Chapter 30 Chapter Thirty

Around noon, I come home, shower, shave, and change into my best suit.I caught up with a party at noon, ate a hot dog on the way, and then walked to the papaya stand at the intersection of Seventy-second Street and Broadway as agreed to meet Jane.She wore a knitted coat, dove gray with a touch of black, and I had never seen her dress so solemnly. We came around the corner to Cook Funeral Home.A young man in black with a professionally sympathetic expression decides which group we belong to and leads us down the corridor to suite three.The door was open, and a card in the frame above said Hendricks.In the room, there are about six rows of chairs on either side of the central aisle, four in each row.A podium was erected in front, and on the left side of the podium was an open wooden cabinet sunk in a sea of ​​flowers.I had someone send me flowers this morning, it was superfluous.Sunny has enough flowers to send a Mafia boss to Promised Land.

Chance sat in a chair in the first aisle on the right.Donna Campion sat next to him, and then Fran Schechter and Mary Lou Barco filled a row.Chance wore a black suit, white shirt, and a black narrow-brimmed silk tie.Women are all dressed in black, I think he probably took them shopping the previous afternoon. As we entered, he turned his head and got up immediately.Jane and I walked over and I introduced them.We stood awkwardly for a while, and then Chance said, "You probably want to see the body," nodding toward the wooden cabinet. Does anyone really want to pay their respects?I walk over.Jane followed.Sunny, in a bright colored dress, lay on the cream-colored satin lining of the wooden cabinet.She clasped her hands on her chest, holding a red rose.It's a bit too much to say that her face is carved from a block of wax, but it is obviously not worse than the last time I saw her.

Chance stood beside me.He said, "Can I speak to you a few words?" "Okay." - Stick School · E Book Group - Jane squeezed my hand quickly and left.Chance and I stood side by side, looking down at Sunny. I said, "I thought the body was still in the morgue." "They called yesterday to say they could take the body away. The people here worked overtime to help her make up, and the effect was not bad." "yes." "Not quite like her. Not like the last time we saw her, is it?" "Ok." "They'll cremate the body afterwards, it's easier. The girls don't look bad, do they? How are they dressed?"

"Great." "With dignity," he said.After a pause he said, "Ruby's not here." "I noticed." "She doesn't believe in funerals. Different culture, different customs, you know? And she doesn't deal with people, only face to face with Sunny." I didn't answer. "When it's over," he said, 'I'm going to send the girls home, you know.Then we have to talk. " "it is good." "You know Parker Bennett? An auction company headquartered on Madison Avenue. They have an auction tomorrow and I want to go first and see a few things I might want to buy. How about meeting there?"

"What time is it?" "I don't know. It won't be long here. You should be able to go before three o'clock. Four quarters, four-thirty, okay?" "Row." "By the way, Matthew." I turned my head away. "Thank you for coming." Before the ceremony began, about ten more mourners came to touch the mourners.A line of four niggers sat in the left center, one of whom I recognized as Bascom—the last time I saw him punch, I saw Sunny.Two elderly women sat side by side in the back row, and an old Kunshi sat alone in the front row.There are lonely people who have a habit of breaking into strangers' funerals to pass the time, and I suspect these three are.

The ceremony had just begun when Joe Durkin and another plainclothes detective slipped into the last two seats. The preacher looked like a child; I wondered how much he knew about Sunny's background, but he began to talk about the misfortune of being stopped in the prime of life, and the mysterious and hidden purpose of God.He said that the real victims of such irrational tragedies are the relatives and friends of the deceased.He chose to read,,,, and the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible.Then he invited Sunny's friend to come on stage and say a few words. Donna Campion recited two short poems which I thought were her compositions.It turned out to be the work of Sylvia Prabbe and Anne Sexton, two poets who committed suicide.

