Hayseed Huck
04-09-2010, 01:24 PM
As Yank Harold and I observed that summer of 1949, the
crazy girl across the street sure could suck the candy
canes. Jeeze!-- one after another until the juice slob-
bered and ran out her mouth, over her lips and down her
chin to drop pink and spit-thick on her t-shirt and skirt.
Yank had come to town in May to spend the summer. He
wrote short stories for the pulp rag Amazing Stories at
seven cents a word and needed a place to stay. I had an
extra bedroom in my apartment on the second floor, up over
Brach’s drugstore, across the street from the Third Avenue
Apartments, where the crazy girl lived with her mother.
One July day Yank and I walked down the stairs to sit on a
bench under the drugstore awning. It was late morning and
already beastly, jungle hot, humid. I shuffled through the
morning paper; Yank smoked and twirled a spoon in a glass
of iced tea. Mr. Brach always brought out iced tea-- those
mornings we came down to loaf on his bench under his awn-
ing and watch the crazy girl.
"The girl'll be out anytime now. It’s almost 11:30-- Dolly
the Blondie ... good name you two gave her." Brach stood
in the doorway to the drug store shaking his head and dirt
from his broom.
By what perversity will two men, one a pulp magazine writer
and the other an ex-GI still looking for his place in the
after-war world, wait across a street-- wait for a crazy,
blonde, eightteen-year old girl come out her building, sit
or lean back against a wall ...
and suck her candy canes?
“How do you know she’s eighteen; she looks younger?”
“Her mother told me. I’ve been over at their place. She’s
goddamn good-looking. She ...”
“Not the girl ... "
“No, the mother, the mother’s good-looking. A peach. I
haven’t seen a man around. She’s lonely-- her daughter
being crazy and all ...”
The crazy girl didn’t come out that morning-- at least while
we sat under the awning outside Brach’s. After a time Am-
brose said it was too hot to sit and wait-- he might take the
bus downtown, see a movie.
Ambrose got up and headed for the bus stop. I folded my
paper, put it under my arm, and crossed the street, intend-
ing to go over to the poolhall, a half-block down from the
crazy girl’s front porch. I reached the girl’s side of the
street and stepped over the curb when I heard a yell--
“Baagh, Maa-baagh.”
The crazy girl came running out from behind a trash shed
standing to the side of her building.
“Baagh, Maa-baagh ....”
The gibberish came out of a gaping mouth that showed
small, spaced teeth and heavy gums. I saw thick candy red
and white syrup drooling down her lips. In both her hands
she gripped four red and white, barberpole-striped candy
canes, most of them sucked down to slender spikes of hard
sugar pocked with tiny, wet holes.
She turned and pointed back toward the trash shed. “Baagh,
Maa-ba-agh” When she turned I saw a run of blood stream
out from a two deep gashes in her neck and disappear inside
her blouse, then molt through, pooling a dirty reddish brown
on the green fabric over her right breast.
“Oh ... girl. What is it?"
The girl was standing less than a foot from me with one cane-
holding hand on my arm. I pointed to the fang-like wounds
on her neck. She pulled me toward the shed. Her breath was
confection and I saw for the first time a pair of light green eyes,
long black lashes and perfect skin-- take her mouth away and
she was beautiful.
Here I am think about a girl's looks when apparently she had
just been attacked and bitten by a snake.
Right then her mother burst out the front door of their build-
ing— “Oh Dolly! Dolly. Dolly. Are you bothering Mr. Ren-
aud?” The girl nodded her head and touched the two bloody
holes in her neck--
“Baagh …”
**
It was too hot in the movie theatre. Yank found a diner with
a window-cooling unit. He ordered ice tea and pulled a note-
book out of his pocket and started writing.
"Might as well earn a buck or two ... let's see. Where did I
leave off? Yes, here ..."
The great blonde, Dolly, felt the python’s violent squeeze.
She screamed. "Baagh, Ma-baagh." and the serpent buried
his fangs in the great blonde’s neck. A thick syrup of blood
and saliva drooled out of her mouth and the animal con-
stricted, crushing the bones of Dolly's back.
Forty-some words.
.
**
Yank came in around midnight. I was listening to Midnight
Ballroom and Frankie Laine was singing, That’s My Desire.
I was half in a pint of Irish.
“She come out?” Yank helped himself to the bottle.
“Yeah, she came out, just like always, sat on the steps and
sucked her candy canes. I was headed over to the pool hall
when she stood up and started shouting something that
sounded like baagh Bbgh-- maafgag-- something.
Then, her mother came out, waved to me, and took the girl
inside."
Yank pulled his undershirt off and went to the window---
"You wonder what goes on in a crazy girl's mind."
