Balls by Julian Tepper & Julian

Author:Julian Tepper & Julian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2013-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

FIVE

In a taxi in traffic on 34th, Henry, feeling deeply unstable, tried turning his anguish into art. He saw that it all wanted to come out of him at once, every thought, in the honking and braking of the cars and the shadow of the Empire State Building, which loomed above, reminding him to forget his flagging health and Paula, and Moss, and think bigger than he’d ever in the past. The full crowds of people rushing along the sidewalks urged him to throw sharp elbows into a bridge for Castrated New York.

Writing on a New York City Cryobank receipt, the lyrics came quickly:

Lift up your chins,

Castrated citizens,

You didn’t pay,

To have Upper Broadway,

Turned into a thoroughfare,

Which could be anywhere,

That would be the,

Developers of our city,

Those venal scumbag pricks,

And the politicians who suck,

Their dicks.

Henry carefully reread the lines. He realized they were too something. Certainly not it.

Placing anxious fingers to his head he searched for the right words. By the time he’d walked into his apartment he’d yet to find them. Paula called out to him when she heard the door slam shut.

Henry? You’re back?

He cringed. He’d forgotten she’d said she would wait here for him. He didn’t want to talk to her or see her face. He went straight to his piano. The bridge was being teased out in his head. The new lyrics did have a certain lyrical punch, however, the words venal scumbag pricks/and the politicians who suck/their dicks were too much. He had to find another, more tasteful, way to say exactly the same thing. He heard Paula approaching from behind. His shoulders tensed.

How did it go with the doctor? she asked.

Without facing her, he said, Fine.

He wanted her gone. A pile of blank sheet music sat on the piano, and he took those pages and began to straighten them. How would he get her out of here? He must figure a way. Slapping the sheet music to the keys, he said to her:

I can’t be bothered. I have a new song that I need to work on.

He felt positive, hoped with all his person, that his words would penetrate to her most vulnerable parts. A little cruelty to get her out the door.

That wasn’t what happened. Instead, with intense satisfaction, she cried, A new song!

Struggling for poise, Henry said, I wrote it last night, and I’ve already decided to bring a demo of it to Zachary Walbaum before my procedure Monday.

She said, Really? Zachary Walbaum?

Really. Him. And I’m sure this is the song.

Which song?

Which song? Which song? Henry mocked her. The one about New York.

She said, I thought you’d given up on that.

No, never given up, only put the song on hold for the sake of my sanity.

That makes sense.

I’m glad you agree, he said, feeling himself inch closer to a breakdown.

Paula, in an almost joyful state, pulled him by the hand to the piano. She said, You’ve got to play it for me.

No.

I want to hear it, she said. She fell into a chair beside the piano, crossing one leg over the other to show him she was a ready, eager audience.

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