Book of Sketches - Jack Kerouac [9]
The bedroom has
pastel green walls;
the crib in the corner’s
now only for toys —
Polo Pony for water,
a balloon; rubber
naked doll; black
lamb — At foot
of bed a hamper
full of further toys —
On a little table
with flowery tablecloth
a small standing
library of Childrens
books — A huge
double bed, four posts,
the little Prince
gets up on it &
walks around —
He opens the
hamper, “Jackie!
know what? I
found a rake!”
Holding toy rake.
“You can work on
the track.”
On the open hamper
cover they hammer
their horses. “This
is gonna be a
horse race.” Paul
finds a track from
his Lionel Train box.
“Are they glad?”
“Yes.”
“Here comes another
straight track!”
— to distinguish from
curve tracks —
“Dont let em go
Jackie!” he calls
from the track
box.
“I wont.”
“Ding ding ding!”
shouts Paul pounding
with a railroad stop
sign on the hamper.
“Ding ding racehorse!
Ding ding track!”
Jackie: “One of em’s our
main horse!”
“Huh?”
“This one’s our
main horse.”
“Pah-owl the
horses are goin out
in the tunnel! — ”
“The train’s not
comin down that
way. I better
make a turn race.
No — ” adjusting
curvetrack to straight
track — “no, gotta
git anodder race
track — You
better help me
Jackie.”
“Why?”
“Cause — Cause
this is a hard track.
Sure. Sure is.
Now let me put a
track right here.
Hard. This hard.”
“Now it’s goin
right around that
tunnel. Paul we’re
gonna have a whole
lot. We have
crow-co-dals — ”
“If you mess up
that train track
one more — I’ll
shoot ya!”
Jackie: “Talkin to me?”
Paul: “Shoo — flooshy you.”
Outside, in gold
day, the weeping
willows of Buddy Tom
Harris hang heavy
& languid & beauteous
in the hour of life;
the little boys are
not aware of
God, of Universal
Love, & the vast
earth bulging in
the sun — they
are a part of
the swarming mystery
and of the salvation
— their eyes reflect
humanity & intelligence
—
In the kitchen the
little mother, letting
them play, bustles
& bangs around for
supper. Something
in the air presages
the arrival of the
father old man —
Soft breeze puffs
the drapes in Paul’s
room as he & Jackie
wriggle on the floor
“Hey Jackie — you
got it on the wrong way
aint ya? Now
put this in the back
— now fix it.
(Singing) I think
I’ll get on this train,
I think I’ll get
on that train,
I think I’ll get
on the ca-buss.
Broom! briam!”
lofting his wood
plane — screaming —
“Eee- yall —
gweyr! ” On
his belly, smiling, —
suddenly thinking
silently . . .
In the kitchen
changed to yellow
tailored shorts,
tailored gray vest
shirt, & white sandals
the little housewife
prepares supper. She
stands at the white
tile sink washing the
small squash under
the faucet — preliminary
maneuvers for
a steak supper she
decided upon at the
last minute —
“Hello Geneva —
he went to Henderson this
noon — I think he’ll
be back — bye — ”
— She slices them into
a glass bowl, standing
idly on one foot
with the other out-
thrust at rest —
the little boys now
playing outside —
The screendoor
slams out front —
“Hey!” cries
CaB not moving from
her work
“Hey Moe” greets
her husband —
He comes into the
kitchen, Panama
hat, white shirt, tie
— casual — tall,
husky, blond, hand-
some — smooth moving,
slow moving, relaxed
Southerner — He
has mail & that afternoon
at his mother’s
house in Henderson
50 miles away, while
on a business trip for the
tel. co., he went
thru his grandmother’s
trunk & found old
letters & a pair of
old diamond studded
cuff links, he stands
in the middle of the
kitchen reading the
old letter — written
by a lost girl to
his uncle Ed also
now lost — the sadness
of long lost enthusiasms
on ruled paper, in
pencil —
But now a storm
is coming — “It’s
gonna storm,” says
Jack — From the
west the ranked
forward-leaning
clouds come parading
— stationary puff
clouds of the calm
are snuffed &
taken up — From
the East big black
thunderhead with
his misty gloom
forms hugeing —
Directly above
the embattled roof
of the Blake’s the