Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby Jr

Author:Hubert Selby Jr. [Selby, Hubert Jr.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780141966212
Publisher: Grove Press
Published: 1965-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

CODA

Landsend

How much less in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which are crushed before the moth?

They are destroyed from morning to evening: they perish for ever without any regarding it. Doth not their excellency which is in them go away? They die, even without wisdom.

Job 4: 19–21

Mike Kelly told his wife ta go tahell and rolled over, covering his head with the blanket. Comeon, gut-up. We need milk and bread. He said nothing. Comeon Mike, I’ll be late for work. Still silent. Aw please get up Mike, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently pushing his shoulder. Wont yago to the store while I get dressed. Comeon. Mike turned over, knocking her hand from his shoulder, and leaned on his elbow. Look, go tawork and dont bother me, willya? turning back and falling on the bed, pulling the covers back over his head. Irene jerked up and noisily walked to the chair, yanked her clothing off it and started dressing. Youre a bastard Mike. Yahear me? a bastard, slamming down into the chair and putting her socks on. Get lost bitch before I break yahead. Irene continued to mumble as she dressed then stomped off to the bathroom and banged the door shut. Ya better stop the shit Irene or I’ll rapya. She faced the closed door and stuck her tongue out then turned both water faucets on quickly, the water splashing out of the basin. She jammed the stopper into the hole, still cursing Mike (the bastard), wrenched the faucets closed and threw the face cloth into the sink. She scrubbed her face, still muttering and Helen, her 3 year old daughter, knocked on the door. Irene jerked the door open. What do you want? Helen put her thumb in her mouth and stared at her mother. Well? Have to go peepee Mommy. Well, go ahead. Helen went to the bathroom and Irene rinsed then dried her face. Im going to be late. I just know it. She attacked her hair with a brush and Arthur, almost 18 months old, started crying. O god-DAMNit. She threw the hair brush into the tub (Helens thumb was still in her mouth and she waited until Irene left the bathroom before sliding off the seat, flushing the toilet and running in to the living room) and raged into the bedroom. The least yacan do is take care of the baby. Mike jerked up and shouted for her to get thehellout and leave him alone. Youre his mother you take care of him. Irene stamped her foot and her face flushed. If youd go out and get a job I could take care of him. He pulled the covers back over his head. Dont bother me. You bastard you. You – she yanked a jacket off a hanger, Arthur still wailing for a bottle, Helen sitting in the corner of the living room waiting for the argument to stop. Irene thrust her arms into the sleeves of the jacket.

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