecabinisflungopenwithaloudcrash

andaburstofsunlightilluminatestheroomandIseeanAngelstanding
armoutstretchedinthedoor!—It’sCody!alldressedinhisSundaybest
inasuit!besidehimarerangedseveralgraduatinggoldenangelsfrom
Evelyngoldenbeautifulwifedowntothemostdazzlingangelofthemall
littleTimmywiththesunstrikingoffhishairinbeams!—It’ssuchan
incrediblesightandsurprisethatbothPatandIrisefromourchairs
involuntarily,likewe’vebeenliftedupinawe,orscared,thoIdontfeel
scaredsomuchasecstaticallyamazedasthoI’veseenavision—And
thewayCodystandstherenotsayingawordwithhisarmoutstretched
forsomereason,struckaposeofsomesorttosurpriseusorwarnus,
he’ssomuchlikeSt.Michaelatthemomentit’sunbelievableespecially
asIalsosuddenlyrealizewhathe’sjustactuallydone,he’shadwifeand
kiddiessneakupeversoquietuptheporchsteps(whicharenoisyand
creaky),acrossthewoodplanks,easyandtiptoeing,stoodthereawhile
whilehepreparedtoflingthedooropen,alllinedupandstoodstraight,
thenpow,he’sopenedthedoorandthrownthegoldenuniverseintothe
dazzledmysticeyesofbighipPatMcLearandbigamazedgratefulme—
ItremindsmeofthetimeIoncesawawholetiptoeinggangofcouples
sneakingintoourbackkitchendooronWestStreetinLowelltheleader
tellingmetoshushasIstandthere9yearsoldamazed,thenallbursting
inonmyfatherinnocentlylisteningtothePrimoCarnera-ErnieSchaaft
fightontheold1930’sradio—Forabigroaringtoot—ButCody’s
oldfashionedfamilytiptoesneakcarriesthatstrangeapocalypticburstof
goldhesomehowalwaysmanagestoproduce,likeIsaidelsewherethe
timeinMexicohedroveanoldcaroveraruttedroadveryslowlyaswe
wereallhighonteaandIsawgoldenHeaven,ortheothertimeshe’s
alwaysseemedsogoldenlikeasIsayinadavenportofsomesortin
HeaveninthegoldentopofHeaven.

Notthathemeanstoproducethiseffect:he’sjuststandingtherewith

innatedramaticmysteryholdingforthhisarmasiftosayBehold,thesun!
andBehold,theangels!sortapointingatallthegoldenheadsofhisfamily
andPatandIstandaghast.

“HappybirthdayJack!”yellsCodyorsomesuchordinarycrazyinane

greeting“I’vecometoyouwithgoodnews!I’vebroughtEvelynand
EmilyandGabyandTimmybecausewe’reallsogratefulandglad
becauseeverythinghasworkedoutabsolutelydeadperfect,orliving
perfect,boy,withthatlittleoldhunnerddollarsyougavemeletmetell
youthefantasticstoryofwhathappened”(tohimitwasutterly
fantastic),“IwentoutandtradedinmyNashthatasyouknowwont
evenstartbutIhavetohavem’oldbuddiespushitdowntheroadforme,
thisguyhadaperfectgemofapurpleorwhatcolorisitMaw?magenty,
slamelty,ajeepsterstation-wagonJackbutaperfectbeautymindyou
listenwithabeautifulradio,abrandnewsetofbackuplights,thisaand
thatadowntotheperfectnewtiresandthatwonderfulshineypaintjob,
thatcolor’llknockyouout,that’swhatitis,Grape!”(asEvelynmurmurs
thecolor)“Grapecolorforalltheoldgrapewinejacks,sowe’vecome
heretonotonlythankyouandseeyouagainbuttocelebratethis,andon
topofallthat,occasion,goomeI’mallsogushyandgirly,heeheehee,
yesthat’srightcomeoninchildrenandthengooutandgetthatgearin
thecarandgetreadytosleepoutdoorstonightandgetthatgoodopen
freshair,JackontopofallthatandmyheartisjessOVERflowinIgota
NEWJOB!!alongwiththatsplisslylittleoldbeautifulnewjeep!anew
jobrightdowntowninLosGatosinfactIdontevenhavetodrivetowork
anymore,Icanwalkit,justhalfamile,nowMayoucomeinhere,meet
oldPatMcLearhere,startupsomeeggsorsomeofthatsteakwe
brought,openupthatvieenroosseewinewebroughtfordrunkoldJack
thatgoodoldboywhileIpersonallyprivatetakehimtowalkwithme
backdowntheroadwherethejeepisparked,unlockthatgate,yougot
thecorralkeyJack,okay,andwe’lltalkandwalkjustlikeoldtimesand
drivebackrealslowinmynewslowboattoChina.”

Soit’sawholenewday,awholenewsituationthewayitiswithCody,

infactawholenewuniverseassuddenlywe’realoneagainreallyforthe
firsttimeinageswalkingrapidlydowntheroadtogogetthecarandhe
looksatmewiththathand-rubbingwickedlooklikehe’sabouttospringa
surpriseonmethat’sthetopsurpriseofthemall,“Youguesseditold
buddyIhaveheretheLAST,theabsolutelyLASTyetmostperfectofall
blackhairedseededpackedtightsuperbomberjointsintheworldwhich
youandIarenowgoingtolightup,’s’whyIdidntwantyoutobringany

ofthatwinerightaway,whyboywegottimetodrinkwineandwineand
dance”andhereheislightingup,says“Nowdontwalktoofast,it’stime
tostrollalonglikeweusedtodoremembersometimesonourdaysoffon
therailroad,orwalkinacrossthatThirdandTownsendtarlikeyousaid
andthetimewewatchedthesungodownsoperfectholypurpleover
thatMissioncross—Yessir,slowandeasy,lookinatthisgonevalley”so
westarttopuffthepotbutasusualitcreatesdoubtfulparanoiasinboth
ourmindsandweactuallysortoffallsilentonthewaytothecarwhichis
abeautifulgrapecoloratthat,abrandnewshineyJeepsterwithallthe
equipments,andthewholegoldenreuniondeterioratesintoCody’s
matter-of-factlectureonwhythecarisgoingtobesuchahoney(the
technicaldetails)andheevenyellsatmetohurryupwiththatcorral
gate,“Cantwaithereallday,horhorhor.”

Butthat’snotthepoint,aboutpotparanoia,yetmaybeitisatthat—

I’velonggivenitupbecauseitbugsmeanyway—Butsowedriveback
slowlytotheshackandEvelynandPat’swifehavemetandarehaving
womantalkandMcLearandIandCodytalkaroundthetableplanning
excursionswiththekidstothebeach.

Andthere’sEvelynandIhaventhadachancetotalktoherforyears

either,Ohtheolddayswhenwe’dstayuplatebythefireplaceasIsay
discussingCody’ssoul,CodythisandCodythat,youcouldhearthename
CodyringingundertheroofsofAmericafromcoasttocoastalmostto
hearhiswomentalkingabouthim,alwayspronouncing“Cody”witha
kindofanguishyettherewasgirlishsquealingpleasureinit,“Codyhasto
learntocontroltheenormousforcesinhim”andCody“willalways
modifyhislittlewhiteliessomuchthattheyturnintoblackones,”and
accordingtoIrwinGardenCody’swomenwerealwayshaving
transcontinentaltelephonetalksabouthisdong(whichispossible.)

Becausehewasalwaystremendouslygeneratedtowardscomplete

relationshipwithhiswomentothepointwheretheyendedupinone
convolutedoctopusmessofsoulsandtearsandfellatioandhotelroom
schemesandrushinginandoutofcarsanddoorsandgreatcrisesinthe
middleofthenight,wowthatmadmanyoucanatleastwriteonhisgrave
someday“HeLived,HeSweated”—NohalfwayhouseisCody’shouse
—ThonowasIsaysortasweetlychastisedandalittleboredatlastwith
theworldafterthecrummyinjusticeofhisarrestandsentencehe’ssorta
quieteddownandwherehe’dlaunchintoatremendousexplanationof
everyoneofhisthoughtsforthebenefitofeverybodyintheroomashe’s
puttingonhissocksandarranginghispaperstoleave,nowhejustflipsit

asideandmaymakeastaleshrug—AJesuitatwork—ThoIremember
onecrazymomentintheshackthatwastypicallyCody-like:complicated
andsimultaneouswithamillionnuancesasthoughthewholeofcreation
suddenlyexplodedandimplodedtogetherinonemoment:atthemoment
thatPat’sprettylittleangeldaughteriscomingintohandmean
extremelytinyflower(“It’sforyou,”shesaysdirecttome)(forsome
reasonthepoorlittlethingthinksIneedaflower,orelsehermother
instructedherforcharmingreasons,likeadornment)Codyisfuriously
explainingtohislittlesonTim“Neverlettherighthandknowwhatyour
lefthandisdoing”andatthatmomentI’mtryingtoclosemypalmaround
theincrediblysmallflowerandit’ssosmallIcantevendothat,cantfeel
it,canthardlyseeit,infactsuchasmallfloweronlythatlittlegirlcould
havefoundit,butIlookuptoCodyashesaysthattoTim,andalsoto
impressEvelynwho’swatchingme,Iannounced“Neverletthelefthand
knowwhattherighthandisdoingbutthisrighthandcantevenholdthis
flower”andCodyonlylooksup“Yassyass.”

SowhatstartedasabigholyreunionandsurprisepartyinHeaven

deterioratestoalotofshowofftalk,actually,atleastonmypart,but
whenIgettodrinkthewineIfeellighterandweallgodowntothe
beach—IwalkinfrontwithEvelynbutwhenwegettothenarrowpathI
walkinfrontlikeanIndiantoshowherwhatabigIndianI’vebeenall
summer—I’mburstingtotellhereverything—“Seethatgrovethere,once
inawhileyou’llbesurprisedoutofyourshoestoseethemulequietly
standingtherewithlocksofhairlikeRuth’soverhisforehead,abig
Biblicalmulemeditating,oroverthere,butuphere,andlookatthat
bridge,nowwhatdoyouthinkofthat?”—Allthekidsarefascinatedby
theupsidedowncarwreck—AtonepointI’msittinginthesandasCody
walksupmyway,IsaytohimhimimitatingWallaceBeeryand
scratchingmyarmpits“CussamanfordyininDeathValley”(thelast
linesofthatgreatmovieTwentyMuleTeam)andCodysays“That’s
right,ifanybodycanimitateoldWallaceBeerythat’stheonlywaytodo
it,youhadjusttherighttimberthereinthetoneofyourvoicethere,Cuss
amanfordyininDeathValleyheeheeyes”butherushesofftotalkto
McLear’swife.

Strangesaddesultorythewayfamiliesandpeoplesortascatteraround

abeachandlookvaguelyatthesea,alldisorganizedandpicnicsad—At
onepointI’mtellingEvelynthatatidalwavefromHawaiicouldvery
easilycomesomedayandwe’dseeitmilesawayahugewallofawful
waterand“Boyitwouldtakesomedoingtorunbackandclimbupthese

cliffs,huh?”butCodyhearsthisandsays,“What?”andIsay“Itwould
washoverusandtakeusalltoSalinasIbet”andCodysays“What?that
brandnewjeep?I’mgoinbackandmoveit!”(anexampleofhisstrange
humor).

“How’d’strainrulehere?”saysItoEvelyntoshowherwhatabig

poetIam—Shereallylovesme,usedtolovemeintheolddayslikea
husband,forawhilethereshehadtwohusbandsCodyandme,wewere
aperfectfamilytillCodyfinallygotjealousormaybeIgotjealous,itwas
wildforawhileI’dbecominghomefromworkontherailroadalldirty
withmylampandjustasIcameinformyJoybubblebatholdCodywas
rushingoffonacallsoEvelynhadhernewhusbandinthesecondshift
thenwhenCodycomehomeatdawnalldirtyforhisJoybubblebath,ring,
thephone’srunandthecrewclerk’saskedmeoutandI’mrushingoffto
work,bothofususingthesameoldclunkercarinshifts—AndEvelyn
alwaysmaintainingthatsheandIwerereallymadeforeachotherbut
herKarmawastoserveCodyinthisparticularlifetime,whichIreally
believeandIbelievesheloveshim,too,butshe’dsay“I’llgetyou,Jack,
inanotherlifetime...Andyou’llbeveryhappy”—“What?”I’dyellto
joke,“merunninguptheeternalhallsofKarmatryinagetawayfromyou
hey?”—“It’lltakeyoueternitiestogetridofme,”sheaddssadly,which
makesmejealous,IwanthertosayI’llnevergetridofher—Iwantabe
chasedforeternitytillIcatchher.

“AhJack”shesaysputtingherarmaroundmeonthebeach,“it’snice

toseeyouagain,OhIwishwecouldbequietagainandjusthaveour
suppersofhomemadepizzaalltogetherandwatchT.V.together,you
havesomanyfriendsandresponsibilitiesnowit’ssad,andyougetsick
drinkingandeverything,whydontyoujustcomestaywithusawhileand
rest”—“Iwill”—ButRonBlakeisredhotforEvelynandkeepscoming
overtodancewithseaweedsandimpressher,he’sevenaskedmetoask
CodytolethimspendsometimealonewithEvelyn,Cody’ssaid“Go
aheadman.”

HavingrunoutofliquorinfactRondoesgethisopportunitytobe

alonewithEvelynasCodyandmeandthekidsinonecar,andMcLear
andfamilyintheotherstartforMontereytostockupforthenightand
alsomorecigarettes—EvelynandRonlightabonfireonthebeachto
waitforus—Aswe’redrivingalonglittleTimmysaystoPaw“We
shouldabroughtMommywithus,herpantsgotwetinthebeach”—“By
nowtheyoughtabesteamin,”saysCodymatter-of-factlyinanotherone
ofhisfantasticpunsashelockwallopsthatawfulnarrowdirtcanyonroad

likeagetawaycarinthemountainsinamovie,weleavepoorMcLear
milesback—WhenCodycomestoanarrowtightcurvewithallourdeath
staringusinthefacedownthatholehejustswervesthecurvesaying
“Thewaytodriveinthemountainsis,boy,nofiddlinaround,theseroads
dontmove,you’retheonethatmoves”—Andwecomeoutonthe
highwayandgorightbattinuptoMontereyintheBigSurduskwhere
downthereonthefaintgloamyfrothingrocksyoucanhearthesealscry.

EAREXHIBIT SANOT HERST RANGEFACET OFHISHANDSOMEBUT FAINT LY

“ DECADENT ”

Rimbaud-typepersonalityathissummercampbycoming

outinthelivingroomwithagoddamnHAWKonhisshoulder—It’shispet
hawk,ofallthings,thehawkisblackasnightandsitsthereonhis
shoulderpeckingnastilyataclunkofhamburgheholdsuptoit—Infact
thesightofthatissorarelypoetic,McLearwhosepoetryisreallylikea
blackhawk,he’salwayswritingaboutdarkness,darkbrown,dark
bedrooms,movingcurtains,chemicalfiredarkpillows,loveinchemical
fieryreddarkness,andwritesallthatinbeautifullonglinesthatgoacross
thepageirregularlyandaptlysomehow—HandsomeHawkMcLear,in
factIsuddenlyyellout“NowIknowyourrealname!it’sM’Lear!M’
LeartheScotchHighlandmoorhaunterwithhishawkabouttogomad
andtearhiswhitehairinatempest”—Orsomesuchsillything,feeling
goodagainnowwe’vegotnewwine—Timetogobacktothecabinand
flydownthatdarkhighwaythewayonlyCodycanfly(evenbettern
DaveWainbutyoufeelsaferwithDaveWainthothereasonCodygives
youasenseofdoomingboomashepushesthenightoutthewheelsisnot
becausehe’llloseperfectcontrolofthecarbutyoufeelthecarwilltake
offsuddenlyuptoHeavenoratleastjustupintowhattheRussianscall
theDarkCosmos,there’saboomingrushingsoundoutthewindowwhen
Codybatsherdownthewhitelineatnight,withDaveWainit’sall
conversationandsmoothsailing,withCodyit’sacrisisabouttoget
worse)—Andnowhe’ssayingtome“Notonlytodaybuttheotherday
withtheboys,thatbeautifulMcLearwomanthere,wow,withhertight
bluejeans,manIcriedunderatreetoseethatpoppinaroundsoinnocent
like,whoo,soItellyouwhatwe’regonnadooldbuddy:tomorrowwego
backtoLosGatosthewholefamilyandwe’vedroppedEvelynandthe
kidshomeafterthehiss-the-villainplaywe’reallgonnaseeatseven
—”—“Thewhat?”—“It’saplay,”hesayssuddenlyimitatingthetired
whineyvoiceofanoldP.T.A.Committeewoman,“yougothereandyou
sitdownandoutcomesthisold1910playaboutvillainsforeclosingthe
mortgage,mustaches,youknow,calicotears,youcansitthereyousee
andhissthevillainallyouwantevenforallIknowyellobscenitiesor
somethingIdunno—Butit’sEvelyn’sworld,youknow,she’sdesigning

thesetsandthat’stheworkshe’sdonewhileIwasinthecansoIcant
begrudgeherthat,infactIaintgotawordinedgewise,whenyou’rethe
fatherofafamilyyougoalongwiththelittlewomanacourse,andthe
kidsenjoyit,afterthatplanandafteryou’vehissedthevillainwe’lldrop
themhomeandthenoldbuddy”zoomingupthecarevenofallthinks,the
hawkisblackasnightandsitstherefasterinlieuofrubbinghishands
withzeal,sotosayZoom,“youandmegonnagoflyindownthatBay
Shorehighwayandasusualyou’regonnaaskyourusualdumbalmost
Okiewinoquestions,HeyCody”(whininglikeaolddrunk)“Ib’lieve
we’recominintoBurlingameaintit?andyou’realwayswrong,hee
hee,oldcrazydumbfuckinoldJack,thenwegorubbinshouldersintothat
CityandgopoppinrightuptomysweetlittleoldbabyWillaminethatI
wantyoutomeetinasmuchandalsoIwantyougodigbecauseshe’s
gonnadigYOUmydearoldsonumbitchJack,andI’mgonnaleaveyou
twolittlelovebirdstogetherfordaysonendalone,youcanlivethereand
justenjoythatgonelittlewomanbecausealso”(histonenow
businesslike)“Iwanthertodigasmuchaspossibleeverythingyougotto
tellheraboutwhatYOUknow,hearme?she’smysoulmateand
confidanteandmistressandIwanthertobehappyandlearn”—“What’s
shelooklike?”Iaskgrossly—AndIseethegrimaceonhisface,he
reallyknowsme,“Ehwellshelooksalright,shehasagonelittlebody
that’sallIcansayandinbedsheisbyfarthefirstandonlyandlast
possiblegreatesteverythingyoudig”—Thisbeingjustanotherofalong
lineofoccasionswhenCodygetsmetobeasub-beauforhisbeautiesso
thateverythingcantieintogether,hereallylovesmelikeabrotherand
morethanthat,hegetsannoyedatmesometimesespeciallywhenI
fumbleandblumblelikewithabottleorthetimeIalmoststrippedthe
gearsofthecarbecauseIforgotIwasdriving,inwhichcaseactuallyI
remindhimofhisoldwinofatherbutthefantasticthingisthatHE
remindsMEofMYfathersothatwehavethisstrangeeternalfather-
imagerelationshipthatgoesonandonsometimeswithtears,it’seasyfor
metothinkofCodyandalmostcry,sometimesIcanseethesametearful
expressioninhiseyeswhenhesometimeslooksatme—Heremindsme
ofmyfatherbecausehetooblustersandhurriesandfillsallhispockets
withRacingFormsandpapersandpencilsandwe’reallreadytogoon
somemissioninthenighthetakeswithultimateseriousnessasthowe
weregoingonthelasttripofthemallbutitalwaysendsupbeinga
hilariousmeaninglessMarxBrothersadventurewhichgivesmeeven
morereasontolovehim(andmyfathertoo)—Thatway—Andfinallyin

thebookIwroteaboutus(“OnTheRoad”)Iforgottomentiontwo
importantthings,thatwewerebothdevoutlittleCatholicsinour
childhood,whichgivesussomethingincommonthowenevertalkabout
it,it’sjustthereinournatures,andsecondlyandmostimportantthat
strangebusinesswhenwesharedanothergirl(Marylou,orthatis,let’s
callherJoanna)andCodyatthetimeannounced“That’swhatwe’llbe
oldbuddy,youandme,doublehusbands,lateronwe’llhavewhole
HarreeeemandreamsofHareemsboy,andwe’llcallourselvesorthat
is”(flutter)“ourselfDuluomeray,seeDuluozandPomeray,Duluomeray,
see,heeheehee”thohewasyoungerthenandreallysillybutthatgives
anindicationofthewayhefeltaboutme:somekindofnewthinginthe
worldactuallywheremencanreallybeangelicfriendsandnotbe
homosexualandnotfightovergirls—Butalastheonlythingwe’dever
foughtaboutwasmoney,ortheridiculoustimewefoughtaboutalittle
lineofmarijuanadustrunningdownthemiddleofapagewherewewere
separatingourshareswithaknife,whenIobjectedIwantedsomeofthe
dustheyelled“Ouroriginalagreementhadnothingtodowiththedust!”
andheslumpsitallintohispocketandstalksoffredfacedsoIjumpup
andpackandannounceI’mleavingandEvelyndrivesmetotheCitybut
thecarwontstart(thisisyearsago)soCodyredfacedandcrazyand
ashamednowhastopushuswiththeclunker,therewegodownSan
JoseboulevardwithCodybehinduspushingusandwithCodybehindus
pushingusandbumpingusnotjusttogiveusastartbuttochastiseme
forbeingsogreedyandIshouldntleaveatall—Infacthe’dbackupand
comeuponourrearandreallywhamus—Thatnightendingmedead
drunkonMalDamlette’sflooronNorthBeach—Andinanycasethe
wholequestionofus,thetwomostadvancedmenfriendsintheworldstill
fightingovermoneyafterallbeing,asJuliensaysinNewYork,indication
ofthefactthat“MoneyistheonlythingCanuckseverfightabout,and
OkiestooIguess”butJulienIsupposeimaginingandfantasizinghimself
asanobleScotsmanwhofightsabouthonor(thoItellhim“Ahyou
Scotchmensaveyourspitinyourwatchpocket”).

