the back seat, feeling diminished.
The k-taxi pulled out of the flow of traffic and stopped near the couple. Moldenke said he had his doubts about them. The taxi man said, “I like silence in the back.” Moldenke fell quiet, doubtful.
The woman knelt over a puddle of jelly in the gutter beneath her, favoring her stomach. The man, professorlike, approached the k-taxi, asking to be taken to a drugstore for a tin of “charcoal tablets” for the woman's stomach.
The taxi man said, “Is it raining?”
The professor said, “The weatherman said it was.”
The taxi man said, “Good enough. Get in.”
Moldenke sat forward. The taxi man said, “No yelling from the back. I always pick up extras in the rain.” Moldenke said it wasn't raining. The taxi man said, “And who are you?” Moldenke said never mind, sliding over in the seat.
The professorlike man pushed his woman into the back seat, sat himself in the front, his breath filling the k-taxi with the suggestion of peanuts. When the k-taxi made a curve in the boulevard the woman, in a stupor, leaned over on Moldenke, vomiting a jellylike substance into his trenchcoat pocket, her eyes like the eyes of boated fish. In the front the professor went to sleep.
The taxi man said, “You in the back. What do you think of these two?”
Moldenke said he wasn't thinking.
The taxi man said, “Watch this.” He peeled off one of the professor's eyebrows as he slept, threw it into the rear seat. “Check that, jocko. I don't like the way these two champs smell.” The eyebrow fell to the floor, lost itself in chewed pinegum, dirt, and flattened popcorn puffs.
The jelly soaked through Moldenke's coat and stuck one of his shirts to his chest.
The taxi man said, “The k-rules are clear on this point. I'll have to take these champs for a ride through the bottoms. No yelling in the back.”
They drove out of the city, down mud roads, down narrow roads of oyster shell, reflecting white, far from any suggestion of architecture. Mock pollen dusted the road hedge.
The professor continued to sleep, his lips hanging on his tie by a strand of latex.
At the end of roads the k-taxi stopped. The taxi man opened the glove box and took out a screw driver.
Moldenke said, “What now?”
The taxi man said, “Now we'll take a walk. You carry the woman.”
They walked into a grove of ethers, Moldenke carrying the woman over his shoulder, jelly dripping down the back of his trenchcoat. The taxi man pushed the professor along in front.
Two suns were up, close together.
They stopped walking, Moldenke put the woman down. The taxi man said, “Now you take a walk and never mind what I'm doing.”
Moldenke walked aimlessly under the ethers, snipes whistling above him. He sat on a log and waited. He heard the k-taxi drive off. He chewed a stonepick and forgot.
87]
Out of the hot room, dressed, Moldenke's hearts improved.
On a sawdust path in the arboretum he said, “I see you have banana plants. I thought they were gone forever.” He snorted, mock pollen on his hair and shoulders.
“So, Dink. Still you have the snorts. You're a plague, son. Just like the old days.”
“Old days? You seem to know me, Roquette. How well do you know me?”
“Roquelle, son. With two l's. I don't know you at all. One doesn't need a long-standing personal acquaintance to notice a snort, does he?”
“You mentioned the old days.”
“What about them? Tell me, who found whom in the bottoms? I could have left you there pissing your name in the pollen. Consider that.”
“How did you know about that? ”
“About that? What?”
“About pissing in the snow.”
“Did I say snow? I meant pollen. Pissing your name in the pollen. My apologies.” He extended the corn cob and Moldenke shook it.
“No, Roquette. You said pollen, but you meant snow. You know about that? How well do you know me?”
They passed a circle of jujube trees, Roquette picking a jujube fruit and eating it. “Eat a
The k-taxi pulled out of the flow of traffic and stopped near the couple. Moldenke said he had his doubts about them. The taxi man said, “I like silence in the back.” Moldenke fell quiet, doubtful.
The woman knelt over a puddle of jelly in the gutter beneath her, favoring her stomach. The man, professorlike, approached the k-taxi, asking to be taken to a drugstore for a tin of “charcoal tablets” for the woman's stomach.
The taxi man said, “Is it raining?”
The professor said, “The weatherman said it was.”
The taxi man said, “Good enough. Get in.”
Moldenke sat forward. The taxi man said, “No yelling from the back. I always pick up extras in the rain.” Moldenke said it wasn't raining. The taxi man said, “And who are you?” Moldenke said never mind, sliding over in the seat.
The professorlike man pushed his woman into the back seat, sat himself in the front, his breath filling the k-taxi with the suggestion of peanuts. When the k-taxi made a curve in the boulevard the woman, in a stupor, leaned over on Moldenke, vomiting a jellylike substance into his trenchcoat pocket, her eyes like the eyes of boated fish. In the front the professor went to sleep.
The taxi man said, “You in the back. What do you think of these two?”
Moldenke said he wasn't thinking.
The taxi man said, “Watch this.” He peeled off one of the professor's eyebrows as he slept, threw it into the rear seat. “Check that, jocko. I don't like the way these two champs smell.” The eyebrow fell to the floor, lost itself in chewed pinegum, dirt, and flattened popcorn puffs.
The jelly soaked through Moldenke's coat and stuck one of his shirts to his chest.
The taxi man said, “The k-rules are clear on this point. I'll have to take these champs for a ride through the bottoms. No yelling in the back.”
They drove out of the city, down mud roads, down narrow roads of oyster shell, reflecting white, far from any suggestion of architecture. Mock pollen dusted the road hedge.
The professor continued to sleep, his lips hanging on his tie by a strand of latex.
At the end of roads the k-taxi stopped. The taxi man opened the glove box and took out a screw driver.
Moldenke said, “What now?”
The taxi man said, “Now we'll take a walk. You carry the woman.”
They walked into a grove of ethers, Moldenke carrying the woman over his shoulder, jelly dripping down the back of his trenchcoat. The taxi man pushed the professor along in front.
Two suns were up, close together.
They stopped walking, Moldenke put the woman down. The taxi man said, “Now you take a walk and never mind what I'm doing.”
Moldenke walked aimlessly under the ethers, snipes whistling above him. He sat on a log and waited. He heard the k-taxi drive off. He chewed a stonepick and forgot.
87]
Out of the hot room, dressed, Moldenke's hearts improved.
On a sawdust path in the arboretum he said, “I see you have banana plants. I thought they were gone forever.” He snorted, mock pollen on his hair and shoulders.
“So, Dink. Still you have the snorts. You're a plague, son. Just like the old days.”
“Old days? You seem to know me, Roquette. How well do you know me?”
“Roquelle, son. With two l's. I don't know you at all. One doesn't need a long-standing personal acquaintance to notice a snort, does he?”
“You mentioned the old days.”
“What about them? Tell me, who found whom in the bottoms? I could have left you there pissing your name in the pollen. Consider that.”
“How did you know about that? ”
“About that? What?”
“About pissing in the snow.”
“Did I say snow? I meant pollen. Pissing your name in the pollen. My apologies.” He extended the corn cob and Moldenke shook it.
“No, Roquette. You said pollen, but you meant snow. You know about that? How well do you know me?”
They passed a circle of jujube trees, Roquette picking a jujube fruit and eating it. “Eat a
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