|
... Sleep long in the valley of the Red River where cob- webs hang black windows and boy bones.... Two Negro fags shriek at each other. FAG 1: "Shut up, you cheap granuloma gash.... You known as Loathsome Lu in the trade." DISEUSE: "The girl with the innaresting groin." FAG 2: "Meow. Meow." He slips on leopard skin and iron claws.... FAG 1: "Oh oh. A Society Woman." He flees scream- ing through the Market, pursued by the grunting, growl- ing transvestite.... Clem trips a spastic cripple and takes his crutches.... He does a hideous parody twitching and drooling.... Riot noises in the distance -- a thousand hysterical Pomeranians. Shop shutters slam like guillotines. Drinks and trays hang in the air as the patrons are whisked inside by the suction of panic. CHORUS OF FAGS: "We'll all be raped. I know it, I know it." They rush into a drugstore and buy a case of KY. PARTY LEADER (holding up his hand dramatically): "The voice of the People." Pearson the Money Changeling comes acropping the short grass seized by the extortionate commandant of Karma, hiding in a vacant lot with the garter snakes, to be sniffed out by the scrutable dog.... The Market is empty except for an old drunkard of indeterminate nationality passed out with his head in a pissoir. The rioters erupt into the Market yiping and screaming "Death to the French" and tear the drunkard to pieces. SALVADOR HASSAN (squirming at a keyhole): "Just look at those expressions, the whole beautiful proto- plasmic being all exactly alike." He dances the Lique- factionist Jig. Whimpering queen falls to the floor in an orgasm. "Oh God it's too exciting. Like a million hot throbbing cocks." BENWAY: "Like to run a blood test on those boys." A portentously inconspicuous man, grey beard and grey face and shabby brown jellaba, sings in slight un- placeable accent without opening his lips: "Oh you dolls, you great big beautiful dolls." Squads of police with thin lips, big noses and cold grey eyes move into the Market from every entrance street. They club and kick the rioters with cold, meth- odical brutality. The rioters have been carted away in trucks. The shutters go up and the citizens of Interzone step out into the square littered with teeth and sandals and slippery with blood. The sea chest of the dead man is in the Embassy, and the vice consul breaks the news to mother. There is no... Morning... Daybreak... n'existe plus.... If I knew I'd be glad to tell you. Either way is a bad move to the East Wing.... He is gone through an invisible door. |