Lacrimaererum,thetearsofthings,alltheyearsbehindmeandCody,

thewayIalwayssay“meandCody”insteadof“CodyandI”orsome
such,andIrwinwatchingusacrosstheworldnightnowwithabiteof
marvelonhislowerlipsaying“Ah,angelsoftheWest,Companionsin
Heaven”andwritinglettersasking“Whatnow,what’sthelatest,what
visions,whatarguments,whatsweetagreements?”andsuch.

Thatnightthekidsendupsleepinginthejeepanywaybecausethey’re

afraidofthebigblackwoodsandIsleepbythecreekinmybagandin
themorningwe’reallsettogobacktoLosGatosandseethevillainplay
—FrustratedRoniscastingsadeyesatEvelyn,apparentlyshe’sputhim
offbecauseshesaystome(andIdontblameher)“ReallythewayCody
pressespeopleonmeit’sawful,atleastIshouldhavemyownchoice”
(butshe’slaughingbecauseit’sfunnyanditisfunnythewayCodydoes
itanxiousandharriedwonderingifthat’swhatshereallywantsand
wantsnosuchthing)—“Atleastnotwithutterstrangers,”saysItobe
funny—She:-“BesidesI’msosickofallthissexbusiness,that’sallhe
talksabout,hisfriends,heretheyareallopenchannelstodogoodasco
creatorswithGodandalltheythinkaboutisbehinds—that’swhyyou’re
sorefreshing”sheadds—“ButIaintsorefreshingasallthat?hey!”—
Butthat’smyrelationshipwithEvelyn,we’rerealpalsandwecankid
aboutanythingeventhefirstnightImetherinDenverin1947whenwe
dancedandCodywatchedanxiously,akindofromanticpairinfactandI
shuddersometimestothinkofallthatstellarmysteryofhowsheISgoing
togetmeinafuturelifetime,wow—AndIseriouslydobelievethatwill
bemysalvation,too.

Alongwaytogo.

HESILLYST UPIDHISS-T HE-VILLAINPLAYISALRIGHT INIT SELF

butjustas

wearriveatthesceneofthechuckwagonsandtentsalldoneuprealold
westernstylethere’sabigfatsherifftypewithtwosixshootersstanding
attheadmissiongate,Codysays“That’stogiveitcolorsee”butI’m
drunkandasweallpileoutofthecarIgouptothefatsheriffandstart
tellinghimaSouthernjoke(infactjusttheplotofanErskineCaldwell
shortstory)whichhereceiveswithawitlesssmilingexpressionorreally
liketheexpressionofanexecutioneroraSouthernconstablelisteningto
aYankeetalk—SonaturallyI’msurprisedlaterwhenwegointothecute
oldwestsaloonandthekidsstartbangingontheoldpianoandIjointhem
withbigloudStravinskychords,herecomestwogunsherifffattycoming
inandsayinginamenacingvoicelikeT.V.westernmovies“Youcant
playthatpiano”—I’msurprised,turningtoEvelyn,tolearnthathe’sthe
blastedproprietorofthewholeplaceandifhesaysIcantplaythepiano
there’snothingIcandoaboutitlegally—Butbesidesthathe’sgotactual
bulletsinthosesixguns—He’sgoingallouttoplaythepart—Buttobe
yankedfromjoyfulpianothumpingwithkidstoseethatawfuldeadface
ofnegativehorrorIjustjumpupandsay“Alright,thehellwithitI’m
leavinganyway”soCodyfollowsmetothecarwhereItakeanother
swigofwhiteport—“Let’sgetthehelloutofhere”Isay—“JustwhatI
wasthinkinabout,”saysCody,“infactI’vealreadyarrangedwiththe
directoroftheplaytodriveEvelynandthekidshomesowe’lljustgoto
theCitynow”—“Great!”—“AndI’vetoldEvelynwe’recuttinoutso
let’sgo.”

“I’msorryCodyIscrewedupyourlittlefamilyparty”—“NoNo”he

protests“ManIhavetocometothesethingsyouknowandbeabig
hubbyandfathertypeandyouknowI’monparoleandIgottaputup
appearancesbutit’sadrag”—Toshowwhatadragitiswegoscootin
downthatroadpassingsixcarseasyaspie—“AndI’mGLADthis
happenedbecauseitgaveusanexcuse,heeheetitteryouknowtoget
outathere,Iwasthinkingforanexcusewhenithappened,thatoldfartis
crazyyouknow!he’samillionaireyouknow!I’vetalkedtohim,thatlittle
beadybrain,andyoubegladyoumissedhanginaroundtillthat
performance,man,andthatAUDIENCE,ow,ugh,IalmostwishIwas

backinSanQuentinbutherewego,son!”

Soofoldwe’realoneinacaratnightbashingdownthelinetoa

specificsomewhere,nothingnowhereaboutitwhatever,especiallythis
time,inaway—Thatwhitelineisfeedingintoourfenderlikeananxious
impatientelectronicquivershudderinginthenightandhowbeautifully
sometimesitcurvesonesideortheotherashesmoothlyswervesfor
passingorforsomethingelse,avoidingabumporsomething—Andonthe
bighighwayBayShorehowbeautifullyhejustswingsinandoutoflanes
almosteffortlesslyandcompletelyunnoticeablepassingtotherightandto
theleftwithoutaflawallkindsofcarswithanxiouseyesturningtous,
althohe’stheonlyoneontheroadwhoknowshowtodrivecompletely
well—It’sblueduskallupanddowntheCaliforniaworld—Friscoglitters
upahead—Ourradioplaysrhythmandbluesaswepassthejointback
andforthinjutjawedsilencebothlookingaheadwithbigprivatethoughts
nowsovastwecantcommunicatethemanymoreandifwetriedit
wouldtakeamillionyearsandabillionbooks—Toolate,toolate,the
historyofeverythingwe’veseentogetherandseparatelyhasbecomea
libraryinitself—Theshelvespilehigher—They’refullofmisty
documentsordocumentsoftheMist—Themindhasconvolutedinevery
tuckawayeverywhichawaytuckeredholetillthere’snomorethe
expressingofourlatestthoughtsletaloneold—Mightygeniusofthemind
CodywhomIannounceasthegreatestwritertheworldwilleverknowif
heevergetsdowntowritingagainlikehedidearlier—It’ssoenormous
webothsitheresighinginfact—“NotheonlywritingIdone,”hesays,“a
fewletterstoWillamine,infactquiteafew,she’sgotemallwrappedin
ribbonsthere,IfiggeredifItriedtowriteabookorsumptinorproseor
sumptinthey’djusttakeitawayfrommewhenIleftsoIwroteher’bout
threelettersaweekfortwoyears—andthetroubleofcourseandasI
sayandyou’veheardamilliontimesisthemindflowsthemindrisesand
nobodycanbyanypossiblec—ohhell,Idontwantatalkaboutit”—
BesidesIcanseefromglancingathimthatbecomingawriterholdsno
interestforhimbecauselifeissoholyforhimthere’snoneedtodo
anythingbutliveit,writing’sjustanafterthoughtorascratchanywayat
thesurface—Butifhecould!ifhewould!thereIamridinginCalifornia
milesawayfromhomewheremypoorcat’sburiedandmymother
grievesandthat’swhatI’mthinking.

Italwaysmakesmeproudtolovetheworldsomehow—Hate’sso

easycompared—ButhereIgoflatteringmyselfhellingheadbenttothe
silliesthateIeverhad.

100

ALT HOCODY’SSAIDT HESET HINGS

I’mverywellawarethatthereal

arrangementoftheeveningisthatwe’rejustgoingtoseeBillietogether
soshecangetherkicksmeetingme(afterhearingaboutmefromhim
andafterreadingmybooksetc.)andinfactCodyhasalreadyconferred
withEvelynabouthowI’mgoingtobestayingattheirhouseinLas
Gatosforamonth,asofoldsleepinginmybaginthebackyardnot
becausetheydontwantmetosleepinthehousebutit’smyidea,butit’s
beautifulanywaytosleepunderthestarsandanywayIthereforekeep
outofthewayofthefamilywhentheygetuptogotoworkandschool—
Atnoontheyseemeshamblinginfromthebigbackfieldyardyawning
forcoffee—AndI’minlineforthat,i.e.,that’swhatIwanttodoand
that’smyplan—ButwhenwerunupstairstoWillamine’sapartmentand
comeburstingintothisneatlittlewellarrangedpadwithgoldfishbowl,
books,strangedoodads,neatkitchen,thewholecleanasapin,and
there’sBillieherselfablondewitharchedeyebrowsexactlylikethemale
JulienblondwitharchedeyebrowsandIyellout“It’sJUlienbyGodit’s
Julien!”(andbynowI’mdrunkanywaybecausewe’veasofoldpicked
upanoldhitchhikeronBayShorewhosayshisnameisJoeIhnatand
weboughthimabottleandIboughtmeonetoo,neverwillforgetoldJoe
IhnatinfactsomehowbecausehesaidhewasaRussianandhiswasan
ancientRussiannameandwhenIwroteoutournameshesaidmyname
wasanancientRussiannamealso)(thoit’sBreton)(andalsotoldushe’d
justbeenbeatenupbyayoungNegrofornoreasoninapublictoiletand
Codygaspsandsaystome“I’vemetthoseNegroesthatbeatupold
men,they’recalledtheStrongarmsinSanQuentin,they’reallputaway
amongthemselvesawayfromtheotherprisoners,they’reallNegroes
anditseemsalltheywantadoisbeatupolddefenselessmen,he’stellin
theabsolutetruth”—“Butwhydotheydothat?”—“OhmanIdontknow
theyjustwantahituponsomeoldmanthatcanthitbackandjustbeat
himandbeathimtillhe’sdead”andOhthehorrorofCody’sknowledge
oftheworldwhenallissaidanddone)—Sonowwe’resittingwithBillie
inherpad,outsidethewindowyouseetheglitteringlightsofthecity
again,ahUrbiyRoma,theworldagain,andshe’sgotthesemadblue
eyes,archedeyebrows,intelligentface,justlikeJulien,Ikeepsaying

101

“Juliengoddamit!”andIseeeveninmydrunkennessalittleworried
flutterinCody’seyes—Thefactofthematterbeing,BillieandIgofor
eachotherliketwotonsofbricksrightthereinfrontofCodysothat
whenherisesandannounceshe’sgoingbacktoLosGatostogetsome
sleeptogotoworkit’salreadywellagreedI’mstayingrightwhereIam
andnotonlyfortonightbutforweeksmonthsyears.

PoorCody—YetyouseeI’vealreadyexplainedwhyactually

subconsciouslythisiswhathereallywantstohappenbuthewontadmitit
everandalwaysinventsreasonsaroundthistogetmadatmeandcallme
abastard—ButasidefromCodyIfindBillietobeaverycompanionable
strangekidinthislonesomenightandIactuallyNEEDtostaywithher
awhile—InfactbothBillieandIexplaintoCodywhy—Butthere’s
nothingevil,man-against-manorsinisteraboutanyofit,it’sjustastrange
innocence,aspontaneousburstofloveinfactandCodyunderstandsthat
betternanybodyelseanywaysoheleavesatmidnightsayinghe’llbe
backtomorrownightandallofasuddenI’malonewithacharming
womanandwe’retalkingabluestreaksittingcrossleggedfacingeach
otheronthefloorinalitterofbooksandbottles.

Itgivesmeapangofpainandremorsereallynowtorecallthatonthis

firstnightherapartmentwassoneatandcleanandcharming—Thechair
bythegoldfishbowlwhichIquicklyappropriatedasmyoldmanchair,
whereIsatconstantlysippingportforawholeweek,thekitchenwithits
intelligentarrangementsofspicesandeggsintheicebox,andforthat
mattertoothepoorlittlesonofBilliesleepinginawellarrangedback
room(hersonfromherdeceasedhusbandwhowasalsoarailroadman)
—Elliottthechild’snameandIdidntgettoseehimtilllaterthatnight—
AndwiththehugepacketofCody’sSanQuentinlettersinherhandshe
launchesforthonhertheoriesaboutCodyandeternitybutallIcankeep
sayingasIswigfrommybottleis“Julien,you’retalkingtoomuch!Julien,
Julien,myGodwho’deverdreamI’drunintoawomanwholookslike
Julien...youlooklikeJulienbutyou’renotJulienandontopofthat
you’reawoman,howgoddamstrange”—Infactshehadtopackmeoff
tobeddrunk—Butnotbeforeourfirstlovelyundertakingofloveand
everythingCodysaidaboutherbeingabsolutelytrue—Butthemainthing
beingthatthoshelookedlikeJulienetc.andhadCody’sbigsadabstract
lettersaboutKarmainaribbonandactuallywentoutinthemorningand
earnedahundredaweekinfashionmodelingshehadthemostmusical
beautifulandsadvoiceI’veeverheardinmylife—Thethingsshe’s
sayingarereallyratherinanebecauseafterallhereducationisbasedon

102

reallyCalifornianhysteriasliketheearliermistressofCodyRosemarie
whoalsowasthinandpalehairedandcrazyandkepttalkingabstract—
(Likeshe’ssaying“IthoughtIcoulddosomethingtoeasethe
contradictionbetweenimmanentanduniversalethicswhichIthoughtwas
myproblemandwaswhatIhopedtogainthrutherapy,like,anyevolution
presupposesaninvolutionandallthatkindofthinking”asIsigh,butshe
doessaysomethinginterestingonceinawhilelike“WhileCodywasin
prisonmymainoccupationwasprayingforhim,Ihadanalldaygoing,
therewasalsoabitwedidtogethereveryeveningfrom9:00to9:09but
he’soutnowandsomethingelseishappeningI’mnotsurewhat...but
I’msureweaidthestormwhenwetranscendtimeinonerespectand
cantevenkeepupwithitinothers...”)—Butalsoallkindsofto-me-
unimportantanduninterestingcrapaboutchannelsaboutpeoplebeing
eitherclosedoropenchannelsandCodyisabigopenchannelpouringout
allhisholygysmonHeaven,Ireallycantremember,orthedestinies,the
sighs,therooftopsofallthat,thestarsareshiningdownontheirpoor
headsastheydrawbreathtoexplaininanitiesreally—Likethelettersto
her(Iglanceatthem)areallabouthowthey’vemetandtheirsoulshave
collidedinthisdimensionbecauseofsomeunfulfilledKarmaonanother
planetandinanotherplanethatis,andnowtheyhavetogirdthemselves
toassumethisbigresponsibilitytomeetsomemeasureofthisandthat,I
dontevenwantagointoit—Becausealsothefactofthematterbeing,
whenWillaminetalkstomeI’mutterlybored,I’monlyinterestedinthe
sadmusicofhervoiceandinthestrangecircumstance(Iguess
Karmaliketoo)thatshelookslikepoorJulien.

Hervoiceisthemainpoint—Shetalkswithabrokenheart—Hervoice

lutesbrokenlylikeaheartlost,musicallytoo,likeinalostgrove,it’s
almosttoomuchtobearsometimeslikesomefantasticfuturisticJerry
Southernsingerinanightclubwhostepsuptothemikeinthespotlightin
LasVegasbutdoesntevenhavetosing,justtalk,tomakemensighand
womenwonderIguess(ifwomeneverwonder)—Sothatasshe’strying
toexplainallthatnonsensetome(allthatphilosophyofhersandCody’s
andCody’snewbuddyPerry,comingupthenextday)Ijustsitand
marvelandstareathermouthwonderingwhereallthebeautyiscoming
fromandwhy—Andweendupmakinglovesweetlytoo—Alittleblonde
wellexperiencedinallthefacetsoflovemakingandsweetwith
compassionandjusttoomuchsothatb’dawnwe’realreadygoingtoget
marriedandflyawaytoMexicoinaweek—InfactIcanseeitnow,a
greatbigfourwaymarriagewithCodyandEvelyn.

103

ForsheisthegreatenemyofEvelyn—She’snotsatisfiedjusttobe

Cody’sloverandsoulheartshewantstogorightoverthereandlay
EvelyndownonthelineandtakeCodyawaywithherforeverandtodo
thisshe’llevenhaveadeadendheavendeeploveaffairwitholdJack
(samepatternofold)—There’snotmuchdifferencebetweenherand
EvelynwhenyoulistentotheirtalkaboutCodyexceptinEvelyn’scase
I’malwaysfascinatedlyinterested—Billieactuallyboresmethoof
courseIcanttellherthat—EvelynisstillthechampandIwonderabout
Cody.

Otheupsanddownsandjugglingofwomen,blondesatthat,allinthe

greatmagicalCityoftheGandharvasofSanFranciscoandhereIam
aloneonamagiccarpetwithoneofem,whee,atfirstofcourseit’sa
greatball,agreatneweye-shatteringexplosionofexperience—Not
dreaming,I,what’stocome—ForwithsadmusicalBillieinmyarmsand
mynameBillietoonow,BillieandBilliearminarm,ohbeautiful,and
Codyhasgivenhisconsentinaway,wegoroamingtheGenghizKhan
cloudsofsoftloveandhopeandanybodywho’sneverdonethisiscrazy
—Becauseanewloveaffairalwaysgiveshope,theirrationalmortal
lonelinessisalwayscrowned,thatthingIsaw(thathorrorofsnake
emptiness)whenItookthedeepiodinedeathbreathontheBigSurbeach
isnowjustifiedandhosannah’dandraiseduplikeasacredurntoHeaven
inthemerefactofthetakingoffofclothesandclashingwitsandbodies
intheinexpressiblynervouslysaddelightoflove—Dontletnooldfogies
tellyouotherwise,andontopofthatnobodyintheworldeveneverdares
towritethetruestoryoflove,it’sawful,we’restuckwitha50%
incompleteliteratureanddrama—Lyingmouthtomouth,kisstokissin
thepillowdark,lointoloininunbelievablesurrenderingsweetnessso
distantfromallourmentalfearfulabstractionsitmakesyouwonderwhy
menhavetermedGodantisexualsomehow—Thesecretunderground
truthofmaddesirehidingunderfendersunderburiedjunkyards
throughouttheworld,nevermentionedinnewspapers,writtenabout
haltinglyandlikecornbyauthorsandpaintedtongueincheekbyartists,
agh,justlistentoTristanundIsoldebyWagnerandthinkofhimina
Bavarianfieldwithhisbelovednakedbeautyunderthefallleaves.

Howstrangeinall,andmakingeverythingthat’shappenedinthepast

weeks,thebacksandforthsandpainsofmeinCityandSur,allpiledup
nowrationallylikeabigconstructionwhereoncouldbebuiltadivingboard
whichwouldenablemeclumsilytodiveintoBillie’ssoulandtherefore
whycomplain?

104

Inthemiddleofthenightshefetchesthelittle4yearoldboytoshow

methespiritualbeautyofherson—Heisoneoftheweirdestpersons
I’veevermet—Hehaslargeliquidbrowneyesverybeautifulandhe
hatesanybodywhocomesnearhismotherandkeepsaskingher
questionsconstantlylike“Whydoyoustaywithhim?whyishehere,
whoishe?”or“Whyisitdarkoutside?”or“Whydoesthesunshine
yesterday?”oranything,he’lljustaskquestionsabouteverythingandshe
answerseveryoneofthemwithextremedelightandpatiencetillIsay
“Doesnthebotheryouwithallthesequestions?whydontyoulethim
croonandgooflikealittlechild,he’stuggingatyourkneeasking
EVERYTHINGmanwhydontyoujustlethimsingsong?”—Sheanswers
“IanswerhimbecauseImaybemissinghisnextquestion,everythinghe
asksmeandsaystomerepresentssomethingimportantaboutthe
absoluteImaybemissing”—“Whatdoyoumeantheabsolute?”—“You
yourselfsaideverythingistheabsolute”butofcourseshe’srightandI
realizethatinmydirtyoldsoulI’malreadyjealousofElliott.

105

HEMAT OFNIGHT

admitsthegroaningglorygodlikeloveIguessbutat

thesametimeit’salsoboringinawayandwebothlaughtodiscussthat
—Westayawakethatfirstnighttilldawndiscussingeverythinginthe
booksfromCodyineverydetaildowntomeineverydetailtoherin
everydetailtoEvelyntobooksandphilosophiesandreligionsandthe
absoluteandIendupwhisperingherpoems—Poorkidhastogetupin
themorningandgotoworkandI’mlefttheresnoringdrunk—Butshe
makesherneatbreakfastandtakesElliottofftothedailybabysitterlady
andIwakeupatoneintheafternoonaloneandtakeaswigofwineand
getinthehotbathtoreadabook—Thephonekeepsringing,everybody
fromMonsantotoFagantoMcLeartotheMoonManhassomehow
foundoutwhereIamandwhatthenumberis,thononeofthemhave
previouslyevenmetBillieletaloneseenher—IshuddertorealizeCody
willgetmadformakinghissecretlifesopublic.