Fran Schechter came on stage after her and said, "Sonny, I don't know if you can hear me, but I have to say something." Then she talked about how much she valued Sonny's friendship, attitude and vitality .At first she spoke in a relaxed and cheerful tone, but in the end she broke down in tears.He had to be helped down by the pastor.Mary Lou Barco said only two or three words, and in a flat, low voice.She said it was a pity that she didn't know Sunny well, and hoped she could rest in peace in heaven now. No one else followed on stage.I have a short fantasy: Joe Durkin takes the stage and announces that the NYPD is going to investigate if there's something else going on, but he just stays where he is.The pastor said a few more words—I wasn't paying attention—and one of the guests played the record: "Amazing Providence," by Judy Collins.

to the outside.Jane and I walked several blocks in silence.Then I said, "Thank you for coming." "Thank you for having me. God, that sounds so stupid. Like a little girl at her high school prom saying: 'Thank you for inviting me, I had a great time.'" She pulled a handkerchief from her purse , pressing his eyes, blowing his nose, "It's a good thing you didn't go to the funeral alone." "yes." "Fortunately, I went. The funeral was simple, grand and beautiful. Who was talking to you when you came out just now?" "That's Durkin."

"Oh? What is he doing there?" "Take a chance, I suppose. It's hard to say who's going to be at the funeral." "Not many people showed up this time." "There are only a handful of them." "Fortunately we went." "Yeah." - Stick School · E Book Group - I buy her a cup of coffee and then hail a taxi for her.She insisted on taking the subway, but I forced her to pay ten yuan to take her on the train. The lobby attendant at the Parker Bennett Gallery directed me to the second floor, where art from Africa and Oceania was on display.I saw Chance standing in front of a row of glass cabinets in which eighteen or nineteen miniature gold statues were displayed.Some simulate animals, others take human form and various household utensils.I remember that there is a sculpture of a man squatting and milking goats.The largest bottle should fit just fine in a child's hand, and many of them look funny.

"The gold weights," Chance explained, "come from what the British call the Gold Coast, now Ghana. You can see gilded imitations in the shops. They are all real." "Are you planning to buy it?" He shook his head: "I don't feel anything about these things. I want to buy something with feelings. Come, let me show you something." We walk across the room.A bronze head of a woman stands on a four-foot-high platform.Her nose was broad and flat, and her cheekbones were high.Her neck was surrounded by layers of necklaces, which looked unusually thick.The whole head looks like a cone.

