The Sea is My Brother by Jack Kerouac Read Free Book Online Page A

papers and preparing lecture notes; down at the bar with George Day, studying for his master’s, talking over beers and making wry observations on everything; plays, concerts, operas, lectures; rushing around carrying books shouting hellos to everyone; weekend wild parties with various acquaintances; then back to Sunday—the Times , those fine dinners of his sister’s, arguments at the table with her radio store owner of a husband, damn his smug hide, and a movie with Sonny at night in the Nemo, full of Columbia College students throwing things from the balcony. Then back to Monday morning, a class, a quick lunch at the Sandwich shop, reference work in the afternoon seated in the library, a quick beer before supper, and a lecture by Ogden Nash in McMillin at eight-thirty. Then back to the bar for a quick beer, long discussions with the boys—Day, Purcell, Fitzgerald, Gobel, Allen . . . as
drunken a mob of pseudo-scholars as he was ever privileged to behold—and finally home to a dying old father, a busybody sister, a self-appointed humorist of a brother-in-law, a noisy kid brother, and a horrible looking poodle dog.
    Bah! Then Everhart retires, placing his horn-rimmed glasses on the dresser, and stretches his pudgy frame in the bed and wonders what the hell it’s all leading to!
    Well, now it had come to this; at thirty-two, a queer-looking assistant professor, known amiably around the whole place as “Shortypants.” The price of trying to be unpretentious! Do like the others, radiate professorial dignity, and they will call you William or Professor Everhart. To hell with it!
    Lost? That poet’s word . . .
    â€œThinkin’ of shipping out?” Wesley interrupted the other’s reverie.
    Everhart directed a scowl toward him, still lost in his own thoughts; but he finally answered: “If only for a change, yes.”
    â€œLet’s have another beer,” suggested Wesley.
    Everhart had to laugh: “We’d better be getting back, the girls are waiting for the eggs and us.”
    Wesley waved a scoffing hand.
    They had more beer; and more. In forty-five minutes or so, they each consumed eight glasses of cold, needling
ale. They decided to go back. Everhart felt decidedly tingling by this time. All through breakfast he told them all he was shipping out with Wesley, repeating his decision at measured intervals. George Day, who had by this time risen, sat eating his breakfast with an ill-tempered scowl, munching quite noisily and with no acknowledgement of the presence of the others.
    Everhart, feeling quite gay from the beer, slapped George on the back and invited him to go shipping in the Merchant Marine with him. George turned up a drawn, rather gloomy countenance, and with the help of an already dour face, heavy with tired flesh, he made it known that he was averse to the suggestion.
    Ginger drew a toast from the grill and laughed: “Don’t you have a class this morning, Georgie?”
    Day mumbled something that sounded like “Ancient History of the Near East and Greece.”
    â€œPoof!” scoffed Everhart, flourishing his fork, “Come with me and see the Near East.”
    George snuffed briefly down his nose and muttered through a mouthful of toast: “You don’t think, do you Everhart, I’m taking the course because I want to know something about the Near East. The Near East is as dear to me as a glass of milk.”

    â€œHa!” shouted Everhart. “Port Said! Alexandria! The Red Sea! There’s your East . . . I’m going to see it!”
    George belched quietly, excusing himself after a moment of afterthought.
    Polly, perched on Wesley’s lap, ruffled his hair and wanted to know if he had a cigarette. While Wesley drew a package from his coat pocket, the girl bit his ear and breathed warmly into it.
    â€œNow, now Polly!” giggled Ginger.
    After breakfast, Ginger shooed them all out and locked the door. She had