ButherecomesPerry—LikemePerryhasthatstrangebrotherly

relationshipwithCodywherebyhegetstobeconfidantandsometimes
loverofallCody’sgals—AndIcanseewhy—Helooksjustlikemeonly
he’syoungandlookslikeIdidwhenfirstCodymetmebutthepointis
notthatsomuch,heisatempestuouslosttossedsouljustoutofSoledad
StatePrisonforattemptedrobberywithaboyishfaceandblackhair
fallingoveritbutpowerfulthickmusculararmsthatIrealizehecould
breakamaninhalfwith—Hisnameisstrangetoo,PerryYturbide,I
immediatelysay:“Iknowwhatyouare,Basque”—“Basque?isthatit?I
neverfoundout!let’scallmymotherlongdistanceinUtahandtellher
that!”—Andheringsuphismotherwayoverthere,onBillie’sphonebill,
andhereIambottleofportwineinonehandandbuttinmouthtalkingto
aBasqueexcon’smotherinUtahtellingherinfactreassuringher“YesI
believeit’saBasquename”—She’ssaying“Hey,whatyousay?whoare
you?”andthere’sPerrysmilingallglad—Averystrangekid—It’sbeena
longtimeinfactinmyliterarysortoflifethatI’vemetarealtough
hombrelikethatoutofjailsandwiththosearmsofsteelandthatfevered
concernthatscaresgovernmentsandmakesofficialspale,that’swhy
he’salwaysputawayinprisonthistypeofman—Yesyetthetypeof
manthecountryalwaysneedswhenthere’salittleoldwarstartedbyan

106

aginggovernor—Arealdangerouscharacter,infact,Perry,becausethoI
appreciatehispoeticsoulandeverythingIrealizelookingathimhe’s
capableofexplodingandkillingsomebodyforanideamaybeorforlove.

SomeofhisownfriendsringBillie’sdoorbell,everybodyseemsto

knowI’mthere,theycomeup,theyarestrangeanarchisticNegroesand
excons,itseemstobesomesortofgang,Ibegintowonder—Likearing
offeveredsages,theNegroesareintenseandcrazyandintellectualbut
they’veallgotthosestrongmusculararmsagainandallhavejailrecords
yettheyalltalkasthotheendoftheworlddependedontheirwords—
Hardtoexplain(butwilldo).

Billieandherganginfact,withallthatfancyrigamaroleaboutspiritual

mattersIwonderifitisntjustabigsecrethustleroutfitthoIalsorealize
thatI’venoticeditbeforeinSanFranciscoakindofephemeralhysteria
thathidesintheairovertherooftopsamongcertaincirclesthereleading
alwaystosuicideandmaim—Mejustaninnocentlostheartedmeditator
andGoopamongstrangeintensecriminalagitatorsoftheheart—It
remindsmeinfactofanightmareIhadjustbeforecomingouttothe
Coast,inthedreamI’mbackinSanFranciscobutthere’ssomething
funnygoingon:there’sdeadsilencethroughouttheentirecity:menlike
printersandofficeexecutivesandhousepaintersareallstandingsilentlyin
secondfloorwindowslookingdownontheemptystreetsofSan
Francisco:onceinawhilesomebeatnikswalkbybelow,alsosilent:
they’rebeingwatchedbutnotonlybytheauthoritiesbutbyeverybody:
thebeatniksseemtohavethewholestreetsystemtothemselves:but
nobody’ssayinganything:andinthisintensesilenceItakearideonaself
propelledplatformrightdowntownandouttothefarmswhereawoman
runningachickenfarminvitesmetojoinherandlivewithher—Thelittle
platformrollingquietlyasthepeoplearewatchingfromwindowsin
groupsofprofileliketheprofilesinoldVanDyckpaintings,intense,
suspicious,momentous—ThisBilliebusinessremindingmeofthatbut
becausetometheonlythingthatmattersistheconceptionsinmyown
mind,therehastobenorealityanywaytowhatIsupposeisgoingon—
ButthisalsoanindicationofthecomingmadnessinBigSur.

107

T RANGE

—andPerryYturbidethatfirstdaywhileBillie’satworkand

we’vejustcalledhismothernowwantsmetocomewithhimtovisita
generaloftheU.S.Army—“Why?andwhat’sallthesegeneralslooking
outofsilentwindows?”Isay—ButnothingsurprisesPerry—“Wellgo
therebecauseIwantyoutodigthemostbeautifulgirlsweeversaw,”in
factwetakeacab—Butthe“beautifulgirls”turnouttobe8and9and
10yearsold,daughtersofthegeneralormaybeevencousinsor
daughtersofanextdoorstrangegeneral,butthemotheristhere,thereare
alsoboysplayinginabackroom,wehaveElliottwithuswhomPerryhas
carriedonhisshouldersalltheway—IlookatPerryandhesays“I
wantedyoutoseethemostbeautifullittlecansintown”andIrealizehe’s
dangerouslyinsane—Infacthethensays“Seethisperfectbeauty?”a
ponytailed10yearolddaughterofthegeneral(whoainthomeyet)“I’m
goingtokidnapherrightnow”andhetakesherbythehandandtheygo
outonthestreetforanhourwhileIsitthereoverdrinkstalkingtothe
mother—There’ssomevastconspiracytomakemegomadanyway—
Themotherispoliteasordinarily—Thegeneralcomeshomeandhe’sa
ruggedbigbaldheadedgeneralandwithhimishisbestfrienda
photographercalledShea,athinwellcombedwelldressedordinary
downtowncommercialphotographerofthecity—Idontunderstand
anything—ButsuddenlylittleElliottiscryingintheotherroomandIrush
inthereandseethatthetwoboyshavewhackedhimorsomething
becausehedidsomethingwrongsoIchastisethemandcarryElliottback
intothelivingroomonmyshoulderslikePerrydoes,onlyElliottwantsto
getdownoffmyshouldersatonce,infacthewontevensitonmylap,in
facthehatesmyguts—IcallBilliedesperatelyatheragencyandshe
saysshe’llbeovertopickusallupandadds“How’sPerry
today?”—“He’skidnappinglittlegirlshesaysarebeautiful,hewantsto
marry10yearoldgirlswithponytails”—“That’sthewayheis,besureto
dighim”—Inhermusicalsadvoiceoverthephone.

Iturnmypoortorturedattentiontothegeneralwhosayshewasan

anti-FascistfighterwiththeMaquisduringWorldWarIIandalsoa
guerillaintheSouthPacificandknowsoneofthefinestrestaurantsin
SanFranciscowherewecanallgofeast,aFillipinorestaurantnear

108

Chinatown,Isayokay,great—Hegivesmemorebooze—Seeingthe
amusingIrishfaceofSheathephotographerIyell“Youcantakemy
pictureanytimeyouwant”andhesayssinister:“Notforpropaganda
reasons,anythingbutpropagandareasons”—“Whatthehelldoyoumean
propagandareasons,Iaintgotnothintodowithpropaganda”(andhere
comesPerrybackthroughthedoorwithPoopooholdinghishand,they’ve
gonetodigthestreetandhaveacoke)andIrealizeeverybodyisjust
livingtheirlivesquietlybutit’sonlymethat’sinsane.

InfactIyearntohaveoldCodyaroundtoexplainallthistomethoit

soonbecomesapparenttomenotevenCodycouldexplain,I’mbeginning
togoseriouslycrazy,justlikeSubterraneanIrenewentcrazythoIdont
realizeityet—I’mbeginningtoreadplotsintoeverysimpleline—Besides
the“general”scaresmeevenfurtherbyturningouttobeastrange
affluentwelldressedcivilianwhodoesntevenhelpmetopaythetabfor
theFillipinodinnerwhichwehave,meetingBillieattherestaurant,and
therestaurantitselfisweirdespeciallybecauseofabigraunchymad
thicklippedsloppyyoungFillipinowomansittingaloneattheendofthe
restaurantgobblingupherfoodobscenelyandlookingatusinsolentlyas
thotosay“Fuckyou,IeatthewayIlike”splashinggravyeverywhere—
Icantunderstandwhat’sgoingon—Becausealsothegeneralhas
suggestedthisdinnerbutIhavetopayforeverybody,him,Shea,Perry,
Billie,Elliott,me,others,strangeapocalypticmadnessisnowshuddering
inmyeyeballsandI’mevenrunningoutofmoneyintheirApocalypse
whichtheythemselveshavecreatedinthisSanFranciscosilence
anyway.

IyearntogohideandcryinEvelyn’sarmsbutIenduphidingin

Billie’sarmsandhereshegoesagain,thesecondevening,explainingall
herspiritualideas—“ButwhataboutPerry?what’sheupto?andwho’s
thatstrangegeneral?whatareyou,abunchofcommunists?”

109

HELIT T LECHILDREFUSEST OSLEEP

inhiscribbuthastocometrottingout

andwatchusmakeloveonthebedbutBilliesays“That’sgood,he’ll
learn,whatotherwaywillheeverlearn?”—Ifeelashamedbutbecause
Billieisthereandshe’sthemotherImustgoalongandnotworry—
Anothersinisterfact—Atonepointthepoorchildisdroolinglongslavers
ofspitfromhislipswatching,Icry“Billie,lookathim,it’snotgoodfor
him”butshesaysagain“Anythinghewantshecanhave,evenus.”

“Butkidit’snotfair,whydoesn’thejustsleep?”—“Hedoesntwanta

sleep,hewantstobewithus”—“Ooh,”andIrealizeBillieisinsaneand
I’mnotasinsaneasIthoughtandthere’ssomethingwrong—Ifeelmy
selfskidding:alsobecauseduringthefollowingweekIkeepsittinginthat
samechairbythegoldfishbowldrinkingbottleafterbottleofportlikean
automaton,worryingaboutsomething,Monsantocomestovisit,McLear,
Fagan,everybody,theycalltomedashingupthestairsandwehavelong
drunkendaystalkingbutIneverseemtogetoutofthatchairandnever
eventakeanotherdelightfulwarmbathreadingbooks—Andatnight
Billiecomeshomeandwepitchintoloveagainlikemonsterswhodont
knowwhatelsetodoandbynowI’mtooblurrytoknowwhat’sgoingon
anywaythoshereassuresmeeverythingisalright,andmeanwhileCody
hascompletelydisappeared—InfactIcallhimupandsay“Areyou
gonnacomebackandgetmehere?”—“Yesyesyesinafewdays,stay
there”asthomaybehewantsmetolearnwhat’shappeninglikeputting
methroughanordealtoseewhatIhavetosayaboutitbecausehe’s
beenthroughtheordealhimself.

Infacteverythingisgoingcrazy.
Perry’svisitsscareme:Ibegintothinkhemustbeoneofthose

“strongarmers”whobeatupoldmen:Iwatchhimwarily—Allthistime
he’spacingbackandforthsaying“Mandontyouappreciatethosesweet
littlecans?whatdoesitmatterhowoldawomanis,9or19,thoselittle
ponytailsjigglingastheywalkwiththoselittlejigglincans”—“Didyou
everkidnapone?”—“Yououtofwine,I’llmakearunforyougetsome
more,orwouldyouratherhavepotorsumptin?what’swrongwith
you?”—“Idontknowwhat’sgoinon!”—“You’redrinkingtoomuch
maybe,Codytoldmeyou’refallingapartman,dontdoit”—“Butwhat’s

110

goinon?”—“Whocares,pops,we’reallswingininloveandtryintogo
fromdaytodaywithselfrespectwhileallthesquaresareputtinus
down”—“Who?”—“TheSquares,puttindownUs...wewantaswing
andliveandcarryacrossthenightlikewhenwegettoL.A.I’mgointo
showyouthemaddestscenesomefriendsofminedownthere”(inmy
drunkennessI’vealreadyprojectedabigtripwithBillieandElliottand
PerrytoMexicobutwe’regoingtostopinL.A.toseearichwoman
Perryknowswho’sgoingtogivehimmoneyandifshedoesnthe’sgoing
togetitanyway,andasIsayBillieandIaregoingtogetmarriedtoo)—
Theinsanestweekofmylife—Billieatnightsaying“You’reworriedthat
Icanthandlemarryingyoubutofcoursewecan,Codywantsittoo,I’ll
talktoyourmotherandmakeherlovemeandneedme:Jack!”she
suddenlycrieswithanguishedmusicalvoice(becauseI’vejustsaid“Ah
Billiegogetyourselfahe-manandgetmarried”),“You’remylast
chancetomarryaHeMan”—“WhattayoumeanHeMan,dontyou
realizeI’mcrazy?”—“You’recrazybutyou’remylastchancetohavean
understandingwithaHeMan”—“WhataboutCody?”—“Codywillnever
leaveEvelyn”—Verystrange—Butmore,thoIdontunderstandit.

111

DOUNDERSTANDT HEST RANGEDAYBENFAGANFINALLYCAME

tovisitme

alone,bringingwine,smokinghispipe,andsaying“Jackyouneedsome
sleep,thatchairyousayyou’vebeensittinginfordayshaveyounoticed
thebottomisfallingoutofit?”—IgetonthefloorandbyGodlookand
it’strue,thespringsarecomingout—“Howlonghaveyoubeensittingin
thatchair?”—“EverydaywaitingforBillietocomehomeandtalkingto
Perryandtheothersallday...MyGodlet’sgooutandsitinthepark,”I
add—IntheblurofdaysMcLearhasalsobeenoveronaforgottenday
when,onnothingbuthischancementionthatmaybeIcouldgethisbook
publishedinParisIjumpupanddiallongdistanceforParisandcall
ClaudeGallimardandonlygethisbutlerapparentlyinsomeParisian
suburbandIheartheinsanegiggleontheotherendoftheline—“Isthis
thehome,c’estlechezeuxdeMonsieurGallimard?”—Giggle—“Où
estMonsieurGallimard?”—Giggle—Averystrangephonecall—
McLearwaitingthereexpectantlytogethis“DarkBrown”published—
SoinafuryofmadnessIthencallLondontotalktomyoldbuddyLionel
justfornoreasonatallandIfinallyreachhimathomehe’ssayingonthe
wire“You’recallingmefromSanFrancisco?buywhy?”—WhichIcant
answeranymorethanthegigglingbutler(andtoaddtomymadness,of
course,whyshouldalongdistancecalltoParistoapublisherendupwith
agiggleandalongdistancecalltoanoldfriendinLondonendupwiththe
friendgettingmad?)—SoFagannowseesI’mgoingoverboardcrazyand
Ineedsleep—“We’llgetabottle!”Iyell—Butendup,he’ssittinginthe
grassoftheparksmokinghispipe,fromnoonto6P.M.,andI’mpassed
outexhaustedsleepinginthegrass,bottleunopened,onlytowakeup
onceinawhilewonderingwhereIamandbyGodI’minHeavenwith
BenFaganwatchingovermenandme.

AndIsaytoBenwhenIwakeupinthegathering6P.M.dusk“Ah

BenI’msorryIruinedourdaybysleepinglikethis”buthesays:“You
neededthesleep,Itoldya”—“Andyoumeantotellmeyoubeensitting
allafternoonlikethat?”—“Watchingunexpectedevents,”sayshe,“like
thereseemstobesoundofaBacchanalinthosebushesoverthere”and
Ilookandhearchildrenyellingandscreaminginhiddenbushesinthe
park—“Whattheydoing?”—“Idontknow:alsoalotofstrangepeople

112

wentby”—“HowlonghaveIbeensleeping?”—“Ages”—“I’m
sorry”—“Whyshouldbesorry,Iloveyouanyway”—“WasI
snoring?”—“You’vebeensnoringalldayandI’vebeensittinghereall
day”—“Whatabeautifulday!”—“Yesit’sbeenabeautifulday”—“How
strange!”—“Yes,strange...butnotsostrangeeither,you’rejust
tired”—“WhatdoyouthinkofBillie?”—Hechucklesoverhispipe:
“Whatdoyouexpectmetosay?thatthefrogbityourleg?”—“Whydo
youhaveadiamondinyourforehead?”—“Idonthaveadiamondinmy
foreheaddamnyouandstopmakingarbitraryconceptions!”heroars
—“ButwhatamIdoing?”—“Stopthinkingaboutyourself,willya,just
floatwiththeworld”—“Didtheworldfloatbythepark?”—“Allday,you
shouldhaveseenit,I’vesmokedawholepackageofEdgewood,it’sbeen
averystrangeday”—“AreyousadIdidnttalktoyou?”—“Notatall,in
factI’mglad:webetterbestartingback,”headds,“Billiebecoming
homefromworksoonnow”—“AhBen,AhSunflower”—“Ahshit”he
says—“It’sstrange”—“Whosaiditwasnt”—“Idontunderstand
it”—“Dontworryaboutit”—“Hmmholyroom,sadroom,lifeisasad
room”—“Allsentientbeingsrealizethat,”hesayssternly—Benjaminmy
realZenMasterevenmorethanallourGeorgesandArthursactually
—“BenIthinkI’mgoingcrazy”—“Yousaidthattomein1955”—“Yeh
butmybrain’sgettinsoftfromdrinkinanddrinkinanddrinkin”—“What
youneedisacupofteaI’dsayifIdidntknowthatyou’retoocrazyto
knowhowreallycrazyyouare”—“Butwhy?what’sgoingon?”—“Did
youcomethreethousandmilestofindout?”—“Threethousandmiles
fromwhere,afterall?fromwhineyoldme”—“That’salright,everything
ispossible,evenNietzscheknewthat”—“Aintnothinwrongwithold
Nietzsche”—“’Xcepthewentmadtoo”—“DoyouthinkI’mgoing
mad?”—“Hohoho”(heartylaugh)—“What’sthatmean,laughingat
me?”—“Nobody’slaughingatyou,dontgetexcited”—“What’llwedo
now?”—“Let’sgovisitthemuseumoverthere”—There’samuseumof
somesortacrossthegrassoftheparksoIgetupwobblyandwalkwith
oldBenacrossthesadgrass,atonepointIputmyarmoverhisshoulder
andleanonhim—“Areyouaghoul?”Iask—“Sure,whynot?”—“Ilike
ghoulsthatletmesleep?”—“Duluozit’sgoodforyoutodrinkinaway
’causeyou’reawfulstingywithyourselfwhenYou’resober”—“You
soundlikeJulien”—“InevermetJulienbutIunderstandBillielookslike
him,youkeptsayingthatbeforeyouwenttosleep”—“Whathappened
whileIwasasleep?”—“Oh,peoplewentbyandcamebackandforth
andthesunsankandfinallysankdownand’sgonenowalmostasyou

113

cansee,whatyouwant,justnameityougotit”—“WellIwantsweet
salvation”—“What’ssposedtobesweetaboutsalvation?maybeit’s
sour”—“It’ssourinmymouth”—“Maybeyourmouthistoobig,ortoo
small,salvationisforlittlekittiesbutonlyforawhile”—“Didyouseeany
littlekittiestoday?”—“Shore,hundredsofemcametovisityouwhileyou
weresleeping”—“Really?”—“Sure,didntyouknowyouwere
saved?”—“Nowcomeon!”—“Oneofthemwasrealbigandroaredlike
alionbuthehadabigwetsnoutandkissedyouandyousaid
Ah”—“What’sthismuseumuphere?”—“Let’sgoinandfindout”—
That’sthewayBenis,hedoesntknowwhat’sgoingoneitherbutatleast
hewaitstofindoutmaybe—Butthemuseumisclosed—Westandthere
onthestepslookingatthecloseddoor—“Hey,”Isay,“thetempleis
closed.”

SosuddenlyinredsundownmeandBenFaganarminarmare

walkingslowlysadlybackdownthebroadstepsliketwomonksgoing
downtheesplanadeofKyoto(asIimagineKyotosomehow)andwe’re
bothsmilinghappilysuddenly—IfeelgoodbecauseI’vehadmysleepbut
mainlyIfeelgoodbecausesomehowoldBen(myage)hasblessedme
bysittingovermysleepalldayandnowwiththesefewsillywords—
Arminarmweslowlydescendthestepswithoutaword—It’sbeenthe
onlypeacefuldayI’vehadinCalifornia,infact,exceptaloneinthe
woods,whichItellhimandsays“Well,whosaidyouwerentalone
now?”makingmerealizetheghostlinessofexistencethoIfeelhisbig
bulgingbodywithmyhandsandsay:“Yousuresomepatheticghostwith
allthatephemeralheavycrockaflesh”—“Ididntsaynottin”helaughs
—“WhateverIsayBen,dontmindit,I’mjustafool”—“Yousaidin1957
inthegrassdrunkonwhiskeyyouwerethegreatestthinkerinthe
world”—“ThatwasbeforeIfellasleepandwokeup:nowIrealizeI’m
nogoodatallandthatmakesmefeelfree”—“You’renotevenfree
beingnogood,youbetterstopthinking,that’sall”—“I’mgladyouvisited
metoday,IthinkImighthavedied”—“It’sallyourfault”—“Whatarewe
gonnadowithourlives?”—“Oh,”hesays,“Idunno,justwatchemI
guess”—“Doyouhateme?...well,doyoulikeme?...well,howare
things?”—“Thehicksarealright”—“Anybodyhexya
lately...?”—“Yeh,withcardboardgames?”—“Cardboardgames?”I
ask—“Wellyouknow,theybuildcardboardhousesandputpeoplein
themandthepeoplearecardboardandthemagicianmakesthedead
bodytwitchandtheybringwatertothemoon,andthemoonhasa
strangeear,andallthat,soI’malright,Goof.”

114

“Okay.”

