Naked Lunch Page #6

Yves with the wonderful car.

He has a wonderful car?

The most wonderful car.

Enjoying the ride?

I'm wild about it, yes.

Thank you.

It's good to be wild sometimes.

You know, I have often thought of

that funny story you told me...

the first time we met on the beach.

The one about the Duc de Ventre.

At first I didn't know how to take it.

I thought you were

making a pass at me.

Did I ever tell you about the man

who taught his a**hole to talk?

His whole abdomen would move up and

down, you dig, farting out the words.

It was unlike anything I ever heard.

Bubbly, thick, stagnant sound.

A sound you could smell.

This man worked for the carnival,you dig?

And to start with it was

like a novelty ventriloquist act.

After a while,

the ass started talking on its own.

He would go in

without anything prepared...

and his ass would ad-lib

and toss the gags back at him every time.

Then it developed sort of teethlike...

little raspy incurving hooks

and started eating.

He thought this was cute at first

and built an act around it...

but the a**hole would eat its way through

his pants and start talking on the street...

shouting out it wanted equal rights.

It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags.

Nobody loved it.

And it wanted to be kissed,

same as any other mouth.

Finally, it talked all the time,

day and night.

You could hear him for blocks,

screaming at it to shut up...

beating at it with his fists...

and sticking candles up it, but...

nothing did any good,

and the a**hole said to him...

"It is you who will shut up

in the end, not me...

"because we don't need you

around here anymore.

I can talk and eat and sh*t."

After that, he began waking up

in the morning with transparentjelly...

like a tadpole's tail

all over his mouth.

He would tear it off his mouth

and the pieces would stick to his hands...

like burning gasoline jelly

and grow there.

So, finally, his mouth sealed over...

and the whole head...

would have amputated spontaneously

except for the eyes, you dig?

That's the one thing

that the a**hole couldn't do was see.

It needed the eyes.

Nerve connections were blocked...

and infiltrated and atrophied.

So, the brain couldn't

give orders anymore.

It was trapped inside the skull...

sealed off.

For a while, you could see...

the silent, helpless suffering

of the brain behind the eyes.

And then finally

the brain must have died...

because the eyes went out...

and there was no more feeling in them

than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk.

You seem to like my little friend.

I'm so glad.

I'm writing a business piece

on corporate life in North Africa.

Oh, my, my.

We are fragile today, aren't we?

He has to get to know you first.

Oh, does he?

Well, let's see what we can do, then.

Kiki, will you come

and see the parrots with me?

There are cages in the master bedroom.

I, um, don't think I can, Mr. Cloquet.

That is, I don't really want to.

I'd particularly like to interview

a certain Dr. Benway.

Kiki doesn't seem to find my parrots

attractive anymore. Isn't that sad?

Kiki would love to play

with your parrots, Yves...

but Kiki is as anxious to contact

this Benway character as I am.

Fadela, the witch

who works for the Frosts...

she and Benway are...

intimates.

You didn't hear it from me.

Kiki?

Go see the f***ing parrots,

will you, Kiki? I gotta take a piss.

Then I'll come and get you,

and we'll go home.

Pissoir's at the end of the great hall.

Kiki.

Kiki.

Kiki.

Hello, Bill. What's up?

Something the matter?

You seem distracted.

I wish you'd say something.

I don't like this mood, Bill.

- Are we going out?

- You're going out.

Why don't you just write something

and calm yourself down?

You're obviously not

in a professional state of mind.

Maybe I should write about

your little double cross.

You expected me to end up in that

parrot cage with Cloquet, didn't you?

Bill, are you thinking

of getting rid of me?

I think an exchange of hostages

is the only viable scenario.

No, really, Bill,

if you get rid of me...

you sever ties with reality.

For instance, take the case of-

Oh! Careful!

Of the female agent who forgot

her real identity and merged with her cover story.

She is still a fricoteuse in Annexia.

And incidentally,you can make a square,

heterosex citizen queer...

with this angle using drugs-

Tom...

I've brought you a new typewriter...

which conveniently dispenses

two types of intoxicating fluids...

when it likes what you've written.

Are you proposing to trade back

for your Clark Nova?

Thinking of it.

Has it written

anything good for you lately?

No. It's too damned

all-American for my taste.

Guess I've gone foreign or something.

Well, my Mugwriter here

is so foreign, it's almost alien.

You're gonna do

your best work on her. Guaranteed.

Hafid, bring the machine

in question for Bill, will you?

And how are you enjoying

your affair with Joan?

Literate, complex and neurotic,

I would imagine.

I haven't seen her for weeks.

She ran off with Fadela and her coven.

Oh, that's too bad.

Yes, she does that

when she feels attracted to a man.

Don't give up though.

It's-It's a good sign.

With Joanie...

the courtship period can involve

years of passionate ambivalence.

Tom, I think we should

take a close look at his machine first...

test it thoroughly.

Don't you, Tom?

You both have different writing styles.

Bill Lee has always been a man

of powerful instinct, Hafid.

If he says I'll do

my best work on his machine...

well, I'm sure that's prophecy.

Take the gun, too, Bill.

No American should find himself

in a foreign land without a pistol.

You wouldn't be trying to set me up again,

now, would you, Tom?

Well, you've set yourself up already, Bill.

I'm just trying to give you

a fighting chance. That's all.

Clark Nova.

Clark Nova, it's me.

It's - It's Bill Lee.

Clark Nova, speak to me.

You're safe with me now.

They tortured me...

did unspeakable things to me.

I'm on my last legs.

The bastards.

Clark Nova, where is Joan?

Where's Joan?

Hans's old drug factory in the medina.

Fadela is there.

Fadela is your point of penetration

into Interzone, Inc.

Fadela.

Uh, what do I -

what do I do when I find her?

You'll know what to do

when the time comes.

Just remember this -

all agents defect...

and all resisters sell out.

That's the sad truth, Bill.

And a writer-

a writer lives the sad truth like anyone else.

The only difference is -

he files a report on it.

Leave me now...

before it's too late.

But wait. What aboutJoan?

What aboutJoan?

Go now!

Vaya con dios.

Clark Nova. Clark Nova -

Hurry. Hurry.

Come on.

Your notes must be much more

carefully detailed to be of any use to us.

You must write very clearly.

The effects of the drugs

must be cataloged...

with painstaking accuracy.

-Joan.

- Hmm?

-Joan.

- Bill.

Oh, Bill.

No.

No.

What is that?

What are you writing?

I'm writing...

"All is lost...

...all is lost."

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