Hubert Selby - Requiem for a Dream

Marion called Big Tim and went to see him again. Harry was out when she called and was watching TV when she got back. Harry didnt ask where she had been and she said nothing. He had copped a bundle, offd some for a lot of bread, and was holding out dope and bread from her. She stashed her two bags with the others and felt a warm glow as she looked at them and couldnt wait until she was alone so she could take them out and hold them and caress them. She gave Harry the other eight bags, then took one of them and got off. She joined him on the couch, Howd it go tonight? Pretty good. Lucked out. Ran into something almost right away. Good. She pulled her legs up on the couch. Thats really good stuff, isnt it? Yeah. Dont find that out on the streets. Lets not sell that, alright Harry? Just the other. You dont see me passing it out, do you? No, but I… you know what I mean. Yeah. Dont sweat it. Im not going to part with the good shit. Marion stared at the television for a few minutes, not knowing what she was looking at, not caring, not trying, just biding time and waiting for the words… Harry? Yeah? Do we have to tell Tyrone about these bags? He looked at her, a voice inside saying, fuck no. Me and him are tight. He set the whole thing up. I know, I know, Marion looked up into Harrys eyes, but Im the one who went up there. Harry could feel the burning flush seeping out from his inner being somewhere and was hoping to krist he didnt turn red. He nodded his head, Okay. I guess what he dont know wont killim.

Tyrone was stretched out on the couch, alone, watching television. Alice had split, gone back to her family in some jerk town in Georgia. Couldnt take the cold or the heat. She was a fine fox, but Tyrone was happy and relieved not to have another vein to feed. She sure didnt dig bein sick. Like to scare her to death. Sheeit, ah sure doan dig it. Dont dig the hassles either. But it aint so bad. Las night we cop right away and get back some heavy braid. Things going to be better soon enough. There doan seem to be too much hassle now. Tyrone C. Love watched the television for a while, wondering, anticipating, chuckling, using the images and sounds from the set, along with the heroin in his system, to quiet a little gnawing of questioning confusion that seemed to be scratching him from time to time. He/d been spending many hours of each day and night scufflin and hustlin in those streets an man its a cold mutha fuckin bitch out there an this panics a bitch jim, a mutha fuckin bitch. Yeah… a bitch baby, an hes all caught up in the mutha. Ol Ty was caught up in it for so long it didnt seem so bad anymore. It seemed less and less like a hassle. But what the fuck, a habit aint no real hassle. A habit you do in your sleep. You caint think about it. You jus do it. An a habit create its own habits. And he lay on his couch, staring at the set, getting his kicks, and when he wondered why he was happy to be alone, he just stopped wondering and got back in the spoon and turned the channel. These things sort of itched Tyrone, but he soothed them away from his consciousness with his habit and the tube and jus didnt worry about not havin the energy—the desire—to get himself another bitch. No, he jus take care of his own self till things gets a little cooler. Right now he/ll jus hang tough and take care of the little jones he had goin. Later for the bitches man. Yeah, mah names Tyrone C. Love and ah loves nobody but Tyrone C., an ahm goin to take good care o you baby.

Sara was tied in her wheelchair each morning and she sat mutely and docilely watching the people coming, going, giving medication, caring for patients, making beds, mopping floors, going about their daily and various chores, her mind and eyes moist with tears. Voices and noises mingled and clanged through the ward unnoticed by Sara. She sat mutely. They continued to pass her by as she waited… waited for someone to come to her, to talk to her… to help her. They did come to her. They came to prepare her for another shock treatment. Sara wept.

Harry and Tyrone were holding out a little more on each other each day. If one guy somehow got caught short and his nose and eyes were running and his body shivering as they scuffled and hustled the street trying to cop, and asked the other one to give him a taste, the guy swore up and down he had nothing, that he had just done in his cottons, and he would start shaking, trying to fake his friend out.

They roamed the streets in the snow, the sleet, fighting the freezing winds, sometimes hustling from one spot to another all night, always just missing the connection, and other times they were able to cop within a couple of hours. Everywhere they went there were thousands of sick junkies trying to cop or get cop money, and when they did get their hands on some shit they split to get off, but they didn’t always make it and dying and dead bodies littered the hallways and debris of abandoned buildings. Like the others, Harry and Tyrone ignored the bodies and remained huddled in their jackets and their needs, saying nothing to each other, saving their energies to find someone who was holding. Then they would get off and cut the bags as much as possible and off as much as they could and start the search all over again.