115

OT HEREIAMASIT START ST OGET DARK

standingwithonehandonthe

windowcurtainlookingdownonthestreetasBenFaganwalksawayto
getthebusonthecorner,hisbigbaggycorduroypantsandsimpleblue
Goodwillworkshirt,goinghometothebubblebathandafamouspoem,
notreallyworriedoratleastnotworriedaboutwhatI’mworriedabout
thohetoocarriesthatanguishingguiltIguessandhopelessremorsethat
thepotboileroftimehasntmadehisearlyprimordialdawnsoverthepines
ofOregoncometrue—I’mclutchingatthedrapesofthewindowlikethe
PhantomoftheOperabehindthemasque,waitingforBillietocome
homeandrememberinghowIusedtostandbythewindowslikethisin
mychildhoodandlookoutonduskystreetsandthinkhowawfulIwasin
thisdevelopmenteverybodysaidwassupposedtobe“mylife”and“their
lives.”—NotsomuchthatI’madrunkardthatIfeelguiltyaboutbutthat
otherswhooccupythisplaneof“lifeonearth”withmedontfeelguiltyat
all—Crookedjudgesshavingandsmilinginthemorningonthewayto
theirheinousindifferences,respectablegeneralsorderingsoldiersby
telephonetogodieordropdead,pickpocketsnoddingincellssaying“I
neverhurtanybody,”“that’sonethingyoucansayforme,yessir,”
womenwhoregardthemselvessaviorsofmensimplystealingtheir
substancebecausetheythinktheirswan-richnecksdeserveitanyway
(thoughforeveryswan-richneckyoulosethere’sanothertenwaiting,
eachonereadytolayforalemon),infactawfulhugefacedmonstersof
menjustbecausetheirshirtsarecleandeigningtocontrolthelivesof
workingmenbyrunningforGovernorsaying“Yourtaxmoneyinmy
handswillbeaptlyused,”“YoushouldrealizehowvaluableIamandhow
muchyouneedme,withoutmewhatwouldyoube,notledatall?”—
Forwardtothebigdesignedmankindcartoonofamanstandingfacing
therisingsunwithstrongshoulderswithaploughathisfeet,thenecktied
governorisgoingtomakehaywhilethesunrises—?—Ifeelguiltyfor
beingamemberofthehumanrace—Drunkardyesandoneoftheworst
foolsonearth—Infactnotevenagenuinedrunkardjustafool—ButI
standtherewithhandoncurtainlookingdownforBillie,who’slate,Ah
me,IrememberthatfrighteningthingMilarepasaidwhichisotherthan
thosereassuringwordsofhisIrememberedinthecabinofsweet

116

lonenessonBigSur:“Whenthevariousexperiencescometolightin
meditation,donotbeproudandanxioustotellotherpeople,elseto
GoddessesandMothersyouwillbringannoyance”andhereIama
perfectlyobviousfoolAmericanwriterdoingjustthatnotonlyforaliving
(whichIwasalwaysabletogleananywayfromrailroadandshipand
liftingboardsandsackswithhumblehand)butbecauseifIdontwrite
whatactuallyIseehappeninginthisunhappyglobewhichisroundedby
thecontoursofmydeathskullIthinkI’llhavebeensentonearthbypoor
Godfornothing—ThobeingaPhantomoftheOperawhyshouldthat
worryme?—Inmyyouthleaningmybrowhopelesslyonthetypewriter
bar,wonderingwhyGodeverwasanyway?—Orbitingmylipinbrown
gloomsintheparlorchairinwhichmyfather’sdiedandwe’vealldieda
milliondeaths—OnlyFagancanunderstandandnowhe’sgothisbus—
AndwhenBilliecomeshomewithElliottIsmileandsitdowninthechair
anditutterlycollapsesunderme,blang,I’msprawledonthefloorwith
surprise,thechairhasgone.

“How’dthathappen?”wondersBillieandatthesametimeweboth

lookatthefishbowlandboththegoldfishesareupsidedownfloatingdead
onthesurfaceofthewater.

I’vebeensittinginthatchairbythatfishbowlforaweekdrinkingand

smokingandtalkingandnowthegoldfisharedead.

“Whatkilledthem?”—“Idontknow”—“DidIkillthebecauseIgave

themsomeKelloggscornflakes?”—“Mebbe,you’renotsupposedtogive
themanythingbuttheirfishfood”—“ButIthoughttheywerehungrysoI
gavethemafewflicksofcornflakes”—“WellIdontknowwhatkilled
them”—“Butwhydontanybodyknow?whathappened?whydotheydo
this?ottersandmousesandeverydamnthingdyinonallsidesBillie,I
cantstandit,it’sallmygoddamfaulteverytime!”—“Whosaiditwas
yourfaultdear?”—“Dear?youcallmedear?whydoyoucallme
dear?”—“Ah,letmeloveyou”(kissingme),“justbecauseyoudont
deserveit”—(Chastised):-“WhydontIdeserveit”—“Becauseyousay
so...”—“Butwhataboutthefish”—“Idontknow,really”—“Isit
becauseI’vebeensittinginthatcrumblingchairallweekblowingsmoke
ontheirwater?andalltheotherssmokingandallthetalk?”—Butthe
littlekidElliottcomescrawlinguphismommy’slapandstartsasking
questions:“Billie,”hecallsher,“Billie,Billie,Billie,”feelingherface,I’m
almostgoingmadfromthesadnessofitall—“Whatdidyoudoall
day?”—“IwaswithBenFaganandsleptinthepark...Billiewhatare
wegonnado?”—“Anytimeyousaylikeyousaid,we’llgetmarriedand

117

flytoMexicowithPerryandElliott”—“I’mafraidofPerryandI’m
afraidofElliott”—“He’sonlyalittleboy”—“BillieIdontwantaget
married,I’mafraid...”—“Afraid?”—“Iwantagohomeanddiewithmy
cat.”Icouldbeahandsomethinyoungpresidentinasuitsittinginan
oldfashionedrockingchair,noinsteadI’mjustthePhantomoftheOpera
standingbyadrapeamongdeadfishandbrokenchairs—Canitbethat
noonecareswhomademeorwhy?—“Jackwhat’sthematter,whatare
youtalkingabout?”butsuddenlyasshe’smakingsupperandpoorlittle
ElliottiswaitingtherewithspoonupendedinfistIrealizeit’sjustalittle
familyhomesceneandI’mjustanutinthewrongplace—Andinfact
Billiestartssaying“Jackweshouldbemarriedandhavequietsuppers
likethiswithElliott,somethingwouldsanctifyyouforeverI’mpositive.”

“WhathaveIdonewrong?”—“Whatyou’vedonewrongiswithhold

yourlovefromawomanlikemeandfrompreviouswomenandfuture
womenlikeme—canyouimagineallthefunwe’dhavebeingmarried,
puttingElliotttobed,goingouttohearjazzoreventakingplanestoParis
suddenlyandallthethingsIhavetoteachyouandyouteachme—
insteadallyou’vebeendoingiswastinglifereallysittingaroundsad
wonderingwheretogoandallthetimeit’srightthereforyouto
take”—“SupposinIdontwantit”—“That’spartofthepicturewhereyou
sayyoudontwantit,ofcourseyouwant...”—“ButIdont,I’macreepy
strangeguyyoudontevenknow”—(“Cweepy?what’scweepy?Billie?
what’scweepy?”isaskingpoorlittleElliott)—AndmeanwhilePerry
comesinforaminuteandIpointblanksaytohim“Idontunderstandyou
Perry,Iloveyou,digyou,you’rewild,butwhat’sallthisbusinesswhere
youwantakidnaplittlegirls?”butsuddenlyasI’maskingthatIseetears
inhiseyesandIrealizehe’sinlovewithBillieandhasalwaysbeen,wow
—Ievensayit,“You’reinlovewithBillieaintya?I’msorry,I’mcuttin
out”—“Whatareyoutalkinaboutman?”—It’sabigargumentthenabout
howheandBilliearejustfriendssoIstartsingingJustFriendslike
Sinatra“Twofriendsbutnotlikebefore”butgoodheartedPerryseeing
mesingrunsdownstairstogetanotherbottleforme—Butnevertheless
thefisharedeadandthechairisbroken.

Perryinfactisatragicyoungmanwithenormouspotentialswho’sjust

lethimselfswingandfloattohellIguess,unlesssomethingelsehappens
tohimsoon,IlookathimandrealizethatbesideslovingBilliesecretly
andtrulyhemustalsoloveoldCodyasmuchasIdoandalltheworld
betternIdoyetheisthecharacterwhoisalwaysbeingputawaybehind
barsforthis—Rugged,coveredwithwoe,hesitstherewithhisblackhair

118

alwaysoverhisbrow,overhisblackeyes,hisironarmshanging
helplesslylikethearmsofapowerfulidiotinthemadhouse,withthe
beautyoflostnesspastedalloverhim—Whoishe?infact?—Andwhy
doesntblondeBilliewashingthehomeydishesthereacknowledgehis
love?—InfactmeandPerryendupwe’rebothsittingwithhanging
headswhenBilliecomesbackinthelivingroomandseesuslikethat,like
tworepentantcatatonicsinhell—SomeNegrocomesinandsaysifIgive
himafewdollarshe’llgetsomepotbutassoonasIgivehimfivedollars
hesuddenlysays“WellIaintgonnagetnothin”—“Yougotfivedollars,go
outandgetit”—“IaintsureIcangetany”—Idontlikehimatall—I
suddenlyrealizeIcanleapupandthrowhimonthefloorandtakethe
fivedollarsawayfromhimbutIdontevencareaboutthemoneybutI
ammadabouthimdoingthat—“Whoisthatguy?”—IknowthatifIstart
fightinghimhehasaknifeandwe’llwreckBillie’slivingroomtoo—But
suddenlyanotherNegrocomesinandturnsoutasweetvisittalkingabout
jazzandbrotherhoodandtheyallleaveandmeandJackyarealoneto
wondersomemore.

Allthemusculargumofsexissuchabore,butBillieandIhavesucha

fantasticsexballanywaythat’swhywe’reabletophilosophizelikethat
andagreeandlaughtogetherinsweetnakedness“Ohbabywe’re
togethercrazy,wecouldliveinanoldlogcabininthehillsandneversay
anythingforyears,itwasmeantthatwe’dmeet”—She’ssayingallkinds
ofthingsasanideabeginstodawnonme:“SayIknowBillie,let’sleave
theCityandtakeElliottwithusandgotoMonsanto’scabininthewoods
foraweekortwoandforgeteverything”—“YesIcancallupmyboss
rightnowandgetacouplaweeksoff,OhJacklet’sdoit”—“Andit’llbe
goodforElliott,getawayfromallthesesinisterfriendsofyours,my
God”—“Perryaintsinister.”

“We’llgetmarriedandgoawayandhavealodgeintheAdirondacks,

atnightbythelampwe’llhavesimplesupperswithElliott”—“I’llmake
lovetoyoualways”—“Butyouwontevenhavetobecauseweboth
realizewe’rebugs...ourlodgewillhavetruthwrittenalloveritbuttho
thewholeworldcomesmearitwithbigblackpaintsofhateandlieswe’ll
befallingdeaddrunkintruth”—“Havesomecoffee”—“Myhands’ll
grownumbandIwontbeabletohandletheaxebutstillI’llbethetruth
man...I’llstandbythedrapeofthewindownightlisteningtothebabble
ofalltheworldandI’lltellyouaboutit”—“ButJackIloveyouandthat’s
nottheonlyreasonwhy,dontyouseethatwe’remeantforeachother
fromthebeginning,didntyouseethatwhenyoucameinwithCodyand

119

startedcallingmeJulienforthatsillyreasonyoutoldmeaboutwhereI
looklikesomeoldbuddyyouknowinNewYork”—“WhohatesCody’s
gutsandCodyhateshim”—“Butdontyouseewhatawasteit
is?”—“ButwhataboutCody?youwantmetomarryyoubutyoulove
CodyandinfactPerrylovesyoutoo?”—“Surebutwhat’swrongwith
thatorallthat?there’sperfectlovebetweenusforeverthere’snodoubt
aboutitbutweonlyhavetwobodies”—(astrangestatement)—Istand
bythewindowlookingoutontheglitteringSanFrancisconightwithits
magiccardboardhousessaying“AndyouhaveElliottwhodoesntlikeme
andIdontlikehimandinfactIdontlikeyouandIdontlikemyselfeither,
howaboutthat?”(Billiesaysnothingtothisbutonlystoresupananger
thatcomesoutlater)—“ButwecancallDaveWainandhe’lldriveusto
BigSurcabinandwe’llbealoneinthewoodsatleast”—“I’mtellingyou
that’swhatIwantado!”—“Callhimnow!”—Itellherthenumberand
shedialsitlikeasecretary—“Othesadmusicofitall,I’vedoneitall,
seenitall,doneeverythingwitheverybody”Isayphoneinhand,“the
wholeworld’scomingonlikeahighschoolsophomoreeagertolearn
whathecallsNewthings,mindyou,thesameoldsing-songsadsong
truthofdeath...becausethereasonIyelldeathsomuchisbecauseI’m
reallyyellinglife,becauseyoucanthavedeathwithoutlife,helloDave?
thereyouare?knowwhatI’mcallinyouabout?listenpal...takethat
bigbrunetteRomanathatRumanianmadwomanandpackherinWillie
andcomedowntoBillie’shereandpickusup,we’llpackwhileyou’sen
route,honey’son,andwe’llallgospendtwoweeksofblissin
Monsanto’scabin”—“DoesMonsantoagree?”—“I’llcallhimrightnow
andaskhim,he’llsaysure”—“WellIthoughtI’dbepaintingRomana’s
walltomorrowbutmaybeI’dajustgotdrunkdointhatanyway:sureyou
wantadoallthisnow?”—“Yesyehyeh,comeon—”“AndIcanbring
Romana?”—“Yesbutwhynot?”—“Andwhat’sthepurposeofall
this?”—“AhDaddy,maybejusttoseeyouagainandwecantalkabout
purposesanywhere:youwantagoonalecturetourtoUtahuniversity
andBrownuniversityandtellthewellscrubbedkids?”—“Scrubbedwith
what?”—“Scrubbedwithhopelessperfectionofpioneerpuritanhopethat
leavesnothingbutdeadpigeonstolookat?”—“OkayI’llberightout...
firstIgottagetWillie’stankfilledupandanoilchangetoo”—“I’llpay
youwhenyougethere”—“IheardyouwereelopingwithBillie”—“Who
toldyouthat?”—“Itwasinthepapertoday”—“Wellwe’llstartoffby
gettingintoWillieagainanddontbringRonBlake,we’llbejusttwo
couplesdig?”—“Yeh—andlissenI’llbringmysurfcastinrodandcatch

120

somefishdownthere”—“We’llhaveaball—andlistenDaveI’mgrateful
you’refreeandwillingtodriveusdownthere,I’mdowninthemouth,
I’vebeensittinghereforaweekdrinkingandthechairbrokeandthefish
diedandI’mallscrewedupagain”—“Wellyoushouldntoughtadrinkthat
sweetstuffallthetimeandyounevereat”—“Butthat’snotthereal
trouble”—“Wellwe’lldecidewhattherealtroubleis”—“That’s
right”—“Methinkstherealtroubleisthosepigeons”—“Why?”—“I
dunno,rememberwhenwewereinEastSt.LouiswithGeorge,andJack
yousaidyou’dlovethosebeautifuldancinggirlsifyouknewtheywould
liveforeverasbeautifulastheyare?”—“Butthat’sonlyaquotefrom
Buddha”—“Yeh,butthegirlsdidn’texpectallthat”—“Howyafeeling
Dave?what’sFagandoingtonight”—“Ohhe’ssittinginhisroomwriting
something,callsithisGOOFBOOK,hasbigwilddrawingsinit,andLex
PascalisdrunkagainandthemusicisplayingandI’mrealsadandI’m
gladyoucalled”—“YoulikemeDave?”—“Iaintgotnothinelsetodo,
kid”—“Butyoureallyhavesomethinelsetodoreally?”—“Lissennever
mind,I’llbeup,youcallMonsantorightawaythobecausewealsogotta
getthecorralgatekeysfromhim”—“I’mgladIknowyouDave”—“Me
tooJack”—“Why?”—“MaybeIwantedtostandonmyheadinthesnow
toproveitbutIdo,amglad,willbeglad,afterallthat’srightthere’s
nothingelseforustodobutsolvethesedamnproblemsandI’vegotone
righthereinmypantsforRomana”—“Butthat’ssosickandtiredtocall
lifeaproblemthatcanbesolved”—“YesbutI’mjustrepeatingwhatI
readinthedeadpigeontextbooks”—“ButDaveIloveyou”—“OkayI’ll
berightover.”

121

EPACKUPLIT T LEELLIOT T ’SPAT HET ICWARMCLOT HES

andputfood

togetherandgetthehamperallsetandwaitforDavetocomesadlyin
thenight—Andwehaveabigtalk—“Billiebutwhydidthefishdie?”but
sheknowsalreadytheyprobablydiedbecauseIgavethemKelloggs
cornflakesorsomethingwentwrong,onethingsureisthatshedidnt
forgettofeedthemoranything,it’sallme,allmyfault,I’dassoonbe
rustedbyautumntoo-much-thinkthanbedead-fishercauseofthosepoor
littlehunksofgoldendeathfloatingonthatscummywater—Itreminds
meoftheotter—ButIcantexplainittoBilliewho’sallabstractand
talkingaboutourabstractsoul-meetingsinhell,andlittleElliottispullingat
herasking“Wherewegoing?wherewegoing?whatfor?whatfor?”—
She’ssaying“Andallbecauseyouthinkyoudontdeservetobeloved
becauseyouthinkyoucausedthedeathofthegoldfishthotheyprobably
justdiedontheirownaccord”—“Whywouldtheydothat?why?what
kindoflogicisthatforfishtohave?”—“Orbecauseyouthinkyoudrink
toomuchandthereforeeverytimeyou’refeelinggoodonalittlebooze
yougiveupandsayyourhandshanghelpless,likeyousaidlastnight
whenyouwereholdingmewiththosehandsblessingmyheartandmy
bodywithyourlove,OJackit’stimeforyoutowakeupandcomewith
meoratleastcomewithsomebodyandopenyoureyestowhyGod’sput
youhere,stopallthatstaringatthefloor,youandPerrybothyou’recrazy
—I’lldrawyoumagicmooncircles’llchangeallyourluck”—Ilookher
deadintheeyeanditisblueandIsay“OBillie,forgiveme”—“Butyou
seeyougotheretalkinguiltyagain”—“WellIdontknowallthosebig
theoriesabouthoweverythingshouldbegoddamitallIknowisthatI’ma
helplesshunkofhelpfulhorsemanurelookinginyoureyesayingHelp
me”—“Butwhenyoumakethosebigfinalstatementsitdoesnthelp
you”—“OfcourseIknowthatbutwhatdoyouwant?”—“Iwantusto
getmarriedandsettledowntoasensibleunderstandingabouteternal
things”—“Andyoumayberight”—Iseeitallravingbeforemethe
endlessyakkingkitchenmouthingsoflife,thelongdarkgraveoftomby
talksundermidnightkitchenbulbs,infactitfillsmewithlovetorealize
thatlifesoavidandmisunderstoodneverthelessreachesoutskinny
skeletonhandtomeandtoBillietoo—ButyouknowwhatImean.

122

Andthisisthewayitbegins.

123

T SOUNDSALLSOSADBUT IT WASACT UALLYSUCHAGAYNIGHT

asDave

andRomanacameoverandthere’sallthebusinessofpackingboxesand
clothesdowntothecar,nippingoutofbottles,gettingreadyinfacttosing
allthewaytoBigSur“HomeOntheRange”and“I’mJustaLonsome
OldTurd”byDaveWain—MesittingupfrontnexttoDaveandRomana
forsomereasonmaybebecauseIwantedtoidentifywithmyoldbroken
frontrockingchairandleanthereflappingandsingingbutwithRomana
betweenustheseatispinneddownandnolongerflaps—Meanwhile
Billieisonthebackmattresswithsleepingchildandoffwegobooming
downBayShoretothatothershorewhateveritwillbring,thewaypeople
alwaysfeelwhenevertheyessaysometriplongorshortespeciallyinthe
night—Theeyesofhopelookingovertheglareofthehoodintothemaw
withitswhitelinefeedinginstraightasanarrow,thelightingoffresh
cigarettes,thebucklingtoleanforwardtothenextadventuresomething
that’sbeengoingoninAmericaeversincethecoveredwagonsclocked
thedesertsinthreemonthsflat—BilliedoesntmindthatIdontsitinback
withherbecausesheknowsIwantasingandhaveagoodtime—
RomanaandIhitupfantasticmedleysofpopularandfolksongsofall
kindsandDavecontributeshisNewYorkChicagobluelightnightclub
romanticbaritonespecialties—MywaveringSinatraisbarelyheardin
fact—BeatonyourkneesandyellandsingDixieandBanjoOnMy
Knee,getraucousandmoanoutRedRiverValley,“Where’smy
harmonica,Ibeenmeanintobuymeaeightdollarharmonicaforeight
yearsnow.”

Italwaysstartsoutgoodlikethat,thebadmoments—Nothingisgained

orlostalsobythefactthatIinsistwestopatCody’senroutesoIcan
pickupsomeclothesIlefttherebutsecretlyIwantEvelyntofinally
comefacetofacewithBillie—Itsurprisesmemorehowevertoseethe
lookofabsolutefrightonCody’sfaceaswepourintohislivingroomat
midnightandIannouncethatBillie’sinthejeepsleeping—Evelynisnot
perturbedatallandinfactsaystomeprivatelyinthekitchen“Iguessit
wasboundtohappensometimeshe’dcomehereandseeitbutIguessit
wasdestinedtobeyouwho’dbringher”—“What’sCodysoworried
about?”—“You’respoilingallhischancetoberealsecretive”—“He

124

hasntcomeandseenusforawholeweek,that’sinawaywhat
happened,hejustleftmestrandedthere:I’vebeenfeelingawful,
too”—“Wellifyouwantyoucanaskhertocomein”—“Wellwe’re
leavinginaminuteanyway,youwantaseeheratleast?”—“Idont
care”—Codyissittinginthelivingroomabsolutelyrigid,stiff,formal,with
abigIrishstoneinhiseye:Iknowhe’sreallymadatmethistimethoI
dontreallyknowwhy—Igooutandthere’sBilliealoneinthecarover
sleepingElliottbitingherfingernail—“Youwantacomeinandmeet
Evelyn?”—“Ishouldnt,shewontlikethat,isCodythere?”—“Yah”—So
Willamineclimbsout(IrememberjustthenEvelyntellingmeseriously
thatCodyalwayscallshiswomenbytheirfullfirstnames,Rosemarie,
Joanna,Evelyn,Willamine,henevergivesthemsillynicknamesnoruses
them).

