The Dharma Bums - Jack Kerouac [92]
“Ronald Firbank,” said Coughlin.
“I guess the only real poets in the country, outside the orbit of this little backyard, are Doctor Musial, who’s probably muttering behind his living-room curtains right now, and Dee Sampson, who’s too rich. That leaves us dear old Japhy here who’s going away to Japan, and our wailing friend Gold-book and our Mr. Coughlin, who has a sharp tongue. By God, I’m the only good one here. At least I’ve got an honest anarchist background. At least I had frost on my nose, boots on my feet, and protest in my mouth.” He stroked his mustache.
“What about Smith?”
“Well I guess he’s a Bodhisattva in its frightful aspect, ’ts about all I can say.” (Aside, sneering: “He’s too drrronk all the time.”)
Henry Morley also came that night, only for a short while, and acted very strange sitting in the background reading Mad comic books and the new magazine called Hip, and left early with the remark “The hotdogs are too thin, do you think that’s a sign of the times or are Armour and Swift using stray Mexicans you think?” Nobody talked to him except me and Japhy. I was sorry to see him leave so soon, he was ungraspable as a ghost, as ever. Nevertheless he had worn a brand-new brown suit for the occasion, and suddenly he was gone.
Up the hill meanwhile, where the stars nodded on trees, occasional couples were sneaking up to neck or just brought jugs of wine and guitars up and had separate little parties in our shack. It was a great night. Japhy’s father finally came, after work, and he was a tight-built little tough guy just like Japhy, balding a little, but completely energetic and crazy just like his son. He immediately began dancing wild mambos with the girls while I beat madly on a can. “Go, man!” You never saw a more frantic dancer: he stood there, bending way back till he was almost falling over, moving his loins at the girl, sweating, eager, grinning, glad, the maddest father I ever saw. Just recently at his daughter’s wedding he had broken up the lawn reception by rushing out on his hands and knees with a tiger skin on his back, snapping at the ladies’ heels and barking. Now he took a tall almost sixfoot gal by the name of Jane and swung her around and almost knocked over the bookcase. Japhy kept wandering to all sections of the party with a big jug in his hand, his face beaming with happiness. For a while the party in the living room emptied out the bonfire clique and soon Psyche and Japhy were doing a mad dance, then Sean leaped up and whirled her around and she made as if to swoon and fell right in between Bud and me sitting on the floor drumming (Bud and I who never had girls of our own and ignored everything) and lay there a second sleeping on our laps. We puffed on our pipes and drummed on. Polly Whitmore kept hanging around the kitchen helping Christine with the cooking and even turning out a batch of delicious cookies of her own. I saw she was lonely because Psyche was there and Japhy wasn’t hers so I went over to grab her by the waist but she looked at me with such fear I didn’t do anything. She seemed to be terrified of me. Princess was there with her new boyfriend and she too was pouting in a corner.
I said to Japhy “What the hell you gonna do with all these broads? Ain’t you gonna give me one?”
“Take whichever one you want. I’m neutral tonight.”
I went out to the bonfire to hear Cacoethes’ latest witticisms. Arthur Whane was sitting on a log, well dressed, necktie and suit, and I went over and asked him “Well what is Buddhism? Is it fantastic imagination magic of the lightning flash, is it plays, dreams, not even plays, dreams?”
“No, to me Buddhism is getting to know as many people as possible.” And there he was going around the party real affable shaking hands with everybody and chatting, a regular cocktail party. The party inside was getting more and more frantic. I began to dance with the tall girl myself. She was wild. I wanted to sneak her up on the hill with a jug but her husband was there.