Welcome to the Monkey House - Kurt Vonnegut [135]
"Gosh," said Willy brokenly, "he didn’t even get to see how the Five-Hundred-Mile Speedway Race was going to come out."
"Or the World’s Series," said Eddie.
"Or whether Mrs. McGarvey got her eyesight back," said Morty.
"There’s more," said Lou, and he began reading aloud again: " ’I, Harold D. Schwartz... do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my last Will and Testament, hereby revoking any and all former will and codicils by me at any time heretofore made.’ "
"No!" cried Willy. "Not another one!"
" ’I do stipulate,’ " read Lou, " ’that all of my property, of whatsoever kind and nature, not be divided, but do devise and bequeath it to be held in common by my issue, without regard for generation, equally, share and share alike.’ "
"Issue?" said Emerald.
Lou included the multitude in a sweep of his hand. "It means we all own the whole damn shootin’ match."
All eyes turned instantly to the bed.
"Share and share alike?" said Morty.
"Actually," said Willy, who was the oldest person present, "it’s just like the old system, where the oldest people head up things with their headquarters in here, and—"
"I like that!" said Em. "Lou owns as much of it as you do, and I say it ought to be for the oldest one who’s still working. You can snooze around here all day, waiting for your pension check, and poor Lou stumbles in here after work, all tuckered out, and—"
"How about letting somebody who’s never had any privacy get a little crack at it?" said Eddie hotly. "Hell, you old people had plenty of privacy back when you were kids. I was born and raised in the middle of the goddam barracks in the hall! How about—"
"Yeah?" said Morty. "Sure, you’ve all had it pretty tough, and my heart bleeds for you. But try honeymooning in the hall for a real kick."
"Silence!" shouted Willy imperiously. "The next person who opens his mouth spends the next six months by the bathroom. Now clear out of my room. I want to think."
A vase shattered against the wall, inches above his head. In the next moment, a free-for-all was underway, with each couple battling to eject every other couple from the room. Fighting coalitions formed and dissolved with the lightning changes of the tactical situation. Em and Lou were thrown into the hall, where they organized others in the same situation, and stormed back into the room.
After two hours of struggle, with nothing like a decision in sight, the cops broke in.
For the next half-hour, patrol wagons and ambulances hauled away Schwartzes, and then the apartment was still and spacious.
An hour later, films of the last stages of the riot were being televised to 500,000,000 delighted viewers on the Eastern Seaboard.
In the stillness of the three-room Schwartz apartment on the 76th floor of Building 257, the television set had been left on. Once more the air was filled with the cries and grunts and crashes of the fray, coming harmlessly now from the loudspeaker.
The battle also appeared on the screen of the television set in the police station, where the Schwartzes and their captors watched with professional interest.
Em and Lou were in adjacent four-by-eight cells, and were stretched out peacefully on their cots.
"Em—" called Lou through the partition, "you got a washbasin all your own too?"
"Sure. Washbasin, bed, light—the works. Ha! And we thought Gramps’ room was something. How long’s this been going on?" She held out her hand. "For the first time in forty years, hon, I haven’t got the shakes."
"Cross your fingers," said Lou, "the lawyer’s going to try to get us a year."
"Gee," said Em dreamily, "I wonder what kind of wires you’d have to pull to get solitary?"
"All right, pipe down," said the turnkey, "or I’ll toss the whole kit and caboodle of you right out. And first one who lets on to anybody outside how good jail is ain’t never getting back in!"
The prisoners instantly fell silent.
The living room of