Themeetingisnoteventful,ofcourse,bothgirlskeeptheirsilenceand

hardlylookateachothersoit’sallmeandDaveWaincarryingonwith
theusualboloneyandIseethatCodyisreallyverysickandtiredofme
bringinggangsarbitrarilytohisplace,runningoffwithhismistress,getting
drunkandthrownoutoffamilyplays,hundreddollarsornohundred
dollarsheprobablyfeelsI’mjustafoolnowanywayandhopelesslylost
foreverbutIdontrealizethatmyselfbecauseI’mfeelinggood—Iwant
ustoresumedownthatroadsingingbawdieranddarkersongstillwe’re
negotiatingnarrowmountainroadsatthepitchofthegreatestsongs.

ItrytoaskCodyaboutPerryandalltheotherstrangecharacterswho

visitBillieintheCitybuthejustlooksatmeoutofthecornereyeand
says“Ah,yah,hm,”—IdontknowandIneverwillknowwhathe’supto
anywayinthelongrun:IrealizeI’mjustasillystrangergoofingwith
otherstrangersfornoreasonfarawayfromanythingthatevermattered
tomewhateverthatwas—Alwaysanephemeral“visitor”totheCoast
neverreallyinvolvedwithanyone’slivestherebecauseI’malwaysready
toflybackacrossthecountrybutnottoanylifeofmyownontheother
endeither,justatravelingstrangerlikeOldBullBalloon,anexemplarof
thelonelinessofDorenCoitactuallywaitingfortheonlyrealtrip,to
Venus,tothemountainofMienMo—ThowhenIlookoutofCody’s
livingroomwindowjustthenIdoseemystarstillshiningformeasit’s
doneallthese38yearsovercrib,outshipwindows,jailwindows,over
sleepingbagsonlynowit’sdummieranddimmerandgettingblurreder
damnitasthoevenmyownstarbenowfadingawayfromconcernfor
measIfromconcernforit—Infactwe’reallstrangerswithstrange
eyessittinginamidnightlivingroomfornothing—Andsmalltalkatthat,

125

likeBilliesaying“Ialwayswantedanicefireplace”andI’myelling“Dont
worrywegotoneatthecabinheyDave?andallthewood’schopped!”
andEvelyn:-“WhatdoesMonsantothinkofyouusinghiscabinall
summer,weren’tyousupposedtogotherealoneinsecret?”—“It’stoo
latenow!”IsingswiggingfromthebottlewithoutwhichI’donlydrop
withshamefaceflatonthefloororonthegraveldriveway—AndDave
andRomanalookalittleuneasyfinallysoweallgetuptogo,zoom,and
that’sthelasttimeIseeCodyorEvelynanyway.

AndasIsayoursongsgrowmightierastheroadgrowsdarkerand

wilder,finallyhereweareonthecanyonroadtheheadlightsjustreaching
outtherearoundbleaksandshoulders—DowntothecreekwhereI
unlockthecorralgate—Acrossthemeadowandbacktothehaunted
cabin—Whereonthestrengthofthatnight’sboozeandgetawaygladness
BillieandIactuallyhaveagoodtimelightingfiresandmakingcoffeeand
gongtobetogetherintheonesleepingbageasyaspieafterwe’ve
bundleduplittleElliottandDaveandRomanahaveretiredinhisdouble
nylonbagbythecreekinthemoonlight.

No,it’sthenextdayandnightthatconcernsme.

126

HEWHOLEDAYBEGINSSIMPLYENOUGH

withmegettingupfeelingfairand

goingdowntothecreektoslurpupwaterinmypalmsandwashup,
seeingthelanguidwavingofonelargebrownthighoverthemassof
Dave’snylonsindicativeofanearlymorninglovescene,infactRomana
tellinguslateratbreakfast“WhenIwokeupthismorningandsawall
thosetreesandwaterandcloudsItoldDave‘It’sabeautifuluniversewe
created’”—ArealAdamandEvewakingup,infactthisbeingoneof
Dave’sgladdestdaysbecausehe’dreallywantedtogetawayfromthe
Cityagainanywayandthistimewithaprettydoll,and’sbroughthissurf
castinggearplanningabigday—Andwe’vebroughtalotofgoodfood—
Theonlytroubleisthere’snomorewinesoDaveandRomanagooffin
Willietogetsomemoreanywayatastore13milessouthdownthe
highway—BillieandIarealonetalkingbythefire—Ibegintofeel
extremelylowassoonaslastnight’salcoholwearsoff.

Everythingistremblyagain,thetremblingband,Icantforafacteven

lightthefireandBilliehastodoit—“Icantlightafireanymore!”Iyell
—“WellIcan”shesaysinarareinstancewhensheletsmehaveitfor
beingsuchanut—LittleElliottisconstantlypullingatheraskingthisand
that,“Whatisthatstickfor,toputinthefire?why?howdoesitburn?
whydoesitburn?wherearewe?whenareweleaving”andthepattern
developswhereshebeginstotalktohiminsteadofmeanywaybecause
I’mjustsittingtherestaringatthefloorsighing—Laterwhenhetakeshis
napwegodownthepathtothebeach,aboutnoon,bothofussadand
silent—“What’sthematterIwonder”Isayoutloud—She:-“Everything
wasalrightlastnightwhenwesleptinthebagtogethernowyouwont
evenholdmyhand...goddamitI’mgoingtokillmyself!”—Because
I’vebeguntorealizeinmysobernessthatthisthinghascometoofar,that
IdontloveBillie,thatI’mleadingheron,thatImadeamistakedragging
everyonehere,thatIsimplywantagohomenow,I’mjustplumbsickand
tiredjustlikeCodyIguessofthewholenervewrackingscenebadenough
asitisalwayspivotingbacktothispoorhauntedcanyonwhichagain
givesmethewilliesaswewalkunderthebridgeandcometothose
heartlessbreakersbustinginonsandhigherthanearthandlookinglike
theheartlessnessofwisdom—BesidesIsuddenlynoticeasifforthefirst

127

timetheawfulwaytheleavesofthecanyonthathavemanagedtobe
blowntothesurfareallhesitantlyadvancingingustsofwindthenfinally
plungingintothesurf,tobedispersedandbeltedandmeltedandtakenoff
tosea—Iturnaroundandnoticehowthewindisjustharryingthemoff
treesandintothesea,justhurryingthemasitweretodeath—Inmy
conditiontheylookhumantremblingtothatbrink—Hastening,hastening
—InthatawfulhugeroarblastofautumnSurwind.

Boom,clap,thewavesarestilltalkingbutnowI’msickandtiredof

whatevertheyeversaidoreverwillsay—Billiewantsmetostrollwith
herdowntowardsthecavesbutIdontwanttogetupfromthesand
whereI’msittingbacktoboulder—Shegoesalone—Isuddenly
rememberJamesJoyceandstareatthewavesrealizing“Allsummeryou
weresittingherewritingthesocalledsoundofthewavesnotrealizing
howdeadlyseriousourlifeanddoomis,youfool,youhappykidwitha
pencil,dontyourealizeyou’vebeenusingwordsasahappygame—all
thosemarvelousskepticalthingsyouwroteaboutgravesandseadeath
it’sALLTRUEYOUFOOL!Joyceisdead!Theseatookhim!itwill
takeYOU!”andIlookdownthebeachandthere’sBilliewadinginthe
treacherousundertow,she’salreadygroanedseveraltimesearlier(seeing
myindifferenceandalsoofcoursethehopelessnessatCody’sandthe
hopelessnessofherwreckedapartmentandwretchedlife)“Someday
I’mgoingtocommitsuicide,”Isuddenlywonderifshe’sgoingtohorrify
theheavensandmetoowithasuddensuicidewalkintothoseawful
undertows—Iseehersadblondehairflying,thesadthinfigure,aloneby
thesea,theleaf-hasteningsea,shesuddenlyremindsmeofsomething—I
rememberhermusicalsighsofdeathandIseethewordsclearly
imprintedinmymindoverherfigureinthesand:-ST.CAROLYNBY
THESEA—“Youweremylastchance”she’ssaidbutdontallwomen
saythat?—Butcanitbeby“lastchance”shedoesntmeanmere
marriagebutsomeprofoundlysadrealizationofsomethinginmeshe
reallyneedstogoonliving,atleastthatimpressioncomingacross
anywayontheforceofallthegloomwe’veshared—CanitbeI’m
withholdingfromhersomethingsacredjustlikeshesays,oramIjusta
foolwho’llneverlearntohaveadecenteternallymindeddeepdown
relationwithawomanandkeepthrowingthatawayforasongata
bottle?—Inwhichcasemyownlifeisoveranywayandtherearethe
Joyceanwaveswiththeirblankmouthssaying“Yesthat’sso,”andthere
aretheleaveshurryingonebyonedownthesandanddumpingin—In
factthecreekisfreightinghundredsmoreofthemaminuterightdirect

128

fromthebackhills—Thatbigwindblastsandroars,it’sallyellowsunny
andbluefuryeverywhere—IseetherockswobbleasitseemsGodis
reallygettingmadforsuchaworldand’sabouttodestroyit:bigcliffs
wobblinginmydumbeyes:Godsays“It’sgonetoofar,you’reall
destroyingeverythingonewayortheotherwobbleboomtheendis
NOW.”

“TheSecondComing,ticktock,”Ithinkshuddering—St.Carolynby

theSeaisgoinginfurther—Icouldrunandgoseeherbutshe’ssofar
away—IrealizethatifthatnutisgoingtotrythisI’llhavetomakean
awfulrunandswimtogether—Igetupandedgeoverbutjustthenshe
turnsaroundandstartsback...“AndifIcallher‘thatnut’inmysecret
thoughtswonderwhatshecallsme?”—Ohell,I’msickoflife—IfIhad
anygutsI’ddrownmyselfinthattiresomewaterbutthatwouldntbe
gettingitoveratall,Icanjustseethebigtransformationsandplans
jellyingdowntheretocurseusupinsomeotherwretchedsufferingform
eternitiesofit—Iguessthat’swhatthekidfeels—Shelookssosaddown
therewanderingOphelialikeinbarefeetamongthunders.

Ontopofthatnowherecomethetourists,peoplefromothercabinsin

thecanyon,it’sthesunnyseasonandthey’reouttwothreetimesaweek,
whatadirtylookIgetfromtheelderlyladywho’sapparentlyheardabout
the“author”whowassecretlyinvitedtoMr.Monsanto’scabinbut
insteadbroughtgangsandbottlesandtodayworstofalltrollopes—
(BecauseinfactearlierthatmorningDaveandRomanahavealready
madeloveonthesandinbroaddaylightvisiblenotonlytoothersdown
thebeachbutfromthathighnewcabinontheshoulderofthecliff)(tho
hiddenfromsightfromthebridgebycliffwall)—Soit’sallwellknown
newsnowthere’saballgoingoninMr.Monsanto’scabinandhimnot
evenhere—Thiselderlyladybeingaccompaniedbychildrenofallkinds
—SothatwhenBilliereturnsfromthefarendofthebeachandstarts
backwithmedownthepath(andI’msillywithabigfootlongwizardpipe
inmymouthtryingtolightitinthewindtocoverup)theladygivesher
theonceoverrealclosebutBillieonlysmileslightlylikealittlegirland
chirpshello.

Ifeellikethemostdisgracefulandnaydisreputablewretchonearth,in

factmyhairisblowinginbeastlystreaksacrossmystupidandmoronic
face,thehangoverhasnowworkedparanoiaintomedowntothelast
pitiabledetail.

BackatthecabinIcantchopwoodforfearI’llcutafootoff,Icant

sleep,Icantsit,Icantpace,Ikeepgoingtothecreektodrinkwatertill

129

finallyI’mgoingdownthereathousandtimesmakingDaveWainwonder
ashe’scomebackwithmorewine—Wesittheresluggingoutofour
separatebottles,inmyparanoiaIbegintowonderwhyIgettodrinkjust
theonebottleandhetheother—Buthe’sgay“Iamnowgoingoutsurf
castinandcatchusagrabbagoffishforamarveloussupper;Romana
yougetthesaladreadyandanythingelseyoucanthinkof;we’llleave
youalonenow”headdstogloomymeandBilliethinkinghe’sinourway,
“andsay,whydontwegotoNepentheandprivateourgrieftonightand
enjoythemoonlightontheterracewithManhattans,orgoseeHenry
Miller?”—“No!”Ialmostyell,“ImeanI’msoexhaustedIdontwantado
anythingorseeanybody”—(alreadyfeelingawfulguiltaboutHenry
Milleranyway,we’vemadeanappointmentwithhimaboutaweekago
andinsteadofshowingupathisfriend’shouseinSantaCruzatseven
we’realldrunkattencallinglongdistanceandpoorHenryjustsaid“Well
I’msorryIdontgettomeetyouJackbutI’manoldmanandatten
o’clockit’stimeformetogotobed,you’dnevermakeitheretillafter
midnightnow”)(hisvoiceonthephonejustlikeonhisrecords,nasal,
Brooklyn,goodguyvoice,andhimdisappointedinawaybecausehe’s
gonetothetroubleofwritingtheprefacetooneofmybooks)(thoI
suddenlynowthinkinmyremorsefulparanoias“Ahthehellwithithe
wasonlygettinintheactlikealltheseguyswriteprefacessoyoudont
evengettoreadtheauthorfirst”)(asanexampleofhowreally
psychoticallysuspiciousandlocoIwasgetting).

AlonewithBillie’sevenworse—“Icantseeanythingtodonow,”she

saysbythefirelikeanancientSalemhousewife(“OrSalemwitch?”I’m
leering)—“IcouldhaveElliotttakencareofinaprivatehomeoran
orphanageandjustgotoanunnerymyself,there’salotofthemaround—
orIcouldkillmyselfandElliottboth”—“Donttalklikethat”—“There’s
nootherwaytotalkwhenthere’snomoredirectionstotake”—“You’ve
gotmeallwrongIwouldntbeanygoodforyou”—“Iknowthatnow,you
wanttobeahermityousaybutyoudontdoitmuchInoticed,you’rejust
tiredoflifeandwantasleep,inawaythat’showIfeeltooonlyI’vegot
Elliotttoworryabout...Icouldtakebothourlivesandsolve
that”—“You,creepytalk”—“Youtoldmethefirstnightyoulovedme,
thatIwasmostinteresting,thatyouhadntmetanyoneyoulikedsomuch
thenyoujustwentondrinking,Ireallycanseenowwhattheysayabout
youistrue:andalltheotherslikeyou:OIrealizeyou’reawriterand
sufferthroughtoomuchbutyou’rereallyrattysometimes...buteven
thatIknowyoucanthelpandIknowyou’renotreallyrattybutawfully

130

brokenuplikeyouexplainedtome,thereasons...butyou’realways
groaningabouthowsickyouare,youreallydontthinkaboutothers
enoughandIKNOWyoucanthelpit,it’sacuriousdiseasealotofus
haveanywayonlybetterhiddensometimes...butwhatyousaidthefirst
nightandevenjustnowaboutmebeingSt.CarolynintheSea,whydont
youfollowthroughwithwhatyourheartknowsisGoodandbestand
true,yougiveupsoeasytodiscouragement...thenIguesstooyoudont
reallywantmeandjustwantagohomeandresumeyourownlifemaybe
withLouiseyourgirlfriend”—“NoIcouldn’twithhereither,I’mjust
boundupinsidelikeconstipation,Icantmoveemotionallylikeyou’dsay
emotionallyasthothatwassomebiggrandmagicmysteryeverybody
saying‘Ohowwonderfullifeis,howmiraculous,GodmadethisandGod
madethat,’howdoyouknowhedoesnthatewhatHedid:Hemighteven
bedrunkandnotnoticingwhathewentanddonethoofcoursethat’snot
true”—“MaybeGodisdead”—“No,GodcantbedeadbecauseHe’sthe
unborn”—“Butyouhaveallthosephilosophiesandsutrasyouwere
talkingabout”—“Butdontyouseethey’veallbecomeemptywords,I
realizeI’vebeenplayinglikeahappychildwithwordswordswordsina
bigserioustragedy,lookaround”—“Youcouldmakesomeeffort,damn
it!”

Butwhat’sevenineffablyworseisthatthemoresheadvisesmeand

discussedthetroubletheworseandworseitgets,it’sasthoshedidnt
knowwhatshewasdoing,likeanunconsciouswitch,themoreshetries
tohelpthemoreItremblealmosttoorealizingshe’sdoingitonpurpose
andknowsshe’switchingmebutit’sallgottabeformallyunderstoodas
“help”dingblastit—Shemustbesomekindofchemicalcounterpartto
me,Ijustcantstandherforaminute,I’mrackedwithguiltbecauseall
theevidencethereseemstosayshe’sawonderfulpersonsympathizingin
herquietsadmusicalvoicewithanobviousrogueneverthelessnoneof
theserationalguiltsstick—AllIfeelistheinvisiblestabfromher—She’s
hurtingme!—AtsomepointsinourconversationI’maveritableham
actorjumpinguptotwitchmyhead,that’stheeffectshehas—“What’s
thematter?”sheaskssoftly—WhichmakesmealmostscreamandI’ve
neverscreamedinmylife—It’sthefirsttimeinmylifeI’mnotconfident
Icanholdmyselftogethernomatterwhathappensandbeinlycalm
enoughtoevensmilewithcondescensionatthescreaminghysteriasof
womeninmadwards—I’minthesamemadwardallofasudden—And
what’shappened?what’scausedit—“Areyoudrivingmemadon
purpose?”Ifinallyblurt—ButnaturallysheprotestsI’mtalkingoutofmy

131

head,there’snosuchevidentintentionanywhere,we’rejustonahappy
weekendinthecountrywithfriends,“Thenthere’ssomethingwrongwith
ME!”Iyell—“That’sobviousbutwhydontyoutrytocalmdownandfor
instancelikemakelovetome,I’vebeenbeggingyoualldayandallyou
doisgroanandturnawayasthoIwasanuglyoldbat”—Shecomesand
offersherselftomesoftlyandgentlybutIjuststareatmyquivering
wrists—It’sreallyveryawful—It’shardtoexplain—Besidesthenthe
littleboyisconstantlycomingatBilliewhenshekneelsatmylaporsits
onitortriestosoothemyhairandcomfortme,hekeepssayinginthe
samepitifulvoice“DontdoitBilliedontdoitBilliedontdoitBillie”till
finallyshehastogiveupthatsweetpatienceofherswheresheanswers
hiseverylittlepatheticquestionandyell“Shutup!Elliottwillyoushutup!
DOIhavetobeatyouagain!”andIgroan“No!”butElliottyellslouder
“DontdoitBilliedontdoitBilliedontdoitBillie!”soshesweepshimoff
andstartswhackinghimscreaminglyontheporchandIamaboutto
throwinthetowelandgaspupmylast,it’shorrible.

BesideswhenshebeatsElliottsheherselfcriesandthenwillbeyelling

madwomanthingslike“I’llkillbothofusifyoudontstop,youleaveme
noalternative!Omychild!”suddenlypickinghimupandembracinghim
rockingtears,andgnashingofhairandallunderthoseoldpeaceful
bluejaytreeswhereinfactthejaysarestillwaitingfortheirfoodand
watchingallthis—EvensoAlftheSacredBurroisintheyardwaitingfor
somebodytogivehimanapple—Ilookupatthesungoingdowngolden
throughouttheinsaneshiveringcanyon,thatblastedroguewindcomes
toppingdowntreesamileawaywithanadvancingroarthatwhenithits
thebrokencriesofmotherandsoningriefareblownawaywithallthose
crazyscatteringleaves—Thecreekscreeches—Adoorbangshorribly,a
shutterfollowssuit,thehouseshakes—I’mbeatingmykneesinthedin
andcantevenhearthat.

“What’sIgottodowithyoucommittingsuicideanyway?”I’myelling

—“Alright,ithasnothingtodowithyou”—“Sookayyouhaveno
husbandbutatleastyou’vegotlittleElliott,he’llgrowupandbeokay,
youcanalwaysmeanwhilegoonwithyourjob,getmarried,moveaway,
dosomething,maybeit’sCodybutmorethanthatI’dsayit’sallthose
madcharactersmakingyouinsaneandwantakillyourselflikethat—
Perry—”—“DonttalkaboutPerry,he’swonderfulandsweetandIlove
himandhe’smuchkindertomethanyou’lleverbe:atleasthegivesof
himself”—“Butwhat’sallthisgivingofourselves,what’stheretogive
that’llhelpanybody”—“You’llneverknowyou’resowrappedupin

132

yourself”—We’renowstartingtoinsulteachotherwhichwouldbea
healthysignexceptshekeepsbreakingdownandcryingonmyshoulder
moreorlessagaininsistingI’mherlastchance(whichisnttrue)—“Let’s
gotoamonasterytogether,”sheaddsmadly—“Evelyn,ImeanBillieyou
mightgotoanunneryatthat,byGodgettheetoanunnery,youlooklike
you’dmakeanun,maybethat’swhatyouneedallthattalkaboutCody
aboutreligionmaybeallthisworldlyhorrorisjustholdingyoubackfrom
whatyoucallyourtruerealizing,youcouldbecomeabigreverend
mothersomedaywithnotaworryonyourmindthoImetareverend
motheroncewhocried...ahit’sallsosad”—“Whatdidshecry
about?”—“Idontknow,aftertalkingtome,IrememberIsaidsomesilly
thinglike‘theuniverseisawomanbecauseit’sround’butIthinkshe
criedbecauseshewasrememberingherearlydayswhenshehada
romancewithsomesoldierwhodied,atleastthat’swhattheysay,she
wasthegreatestwomanIeversaw,bigblueeyes,bigsmartwoman...
youcoulddothat,getoutofthisawfulmessandleaveitall
behind”—“ButIlovelovetoomuchforthat”—“Andnotbecauseyou’re
sensualeitheryoupoorkid”—Infactwequietdownalittleanddo
actuallymakeloveinspiteofElliottpullingather“Billiedontdoitdontdo
itBilliedontdoit”tillrightinthemiddleI’myelling“Dontdowhat?
what’shemean?—canitbehe’srightandBillieyoushouldntdoit?canit
bewe’resinningafterall’ssaidanddone?Othisisinsane!—buthe’sthe
mostinsaneofthemall,”infactthechildisuponbedwithustuggingat
hershoulderjustlikeagrownupjealouslovertryintopullawomanoff
anotherman(shebeingontopindicationofexactlyhowhelplessand
busteddownI’vebecomeandhereitisonly4intheafternoon)—Alittle
dramagoingoninthecabinmaybealittledifferentthanwhatcabinsare
intendedfororthelocalneighborsareimagining.

