Jesus' Son: Stories by Denis Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Denis Johnson
nearly make out the tune. Famous movie stars rode bicycles beside a river, laughing out of their gigantic, lovely mouths. If anybody had come to see this show, they'd left when the weather started. Not one car remained, not even a broken-down one from last week, or one left here because it was out of gas. In a couple of minutes, in the middle of a whirling square dance, the screen turned black, the cinematic summer
A general greyness was giving birth to various shapes, it was true. "But which ones are close and which ones are far off?" I begged him to tell me.
By trial and error, with a lot of walking back and forth in wet shoes, we found the truck and sat inside it shivering.
"Let's get out of here," I said.
"We can't go anywhere without headlights."
"We've gotta get back. We're a long way from home."
"No, we're not."
"We must have come three hundred miles."
"We're right outside town, Fuckhead. We've just been driving around and around."
"This is no place to camp. I hear the Interstate over there."
"We'll just stay here till it gets late. We can drive home late. We'll be invisible."
We listened to the big rigs going from San Francisco to Pennsylvania along the Interstate, like shudders down a long hacksaw blade, while the snow buried us.
Eventually Georgie said, "We better get some milk for those bunnies."
"We don't have milk " 1 said.
"We'll mix sugar up with it."
"Will you forget about this milk all of a sudden?"
"They're mammals, man."
"Forget about those rabbits."
"Where are they, anyway?"
"You're not listening to me. I said, 'Forget the rabbits.' "
"Where are they?"
The truth was I'd forgotten all about them, and they were dead.
"They slid around behind me and got squashed," I said tearfully.
"They slid around behind?"
He watched while I pried them out from behind my back.
I picked them out one at a time and held them in my hands and we looked at them. There were eight. They weren't any bigger than my fingers, but everything was there.
Little feet! Eyelids! Even whiskers! "Deceased," I said.
Georgia asked, "Does everything you touch turn to shit? Does this happen to you every time?"
"No wonder they call me Fuckhead."
"It's a name that's going to stick."
"I realize that."
" 'Fuckhead' is gonna ride you to your grave."
"I just said so. I agreed with you in advance," I said.
Or maybe that wasn't the time it snowed. Maybe it was the time we slept in the truck and I rolled over on the bunnies and flattened them. It doesn't matter. What's important for me to remember now is that early the next morning the snow was melted off the windshield and the daylight woke me up. A mist covered everything and, with the sunshine, was beginning to grow sharp and strange. The bunnies weren't a problem yet, or they'd already been a problem and were already forgotten, and there was nothing on my mind. I felt the beauty of the morning. I could understand how a drowning man might suddenly feel a deep thirst being quenched. Or how the slave might become a friend to his master. Georgie slept with his face right on the steering wheel.
I saw bits of snow resembling an abundance of blossoms on the stems of the drive-in speakers--- no, revealing the blossoms that were always there. A bull elk stood still in the pasture beyond the fence, giving off an air of authority and stupidity. And a coyote jogged across the pasture and faded away among the saplings.
That afternoon we got back to work in time to resume everything as if it had never stopped happening and we'd never been anywhere else.
"The Lord," the intercom said, "is my shepherd." It did that each evening because this was a Catholic hospital. "Our Father, who art in Heaven," and so on.
"Yeah, yeah," Nurse said.
The man with the knife in his head, Terrence Weber, was released around suppertime. They'd kept him overnight and
A general greyness was giving birth to various shapes, it was true. "But which ones are close and which ones are far off?" I begged him to tell me.
By trial and error, with a lot of walking back and forth in wet shoes, we found the truck and sat inside it shivering.
"Let's get out of here," I said.
"We can't go anywhere without headlights."
"We've gotta get back. We're a long way from home."
"No, we're not."
"We must have come three hundred miles."
"We're right outside town, Fuckhead. We've just been driving around and around."
"This is no place to camp. I hear the Interstate over there."
"We'll just stay here till it gets late. We can drive home late. We'll be invisible."
We listened to the big rigs going from San Francisco to Pennsylvania along the Interstate, like shudders down a long hacksaw blade, while the snow buried us.
Eventually Georgie said, "We better get some milk for those bunnies."
"We don't have milk " 1 said.
"We'll mix sugar up with it."
"Will you forget about this milk all of a sudden?"
"They're mammals, man."
"Forget about those rabbits."
"Where are they, anyway?"
"You're not listening to me. I said, 'Forget the rabbits.' "
"Where are they?"
The truth was I'd forgotten all about them, and they were dead.
"They slid around behind me and got squashed," I said tearfully.
"They slid around behind?"
He watched while I pried them out from behind my back.
I picked them out one at a time and held them in my hands and we looked at them. There were eight. They weren't any bigger than my fingers, but everything was there.
Little feet! Eyelids! Even whiskers! "Deceased," I said.
Georgia asked, "Does everything you touch turn to shit? Does this happen to you every time?"
"No wonder they call me Fuckhead."
"It's a name that's going to stick."
"I realize that."
" 'Fuckhead' is gonna ride you to your grave."
"I just said so. I agreed with you in advance," I said.
Or maybe that wasn't the time it snowed. Maybe it was the time we slept in the truck and I rolled over on the bunnies and flattened them. It doesn't matter. What's important for me to remember now is that early the next morning the snow was melted off the windshield and the daylight woke me up. A mist covered everything and, with the sunshine, was beginning to grow sharp and strange. The bunnies weren't a problem yet, or they'd already been a problem and were already forgotten, and there was nothing on my mind. I felt the beauty of the morning. I could understand how a drowning man might suddenly feel a deep thirst being quenched. Or how the slave might become a friend to his master. Georgie slept with his face right on the steering wheel.
I saw bits of snow resembling an abundance of blossoms on the stems of the drive-in speakers--- no, revealing the blossoms that were always there. A bull elk stood still in the pasture beyond the fence, giving off an air of authority and stupidity. And a coyote jogged across the pasture and faded away among the saplings.
That afternoon we got back to work in time to resume everything as if it had never stopped happening and we'd never been anywhere else.
"The Lord," the intercom said, "is my shepherd." It did that each evening because this was a Catholic hospital. "Our Father, who art in Heaven," and so on.
"Yeah, yeah," Nurse said.
The man with the knife in his head, Terrence Weber, was released around suppertime. They'd kept him overnight and
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