"This bronze statue is from the vanished kingdom of Benin," he declared. "The Queen's head. You can tell her status by the number of necklaces she wears. Does she talk to you, Matthew? She told me A lot." I read strength in that face of bronze, hard strength and ruthless will. "You know what she said? She said: 'Why are you looking at me like that? You know you don't have the money to carry me back.'" He laughed. "The estimated price is 40,000 to 60,000 yuan." "You don't know how to bid?" "I don't know what I'm going to do then. It would be nice to have a few things on display. But sometimes I go to the auction floor like some people go to the racetrack—not to bet, just to sit It's just watching the horses run in the sun. I like the atmosphere, the feel of the auction house, and I like the sound of the hammer hitting. You've seen enough, let's go." His car was parked in a garage on Seventy-eighth Street.We drove over the Fifty-ninth Street bridge, across Long Island City.Street girls can be seen everywhere on the roadside, some alone, some in pairs. "Not many came out last night," he said. "I guess they feel safer during the day." "You were here last night?" "Just a drive. He picks up sweethearts in the area and drives up Queen's Road. Or maybe he took the highway? Doesn't matter anyway." "It doesn't matter." We take Queen's Road. "Thank you for coming to the funeral," he said. "I wanted to go." "The woman who accompanied you looks nice." "thanks." "Jane, you said that was her name?" "That's right." "You and her are—" "We're friends." "Oh." He braked to a stop at a red light, "Ruby isn't here." "I know." "The reasons I just told you are all bullshit. I don't want the girls to know the truth. Ruby ran off, she packed up and went." "When did this happen?" "Yesterday, I suppose. I had a message last night. I was on the go all day yesterday, and I've been busy with the funeral. I think it's all right, okay?" "Good service." "Thanks. Anyway, my service told me to call Ruby, the area code is 415. That's San Francisco. I was kind of puzzled, and when I called, she said she had decided to change careers. I thought it was a prank, you know huh? Then I went to her apartment and all her stuff was gone, including her clothes. She kept the furniture. That made me three apartments empty now, man. There's a housing shortage, and no one can find them to live in a house, and I have three empty apartments. Isn’t it amazing?” "Are you sure it was she talking to you?" "No mistake." "She's in San Francisco?" "She'd have to be there. Or in Berkeley, or Oakland, or something like that. I dialed the number, and the area code or something. She'd have to be there to have that number, right?" "Did she say why she left?" "Just say it's time to change careers, she is performing some mysterious oriental dance." "Do you think she is afraid of being killed?" "The Pouertan Motel," he said, pointing ahead. "Is this the one?" "Exactly." "The body you found here?" "The body has already been found, I just came here to see it before they removed it." "It must be ugly." "It's not pretty." "This sweetheart has always worked independently, without a pimp." "That's what the police said." "Well, she might have a pimp that the police don't know about. But I've talked to some people, and she works on her own, and if she does know Duffy. Nobody knows." He turned right around the corner, "Let's turn around and go to my house, how can we walk around?" "Okay." - Stick School · E Book Group - "I'll make some coffee. You liked the coffee I made last time, didn't you?" "Well, it's very fragrant." "Okay, I'll cook some more for you to try." Greenpoint Street, where his house was located, was almost as quiet during the day as at night.With a twist of the button, the garage door immediately opened.He pressed it again, and the door dropped.We got out of the car and went into the room. "I want to move my muscles," he said, "lifting weights. Would you like to try that too?" "Haven't tried it in years." "How about reliving old dreams?" "I think I'll forget it." My name is Matthew, and I think I'll let it go. "I'll be right over," he said. He entered a room and came out wearing scarlet sweat shorts and holding a fleece jumper.We walk to his personal gym.He lifted weights, and he also ran and stepped on the treadmill and treadmill for about fifteen or twenty minutes.His sweat-soaked skin glistens as he moves, and his muscular muscles spring beneath it. "Now I'm going to the sauna for ten minutes," he said. "You didn't move, you shouldn't be in the sauna, but we can make an exception for you today." "No, thanks." "How about waiting downstairs? It's more comfortable." I waited quietly while he took his sauna and shower.I pored over some of his African sculptures and flipped through a few magazines.When he did the math, he came out too: wearing a pair of light blue jeans, a navy jumper, and rope slippers.He asked me if I was ready for coffee and I said I had been ready for half an hour. "Just a moment," he said.He went to the kitchen to make coffee, then came back and sat down on the leather hammock. He said, "Want to know one thing? I'm a lousy pimp." "I think you have a lot of style. Reserved, cultivated, and dignified." "I've had six girls, now I've got two, and Mary Lou is going soon." "You think so?" "I know. She's just in it for fun, man. Know how I got her in?" "She mentioned it to me." "When she first started receiving customers, she had to tell herself that she was a reporter, running news, and collecting information. Later, she slowly admitted that she had entered the industry. Now she discovered a few things." "Like what?" "Like you might get killed. Or kill yourself. Like when you're dead, there's going to be a dozen people at your funeral. Not a lot to cheer Sunny on, are there?" "It's a little less." "No one can deny that. You know? I could get someone to fill that damn room more than three times over." "Maybe," "Not maybe, absolutely." He stood up, folded his hands behind his back, and walked around, "I really thought about it. I can rent their largest suite, full of people. Those people in the north of the