Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur had passed. Sara knew it was going to be a good year. She followed a strict observance of Yom Kippur for the first time since she didnt know when. Not even a glass of tea she had. Only water. And her pills. Medicine she figured was different. It wasnt food. And it came from a doctor so it was medicine. But she fasted and atoned. She thought of Harry and a sadness flowed over her. She prayed for him. Again. How many times. She prayed she would see him. She would see him a poppa. It was a few weeks into the new year. Maybe more. Now she called the McDick Corp. a couple of times a week, sometimes in the morning after she had taken her purple, red and orange pills and had drunk a pot of coffee, and told them how they had to find her card and let her know what show she would be on. She couldnt wait, and are they sure they hadnt lost her card and maybe she should come down there and help them look and the girl she spoke to, whoever it might be, would get annoyed and feel like yelling at her but would stay calm as possible and tell her, firmly, that they didn’t need her help in doing their job and that she should relax and stop calling for Gods sake and they would eventually hang up and hope and pray that she wouldnt call again; but she would, after taking her tranquilizers she would call late in the afternoon and be sweet and tell the girl, whoever it might be, Youre such a nice girl, dolly, youll please check for me and see what show, I dont want to trouble you but so many people are asking and youre like a daughter to me, its like doing a favor for your mother and I promise I wont bother you again youre so sweet, and the girl would giggle and nod and shake her head and finally hang up the phone and Sara would go back to her viewing chair.
Winter came early. It seemed like there were a few lovely autumn days where the air was clear and crisp, the sky blue with white puffy clouds, the temperature warm and comforting in the sun and cool and invigorating in the shade. Days of absolute perfection. Then suddenly it was gray and windy and cold and rainy and then the sleet and snow came and even if you could find the sun it seemed to have lost its warmth. From time to time Marion fiddled with a sketch pad, but her hand seemed to be moving the pencil while the rest of her was completely detached from the action. Occasionally they would attempt to resurrect their enthusiasm for the coffee house, and their other plans, but for the most part they spent their time shooting dope and watching television or listening to music occasionally. Once in a while they went to a movie, but with the bad weather that interested them less and less. About the only time Harry went out now was to cop the stuff, and that was becoming more and more difficult. Every time they found somebody to cop from they went out of business for some damn reason. It seemed like the fuckin gods were against them. They had long since given up the idea of a pound of pure, though they consciously mentioned it once in a great while, and of getting uncut weight. They were content to score bundles, but now that was becoming a rarity. They were just getting what they could and using it all themselves, they couldnt even get enough to off to pay for their own stuff. At one time it seemed like they had a nice pile of bucks, now it seemed like they didnt have shit. Harry and Tyrone would discuss the situation and the amount of money remaining, and try to analyze what was happening, sifting through the various reasons they had heard for the shortage of dope, all plausible and equally far fetched. Some guys said the italian and the black gangs were fightin and other dudes said that was a bunch of mutha fuckin boolshit cause I heard it right from mah man there be a big bus on a ship carryin fifty mutha fuckin keys jim an— What the fuck you talkin about? They consciskate a hundred pounds a scag man an there be all kinds a headlines an the TV be spitting that ol dope shit all day. Sheeit, the man rip off that much stuff an we all be in mournin baby. Right on man, and he gave him five then they passed it around and the stories continued. But in the final analysis it didnt make any difference why. There was a problem and that was that. Why didnt make a fiddlers fuck and all they could do was to hang tough and hope the scene would break soon so they could get back where they were. They knew that sooner or later there would be dope all over the city, just like before. There was too much money involved for there not to be. Harry talked about it from time to time with Marion and, of course, the conversation was as fruitless as the ones with Tyrone. Except it did keep the bond between them cemented. As long as they could share they felt close and that was important. And whenever they started to feel the chills of fear and the grinding of anxiety they simply got off and melted all the cares and concerns away with its warmth. Sometimes they would fix up new cookers just for the sake of doing it. It was part of keeping house. The entire routine made them feel a part of something. It was something looked forward to with the greatest of joy and anticipation. The entire ritual was symbolic of their life and needs. The careful opening of the bag and the dumping in the cooker of the dope, and dropping in the water with the dropper. Making a new collar from time to time for the dropper so the needle would fit snugly, Harry using a piece of matchbook cover, Marion a piece from a dollar bill. Staring at the solution in the cooker as it heated and dissolved and then stirring the cotton around with the needle then drawing the solution up and into the dropper and holding the dropper in the mouth as they tied up and found a favorite vein, usually going into a previously made hole and feeling the spurt of excitement as the needle penetrated the vein and the blood spurted up the dropper and they let go of the tie around their arm and shot the shit into their arm and waited for that first flash of heat through their body and the warm swelling in the gut and they let the dropper fill up with blood and booted and then yanked it out and put it in the glass of water and rubbed the drops of blood off their arm and sat back feeling whole and invulnerable and safe and a lot of other things, but mostly whole.