133

UT T HERE’SANAWFULPARANOIACELEMENT SOMET IMES

inorgasmthat

suddenlyreleasesnotsweetgenteelsympathybutsometokenvenomthat
splitsupinthebody—Ifeelagreatghastlyhatredofmyselfand
everything,theemptyfeelingfarfrombeingtheusualreliefisnowastho
I’vebeenrobbedofmyspinalpowerrightdownthemiddleonpurposeby
agreatwitchingforce—Ifeelevilforcesgatheringdownallaroundme,
fromher,thekid,theverywallsofthecabin,thetrees,eventhesudden
thoughtofDaveWainandRomanaisevil,they’reallcomingnow—I
leavepoorBilliefaceinhandandrushofftodrinkwaterinthecreekbut
everytimeIdosomethinglikethatIhavetorunbacktobesorryandsay
so,butthemomentIseeheragain“She’sdoingsomethingelse”Ileer
andIdontfeelsorryatall—She’smumblingfaceinhandsandthelittle
boy’scryingatherside—“MyGodsheshouldgettoanunnery!”Ithink
rushingbacktothecreek—Suddenlythewaterinthecreektastes
differentasthosomebody’sthrowngasolineorkeroseneinitupstream
—“Maybethoseneighborswantagetbackatmethat’swhat!”—Itaste
thewatercarefullyandI’mpositivethat’swhathappened.

LikeanidiotI’msittingbythecreekstaringwhenDaveWaincomes

stridingdownwithonefishonthelineandhisbigcheerfulwesterntwang
asthonothingunusual’shappened“WellboyIspentawholetwohours
andlookwhatIgot!onemeaslybutbeautifulpatheticasyou’llseeholy
littlerainbowseatroutthatI’mnowgoingtoclean—Nowthewayto
cleanfishisasfollows,”andhekneelsinnocentlybythecreektoshow
mehow—Ihavenothingelsetodobutwatchandsmile—Hesays:“Be
preparedtobetakenontourofFarolloneIslandwithinnexttwoyears,
boy,withwildcanariesactuallylightingonyourboathundredsofmiles
outatsea—SeeI’mtrynatosavemoneyforafishboatofmyown,I
thinkfishingisbetternanythingandIintendtoentirelyreorganizemylife
forthisthoIseethesternimageofFaganshriekingwithaRoshistick,
butyououghttoseehowfastyoucanbaituphundredsofherringand
cleansalmoninoneandahalfminutes,it’safact,andyouwalkaroundin
hickoryshirtsandwoolknitcaps—ManIknowallaboutitandI’m
writingafinaldefinitivearticleonhowcleanhardworkisthesaviourof
usall—Whenyou’reoutthereit’saveryprimallight,fishingis—You’re

134

ahunter—Birdsfindfishforyou—Weatherdrivesyou—Foolishmind-
hangsdissolvebeforeutterfatigueandeverythingcomesin”—AsIsquat
thereIimaginemaybeBillieistellingRomanawhathappenedinthecabin
andDave’llknowinawhilethoheseemstoknowalotthat’sgoingon—
He’shintedseveraltimes,likenow,“Youlooklikeyou’rehavingthe
worsetimeofyourlife,thatkidElliottisenoughtodriveanybodycrazy
andBillieissureanervouslittlewench—Nowhere’sthewayyouscale,
withthishereknife”—AndImarvelthatIcantbesousefulandhumanly
simpleandgoodenoughtomakesmalltalktomakeothersfeelbetter,like
Dave,thereheislongandhollowofcheeksfromlongdrinkinghimself
thepastfewweeks,buthe’snotcomplainingormoaninginthecorner
likeme,atleasthedoessomethingaboutit,heputshimselftothetest—
HegivesmethatfeelingagainthatI’mtheonlypersonintheworldwho
isdevoidofhuman-beingness,damnit,that’strue,that’sthewayIfeel
anyway—“AhDavesomedayyouandme’llgofishinginyourabandoned
miningcampontheRogueRiver,huh,we’llbefeelingbetterbythen
somehowgaddamit”—“Wellwe’vegottocutdownonthesauceawhole
lot,Jack,”saying“Jack”sadlyalotlikeJarryWagnerusedtodoonour
Dharmabummingmountainclimbswherewe’dconfidedolors,“yes,and
wedrinktoomanySWEETdrinksinaway,youknowallthatsugarand
nofoodisboundtoupsetyourmetabolismandfillyourbloodwithsugar
tothepointwhereyouaintgotthestrengthofahen;youespecially
you’vebeendrinkingnothinbutsweetportandsweetManhattansnow
forweeks—Ipromiseyoutheholyfleshofthislittlefishwillhealyou,”
(chuckle).

Isuddenlylookatthefishandfeelhorriblealloveragain,thatolddeath

schemeisbackonlynowI’mgonnaputmybighealthyAnglosaxonteeth
intoitandwrenchawayatthemournfulfleshofalittlelivingbeingthat
onlyanhouragowasswimminghappilyinthesea,infactevenDave
thinkingthisandsaying:“Ahyesthatlittlemuzzlingmouthwasblindly
suckingawayinthegladwatersoflifeandnowlookatit,here’swhere
thefittinhead’schoppedoff,youdonthavetolook,usbigdrunken
sinnersarenowgoingtouseitforoursacrificialsuppersoinfactwhen
wecookitI’mgoingtosayanIndianprayerforithopingit’sthesame
prayerthelocalIndiansused—Jackinawaywemightevenstarthavin
funhereandmakeagreatweekoutofit!”—“Week?”—“Ithoughtwe
wascominghereforaweek”—“OhIsaidthatdidntI...Ifeelawful
abouteverything...IdontthinkIcanmakeit...I’mgoingcrazywith
BillieandElliottandmetoo...maybeI’llhaveto,maybewe’llhaveto

135

leaveorsomething,IthinkI’lldiehere”—AndDaveisdisappointed
naturallyandhereI’vealreadyroutedhimupoutofhisownaffairsto
drivedownhereanyway,anothermattertomakemefeellikearat.

136

UT DAVE’SMAKINGT HEBEST

ofclompingupanddownthecabin

preparingthebagofcornmealandstartingthecornoilinthefryingpan,
Romanatooshe’smakinganexquisitebigsaladwithlotsofmayonnaise
andinfactpoorBillieismutelyhelpinghersettingthetableandthelittle
boyiscrooningbythestoveit’salmostlikeahappydomesticscene
suddenly—OnlyIwatchitfromtheporchwithhorrifiedeyes—Also
becausetheirshadowsinthelamplightgonecastingonthewallslook
hugeandmonsterlikeandwitch-likeandwarlock-like,I’maloneinthe
woodswithhappyghosts—Thewindishowlingasthesungoesdownso
Igoin,butIgooutatonceagainmadlytomycreek,alwaysthinkingthe
creekitselfwillgivemewaterthatwillclearawayeverythingand
reassuremeforever(alsorememberinginmydistressEdgarCayce’s
advice“Drinkalotofwater”)but“There’skeroseneinthewater!”Iyell
inthewind,nobodyhearing—Ifeellikekickingthecreekandscreaming
—Iturnaroundandthere’sthecabinwithitswarminteriors,thesilent
peopleinsideallnoticeablyglumbecausetheycantunderstandanyway
what’swiththenutwanderinginandoutfromcabintocreek,silent,wan
faced,stupefacted,tremblingandsweatinglikemidsummerwasonthe
roofandinsteadit’sevencoldnow—Isitinthechairwithmybacktothe
doorandwatchDaveashelecturesonbravely.

“Whatwe’rehavingisasacrificialbanquetwithallkindsofgoodies

youseelaidinaregalspreadaroundonelittledeliciousfishsothatweall
havetopraytothefishandtaketinylittlebites,weonlyhaveaboutfour
bitesapieceandthere’sallkindsofpartsofthefishwherethebitesare
moresignificant—Butbeyondthatthewaytoproperlyfryafreshcaught
fishistobesuretheoilisburningandfuriouslysowhenyoulaythefish
init,notburningbutrealhotoil,wellyehevenburning,handmethespat,
youthengentlylaythefishintotheoilandcreateatremendouscrackling
racket”(whichhedoesasRomanacheers)(andIglanceatBillieand
she’sthinkingofsomethingelselikeanuninthecorner)butDavekeeps
onmakingjokestillheactuallyhasusallsmiling—Whilethefishis
cooking,tho,Romanaasshe’sbeendoingalldayisconstantlyhanding
meabitetoeat,somehorsd’oeuvresorpieceoftomatoorother,
apparentlytryingtohelpmefeelbetter—“You’vegottoEAT”sheand

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DavekeepsayingbutIdontwanttoeatandyetthey’realwaysholding
outbitestomymouthuntilfinallynowIbegintofrownthinking“What’s
allthesebitestheykeepthrowingatme,poison?—andwhat’swrongwith
myeyes,they’realldilatedblacklikeI’vehaddrugs,allI’vehadiswine,
didDaveputdrugsinmywineorsomething?thinkingitwillhelpor
something?oraretheymembersofasecretsocietythatdopespeople
secretlytheideabeingtoenlightenthemorsomething?”evenasRomana
ishandingmeabiteandItakeitfromherbigbrownhandsandchew—
She’swearingpurplepantiesandpurplebras,nothingelse,justforfun,
Dave’sslappinheronthecanjoyfullyashecooksthesupper,it’ssome
bigeroticnaturalthingtodoforRomana,shebelievesinshowingher
beautifulbigbodyanyway—InfactatonepointwhenBillie’supleaning
overachairDavegoesbehindBillieandplayfullytouchesherandwinks
atme,butI’mnotofallthislikeamoronandwecouldallbehavingfun
suchassoldiersdreamthedayawayimagining,dammit—Butthevenoms
inthebloodareasexualaswellasasocialanda-everything—“Billie’sso
niceandthin,likeI’musedtoRomanamaybeIshouldswitcharound
hereforvariety,”saysDaveatthesizzlingfryingpan—Ilookovermy
shoulderandseeatfirstwithaleapofjoybutthenwithominousfearan
enormousfullmoonatfullfatstandingtherebetweenMienMomountain
andthenorthcanyonwall,likesayingtomeasIlookovermytrembling
shoulder“Hoodooyou.”

ButIsay“Dave,look,asifallthiswasntenough”andIpointoutthe

moontohim,there’sdeadsilenceinthetreesandalsoamongusinside,
theresheis,vastlugubriousfullmoonthatfrightsmadmenandmakes
waterswave,she’sgotoneortwotreetopssilhouettedand’sgotthat
wholesideofthecanyonlitupinsilver—Davejustlooksatthemoon
withhistiredmadnesseyes(over-excitedeyes,mymother’dsaid)and
saysnothing—Igoouttothecreekanddrinkwaterandcomebackand
wonderaboutthemoonandsuddenlythefourshadowsinthecabinare
alldeadsilentasthotheyhadconspiredwiththemoon.

“Timetoeat,Jack,”saysDavecomingoutontheporchsuddenly—No

one’ssayinganything—Igoinandsheepishlysitatthetablelikethe
uselesspioneerwhodoesntdoanythingtohelpthemenorpleasethe
women,theidiotinthewagontrainwhoneverthelesshastobefed—
Davestandstheresaying“Ohfullmoon,hereisourlittlefishwhichwe
arenowgoingtopartakeoftofeedussothatweshallbestronger;thank
youFishpeople,thankyouFishgod;thankyoumoonformakingourlight
tonight;thisisthenightofthefullmoonfishwhichwenowconsecrate

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withthefirstdelicatebite”—Hetakeshisforkandopensthelittlefish
carefully,it’sbeautifullybreadedandfriedandcenteredinadazzleof
saladsandvegetablesandcornmealjohnnycakes,heopensafunnygill,
goesunder,removesastrangebiteandprojectsittomymouthsaying
“TakethefirstbiteJack,justalittlebite,andbesuretochewvery
slowly”—Idoso,oilydeliciousbitebutnothingdeliciousanymoreinmy
tongue—Thentheotherstaketheirlittleholybites,littleElliott’seyes
shiningwithdelightatthiswonderfulgamethathoweverhasstartedto
frightenme—Forobviousreasonsbynow.

AsweeatDaveannouncesthatheandIaresickfromtoomuch

drinkingandbyGodwe’regoingtoreformandseetoitthatweshapeup,
thenhelaunchesintostoriesasusual,endinginatalkativeordinary
supperthatIthinkwillsortastraightenmeoutatfirstbutaftersupperI
feelevenworse,“Thatfishhasallthedeathofottersandmousesand
snakesrightinitorsomething”I’mthinking—Billieisquietlywashingthe
disheswith-outcomplaint,Daveisgladlysmokingafter-dinnercigarettes
ontheporch,buthereIamagainmooningbythecreekhidingfromallof
themeachfiveminutesthoIcantunderstandwhatmakesmedoit—I
HAVEtogetoutofthere—ButIhavenorighttoSTAYAWAY—SoI
keepcomingbackbutit’sallaninsanerevolvingautomaticdirectionless
circleofanxiety,backandforth,aroundandaround,tillthey’rereallyby
nowsoperturbedbymyincreasingsilentdeparturesandcreepyreturns
they’reallsittingwithoutawordbythestovebutnowtheirheadsare
togetherandthey’rewhispering—FromthewoodsIseethosethree
shadowyheadswhisperingmebythestove—What’sDavesaying?—
Andwhydotheylooklikethey’replottingsomethingfurther?—Canitbe
itwasallarrangedbyDaveWainviaCodythatIwouldmeetBillieand
bedrivenmadandnowthey’vegotmealoneinthewoodsandaregoing
togivemefinalpoisonstonightthatwillutterlyremoveallmycontrolso
thatinthemorningI’llhavetogotoahospitalforeverandneverwrite
anotherline?—DaveWainisjealousbecauseIwrote10novels?—Billie
hasbeenassignedbyCodytogetmetomarryhersohe’llgetallmy
money?Romanaisamemberoftheexpertpoisoningsociety(I’veheard
hermentiontreespiritsalready,earlierinthecar,andshe’ssungsome
strangesongsthenightbefore)—Thethreeofthem,DaveWaininfact
thechiefconspiratorbecauseIknowhedoeshaveamphetomineonhis
personandtheneedlesinalittlebox,justoneinjectionofatomato,orof
aportionoffish,ordropsintoabottleofwine,andmyeyesbecomemad
wideandblackliketheyarenow,mynervesOOouch,thisiswhatI’m

139

thinking—Stilltheysittherebythefireindeadsilence,whenItrompinto
thecabininfacttheyallstartupagaintalking:suresign—Iwalkout
again,“I’mgoingdowntheroadaways”—“Okay”—Butthemoment
I’maloneonthepathamillionwavingmoonyarmsarethrashingaround
meandeveryholeinthecliffsandburntouttreesI’dcalmlypasseda
hundredtimesallsummerindeadoffog,nowhassomethingmovinginit
quickly—Ihurryback—EvenontheporchI’mscaredtoseethefamiliar
bushesneartheouthouseordownbythebrokentreetrunk—Andnowa
babbleinthecreekhassomehowenteredmyheadandwithallthe
rhythmoftheseawavesgoing“Kettleblompyou’reup,youropanddop,
liggerlaggerligger”Igrabmyheatbutitkeepsbabbling.

MasksexplodebeforemyeyeswhenIclosethem,whenIlookatthe

moonitwaves,moves,whenIlookatmyhandsandfeettheycreep—
Everythingismoving,theporchismovinglikeoozeandmud,thechair
tremblesunderme—“SureyoudontwantagotoNepenthefora
ManhattanJack?”—“No”(“Yehandyou’ddumppoisoninit”Ithink
darklybutseriouslyhurtIcouldeverallowmyselftothinkthataboutpoor
Dave)—AndIrealizetheunbearableanguishofinsanity:howuninformed
peoplecanbethinkinginsanepeopleare“happy,”OGod,infactitwas
IrwinGardenoncewarnedmenottothinkthemadhousesarefullof
“happynuts,”“There’satighteningaroundtheheadthathurts,there’sa
terrorofthemindthathurtsevenmore,they’resounhappyand
especiallybecausetheycantexplainittoanybodyorreachoutandbe
helpedthroughallthehystericalparanoiatheyarereallysufferingmore
thananyoneintheworldandIthinkintheuniverseinfact,”andIrwin
knewthisfromobservinghismotherNaomiwhofinallyhadtohavea
lobotomy—Whichsetsmethinkinghownicetocutawaythereforeall
thatagonyinmyforeheadandSTOPIT!STOPTHATBABBLING!—
Becausenowthebabbling’snotonlyinthecreek,asIsayit’sleftthe
creekandcomeinmyhead,itwouldbealrightforcoherentbabbling
meaningsomethingbutit’sallbrilliantlyenlightenedbabblethatdoesmore
thanmeansomething:it’stellingmetodiebecauseeverythingisover—
Everythingisswarmingalloverme.

DaveandRomanaretireagainbythecreekforanight’ssweetsleep

underthemoonwhileBillieandIsittheregloomybythefire—Hervoice
iscrying:“Itmightmakeyoufeelbettertojustcomeinmyarms”—“I’ve
gottotrysomething,BillieafterallI’vetoldyouIcantmakeyousee
what’shappeningtome,youdontunderstand”—“Comeintoour
sleepingbagagainlikelastnight,justsleep”—Wegetinnakedbutnow

140

I’mnotdrunkI’mawareoftherealtightsqueezeinthereandbesidesin
myfeverI’mperspiringsomuchit’sunbearable,herownskinissoaking
wetfrommine,yetourarmsareoutsideinthecold—“Thiswon’t
do!”—“What’llyoudo?”—“Let’strythecotinside”butmaniacallyI
arrangethecotallscrewywithaboardontopofitforgettingtoput
sleepingbagpadsunderneathlikeI’ddoneallsummer,Isimplyforgetall
that,Billie,poorBillieliesdownwithmeonthisabsurdboardthinkingI’m
tryingtodrivemymadnessawaybyselftorturingordeals—It’sridiculous,
welietherestiffasboardsonaboard—Irolloffandsaying“We’lltry
somethingelse”—Itrylayingoutthesleepingbagonthefloorofthe
porchbutthemomentshe’sinmyarmsamosquitocomesatme,orI
burstoutsweating,orIseeaflashoflightning,orIhearabigroaring
Hymninmyhead,orimagineathousandpeoplearecomingdownthe
creektalking,ortheroarofthewindisbringingflyingtreetrunksthatwill
crushus—“Waitaminute,”Iyellandgetuptopaceawhileandrundown
todrinkwaterbythecreekwhereDaveandRomanaarepeacefully
entangled—IstartcursingDave“Bastard’sgottheonlydecentspotthere
istosleepinanyway,rightthereinthatsandbythecreek,ifhewasnt
hereIcouldsleepthereandthecreekwouldcoverthenoiseinmyhead
andIcouldsleepthere,withBillieeven,allnight,bastard’sgotmyspot,”
andIkickbacktotheporch—PoorBillie’sarmsareoutstretchedtome:
“PleaseJack,comeon,loveme,loveme”—“ICANT”—“Butwhycant
you,ifevenwe’llneverseeeachotheragainletusourlastnightbe
beautifulandsomethingtorememberforever.”