city, pimps and prostitutes , and a loyal audience in the ring. Talk to the people in her building, maybe some of her neighbors would like to attend. The thing is, I don’t want too many people coming.” "Oh." "It was totally for the girls, four of them. When I was planning it, I didn't know there were only three left. Then I thought, Shit, it's just me and four girls. I'm afraid it will be too shabby, so I Talked to a few others. It's kind of a friend to have Bascom come, isn't it?" "Ok." "I'm going to get coffee." He came back with two glasses.I took a sip and nodded approvingly. "You bring home a few pounds later." "I told you last time that I couldn't cook it even if I took it back to the hotel room." "Then you can give it to your girlfriend and let her make you the best coffee in the world." "thanks." "You only drink coffee, right? No alcohol?" "I haven't drank for a while." "Then you used to drink?" And maybe in the future, I thought.But not today. "Just like me," he said. "I don't drink. I don't do drugs. I don't do anything sexual. I used to do everything." "Why quit?" "It doesn't fit the image." "What image? Pimp image?" "Art connoisseurs," he said. "Collectors." "How do you know so much about African art?" "Self-taught," he says, "I study what I can catch, talk to brokers around, and I have a feel for that kind of stuff." He laughs at something, "I went to college a long time ago." "Where?" "Hofstad University, Long Island. I grew up in Hanstead, Long Island. I was born in Bevtown, but my family moved when I was two or three years old. I didn't even look like Bevre Remember.” He was back in his hammock, leaning back, balancing on his hands on his knees, “middle-class family, lawn to mow, leaves to sweep, driveway to shovel snow. Most of it is fake though. We’re not rich, but we’re well off, and we had money to send me to Hofstad.” "What are you reading?" "I majored in art history, but I didn't even touch African art there. I only know that Braque and Picasso got a lot of inspiration from African masks, just like the Impressionists set off a Japanese print style. Before I came back from Vietnam, I had never seen African sculptures." "When did you go there?" "After my junior year. You know, my daddy died then. I could have finished it if I wanted to, but—I don't know, I couldn't get my energy out of it, so I decided to quit school and go to the war." He threw back his head. , eyes closed, "Did not know how many drugs there, we have everything, marijuana cigarettes, hashish, hallucinogens, I like it. I like heroin the most. The method there is very different, it is to roll the heroin into a Just a cigarette." "Never heard of it." "Well, that's wasteful," he said, "but it's so cheap in Vietnam anyway. Opium is cheap as hell in those countries. It's a real pleasure to smoke heroin. When I got the news of my mother's death, I was She was in a trance. She was always under a lot of pressure. You know, she died of a stroke. I was in a trance because of the drug, and I didn’t feel anything when I received the news. Do you know? When the effect of the drug wears off, I will recover Normal, I'm still numb. The first time I felt it was this afternoon, sitting there listening to a hired priest read Emerson to a dead whore." He straightened up and looked at me. "I sat there trying to My mom cried a lot," he said, "but I didn't. I don't think I'll ever make it." He interrupted the atmosphere.Get up and refill your coffee.Back in the hammock he said, "Don't know why you were chosen to talk, like a therapist, I guess. You took my money and now you have to listen." "It's all covered. How did you even think of pimping?" "How did a good baby like me get into this business?" He giggled, and then thought for a moment with a straight face. "I have a friend like this," he said. Oak Park, State. Not far from Chicago." "I've heard of it." - Stick School · E Book Group - "I lied to him that I was from the ghetto and did all kinds of bad things, you know? Then he died, stupid. We were far from the front and he got run over by a jeep when he was drunk. He died I stopped making up those stories, and then my mother died, and I knew I couldn't go back to school when I got home." He went to the window: "I had a girl back home." He said, turning his back to me, "There was a little bit of something, so I used to go to her place, smoke pot, hang out and talk. I would give her Money, and then, you know, I found out she took my money and gave it to her boyfriend, and I was still foolishly dreaming of marrying this woman and turning her into a good wife and mother. I didn't really want to do it, But I thought about it, who knew she was a slut. Don't know why I thought she was a decent woman, but men are so stupid sometimes, you know. "I thought about killing her, but, fuck it, forget it, I'm not that angry. What do I do? I quit smoking, drinking, all sex stuff." "It's that simple?" "It's that simple. Then I asked myself: Well, what do you want to do in the future? The picture of my future is slowly forming, you know, a few strokes here, a few strokes there. I was always a good soldier in Vietnam, etc. As soon as I get back to China, I will start this business right away.” "You just learn by doing?" "Fuck you, I was an instant hit. Called myself Chance, got a bunch of names, got my own style, and did everything else. It was so easy to pimp, The key is power. As long as you put on an appearance that the world belongs to you, women will naturally come to your door. That's it." "Don't you need a purple hat?" "If you want to take a shortcut, it's certainly a good way to dress up as a typical pimp. But if you are different, they will think you are special." "Are you special?" "I've always been fair to them. Never bullied them, never threatened them. Kim wants to get away, what do I say? Go, God bless you." "A pimp with a heart of gold." "No kidding. I really do care about them. And, man, I've got a lot of dreams about the future, really." "You still are." He shook his head awkwardly: "No," he said, "the dream has slipped away. Everything about me is going to slip away, but there is nothing I can do."