But there was less and less dope out there. It seemed like each day it was just a little more difficult to get the dope and their phone rang constantly with calls from people looking for some. Occasionally they would get enough to sell and make some bread, but it seemed like most of the time they were using most of what they got. One night they couldnt get any at all. They kept getting promises from a couple of dudes that they would have some soon, but nothing came. Eventually they fell asleep with the aid of a few sleeping pills, but their bodies were shaking slightly and inwardly they were trembling. They had never gone to bed without having dope in the house for when they woke up. They had never thought of it in those terms before. Even with the hassles they were having lately, they always had enough for themselves, but now there wasnt a thing in the house, just the cottons they had been saving. They were going to use them, but through an intense exertion of will, and the use of downers and pot, they decided to save them for morning. Their sleep was worse than shallow. It was almost worse than being awake. They could feel their bodies sweating and could smell the sweat. They seemed to be freezing. The back of their heads and their stomachs seemed to be linked in pain, working together to bring about a nausea that continually threatened to erupt, but there was nothing there but the constant pressure of the pain and nausea; and with every breath their panic increased. Their anxiety grew and grew until it consumed their bodies and swelled in their chests and threatened to cut off their air and they gasped for air and sat up in the bed and looked around in the dark trying to identify whatever it was that had awakened them. They tried closing their eyes and going to sleep, but they couldnt tell the difference between sleep and being awake. They seemed to be caught in some sort of trap, and they tossed and moaned and finally Marion bolted up in bed, gasping for breath and Harry put the light on, You alright? Marion nodded, Must have had a bad dream I guess. She was still panting, her entire body heaving with each breath. Harry put his arm around her, Maybe we should use the cottons now? Do you think we should, its so early? Why not? Itll probably help you. Yes, I guess so. I/ll get the stuff. Alright. Harry went to the bathroom, and Marion got out of bed to be by his side when he divided the cottons, both feeling justified in using them so far ahead of schedule, feeling that the weight was off their backs, and the other had really suggested it. Saving cottons had started as a game, but now they were more like a life preserver. After they got off the dope, combined with the sleeping pills, had them nodding out and they went back to sleep for a few more hours, but this time they drifted into unconsciousness. The sun was shining when they awoke and they immediately went back to the cottons before doing anything else. There was a little something left, but not much. Harry got on the phone, but nothing was happening. They sat around stiffly smoking a few joints and trying to watch the television but even though they could hear the radiator clicking with steam, there was a cold chill in the air, a stiffness that surprised them but didnt occupy them for they had only one preoccupation, waiting to get some dope. A little before twelve Tyrone called to ask if anything was happening. No man, nothin. Ah just got a call from mah man downtown, he got some stuff so ahm on mah way. Great! How long will it takeya? Depen on traffic. Maybe a hour. Or less. Ah let you know when I get back. Groovy. I/ll hang around here in case somethin happens at this end. Later baby. Harry hung up the phone with an audible sigh. The room was suddenly warm and the barriers seemed to have been dissolved. They sat around talking, smoking, watching television with a hysterical and rigid nonchalance. Neither one wanted to be obvious and look at the clock, but they kept calculating the time mentally by the progress of the television show, feeling almost nauseous from the intensity of their anticipation. When the phone rang Harry did his best to just saunter over to it and pick it up carelessly, and Marion tried to assume an attitude of indifference, keeping her gaze on the television, but watching Harry out of the corner of her eye, a sharp twist of panic turning her head as she noticed the expression on Harrys face, No man, nothin yet. Try me later. She sighed inwardly, at least it wasnt Tyrone saying he didnt get anything. Harry sat back on the couch, A lot of people out there looking for something. Marion nodded, wanting to say something, but no words formed so her mouth remained closed and her eyes continued to watch the television screen, not seeing what was happening, but allowing it to help push the endless time a little faster. Harry moved to the far end of the couch so he would be closer to the phone and when it rang he stayed seated and just sort of reached over to it, the both of them feeling the immediate hush and press of silence and anticipation, as if all life and action in the room had been immediately suspended. Marion had his face clearly in view when it widened in a grin, Seeya man. Harry stood up, Tys back and hes straight. Marion stood, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible, yet unable to deny the struggle going on within her, I think I/ll ride over with you. I could use some fresh air. The life suddenly rushed back into the room and the stillness chattered and dissolved as they put on their coats and smiled at each other, suddenly feeling something huge and heavy flow from them, leaving them free to smile and talk. They couldnt believe what was happening within them, trying to deny its existence but not telling the other one about it, trying desperately to stay involved in meaningless conversation as they rode to Tyrones pad. There was a voice, loud and clear, saying they were hooked, but good, and they tried to shrug it away but it persisted, more as a feeling than a voice, that permeated their every cell just as the dope they were addicted to had already done, and they tried combating it with another voice saying so what, it was no big deal, they could stop any time they wanted to, it was no big thing and what else was there? things would straighten out soon and they tried to interest themselves in staring through the cab windows at the people fighting the wind and the cold, thinking of how soon they would feel that loving warm flush, and when they got to Tyrones they still tried to maintain the cool attitude and smile and joke for a few minutes as they took off their coats, consciously and deliberately not asking about the dope but feeling a wave of joy when they saw Alices eyes almost closed and Tyrone looking so cool, but eventually the taste in the back of their throats refused to allow them to continue the bullshit about the weather and they asked him about the stuff and he got out two bundles and they took a couple of bags and went in the bathroom and borrowed Tys works and got off and immediately all the thoughts and nightmares and fears and terrors of the previous night, the inner battles during the short day and ride to Tyrones, were obliterated and dissolved and never existed, and the four of them sat around the rest of the day, listening to music, rapping, getting off, wrapped in the comforting warmth of their camaraderie.