Lawrence Block - When the Sacred Ginmill Closes

"You're a swallow and this is Capistrano."

"Is that what I am? I don't know what the hell I am anymore."

"Oh, bullshit.You're a guy, a human being.Just another poor son of a bitch who doesn't want to be alone when the sacredginmill closes."

"The what?"I started to laugh. "Is that what this place is?The sacredginmill?"

"Don't you know the song?"

"What song?"

"The VanRonk song. 'And so we've had another night- ' " He broke off. "Hell, I can't sing, I can't even get the tune right.'Last Call,' Dave VanRonk. You don't know it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, Christ," he said. "You have got to hear it. You have by Christ got to hear this song. It's what we've been talking about, and on top of that it's the fucking national anthem. Come on."

"Come on and what?"

"Just come on," he said. He put a Piedmont Airlines flight bag on top of the bar, rooted around under the back bar and came up with two unopened bottles, one of the twelve-year-old Jameson Irish he favored and one of Jack Daniel's. "This okay?" he asked me.

"Okay for what?"

"For pouring over your head to kill the cooties.Is it okay to drink is my question. You've been drinking Forester, but I can't find an unopened bottle, and there's a law against carrying an opened bottle on the street."

"There is?"

"There ought to be. I never steal opened bottles. Will you please answer a simple question? Is Jack Black all right?"

"Of course it's all right, but where the hell are we going?"

"My place," he said. "You've got to hear this record."

"BARTENDERS drink free," he said. "Even at home. It's a fringe benefit. Other people get pension plans and dental care. We get all the booze we can steal. You'regonna love this song, Matt."

We were in his apartment, an L-shaped studio with a parquet floor and a fireplace. He was on the twenty-second floor and his window looked south. He had a good view of theEmpireStateBuilding and, farther down on the right, theWorldTradeCenter.

The place was sparsely furnished. There was a white mica platform bed and dresser in the sleeping alcove, a couch and a sling chair in the middle of the room. Books and records overflowed a bookcase and stood around in stacks on the floor. Stereo components were placed here and there- a turntable on an upended milk crate, speakers resting on the floor.

"Where did I put the thing?" Billie wondered.

I walked over to the window, looked out at the city. I was wearing a watch but I purposely didn't look at it because I didn't want to know what time it was. I suppose it must have been somewhere around four o'clock. It still wasn't raining.

"Here," he said, holding up an album. "Dave VanRonk. You know him?"

"Never heard of him."

"Got a Dutch name, looks like amick and I swear on the blues numbers he sounds just like a nigger. He's also onebitchin ' guitar player but he doesn't play anything on this cut.'Last Call.' He sings it al fresco."

"Okay."

"Not al fresco. I forget the expression. How do you say it when you sing without accompaniment?"

"What difference does it make?"

"How can I forget something like that? I got a mind like a fucking sieve. You'regonna love this song."

"That's if I ever get to hear it."

"A cappella.That's what it is, a cappella. As soon as I stopped actively trying to think of it, it popped right into my head.The Zen of Remembering. Where did I put the Irish?"

"Right behind you."

"Thanks.You all right with the Daniel's? Oh, you got the bottle right there. Okay, listen to this.Ooops, wrong groove. It's the last one on the album. Naturally, you couldn't have anything come after this one. Listen."

And so we've had another night

Of poetry and poses

And each man knows he'll be alone

When the sacredginmill closes.

The melody sounded like an Irish folk air. The singer did indeed sing without accompaniment, his voice rough but curiously gentle.

"Now listen to this," Billie said.

And so we'll drink the final glass

Each to his joy and sorrow

And hope the numbing drunk will last

Till opening tomorrow

"Jesus," Billie said.

And when we stumble back again

Like paralytic dancers

Each knows the question he must ask

And each man knows the answer

I had a bottle in one hand, a glass in the other. I poured from the bottle into the glass. "Catch this next part," Billie was saying.

And so we'll drink the final drink

That cuts the brain in sections

Where answers do not signify

And there aren't any questions

Billie was saying something but the words weren't registering. There was only the song.

I broke my heart the other day.

It will mend again tomorrow.

If I'd been drunk when I was born

I'd be ignorant of sorrow

"Play that again," I said.

"Wait. There's more."

And so we'll drink the final toast

That never can be spoken:

Here's to the heart that is wise enough

To know when it's better off broken

He said, "Well?"

"I'd like to hear it again."

" 'Playit again, Sam. You played it forher, you can play it for me. I can take it if she can.' Isn't it great?"

"Play it again, will you?"

We listened to it a couple of times through. Finally he took it off and returned it to its jacket and asked me if I understood why he had to drag me up there and play it for me. I just nodded.

"Listen," he said, "you're welcome to crash here if you want. That couch is more comfortable than it looks."

"I can make it home."

"I don't know. Is it raining yet?" He looked out the window. "No, but it could start any minute."

"I'll chance it. I want to be at my place when I wake up."

"I got to respect a man who can plan that far in the future. You okay to go out on the street? Sure, you're okay. Here, I'll get you a paperbag, you can take the JD home with you. Or here, take the flight bag, they'll think you're a pilot."

"No, keep it, Billie."

"What do I want with it? I don't drink bourbon."

"Well, I've had enough."

"You might want a nightcap. You might want something in the morning. It's a doggie bag, for Christ's sake. When'd you get so fancy you can't take a doggie bag home with you?"

"Somebody told me it's illegal to carry an opened bottle on the street."

"Don't worry. It's a firstoffense, you're odds-on to get probation.Hey, Matt? Thanks for coming by."

I walked home with the song's phrases echoing in my mind, coming back at me in fragments. "If I'd been drunk when I was born I'd be ignorant of sorrow." Jesus.

I got back to my hotel, went straight upstairs without checking the desk for messages. I got out of my clothes, threw them on the chair, took one short pull straight from the bottle and got into bed.

Just as I was drifting off the rain started.

The rain kept up all weekend. It was lashing my window when I opened my eyes around noon Friday, but it must have been the phone that woke me. I sat on the edge of the bed and decided not to answer it, and after a few more rings it quit.

My head ached fiercely and my gut felt like it had taken somebody's best shot. I lay down again, got up quickly when the room started to spin. In the bathroom I washed down a couple of aspirin with a half-glass of water, but they came right back up again.

I remembered the bottle Billie had pressed on me. I looked around for it and finally found it in the flight bag. I couldn't remember putting it back after the last drink of the night, but then there were other things I couldn't recall either, like most of the walk home from his apartment. That sort ofminiblackout didn't bother me much. When you drove cross-country you didn't remember every billboard, every mile of highway. Why bother recalling every minute of your life?