“Likeabigidealmemoryforbothofus,cantyougivemejust

that?”—“IwouldifIcould”I’mmutteringaroundlikeafussyoldnut
insidethecabinlookingforamatch—Icantevenlightmycigarette,
somethingsinisterblowsitout,whenit’slititmortifiesmyhotmouth
anywaylikeamouthfulofdeath—Igrabupanotherbatchofbagsand
blanketsandstartpilingmyselfupontheothersideoftheporchsayingto
Billiewho’ssighingnowrealizingit’shopeless“FirstI’lltrytotakeanap
bymyselfherethenwhenIwakeupI’llfeelbetterandcomeoverto
you”—SoItrythat,turningoverrigidlymyeyeswideopenstaringfull
frightintothedarklikethetimeinthemovieHumphreyBogartwho’sjust
killedhispartnertryingtosleepbythefireandyouseehiseyesstaring
intothefirerigidandinsane—That’sjustthewayI’mstaring—IfItryto
closemyeyessomeelasticpullsthemopenagain—IfItrytoturnover
thewholeuniverseturnsoverwithmebutit’snobetterontheotherside
oftheuniverse—IrealizeImaynevercomeoutofthisandmymotheris

141

waitingformeathomeprayingformebecauseshemustknowwhat’s
happeningtonight,Icryouttohertoprayandhelpme—Iremembermy
catforthefirsttimeinthreehoursandletoutayellthatscaresBillie
—“AllrightJack?”—“Givemealittletime”—Butnowshe’sstartedto
sleep,poorgirlisexhausted,Irealizeshe’sgoingtoabandonmetomy
fateanywayandIcanthelpthinkingsheandDaveandRomanaareall
secretlyawakewaitingformetodie—“Forwhatreason?”I’mthinking
“thissecretpoisoningsociety,Iknow,it’sbecauseI’maCatholic,it’sa
biganti-Catholicscheme,it’sCommunistsdestroyingeverybody,
systematicindividualsarepoisonedtillfinallythey’llhaveeverybody,this
madnesschangesyoucompletelyandinthemorningyounolongerhave
thesamemind—thedrugisinventedbyAirapatianz,it’sthebrainwash
drug,IalwaysthoughtthatRomanawasaCommunistbeingaRumanian,
andasforBilliethatgangofhersisstrange,andCodydontcare,and
Dave’salleviljustlikeIalwaysfiguredmaybe”butsoonmythoughts
arentevenas“rational”asthatanymorebutbecomehoursofraving—
Thereareforceswhisperinginmyearinrapidlongspeechesadvising
andwarning,suddenlyothervoicesareshouting,thetroubleisallthe
voicesarelongwindedandtalkingveryfastlikeCodyathisfastestand
likethecreeksothatIhavetokeepupwiththemeaningthoIwantabat
itoutofmyears—Ikeepwavingatmyears—I’mafraidtoclosemy
eyesforalltheturmoileduniversesIseetiltingandexpandingsuddenly
explodingsuddenlyclawingintomycenter,faces,yellingmouths,long
hairedyellers,suddenevilconfidences,suddenrat-tat-tatsofcerebral
committeesarguingabout“Jack”andtalkingabouthimasifhewasnt
there—AimlessmomentswhenI’mwaitingformorevoicesandsuddenly
thewindexplodeshugegroansinthemilliontreetopleavesthatsoundlike
themoongonemad—Andthemoonrisinghigher,brighter,shiningdown
inmyeyesnowlikeastreetlamp—Thehuddledshadowysleepingfigures
overtheresocoy—Sohumanandsafe,I’mcrying“I’mnothumanany
moreandI’llneverbesafeanymore,OhwhatIwouldntgivetobehome
onSundayafternoonyawningbecauseI’mbored,Ohforthatagain,it’ll
nevercomebackagain—Mawasright,itwasallboundtodrivememad,
nowit’sdone—What’llIsaytoher?—She’llbeterrifiedandgomad
herself—OhtiTykey,aidemué—mewho’sjusteatenfishhavenoright
toaskforbrotherTykeagain—”—Anargotofsuddenscreamedreports
rattlesthroughmyheadinalanguageIneverheardbutunderstand
immediately—ForamomentIseeblueHeavenandtheVirgin’swhite
veilbutsuddenlyagreatevilblurlikeaninkspotspreadsoverit,“The

142

devil!—thedevil’scomeaftermetonight!tonightisthenight!that’s
what!”—Butangelsarelaughingandhavingabigbarndanceinthe
rocksofthesea,nobodycaresanymore—Suddenlyasclearasanything
Ieversawinmylife,IseetheCross.

143

SEET HECROSS

,it’ssilent,itstaysalongtime,myheartgoesouttoit,my

wholebodyfadesawaytoit,Iholdoutmyarmstobetakenawaytoit,
byGodIambeingtakenawaymybodystartsdyingandswooningoutto
theCrossstandinginaluminousareaofthedarkness,Istarttoscream
becauseIknowI’mdyingbutIdontwanttoscareBillieoranybodywith
mydeathscreamsoIswallowthescreamandjustletmyselfgointo
deathandtheCross:assoonasthathappensIslowlysinkbacktolife—
Thereforethedevilsareback,commissionersaresendingoutordersin
myeartothinkanew,babblingsecretsarehissed,suddenlyIseethe
Crossagain,thistimesmallerandfarawaybutjustasclearandIsay
throughallthenoiseofthevoices“I’mwithyou,Jesus,foralways,thank
you”—Iliethereincoldsweatwonderingwhat’scomeovermefor
yearsmyBuddhiststudiesandpipesmokingassuredmeditationson
emptinessandallofasuddentheCrossismanifestedtome—Myeyes
fillwithtears—“We’llallbesaved—IwonteventellDaveWainaboutit,
Iwontgowakehimupdownthereandscarehim,he’llknowsoon
enough—nowIcansleep.”

Iturnoverbutit’sonlybegun—It’sonlyoneo’clockinthemorning

andthenightwearsontothewheelingmoonworseandworsetilldawn
bywhichtimeI’veseentheCrossagainandagainbutthere’sabattle
somewhereandthedevilskeepcomingback—IknowifIcouldonly
sleepforanhourthewholecomplexofnoisybrainswouldsettledown,
somecontrolwouldcomebacksomewhereinsidethere,someblessing
wouldsoothethewholeissue—Butthebatcomessilentlyflappingaround
meagain,Iseehimclearlyinthemoonlightnowhislittleheadof
darknessandwingsthatzigzagmaddeninglysoyoucantevengetalook
atthem—SuddenlyIhearahum,adefiniteflyingsaucerishoveringright
overthosetreeswherethehummustbe,thereareordersinthere,
“They’recomingtogetmeOmyGod!”—Ijumpupandglareatthetree,
I’mgoingtodefendmyself—Thebatflapsinfrontofmyface—“Thebat
istheirrepresentativeinthecanyon,hisradarmessagetheygot,why
donttheyleave?doesntDavehearthatawfulhum?”—Billieisdead
asleepbutlittleElliottsuddenlythumpshisfoot,once—Irealizehe’snot
evenasleepandknowseverythingthat’sgoingon—Iliedownagainand

144

peekathimacrosstheporchfloor:Isuddenlyrealizinghe’sstaringatthe
moonandtherehegoesagain,thumpinghisfoot:he’ssendingmessages
—He’sawarlockdisguisedasalittleboy,he’salsodestroyingBillie!—I
getuptolookathimfeelingguiltytoorealizingthisisallnonsense
probablybutheisnotproperlycovered,hislittlebarearmsareoutsidethe
blanketsinthecoldnight,hehasntevengotanightshirt,IcurseatBillie
—Icoverhimupandhewhimpers—Igobackandliedownwithmad
eyeslookingdeepinsideme,suddenlyablisscomesovermeasthesleep
mechanismtakessinkinghold—AndthereIamdreamingmeandtwo
kidsarehiredtoworkinthemountainsonthesame“ridge”asDesolation
Peak(i.e.MienMoMountainagain)andstartwithacliffsiderivercrew
whotellustwoworkershaveapparentlysunkinthecliffsidesnowand
wemustleanoversheerdropsandseeifwecan“dumpthemout”or
haulthemin—Allwedoisliethereoncrumblysnowathousandfootfall
totherivercrumblingthesnowoffinslabssobigyouwouldntknowif
menweretrappedinemornot—Notonlythatthebosseshavespecial
shoesonslidersthatareholdingthemtothesafeshore(likeskiclamps)
soIbegintorealizethey’reonlyfoolinguspoorkidsandwecouldhave
fallentoo(Ialmostdo)—(did)—(almost)—AsobserverofthestoryIsee
it’sjustanannualritualisticjoketofoolthenewkidsonthejobwhoare
thendispatchedtotheothersideoftherivertoslumpoffmoresnow
fromsheerbanksinhopesoffindingthelostworkmen—Sowestart
thereonabigtrip,downriverfirst,butenrouteallthepeasantstellus
storiesoftheGodMonsterMachineontheothershorewhomakes
soundslikecertainbirdsandowlsandhasamillioninfernalcontraptions
enoughtomakeyousickwithalltheslipshodwindmillricketydetails,as
“Observerofthestory”againIseeit’sjustatricktomakeusscared
whenwegetthereatnightandhearactualnaturalsoundsofbirds,owls,
etc.thinkingasgreenrookiesinthecountryit’sthat“Monster”—
MeanwhilewesignontogotothemainmountainbutIpromisemyselfif
IdontliketheworkthereI’llcomebackgetmyoldjobonDesolation—
Alreadyouremployershaveshownamurderoussenseofhumor—I
arriveatMienMoMountainwhichislikeRatonCanyonagainbuthasa
largethodryrotriverrunninginthewideholeanddownthereonmany
rocksarehugebroodingvultures—Oldbumsrowouttothemandpull
themclumsilyofftherocksandstartfeedingthemlikepets,bitesofred
meatorredmite,thoatfirstIthoughttheeccentricoldtownbums
wantedthemtoeatortosell(stillmaybeso)becausebeforeIstudythisI
lookandseehundredsofslowlyfornicatingvulturecouplesonthetown

145

dump—Thesearenowhumanlyformedvultureswithhumanshaped
arms,legs,heads,torsos,buttheyhaverainbowcoloredfeathers,andthe
menareallquietlysittingbehindVultureWomenslowlysomehow
fornicatingattheminallthesameslowobscenemovement—Bothman
andwomansitfacingthesamedirectionandsomehowthere’scontact
becauseyoucanseealltheirfeatheryrainbowbehindsslowlydully
monotonouslyfornicatingonthedumpslopes—AsIpassIevenseethe
expressiononthefaceofayoungishblondvulturemaneternally
displeasedbecausehisVultureMistressisanoldYakkerwho’sbeen
arguingwithhimallthetime—Hisfaceiscompletelyhumanbut
inhumanlypastylikeuncookedpalepiedoughwithdullseamedbuggy
horrorthathe’sdoomedtoallthisenoughtomakemeshudderin
sympathy,Ievenseeherawfulexpressionofmiddleagedpiedough
tormentism—They’resohuman!—Butsuddenlymeandthetwokid
workersaretakentotheVulturePeoplerespectablequarteroftownto
ourapartmentwhereaVultureWomanandherdaughtershowusour
rooms—Theirfacesareleprousthickwithsoftyyeastbutpamtedwith
makeuptomakethemlikethickChristmasdollsanddullandfuzzybut
humanexpressions,likewiththicklipsofrubbermuzz,fatexpressionsall
crumblylikecrackermeal,yellowpizzapukefaces,disgustingusthowe
saynothing—Theapartmenthasdirtybeatnikbedsandmattresses
everywherebutIwalkthruthebacklookingforasink—It’shuge—An
endlesswalkthrulonggreasypantriesandvastwashroomsablocklong
withsinglefilthylittlesinkalldarkandslimeylikeundergroundLowell
HighSchoolcrumblingbasements—FinallyIcometotheKitchenwhere
we“newworkers”ares’posedtocooklittlemealsallsummer—It’svast
stonefireplacesandstonestovesallrancidandgreasyfromamonth-old
VulturePeopleBanquetOrgywithstilldozensofuncookedchickenslying
aroundonthefloor,amonggarbageandbottles—Rancidstalegrease
everywhere,nobody’severcleanedituporknewhowandtheplaceas
bigasagarage—Ipushmywayoutoftherepushingahugegreasystink
foodstainedtrayofsomesorthurryingawayfromthebigstinky
emptinessandhorror—Thefatgoldenchickenslierottenupsidedownon
litteredstoneslabs—Ihurryoutneverhavingseensuchadirtysightin
mylife.MeanwhileIlearnthetwoboysarestudyingahamperfullof
VultureFoodforusandoneofthemwiselysays“Blistersinoursugar,”
meaningtheVulturesputtheirblistersinoursugarsowe’ll“die”but
insteadofbeingreallydeadwe’llbetakentotheUndergroundSlimesto
walkneckdeepinsteamingmuckspullinghugegroaningwheels(among

146

smallforkedsnakes)sothedevilwiththelongearscanminehisPurple
MagentaSquareStonethatisthesecretofallthisKingdom—Youendup
downtheregroaningandpullingthrudeadbodiesofotherpeopleeven
yourownfamilyfloatingintheooze—Ifyousucceedyoucanbecomea
pastyVulturePersonobscenelyfornicatingslowlyonthedumpabove,I
think,eitherthatorthedeviljustinventstheVulturePeoplewithwhat’s
leftoveroutoftheundergroundHell—“Beansanyone?”Ihearmyself
sayingasthump!I’mawakeagain!Elliotthasthumpedhisfootjustat
thatmomentontheporch!—Ilookoverthere!—He’sdoingitonpurpose,
heknowseverythingthat’sgoingon!—WhatonearthhaveIbrought
thesepeopleforandwhyjustthisparticularnightofthatmoonthatmoon
thatmoon?

I’mupagainandpacingupanddownanddrinkingwateratthecreek,

DaveandRomana’slumpfiguresinthemoonlightdontmove,like
hypocrites,“Bastardhasmyonlysleepingspot”—Iclutchmyhead,I’m
soaloneinallthis—Igofearfullycastingaboutforcontrolbackinsidethe
cabinbythelightedlamp,asmoke,tryingtosqueezethelastreddropout
oftherancidportbottle,nogo—NowthatBillie’sasleepandsostilland
peacefulIwonderifIcansleepjustbylyingbesideherandholdingher—
Idojustthis,crawlinginwithallmyclotheswhichI’veputonbecause
I’mafraidofgoingmadnakedorofnotbeingabletosuddenlyrunaway
fromeverything,inmyshoes,shemoansalittleinhersleepandresumes
sleepingasIholdherwiththoserigidstaringeyes—Herblondefleshin
themoonlight,thepoorblondehairsocarefullywashedandcombed,the
ladylikelittlebodyalsoaburdentocarryaroundlikemyownbutsofrail,
thinnish,Ijuststareathershoulderswithtears—I’dwakeherupand
confesseverythingbutI’llonlyscareher—I’vedoneirreparableharm
(“Garradarablenarm!”yellsthecreek)—Allmyselfsayingssuddenly
blurtingbabblessothemeaningcantevenstayaminuteImeana
momenttosatisfymyrationalendeavorstoholdcontrol,everythoughtI
haveissmashedtoamillionpiecesbymillionpiecedmentalexplosions
thatIrememberIthoughtweresowonderfulwhenI’dfirstseenthemon
PeotlandMescaline,I’dsaidthen(whenstillinnocentlyplayingwith
words)“Ah,themanifestationofmultiplicity,youcanactuallyseeit,it
aintjustwords”butnowit’s“Ahthekeselamaroyotyourot”—Tillwhen
dawnfinallycomesmymindisjustaseriesofexplosionsthatgetlouder
andmore“multiply”brokeninpiecessomeofthembigorchestraland
thenrainbowexplosionsofsoundandsightmixed.

AtdawnalsoI’vealmostdimmedintosleepthreetimesbutIswear

147

(andthisissomethingIrememberthatmakesmerealizeIdont
understandwhathappenedatBigSurevennow)thelittleboysomehow
thumpedhisfootjustatthemomentofdrowse,toinstantlywakemeup,
wideawake,backtomyhorrorwhichwhenallissaidanddoneisthe
horrorofalltheworldstheshowingofittomebeingdamnwellwhatI
deserveanywaywithmypreviousblitheyakkingsaboutthesufferingsof
othersinbooks.

Books,shmooks,thissicknesshasgotmewishingifIcanevergetout

ofthisI’llgladlybecomeamillworkerandshutmybigmouth.

148

AWNISMOST HORRIBLEOFALL

withtheowlssuddenlycallingbackand

forthinthemistymoonhaunt—Andevenworsethandawnismorning,
thebrightsunonlyGLARINGinonmypain,makingitallbrighter,hotter,
moremaddening,morenervewracking—Ievengoroamingupanddown
thevalleyinthebrightSundaymorningsunshinewithbagunerarm
lookinghopelesslyforsomespottosleepin—AssoonasIfindaspotof
grassbythepathIrealizeIcantliedowntherebecausethetouristsmight
walkbyandseeme—AssoonasIfindagladenearthecreekIrealize
it’stoosinisterthere,likeHemingway’sdarkerpartoftheswampwhere
“thefishingwouldbemoretragic”somehow—Allthehauntsandglades
havingcertainspecialevilforcesconcentratedthereanddrivingmeaway
—SohauntedIgowanderingupanddownthecanyoncryingwiththat
bagundermyarm:“Whatonearth’shappenedtome?andhowcanearth
belikethat?”

AmInotahumanbeingandhavedonemybestaswellasanybody

else?neverreallytryingtohurtanybodyorhalf-heartedcursingHeaven?
—ThewordsI’dstudiedallmylifehavesuddenlygottentomeinalltheir
seriousanddefinitedeathliness,nevermoreIbea“happypoet”
“Singing”“aboutdeath”andalliedromanticmatters,“Gothoucrumbof
dustyouwithyoursiltofabillionyears,here’sabillionpiecesofsiltfor
you,shakethatoutofyourshaker”—Andallthegreennatureofthe
canyonnowwavinginthemorningsunlookinglikeacruelidiot
convocation.

Comingbacktothesleepersandstaringatthemwildeyedlikemy

brother’doncestaredatmeinthedarkovermycrib,staringatthemnot
onlyenviouslybutlonelyinhumanisolationfromtheirsimplesleeping
minds—“Buttheyalllookdead!”I’mcarkinginmycanyon,“Sleepis
death,everythingisdeath!”

Thehorribleclimaxcomingwhentheothersfinallygetupandpook

aboutmakingatroubledbreakfast,andI’vetoldDaveIcantpossiblystay
hereanotherminute,hemustdriveusallbacktotown,“OkaybutIsure
wishwecouldstayaweeklikeRomanawantstodo,”—“Wellyoudrive
meandcomeback”—“WellIdunnoifMonsantawouldlikethatwe’ve
alreadydirtieduptheplaceaplenty,infactwe’vegottodigagarbagepit

149

andgetridofthejunk”—Billieofferstodigthegarbagepitbutdoesso
bydigginganeattinycoffinshapedgraveinsteadofjustagarbagehole—
EvenDaveWainblinkstoseeit—It’sexactlythesizefitforputtinga
littledeadElliottinit,DaveisthinkingthesamethingIamIcantellbya
glancehegivesme—We’veallreadFreudsufficientlytounderstand
somethingthere—BesideslittleElliott’sbeencryingallmorningandhas
hadtwobeatingsbothofthemendingupcryingandBilliesayingshecant
standitanymoreshe’sgoingtokillherself—

AndRomanatoonoticesit,theperfect4footby3footneatlysided

gravelikeyou’rereadytosinkalittleboxinit—HorrifyingmesomuchI
taketheshovelandgodowntodumpjunkintoitandmessuptheneat
patternsomehowbutlittleElliottstartsscreamingandgrabstheshovel
andrefusesIgonearthehole—SoBillieherselfgoesandstartsfillingthe
garbageinbutthenlooksatmesignificantly(I’msuresometimesshe
reallydidaspiretomakemecrazy)“Doyouwanttofinishthejob
yourself?”—“Whatdoyoumean?”—“Covertheearthon,dothe
honors?”—“Whatdoyoumeandothehonors!”—“WellIsaidI’ddigthe
garbagepitandI’vedonethat,aintyousupposedtodotherest?”—Dave
Wainiswatchingfascinated,there’ssomethingscrewyheseestheretoo,
somethingcoldandfrightening—“Wellokay”Isay,“I’lldumptheearth
overitandtampitdown”butIgodowntodothisElliottisscreaming
“NOnononono!”(“MyGod,thefishes’bonesareinthatgrave”I
realizetoo)—“What’sthematterhewontletmegonearthathole!why
didyoumakeitlooklikeagrave?”Ifinallyyell—ButBillieisonlysmiling
quietlyandsteadilyatme,overthegrave,shovelinhand,thekidweeping
tuggingtheshovel,rushinguptoblockmyway,tryingtoshovemeback
withhislittlehands—Icantunderstandanyofit—He’sscreamingasI
grabtheshovelasthoI’mabouttoburyBillieinthereorsomethingor
himselfmaybe—“What’sthematterwiththiskidisheacretin?”Iyell.

WiththesamequietsteadysmileBilliesays“Ohyou’resofucking

neurotic!”

Isimplygetmadanddumpearthoverthegarbageandtrompitall

downandsay“Thehellwithallthismadness!”

Igetmadandstompupontheporchandthrowmyselfinthecanvas

chairandclosemyeyes—DaveWainsayshe’sgoingdowntheroadto
investigatethecanyonabitandwhenhecomesbackthegirlswillhave
finishedpackingandwe’llallleave—Davegoesoff,thegirlscleanup
andsweep,thelittlekidissleepingandsuddenlyhopelesslyand
completelyfinishedIsitthereinthehotsunandclosemyeyes:and

150

there’sthegoldenswarmingpeaceofHeaveninmyeyelids—Itcomes
withasurehandasoftblessingasbigasitisbeneficent,i.e.,endless—
I’vefallenasleep.

I’vefallenasleepinastrangeway,withmyhandsclaspedbehindmy

headthinkingI’mjustgoingtositthereandthink,butI’msleepinglike
that,andwhenIwakeupjustoneshortminutelaterIrealizethetwogirls
arebothsittingbehindmeinabsolutesilence—WhenI’dsatdownthey
weresweeping,butnowtheyweresquattingbehindmyback,facing
eachother,notaword—Iturnandseethemthere—Blessedreliefhas
cometomefromjustthatminute—Everythinghaswashedaway—I’m
perfectlynormalagain—DaveWainisdowntheroadlookingatfields
andflowers—I’msittingsmilinginthesun,thebirdssingagain,all’swell
again.