##
Hayseed Huck
crazy girl across the street sure could suck the candy
canes. Jeeze!-- one after another until the juice slob-
bered and ran out her mouth, over her lips and down her
chin to drop pink and spit-thick on her t-shirt and skirt.
Yank had come to town in May to spend the summer. He
wrote short stories for the pulp rag Amazing Stories at
seven cents a word and needed a place to stay. I had an
extra bedroom in my apartment on the second floor, up over
Brach’s drugstore, across the street from the Third Avenue
Apartments, where the crazy girl lived with her mother.
One July day Yank and I walked down the stairs to sit on a
bench under the drugstore awning. It was late morning and
already beastly, jungle hot, humid. I shuffled through the
morning paper; Yank smoked and twirled a spoon in a glass
of iced tea. Mr. Brach always brought out iced tea-- those
mornings we came down to loaf on his bench under his awn-
ing and watch the crazy girl.
"The girl'll be out anytime now. It’s almost 11:30-- Dolly
the Blondie ... good name you two gave her." Brach stood
in the doorway to the drug store shaking his head and dirt
from his broom.
By what perversity will two men, one a pulp magazine writer
and the other an ex-GI still looking for his place in the
after-war world, wait across a street-- wait for a crazy,
blonde, eightteen-year old girl come out her building, sit
or lean back against a wall ...
and suck her candy canes?
“How do you know she’s eighteen; she looks younger?”
“Her mother told me. I’ve been over at their place. She’s
goddamn good-looking. She ...”
“Not the girl ... "
“No, the mother, the mother’s good-looking. A peach. I
haven’t seen a man around. She’s lonely-- her daughter
being crazy and all ...”
The crazy girl didn’t come out that morning-- at least while
we sat under the awning outside Brach’s. After a time Am-
brose said it was too hot to sit and wait-- he might take the
bus downtown, see a movie.
Ambrose got up and headed for the bus stop. I folded my
paper, put it under my arm, and crossed the street, intend-
ing to go over to the poolhall, a half-block down from the
crazy girl’s front porch. I reached the girl’s side of the
street and stepped over the curb when I heard a yell--
“Baagh, Maa-baagh.”
The crazy girl came running out from behind a trash shed
standing to the side of her building.
“Baagh, Maa-baagh ....”
The gibberish came out of a gaping mouth that showed
small, spaced teeth and heavy gums. I saw thick candy red
and white syrup drooling down her lips. In both her hands
she gripped four red and white, barberpole-striped candy
canes, most of them sucked down to slender spikes of hard
sugar pocked with tiny, wet holes.
She turned and pointed back toward the trash shed. “Baagh,
Maa-ba-agh” When she turned I saw a run of blood stream
out from a two deep gashes in her neck and disappear inside
her blouse, then molt through, pooling a dirty reddish brown
on the green fabric over her right breast.
“Oh ... girl. What is it?"
The girl was standing less than a foot from me with one cane-
holding hand on my arm. I pointed to the fang-like wounds
on her neck. She pulled me toward the shed. Her breath was
confection and I saw for the first time a pair of light green eyes,
long black lashes and perfect skin-- take her mouth away and
she was beautiful.
Here I am think about a girl's looks when apparently she had
just been attacked and bitten by a snake.
Right then her mother burst out the front door of their build-
ing— “Oh Dolly! Dolly. Dolly. Are you bothering Mr. Ren-
aud?” The girl nodded her head and touched the two bloody
holes in her neck--
“Baagh …”
**
It was too hot in the movie theatre. Yank found a diner with
a window-cooling unit. He ordered ice tea and pulled a note-
book out of his pocket and started writing.
"Might as well earn a buck or two ... let's see. Where did I
leave off? Yes, here ..."
The great blonde, Dolly, felt the python’s violent squeeze.
She screamed. "Baagh, Ma-baagh." and the serpent buried
his fangs in the great blonde’s neck. A thick syrup of blood
and saliva drooled out of her mouth and the animal con-
stricted, crushing the bones of Dolly's back.
Forty-some words.
.
**
Yank came in around midnight. I was listening to Midnight
Ballroom and Frankie Laine was singing, That’s My Desire.
I was half in a pint of Irish.
“She come out?” Yank helped himself to the bottle.
“Yeah, she came out, just like always, sat on the steps and
sucked her candy canes. I was headed over to the pool hall
when she stood up and started shouting something that
sounded like baagh Bbgh-- maafgag-- something.
Then, her mother came out, waved to me, and took the girl
inside."
Yank pulled his undershirt off and went to the window---
"You wonder what goes on in a crazy girl's mind."
##
Hayseed Huck