From Visions of Garleyville
Where the Ducks Are
"Hello, Kenny?" he said from
the other end of the line. "It's me."
Even
though it was a bad connection, Kenny had recognized Hank=s voice as belonging to that character he had met briefly
in the downtown
AIsn't it kind of late for you to be calling?"
Kenny asked, trying to keep his voice hushed so as not to add to the already
precarious situation. Too much more disturbance and his uncle would vent his
wrath upon him B saddling Kenny with some punishment he didn=t deserve.
AI know, but I=m in
trouble,@ Hank said.
Kenny
shifted the phone to his other ear and sat down heavily in the squeaking deck
chair. Before him, a sea of paper swirled with his movement, scraps containing
hundreds of numbers, some detailing an estimate of cost for work requested,
others phone numbers, still others with meaning Kenny did not comprehend B but knew the loss of even one piece would bring down
punishment.
"I
don=t have money to bail you out of jail,@ Kenny said, whispering so softly he could barely hear
himself in the ear piece.@
AWhat was that?@ Hank
asked from the far end.
AI said I can=t bail
you out.@
Hank
snorted a laugh. AIt=s not the law,@ he
said. AIt=s my head.@
Kenny
moaned a little too loudly and heard the groan of a kitchen chair in the far
room as his uncle shifted to the sound.
AYou gonna stay on that telephone all night?@ his uncle called.
ANot much longer, Uncle Ed,@ Kenny called, struggling to keep his voice=s volume low yet loud enough for his slightly deaf
uncle to catch.
AWhat do you mean it=s your
head?@ Kenny snapped into the telephone, feeling as put out
now as he had when meeting Hank for the first time.
Kenny
had gone into the head shop, drawn in by the odd assortment of goods displayed
in the windows and the beat of the music rolling out the speakers on the
street. The air smelled so sweet B from
incense he learned later B that he choked over his first few breaths. He didn=t dare moved too far into the place that someone might
grab him from the shadows. The room had a dimness he didn=t understand. He had not learned the concept of black
light yet and did not understand why the posters glowed so powerfully when all
else B including his skin B seemed
utterly dim.
Kenny
clutched the glass counter and struggled to keep his balance. The music that had
blared on the street, roared inside the store, making his bones ache as well as
his ears. The sound and sweet air made his head swirl. So he hardly took note
of the strange boy that popped up beside him, a thin teen his own age, but with
wiry long hair and an odd costume B a
purple Nehru shirt with collar like a priests and long bell bottom pants. The
boy didn=t even wear shoes, but sandals B his yellow toe nails sticking out.
Then
Hank had started talking to him and wouldn=t stop,
ranting on about his love of music and The Beatles, about his desire to perform
on Broadway someday, and how he intended to become a hippie and live in the
Village.
Kenny
remembered asking foolishly what Athe
village@ was, which led to a shocked look and an even more
lengthy explanation about its history and significance, only a third of which
Kenny could hear with the music.
It took
Kenny an hour to disengage, making a lot of foolish promises about meeting up
with Hank again for a possible excursion to the Village.
Kenny had
thought himself free of the boy, considering himself very lucky to have escaped
as unscathed as he had with a lecture instead of real trouble.
His
uncles had warned him about hippies, about the dangers of drugs and sex with
girls out of wedlock B the usual Catholic diatribe that he had heard in
other forms concerning other dangers from Communism to black people.
Until
meeting Hank, Kenny had thought his uncles a bit too protective.
AWhat was that? Speak up?@ Hank
said on the telephone.
AWhat=s wrong with you? And why are you calling me?@ Kenny said, his voice rising with each word so that
the second sentence ended in a shout.
AKenny!@ his uncle snapped. AYour
grandmother is trying to sleep.@
ASorry, Uncle Ed,@ Kenny said,
and then turned his attention back to the voice ranting on over the telephone.
"It's my head," he repeated,
AWhat do you mean you=re head.
Did you get into a car accident? Are you in a hospital?@
"I'm
tripping on LSD and I don't know exactly where I am," Hank said.
ALSD?@ Kenny muttered, the word full of the same
connotations he had previously disbelieved, as if Kenny hadn=t accepted the existence of such a drug despite all
the warnings teachers and his uncle gave.
AYou took LSD?"
ADon=t= goof on me, Kenny,@ Hank
moaned. AI=m confused enough without you goofing on me.@
"I'm
not goofing," Kenny said, not completely certain what Hank meant by
goofing. AJust tell me what the problems is. I=m not sure I can help.@
AYou have to help. I don=t dare call
my old man, he=ll put me in an asylum. He thinks drugs are a sign of
mental illness.@
AMy uncle thinks so, too,@ I said.
AAnd you?@
AI don=t know enough about it. You said you were lost. How
did that happen?@
AI told you I took some LSD. It must have been old
stuff or somethingY.@ The dropping
change in the pay phone interrupted him. AHold on,
I got to feed this thing some money.@
Kenny
heard the rustle of the mouth piece against cloth and then the clunk of money
dropping into the machine.
AAs I was saying, I couldn=t find anything at the headshop in Paterson, so I went
over to New York. I knew I could find something dealing in Washington Square
Park, although to tell you the truth things aren=t what
they used to be there and half the time you get ripped off. I couldn=t find many people selling acid..@
AAcid?@
ALSD,@ Hank said. AMost of
them were trying to sell me speed or junk.@
AJunk?@
ADon=t interrupt,@ Hank
said. AI don=t have any more change. Anyway, I found this guy who
said he had acid, but he looked so disreputable that I didn=t want to deal with him. But after I took a tour of
the park and nobody else had any, I gave him my money and popped the pills.
Just as I suspected nothing happened, even though I waited a whole hour to get
off. I was so bummed out I decided to go home and headed back uptown to the
Port Authority bus terminal. I guess that=s when
the stuff started to hit me, but I didn=t
notice. I bought a ticket, climbed on a bus, and headed back to New Jersey. It
was some of the most powerful stuff I ever took. I saw the bus melting around
me. I must have started singing or something because the next thing I know the
bus driver ordered me off the bus and left me standing near this phone booth.@
AWhere is that?@
AI don=t know,@ Hank
said. AI=m seeing so many colors and everything is twisting
into odd shapes that I can=t read any of the signs. I think I=m somewhere in Paterson. But it=s not like any part I=ve ever
been in before. And I=m starting to get scared.@
The
nickels fell again.
AYou have to give me some clue if you expect me to find
you?@ Kenny said, committing himself to the task before he
realized it.
The
operator=s voice interrupted him asking for more change. Kenny struggled
to make out Hank=s voice against the continued request to deposit more
money, but all he could make out was: AI=m where the ducks are,@ before
the phone went dead.
Kenny
hung up the phone and rushed through the kitchen, his uncle=s broad face growing grimmer as Kenny made for the
door.
AAnd where the hell do you think you=re going this time of night?@
ATo where the ducks are,@ Kenny
said, slamming the door behind him, realizing only as he stumbled down the back
porch stairs how much trouble he would be in when he got back B and for someone he didn=t even
know.