Istillcantunderstandit.
MostofallIcantunderstandthemiraculousnessofthesilenceofthe

girlsandthesleepingboyandthesilenceofDaveWaininthefields—
Justagoldenwashofgoodnesshasspreadoverallandoverallmybody
andmind—Allthedarktortureisamemory—IknownowIcangetout
ofthere,we’lldrivebacktotheCity,I’lltakeBilliehome,I’llsaygoodbye
toherproperly,shewontcommitnosuicideordoanythingwrong,she’ll
forgetme,herlife’llgoon,Romana’slifewillgoon,oldDavewill
managesomehow,I’llforgivethemandexplaineverything(asI’mdoing
now)—AndCody,andGeorgeBaso,andravenedMcLearandperfect
starryFagan,they’llallpassthroughonewayortheother—I’llstaywith
Monsantoathishomeafewdaysandhe’llsmileandshowmehowtobe
happyawhile,we’lldrinkdrywineinsteadofsweetandhavequiet
eveningsinhishome—ArthurMawillcometoquietlydrawpicturesat
myside—Monsantowillsay“That’sallthereistoit,takeiteasy,
everything’sokay,donttakethingstooserious,it’sbadenoughasitis
withoutyougoingthedeependoverimaginaryconceptionsjustlikeyou
alwayssaidyourself”—I’llgetmyticketandsaygoodbyeonaflower
dayandleaveallSanFranciscobehindandgobackhomeacrossautumn
Americaandit’llallbelikeitwasinthebeginning—Simplegolden
eternityblessingall—Nothingeverhappened—Noteventhis—St.
CarolynbytheSeawillgoonbeinggoldenonewayortheother—The
littleboywillgrowupandbeagreatman—There’llbefarewellsand
smiles—Mymother’llbewaitingformeglad—Thecorneroftheyard
whereTykeisburiedwillbeanewandfragrantshrinemakingmyhome
morehomelikesomehow—OnsoftSpringnightsI’llstandintheyard

151

underthestars—Somethinggoodwillcomeoutofallthingsyet—Andit
willbegoldenandeternaljustlikethat—There’snoneedtosayanother
word.

152

“SEA”

oundsofthe

acific

ceanat

153

“SEA”

Cherson!

Youaintjustwhistlin

Dixie,Sea—

Cherson!Cherson!

Wecalciminefathers

herebelow!

Kitchenlightson—

SeaEnginesfromRussia

seabirdingherebelow—

Whenrocksoutseafroth

I’llknowHawaii
crackedup&scramble
upmydoubleleggedcliff

tothesiltof

amillionyears—

Shoo—Shaw—Shirsh—
Goondiesaltlight

Youbillionyeared

rockknocker

Gavroom
Seabird
Gabroobird
Sadaswife&hill
Lovedasmother&fog
Oh!Oh!Oh!

Sea!Osh!

Where’syrlittleNeppytune

tonight?

Thesegentletreepulppages
which’venothingtodo
withyrcrashroar,

154

liarsea,ah,

weremadeforrock
tumbleseabirddigdown

footstephollowweed

movebedarvaling
crash?Ahagain?

Wineissalthere?

Tidalwavekitchen?

EnginesofRussia

inyrsofttalk—

Lespoissonsdelamer

parleBreton—

MonnomesLebris

deKeroack—

Parle,Poissons,Loti,

parle—

ParlningOceansanding

crashthebillionrocks—

Kerplotsch—

Shore—shoe—

god—brash—
Theheadlandlookslike
alongnosedColliesleeping
withhislightonhis

nose,astheocean,

obeyingitsaccomodations
ofmind,crashesin

rhythmwhichcould

&willintrude,inthy

rhythmofsand
thought—

—Bigfriggingshoulders
onthatsonofabitch

Parle,O,parle,mer,parle,

Seaspeaktome,speak

tome,yoursilveryoulight

155

WhereholeopenedupinAlaska

Gray—shh—windin

Thecanyonwindintherain

Windintherollingrash

Movingandtwedel

Sea

sea

Divingsea

Obird—lavengeance

Delaroche

Cossez

Rare,herammedthegate
rareoverbyCherson,Cherson,
wecalcifyfathersherebelow
—awaterycross,withweeds
entwined—Thisgrinsrestoredly,
lowsleep—Wave—Oh,no,
shush—Shirk—Boomplop
Neptunenowhisarmsextends

whileonemillionsofsouls

sitlitincavesofdarkness

—Whatoldbark?Thedog
mountain?DownbytheSea

Engines?Godrush—Shore—

Shaw—Shoo—Ohsoftsigh

wewaithairtwinedlike
larks—Pissit—Restnot

—Plottit,bisptesh,cashes,

retav,plo,aravow,

shirsh,—Who’swhisperingover

there—thesillyearthencreek!

Thefogthunders—Weput

silverlightonface—We

tooktheheroesin—Abillion

yearsaintnothing—

Othecitiesherebelow!

156

Themenwithathousand
arms!thestanchionsof
theirupwardgaze!the
coraloftheirpoetry!the

seadragonstenderized,meat
forfleshyfish—

Navark,navark,thefishes

oftheSeaspeakBreton—

washassoftaspeople’s

dreams—Wegotpeoples

in&outtheshore,theycall

itshore,seacallit

pishripplosh—The

5billionyearssince

earthwesawsubstantial

chan—Chineseare

thewaves—thewoods

aredreaming

Nohumanwordsbespeak

thetokensorrowolder
thanoldthiswave
becrashingsmartsthe

sandwithplosh
oftwirlédsandy

thought—Ahchange

theworld?Ahset
thefee?Areropethe

angelsinallthesea?
Ahropeyotter

barnacle’dbe—

Ahcave,Ahcrosh!

Afeatherysea

Toomuchshort—Where
MissNoptonight?

WrotenKerarc’h

inthelabidalian
aristotelianpark

157

withslimeamiddle
—AndRantiforner
whopulledpearlsby
ropetothrone

theKingby

therollinthe

forestofeverseas?

Noteverseas,beseas

—Creep

Crash

Thewomanwithherbody
inthesea—Thefrogwho
nevermoves&thunders,sharsh
—Thesnakewithhisbody

underthesand—Thedog
withthelightonhisnose,
supine,withshouldersso
enormoustheyreachbackto
raincrack—Theleaveshasten

tothesea—Weletthem

hastentobewetted&give

emthatoldsaltchange,a
nuderthinkwillmakeyousee

theyoriginatefromtheWeSea

anyway—Nodoomingbooms

onSundayafternoons—We

runthruthecoreofcliffs,

blamupcaves,disengageno

jellyorjelliedpendant

thinkers—

Ourarmiesof

anchoredseaweedinthe

covesgiveofthesmell

ofjelliedsalt—

Reach,reach,someleaves

haventhastenednear
enuf—Roll,roll,purl
thesandsharkfloor

158

agreenypaliandarva
—Ahback—Ahforth—
Ahshish—Boom,away,
doom,aday—Veinwe
firm—TheseaisWe—
Parle,parle,boomthe

earth—Arree—Shaw,
Sho,Shoosh,flut,
ravad,tapavadapow,

coof,loof,roof,—

No,no,no,no,no,no—
Ohya,ya,ya,yo,yair—

Shhh—

Whichone?theone?Which

one?Theoneploshed—

Theploshedone?thesame,

ahboom—Who’sthatant

thatgiantgoldensaltchange
antmagnifyingmymountain
offeet?’TisFinder,finding

thechangeinthoughttojoin

theboomerhangersinthe

cavealight—Andbuilta

houseaboveit?Neverfear,

naverfoir,lesbretonsqui

parlentlalanguedelaMar

sontespañolcommelecul

duKurdquiditlemaha

prajnaparamitaduSud?

Ahoui!KeVlum!

Glumsea,silentme—

Theyaintabouttotry

itthemantswhowear

outtunnelsinaweek
thetunnelamillionyears
won—no—Downaround

theheadlandslobsforweed,

159

thechickenofthesea

goyak!theysleep—

Aroar,aroar,arah,aroo—

Ottermeottermedaughtermesea
—melastbluelagooninsideof

me,thesea—Divineisthe
substanceallovertheSea—

Ofspacewespeak&

hasten—Letnomouth

swallowthesea—Gavril—

Gavro—theChersonChinese

&OldFingernailsea—Is
ringinyrear?Dier,dee?

IsVirginyoutryingto

fathomme

Tiresomeoldsea,aintyousick
&tiredofallofthismerde?

thisincessantboomboom

&sandwalk—youpeople

hoaryrockiesheretoFuegie
&nevergetsad?Ordespair
likeaGermanphoney?
Justgloombooboom&green

onfoggynights—thefogispart

ofus—

Iknow,buttired

asIcanbelisteningtoall
thissillymajesty—

Bashô!
Lao!
Pop!

Whoisthisfish

sittingunsunk?Runup
aHawaiityphoonsmashhim

againsthisrock—We’lljellyyou,

jelliedman,showyouessential

jelloofthesea—King

oftheSea.

160

NoMonarc’heverIrishbe?

JuseetheIrishsea?

Greenwindsontamarackvines—
Joyce—James—Shhish—

Sea—Sssssss—see

—Varash
—mnavashlavache

écriture—theseadontsay

muc’hactually—

Gosh,she,

huzzy,tow,ledmen

on,Ulyssesandallthem
fairheadedmoin—
Terplash,&whatdifference
make!Onelittlewhite

sparkoflight!

Hairwovenhands

Penelopeseaboat
smeller—Courtiersin

Telemachus’sguise
dropedarydropedary
creep—Or—
Francgoldrippled

thatunderseacreek

wherefishfishfor

fishermen—Salteen
breenthewetSouwesters

ofoldPortugeePrayers

Tsalltangled,changed,

salt&dropthesand

&weed&waterbrains

entangled—Rats
ofoldVenetianyellers

ArielCalibanned

toRomaPort—

Pow—spell—

Speakyouparler,

161

inthismymother’s

parlor,washyour

undershoeswhenyou

comein,saythanks

tofoggymoon

Gobrash,Topahta
offat,—we’llgray

yerose—Morning
primordcreepersees
thebirdofparavision

dyingtweettheyellow

mouthroof!Howsweet

theearth,yellssand!

Xceptwhentumble

boom!

Owewaittoo

forHeaven—all
inOne—

Allisthere

infair&sight

I’mgoingtowashnow

oldPaviadown,

&packmysalt

toEitherTown—
CliffsofAntique
aintgotnorose,
themorning’sseen

theledderpose—

Boomdeboomdey

theseaisme—
Wearethesea—

Itaintallsnow

WewashFujiyamadown

soon,&sand

crookbirdback—

Wehiebash

162

rock—ak—

Longshort—
Lowandeasy—
Wind&manyfreezing

bottomsonluckrock—

Rappaport—

Endymionthoutangled
dreamerlovemythigh
—Rose,OfShelley,

Rose,OUrns!

Ogledurnsinfisheye

CincoseatheChicosea

theMagellanheadlandsea

—Whathypesiderealdidheputdown

bendingbeatnikseagoatee
overoldgoatmanuscripts
tofindtheothersideofFlat?

Seeround,seetheendofme?

Roundenhugebedoom?

Awpholecave&shwrul—

sand&salt&haireyes

—Strongenuftomake

coffeegrowinyourhair—
WhoseplantationNeptunegot?

ThatofAtlasstilldownthere,
Hesperid’shisfeet,Surhissleet,

IrishSeafingertip

&Cornwallayehissoul

bedoom

Shurning—Shurning—plop

bedosh—Thissigholdlearning’s
highbesideme—Rough

oldhandshaveplayedout

pedigree,we’vesunkmoreboats

thandreamer’llevereversee

—Burning—Burning—Theworld

isburning&needswaaater

163

—I’llhaveadaughter,

oughter,wait&seee—

Churning,Churning,Me—

Panties—Panties—

theseancientfanciesare

sogirling—You’venotseen
mermaidsinmyactualsea

—You’venotseensexlessbabies

withbreastsofMajesty—

Mywife—Mywife—
HernameisOhsoreally

highlife

ThelowlifeKingdomwhere
wepartouttea,issea

sideMe—

Josh—coof—patra—

Ayeeemopowsh—

Ssst—Cumherereadme—

Dirtypostcard—Urchinsea—

Karashyourname—?

Wantaswim,sinkorswim?
Earsringingagain?

Seavibraterhythm

crashsetsoffcave

hangerblowerswhistling

dogearback—tosea—

Arree—

GerudgeNapoleonnada—

Nada

Plutoeatsthesea—
Room—
Handsfoldedbythesea—

“Onesttoutescachez,mange

lesilence,”ditlespoissonsdela

mer—AhMar—Gott—

Thalatta—Merde—Marde
demer—Mumer—Makavash—

164

Theoceanisthemother—
Jenesuispasmauvaisequandj’sui

tranquil—danslestempêtes
j’cri!Comeunefolle!

j’mange,j’arrachetoutes!
Clock—Clack—Milk—
Mai!mai!mai!ma!
saysthewindblowingsand—

Plutoeatsthesea—

Amigo—da—chepop
Go—Come—Cark—
Care—Keeterdavo

Kataketapow!Kekkekkek!
Kwakiutl!Kik!

Someoftheserathertaratasters

trappedhyratcherethaped

theanadondakrammalat

roundbyKrultoPatthelat

rattheanaakakalked
romontottek

KaraVOOOM

frup—

Feetcold?wade—Mindsore?

sim—sin—Horny?—laythesea?

Corny?tryme—

Ussensherehangnomore

herewego,kavarata

plowsh,shhh,

andmore,again,kevlook
kebloom&herecomes

bigMisterTrosh

—morewavescoming,

everysyllablewindy

Backwashpalaver

paralarle—paralleling
parlepeSaviour

Atroublesomespirit

165

hangingherecantmakeit

inthevoid—Thesea’ll

onlydrownme—Thesewords

areaffectations

ofsickmortality—

Wetrytomakeourway

inselfreliance,aid

notevercomestooquick
fromwherever&whatever
heavendearmayhave
suggestedtopromiseus—

Butthesewavesscareme—
Iamgoingtodie

infulldespair—
Wakeupwhere?

Onsecondbreathinlife

theatmosphereisdearer

maybeclosertoHeaven

—OParadise—
Istheseareallysobad?

Haveyousentmen

hereforthiscoldclown
&monstrouseateratthe

world?whosesound

Imock?

GodI’vegottobelieveinyou

orliveindeath!
Willyousaveus—all?

Soonornow?

Sendillumination

toourdrowningbrains

—We’repitiful,Lord,

weneedyrhelp!
Saveus,Dear—

(Saveyourself,Godman,

haha!)

IfyouwereGodman

166

you’dcommandthesewaves

toverywellTennysonstop

&evenTennyson

isdear

nowdead

Leaveittothelight

Concernyourselfwithsupper,

&aneye

somebody’seye—awife,

agirl,afriend,ananimal

—abloodletdrop—

heforhissea,

heforhisfire,

theeforthydesire

“Theseadrovemeaway
&yelled‘Gotoyourdesire!’

—AsIhurriedupthevalley
Itaddedonelastyell:-

‘Andlaugh!’”

Eventheseacantstopmefrom

writingsomethingtoreadinmyoldage

—Thisisthechartofbriefforms,

thisseathebriefest—Shishyourself—

Afterscaringmelikethat,Mar,
I’llexcoriateyrslum—yr

iodineweeds&slimehoops,
evenyrdriedhollowseaweed

stinks—youstinkallover—

Boom—Trythat,creep—

ThelittleMontereyfishingboat

glidesdownwardhome15milestogo,
behometofriedfish&beerb’five—
Itguidestheseaitsbirdroutes—
—Silverlossforeveroutward

—Fromblueskyofhumanbridges

tothemassivemawkcloudseacenter

167

heap—tothegray—

Someboyscallitgunboatblue,

orgray,butIcallit
theCivilWarofRocks

—Rocks‘comeair,rocks‘comewater,

&rockrocks—

Karatavira,mnashgrandbash
—pooshl’abas—croosh
L’ahaut—Plashaupied—

Peeeee—Rolletestboulles—

Manched’larache—

ThehandsomeKingprevails

overboomsingbirdhead—

“Crachetesidées,”spityrideas,
saysthesea,tome,quite
appropriately—

Pss!pss!pss!
Ps!girlinside!
Redshoesscum,eyesofold

sorcerers,toenailshangingdown

inthebarrelofoldfirkincheese
theDutchmanforgott’eatthat

tempest

nineteenO

sixteen—

Whentorpedoedbygunboat

PedrointheValley

ofaMillionFees?

WhenMagellancrosseyed

atetheAmazonianfeet—

And,Ah,whenColombocross’t!
WhenDrakesirfrancisedthewaves

withfeedingofthebluejay

dark—poundedhisaleward

tankbeforetheboom,

housedupallthoughtsofErik

theRedtheGreenlandcaperer

&builderofrockdungsinNew

168

Port—New—yet—

OldportIndianFishhead—
OldportTattooKwakiutlHeadpost

taboopotashCoyotlpotlatch?

OldPrimitiveColumbia.—
NamedforColombus?

NameforAruggioVesmarica—

Ar!—Or!—Da!

WhataboutVerrazano?

hesailed!—

HeVerrazanozailed&we

statenedhisIslandinondeep

inondashun—

RottedtheWallower?

Sinnersliarsgoodmenall

sinkwaterswimdrinkNeptune’s

nectarthezalsotat—

Zalsotatenameforcrota?

Crotatacrotte,youaint
’bouttofind(JesusChristian!)

anydryturdsherebelow—

Whyfono?

Gocrashyonderrock

ofbleakwithyrfiletmignonteeth

&see—Foryou,thehearth,

theheart,thelockofhair—

Forme,forus,theSea,

themurderingoftimebyeating

lustycracksoflipfeedwave

ataeonsofsandyartistry

tillnothing’sleftbutoldage

newmorningprimordialpain

ofsittersby

theunborn

bird

ofrosesyetundone—

Withweedsyourroses,

sandcrabsyourhummers?

169

Withbuzzersinthesea!

Withrunnersinthedeep!

ThisSceptredOsh,thiswideleg

spanningrockU.S.torock

JaPan,thisonstable
rollerroamingall,
thisploosheratyrgory

drydungdoor,thismouth

ofsilverwhitearringtoholdthee,

thispurgerofconscience
arraforthee—
Nomouseinherebut’sgot
alittleglee—and
aft,oroft,theosprey
inhisglee’sagley—

Ohpurtypurtyocean

me—
Sop!bringtheScepterdown!

Againyou’veacceptedme!

Breatheouriodine,filthyyrdrink,

faintatfeetwet,drop

yrprofilemoveitinthesea,

floatweededwateryAdonais

longsforthee—&Shelleythree,
that’sthree—burninsalt

withslowmostchange—
We’vehadnocrackateternity
inabillionyearsoftrying—

onegrainofsandpossesses
3thousandworldsofglee—
nottomentionme—

Ahsea

Ahsi—Ahso—

shoot—shiver—mix—

haroll—tara—tata—
curlurck—Kayash—Kee—

PearlspearlsintheyellowWest

170

—YellowskytoChina—
Pacificwenamedhere

waterasalwaysmeeting
water—PacificPacific

Pacifictapfic—geroom—

gedowsh—gaka—gaya—

Tatha—gata—mana—
Whatsailsusedoldbhikkus?
Dhikkus?Dhikkus!

WhatraftmailedMose
tothehovendovepost?

WhatsavedBlackswirl

fromtheKiddplank?

WhatGo-Bughere?

Seet!Seeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeee—kara—

Poundersoutyar—

BigSurtheycallthissand

theserocksthiscreek?
RatonCanyonbynamepours
Coyoteleaves&oldPomobones

&olddustofTomahawks

intoyourangler’dmaw—
Mysaltmawshallsalvage
Taylors—sewingintheroom

below—

Sewingweedshratforhikers

inthemilkysilt—
Sewingcrosswards

forcertainty—Sartan

areweofPriceVictory
inthissaltWarwiththee
&thinetheejelliedyink!

LookOtheseaherecalled

PacificSea!

Taki!

Mygoldenemptysoul’ll

171

outlastyrsaltysill
—theWindowsofmyjellyeye

&fishheadmucklookoutonthee,

slit,withcigar-a-mouth,

somecontempt—

YetIhiemetoseeyou

—youhietheetoeat

me—Fairinsight

andworn,aright—

Arra!Aroo!

Gerderva—
Sillysilentcitiesinthesea
havechildrenplayingcardboard

mushwitheignyardoldEnglander

beeplatesslickeredoerwithscum

ofhistoriesbelow—

Notempestasstill&awful

asthetempestwithin—

Sorcererhip!Buddhalands

&Buddhaseas!

WhatsailsMaudgalyayanaused

heonlyknowstotell

butgotkiltbyyellers

sreamingdownthecliff

“Let’sgohome!

Now!”

—leavemargesmasheddjamas
Maudgalyayanawasmurderedbythesea—

Buttheseadonttell—

Theseadontmurder—

Theseadrangscholars

oughterknowthat

gobacktoSchool

Hearovertheretheoceanmotor?

Feelthesplawrshofit?

Sixsillycentepedeshere,Machree—

AhRatatatatatat—

172

themachinegunsea,rhythmic

ballsofyoupouringin
withsmootheglantinee
inyrpedigreedmilkpup

tenor—

Tindermarsharightarrooo—
arrac’h—arrache—
Kamac’h—monarc’h—

Kerarc’hJevac’h—

Tamana—gavow—

Va—Voovla—Via—

Mia—mine—

sea
poo

Farewell,Sur—

Didjaevertellhim

aboutwatermeetingwater—?

Ogobacktootter—

Term—Term—Klerm

Kerm—Kurn—Cow—Kow—

Cash—Cac’h—Cluck—

Clock—Gomeatseaneed

bedeepIseeyou

Enoc’h

soonanarf

inOldBrittany

21August1960
PacificOceanatBigSur
California

•••

Foracompletelistofthisauthor’sbooksclickhereorvisit

www.penguin.com/kerouacchecklist

173

T hecompletepoemswrittenbytheseaaretobefoundattheendofthisbook,in

the

appendix

,entitled“ S

”:SoundsofthePacificOceanatBigSur.JK

174

175

Contents

AbouttheAuthor

ALSOBYJACKKEROUAC

TitlePage

Foreword

176

101

106

108

110

112

116

122

124

127

134

137

144

149

“SEA”

153

“SEA”

154

177

Document Outline

About the Author
ALSO BY JACK KEROUAC
Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
“SEA”
“SEA”

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