When Marion was home alone, she would take out her stash and look at the bags, enjoying the feeling of power and security she felt. She was seeing Big Tim a couple of times a week. Now she told Harry she was only getting six bags, that was why she was going so often. Harry didnt even bother wondering if he believed her or not, he just took three of the bags, not telling Tyrone about it, and whenever he copped he always held back a few bags on Marion, and when the pangs of conscience started to disturb him they were readily dissolved by the heroin.

Occasionally Marion would notice her sketch pads and pencils and the memory of the plans for the coffee house and some other vague memories started to work their way to her consciousness, but she just pushed them aside and stared at the tube, thinking about her stash. A few times the pangs of remorse would start to unnerve her as she stared at a scene of sunny Italy in a Cinzano ad, but she just reminded herself that she had been, and a bag of good stuff was a hell of a lot better than a mob of garlic smelling italians.

Harry and Tyrone were standing in the wet snow, freezin their asses off, waiting for the connection, again, and listening to the other dudes talk about how all the big time connections were in Florida sittin on their mutha fuckin asses in the sun while they were up here ass deep in the mutha fuckin snow. Yeah, an those mutha fuckas sitting on all that dope too jus to git the fuckin price up jim and thats the onlyest reason they doin it. Sheeit, they be a bunch a stoned mutha fuckas man, ah mean they be some stoooooned pricks jim. Harry and Tyrone had heard the same old bullshit a million times just like the rest of them, but they never tired of listening and nodding their heads, just like everyone else, cursing the bastards for starting the panic just so they could make more money when they were fuckin millionaires a dozen fuckin times over already. The intensity of their anger not only helped pass the time, but helped create a little much needed inner warmth. By the time they finally did cop that night they were numb with the cold and had a difficult time walking. Harry stopped off at Tyrones to get off before continuing to Marions. They sat around smoking and relaxing when Harry started thinking about those pricks who were sittin in the sun and wondered what would happen if someone went down there to cop. Tyrone looked at him with droopy eyes, What you talkin about? Whatta my talking about? just what I said. Everybodys up here scufflin just to stay alive and still gettin ripped off or knocked off, and nobodys thought about goin right to the fuckin source man. What the fuck you talkin about? goin up to the mutha fuckin room clerk at some hotel an askin for a connection? Sheeit. Comeon Ty, get with, eh? You tellin me you cant nose out some dope when its around? Thas here man. The Apples mah neighborhood. What the fuck ah know about Miami? Them mutha fuckin eyetzlians aint sitting aroun jus waitin for me to show up jim. I/ll take care of that. I know how those bastards operate. Thats no sweat. Tyrone looked at him for a few seconds, Thas a long ass walk jim. Not if youre drivin. Look man, its coleran hell and those streets are hotteran a bitch. Guys are gettin knocked off like theyre giving blue chip stamps with every dead dope fiend. Man, we got nothing to lose, Harrys enthusiasm increasing the more he talked about it. Tyrone was scratching his head, If its such a good idea then why aint somebody else thought of it? Because theyre assholes. Harry was sitting on the edge of his chair, his face glazed with sweat. And thats just it, nobody else has thought of it. Its wide open. Tyrone continued scratching and nodding, an if we can get there before anyone else we can name our own price and sit back an be cool and have those fools scufflin the streets for us. Tyrone continued scratching, Las summer was a ball jim, he suddenly frowned and tilted his head, seem like a thousan years since las summer. Sheeit. Itll be back like that after we get some weight. Why doan we fly down there? We be there an back in one mutha fuckin day. Harry was shaking his head, No man. No fuckin good. We/ll need a fuckin short when we get there, right? Tyrone nodded. An we can get there in a day easy. We got enough shit to last an we can get some uppers from Marion. No problem. Tyrone had been scratching and looking up at the ceiling. Gogit could probably get us a short easy enough we promise him some dynamite scag. That mutha fucka can dig up anythin, even the daid. Harry laughed and continued nodding energetically, their desperation making everything seem so simple, An its warm in Florida man.