Dhalgren

around the corner and ain't nobody even broken in the window?'

'It's broken now. Shit. We're gonna have to work a week to drink up all that booze.'

Kid took another step, grinning, between the scorpions who flanked him. Pain shot again from calf to thigh. Did I break my knee, he thought. No. It'll be all right in a minute…

'You all right, Kid?' That was one of the black girls with bare breasts joggling jingling links. 'Man, you scared me good when you come leaping out like that!'

Kid took another breath and grinned. 'I'm okay.' He leaned on the black shoulder, while she pulled away from another girl to support him. She laughed, shifted, steadied; and Kid pulled away, took another step, another breath. 'Yeah, I'm okay. What we got to eat?'

The Ripper, with a can opener, kneeled over a big, odd-shaped can. 'One of them canned hams.' The tin wept gelatin down its red and blue label. 'We found three of them.'

The fire crackled on the bottom of a kettle hung on a pipe propped on cinderblocks. 'The gas isn't working in the stove?'

'Yeah,' Denny said, across the fire, 'but we thought we'd cook out.'

The first bubble on the… soup? stew? grey at the kettle edge, shook its reflection of the porch window frame, and burst. Another bubble grew.

Kid took his weight off his throbbing leg. Better. He flexed, feeling the tender machinery of knee and ankle jarred from place. It was his booted leg. Perhaps the soft sole had hit a rock?

'Don't throw your God-damn bottle in the yard, man. Don't you know about pollution? We gotta live here.'

'You shut up, or I'll pollute you!' a short-haired white woman said.

'Throw your fuckin' bottle over in the next yard, will you?'

'Okay, okay…'

Light snarled in the loops of chain, laid out dull splashes on dark leather, lit the trough beneath a black lip, put wires of light in greasy brass hair, glistened on the puffed rim of a lashless eye, sank in the graphite nap bushing an ovoid skull.

The Ripper laughed and bent and wiped at his mouth with his wrist. The orchid, from the chain at his neck, spun bright petals.

'Here…!' A bottle neck hit Kid's mouth, clicked his teeth, hurting his gum.

'Christ, man!' Kid beat it away. 'I don't want no God-damn wine,' which was the taste he licked from his lower lip; he rubbed his mouth. 'Somebody get me something real.'

'You want this?' Denny asked.

'Yeah. What is it?' Kid drank, and cleared his burning throat. 'You know when I was your age I use to be a fuckin' booze hound? I don't even like the stuff now.' He took another, smaller drink, and handed the bottle back to Denny; 'But I was a fuckin' hound.' Guys argued:

'Now what you gonna do with that?'

'Cut it up, cook it over the fire.'

'You can eat it right out of the can like that.'

'Hell, no. That's ham, man. You'll get trichinosis!'

'Man, you can't get trichinosis from no canned ham!'

'Well, you're gonna cook mine before I eat any.'

Somebody passed out long-handled kitchen forks. ('That's all right. I got my huntin' knife.') Bubbling soup dribbled the kettle's side. Kid's leg felt about okay. He turned, smiling at the dark, as scorpions joggled him to get at the meat. ('Hey, somebody start opening up the other one, will you?') Soup hissed and chattered in the flame. The edges of the evening softened with the liquor. He looked for Denny and Denny's bottle.

'Hey, Kid!' The smile was a pit of flickering rot and silver. 'You really doing nice here, huh? Beautiful, yeah. Beautiful.'

'Well, I'll be a motherfucker!' Kid announced. 'I didn't even think you were gonna live another twenty-four hours, much less show up here.'

Pepper gaped wider. 'Sort of… hungry!' His chin jutted on the syllable. He joggled a wine bottle in his spiky hand. 'You got a really nice nest here; and I'm all ready for a run.'

'Help yourself.' Kid gestured over the heads around him. 'You just go right on and help yourself.'

A very blond and square-jawed scorpion pushed from the center of a bunch of blacks (Raven, Jack the Ripper, Thruppence, D-t, Spider) stepped up behind Pepper, and said, 'Jesus Christ… Shit!' He seized Pepper's scrawny shoulder. 'What are you doing back here, you sad-assed motherfucker? Why don't you get your ass out of here before I—'

'Hey, now…' Pepper said. 'Hey…!'

Others, looking, moved aside. The short-haired woman stepped forward. Copperhead stopped her with a freckled hand on her chained and vested shoulder.

'Come on and get the fuck out of here,' the square-jawed blond said. 'Nobody wants you around stinking up the place now. You been run out twice. Somebody gotta run you out again?'

'Man, I'm hungry!' Pepper complained. 'Kid said I could—' And under the thrusting hand, stumbled into Kid.

Kid stepped back, thought, no, with no word on top of it. He swung his hand, and caught the back of the blond head so hard his palm stung.

'Owee…!' came unaccountably from Pepper, who scurried to the side.

The scorpion Kid had hit turned, his face screwed up.

No, Kid thought, this time with the word. I got a bum leg, I'm half drunk, and I'm beating on people? No. This is going to get me in trouble. 'Leave him alone!' Kid said loudly.

Scorpions shuffled in the silence.

Priest kneeling over the ham squinted. He was so close to the fire his dark shoulders sweated.

Kid walked toward the scowling blond and took his shoulder. 'Now you just go on and get yourself something to eat!' He shook the scorpion's shoulder in large motions. 'There's enough for everybody, see?' Am I really getting away with this? Kid began to laugh. 'Come on, give him a piece of ham.' He pushed the scorpion toward the fire. And I'll just turn, walk away, and wait for a fork in my shoulder.

Kid turned.

Copperhead stood before the others, arms crossed, Glass to one side of him, Spitt to the other. The short- haired woman, shaking her head, was walking away.

Kid moved toward them thinking; I can't tell whether they're about to back me or jump me. Do the others know? 'Whyn't you get yourself something to eat, too?' He walked by.

Some tension had broken with his laughter.

Thruppence said, 'You got a ladle or a cup or something?'

Jack the Ripper said, 'We got bowls and cups and things. Somebody washed all the fuckin' dishes.'

Half a dozen crouched together behind the fire, shoulders smooth as great plums, hair wrinkled as prunes, holding forks over the coals, shifting hands suddenly sucking their knuckles.

He looked at a bottle.

'You want some of—?'

'Yeah.' He took the bottle and another drink, 'Thanks,' and kept circling. Two were necking under a tree. Momentarily he thought they were both boys.

Dollar lifted his face from the girl's disarrayed hair. 'Hey, Kid…' He blinked in the firelight, his stubbly jaw blebbed here and there.

Kid stepped over Dollar's boots.

'You got something to eat yet?' Denny asked.

Kid shook his head.

'You take this. I'll get another one.'

The cup was hot and soup had run down the sides. 'Thanks.'

'You won't get trichinosis from that ham if it isn't cooked through, will you?' Denny asked.