Set Fire to the Stars Page #5

Their father was diabetic.

He made Billy get some Drano

from the garage

and together we filled the hypo.

He even made Billy hold

the bottle steady.

Delilah could sense something was up

before I tipped her out of the box.

Tommy wouldn't let up.

He just kept pushing...

I knew there was no going back.

I popped her with the needle.

Pushed it all the way.

This mouse, this...

tiny little thing...

balloons up in my hand.

Like bubblegum.

Tommy was pissing himself.

Laughing.

Billy wasn't watching.

Not anymore.

This thing in my hand, it just...

splits wide open.

I'm frozen.

I can hear Tommy still laughing.

My face is wet...

And I start to realise it's not

just because I've been crying.

It really was hot that summer.

Well, bravo.

That's certainly a...

memorable little story, John.

If not technically scary.

Tell that to the mice, Stan.

I'm so sorry.

Let him go.

Seems I was wrong about this pigsty.

Who needs New York

when you've neighbours like that?

This place is hell on wheels. I like it.

How's your jaw?

I'll survive.

Though I may be reading

at Yale with a lisp.

Might make myself sound better.

What happened to those boys?

They grew up.

Billy moved west.

Tommy?

I heard he died in the war.

Somewhere in the Pacific.

There are times I prefer

the human race when it sleeps.

When we dream.

That's quite a romantic notion

for a dollar-mad nightingale.

Perhaps you should write about it.

Perhaps I will.

John Malcolm Brinnin.

Perhaps I bloody will.

Don't leave me to Stanley.

He wants to talk Mantovani.

Just give me a moment.

Sh*t. Oh.

What time is it?

Did I miss anything?

Oh, sorry, honey.

Let's have a drink.

You know, I had another bottle...

Take me home, Stanley.

- Hello boss-man.

- How's Superman?

He's super. I'll pass him on

when I've finished.

- Good night, Dylan.

- Good night... and John?

I am ready.

Yale, John.

Sleep well, yes?

Dylan. Time to get up.

Dylan?

You bastard.

Get up!

John!

You're a hard man to get hold of, John.

You've had half the Upper

East Side looking for you both.

We were getting worried that John here

had shanghaied you off to Venus,

Jupiter, Mars...

No, just Connecticut.

Mr. Torrance, isn't it?

Mr. Thomas.

Once again the pleasure is all yours.

Gentlemen? Shall we?

"And death shall have no dominion

Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind

and the west moon

When their bones are picked clean

and the clean bones gone

They shall have stars at elbow and foot

Though they go mad they shall be sane

Though they sink through the sea

they shall rise again

Though lovers be lost

Love shall not

And death shall have no dominion

Under the windings of the sea

They lying long shall not die windily

Twisting on racks when sinews give way

Strapped to a wheel

yet they shall not break"

So, how are you finding America,

Mr. Thomas?

Very big.

Especially when you have no friends.

Well, hopefully that will be rectified

here in Connecticut.

I understand Mr. Thomas's

next port of call is Boston?

- Isn't that right, John?

- Harvard.

It's an Ivy League thing.

Friendly rivalry.

Some of us might debate

the very definition of friendly.

Speaking as a son of Eli,

the 1935 Game left me

in traction till Christmas.

You were a Bulldog?

Tailback.

Last game I played.

Those Crimsons played rough house.

Two bust ribs and an open leg fracture.

But it was worth it. 14-7.

Boola, boola, boola, boola

A fellow poet?

You might have some competition,

Mr. Thomas.

Wasn't Gerald Ford assistant

varsity coach back in '35?

- He was indeed, sir.

- Yeah.

The Congressman's Congressman.

We could use some of that Bulldog

spirit in the House right now.

What do you think, Mr. Brinnin?

John here is a Cantab.

His Eli sympathies may be...

a little spare.

Well, University of Michigan, actually.

I did graduate work at Harvard.

Don't be hard on, John.

He's promised me the two things

I seek most from America.

What might they be, Mr. Thomas?

To meet Charlie Chaplin

and have a date

with an ash blonde movie star.

I take it he doesn't mean Lassie.

Do you have something to say,

Mr. Thomas?

Gentlemen...

at times like this,

I wish we were all hermaphrodites.

Why do you wish that?

Because...

then we could all f*** ourselves!

There was a girl called Alice

Who used a dynamite stick as a phallus.

They found her vagina in North Carolina

And bits of her tits in Dallas!

Oh, don't go...

I've got plenty more in the tank.

Perhaps another time.

I must excuse Mr. Thomas's

volubility in...

We're all grown ups here, John.

That's debatable.

A whore from Timbuktu

Filled her vagina with glue

She said with a grin,

"If they pay to get in,

They can pay to get out again too!"

There was a plumber from Leigh

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea

She said, "Stop your plumbing

Somebody's coming."

And the plumber still plumbing said...

"It's me."

This is better than Coney Island.

Who knew a poet could be so versatile?

Do you think Auden or Eliot

do this sort of thing?

Maybe one hula hoops

while the other plays trumpet?

You wanna see a versatile poet?

First, I'm gonna drink this

bottle of Scotch.

Then, I'm gonna look for

a bottle of vodka.

It's not that funny.

Yeah. Yeah, it is.

You want to know why?

You're not even a poet anymore.

Hey, don't shoot the messenger.

You made your bed. New vocation.

You're a sideshow huckster now.

With your very own circus bear.

Well, I guess you would know

about that sort of thing.

Is that how you danced for Loomis

and the school committee?

Turning tricks for monkey nuts?

Slow down, mister.

You forget who you're talking to.

Actually, I've been asking myself

that very question these last few days.

Who are you, Jack?

I don't know.

Just who the hell are you?

I'm the guy who could have

saved your ass.

But it is too late now, because your star

act told the Provost of Yale

to go f*** himself.

No, strike that.

The Provost, the Vice-Chancellor,

the Associate Vice-Chancellor,

Endowed Professors

and half the collegiate board

of governors. Yale.

F***ing Yale.

What? What's so funny?

To Jack. Good ol' Jack.

There is just one thing

I wanted to know.

What was your angle?

It's been bugging me.

Professional jealousy?

Proving inadequacy on my part?

Did you want the

sponsorship money for yourself?

What is it?

Or, or... another paternity suit?

Damn! Those cheerleaders...

You f*ggot.

Get over it. You're done.

Poor John.

I did warn you.

Hold on to the straps, kid.

When I'm done,

you're going to be teaching Mother Goose

to Polak kids up in Greenpoint.

She was a fishmonger

and it was no wonder

As were her mother and father before

They both wheeled

their barrows through streets

Broad and narrow,

crying cockles and mussels

Alive a-live-oh

Alive a-live-oh alive a-live-oh

Crying cockles and mussels

alive a-live-oh

She was...

She died of a fever

No one could relieve her

And that was the end of sweet...

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