“And seeing no solution, or feeling thwarted, or just feeling down in the dumps about anything at all, you’ll suddenly remember what it was like to be up in the clouds. And there’s your choice: down in the dumps or up in the clouds. And you begin to wonder why you shouldn’t be up in the clouds? What’s wrong with it? Why not? You forget all the rest of it in that moment. In that moment nothing counts but the happiness you know you can find if you go back to narcotics. The dream is better than the reality, and even the narcotics become a dream, and your memory of the dream is far better than the reality of narcotics. Because the reality is really a goddamn trap, and you know that, and you realize that, but at the same time you keep thinking of it, and so you try to shove it out of your mind, and you try to find something to be happy about.
“You need help right then. You need someone to stand by you and help you see your way through this. You need help desperately, not medical help, just the help of someone you know cares about you, just that kind of help, just reassurance. You need reassurance desperately, but you can’t think of anyone to turn to. There’s only one thing you can turn to, you feel, and you try to shake the image of the syringe from your mind, but it won’t be shaken. It sticks, and it sticks, until it blots out everything else in your mind, and then you start your devices.
“You tell yourself you’re happy. You tell yourself you are deliriously happy. You try to behave that way. You’ll make a silly joke. You’ll laugh at the joke, and whoever you’re with will think you’re very strange, laughing at such a silly joke, not knowing you’re really whistling in the dark. You’ll try to maintain this buoyancy, because you know happiness is your only salvation, and yet you know all the while that you’re really sad, and you know the happiness is a front, but you try to live up to that front because you won’t admit your sadness, won’t admit your utter desolation. Once you admit it, you’re lost. Once you admit it, you want a solution to it, and you turn to the only solution you know, and the solution is one that works. You know that. You know that because you’ve had the solution, and the solution works damned fine.
“You can almost taste it. The picture of the syringe is so large in your mind that you can read the centimeter marks on the cylinder. You can see the heroin, you can see the spoon, you can see the stuff in the syringe, and you can taste it. And so you try to blot it out. You try to blot out the picture by talking about other things — anything, anything at all to kill the pain you’re feeling, anything so that you won’t have to turn to the other painkiller, and all the while wanting someone to take your hand and lead you out, lead you to where it’s safe and secure and snug. And you try to blot out the taste by smothering it in other tastes. You’ll have a cup of coffee, and then you’ll have another cup of coffee, and then another, and another. You’ll sit somewhere, and you’ll talk to someone about anything in the world, anything but what is really bothering you, and you’ll drink coffee until it’s coming out of your ears, and you’ll smoke incessantly because there’s something very reassuring about a cigarette in your hand or hanging on your lips. You want that cigarette always. You put one out, and you light another one immediately afterward. You talk, and you drink your coffee incessantly, and you smoke incessantly, and you try to ride it out, and it seems you will never ride it out. But you have to keep being happy, you have to stay happy. There’s no one to help you, and so you have to help yourself. If only you can ride it out, if only you can ride it out.”
She stopped. The room was very silent. Andy stared at her, a defeated, hangdog expression on his face.
“I don’t want to scare you, Andy,” she said. “I’ve ridden them out, and I hope I’ll always ride them out. I wanted you to know, though, that it’s a constant fight. You haven’t licked it after a week, or after a month, or after a year, or maybe after ever. It’s always with you.”
“I guess so,” Andy said.
“It’s so easy to start,” she said, shaking her head. “So goddamn easy. You can be on the way to being an addict after a day, or after your first shot. And once you’re hooked, mister, you’ve entered the gates of Hell, and then try to break it. Then it’s not quite so easy.”
“Boy, I wish I knew why I started,” Andy said. “I mean, what the hell, I can remember exactly how, but who knows why? I had everything a guy could want, didn’t I? I had clothes, and a beautiful girl, and after the guys left for the service I began playing with a pretty decent outfit — not big time, but a big step forward. Maybe I wasn’t ready for the step, huh?” He shrugged. “Maybe I missed the guys more than I let on, maybe I still needed them, who knows? Beats the hell out of me. I didn’t seem to need anything, you know? I had everything I could ever want, I suppose.”
He shook his head uncomprehendingly.
“I’m sure of one thing, though. I’m going to break this goddamn habit, and I’m never going back to it.”
“You’ll break it,” Helen said. “And you’ll get on the Laddy Fredericks band. You wait and see. You’re going to be all right.” She stood up and looked at her watch. “I’d better get home. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, to see how it’s coming along.”
“Don’t worry about me, Helen,” Andy said. “I’ve seen the light.” He walked her to the door. “I swear to God I’ll never even look at it again. If I get the urge, I’ll tie myself to the kitchen sink, and I won’t budge from it. I swear to God.”
And he meant every word he said.
But he had sworn an oath earlier, too. He had sworn an oath two months after a party at which everyone had passed around a community needle. He had told himself, “May I drop dead in the gutter if I ever touch another drop of it.” And the earlier oath had priority, and Andy Silvera had no way of knowing about that priority, or that anything he did from now on would be entirely too late because the deck was stacked, and the cards were now being dealt.
Helen said her good-bys, and when she’d left, Andy cocked his head to one side and said, “Wonderful girl. Makes a lot of sense, too. Why does a guy get started? What the hell was there about me that made me start? The Artie Parker band was a good outfit. I loved Carol. What the hell could it have been? Hell, I was blowing fine in those days. Not the way I wanted to, but, Jesus, I’ve never blown the way I really wanted to. So what could it have been? I guess maybe I was just too young, you know. I guess maybe somebody like you should have been around, to lend a helping hand every now and then, sort of keep the balance, do you know what I mean, Bud? But, hell, you were in the navy, and I was on my own, and so I just
19
change of key, i
FEBRUARY-MARCH, 1945
The party at Buff Collier’s house was starting off with a bang, or rather had started off with a bang some four hours before. When Andy and Carol, and the other musicians and their girls, arrived the brawl was in full swing, and they were greeted at the door like soldiers come to liberate a concentration camp.
“The music!” Buff shouted. “The music is here,” and then she swayed across the room and jumped up into the arms of a tall boy with long black hair. The boy held her unsteadily, and then other healthy-looking boys and other healthy-looking teen-age girls rushed across the room and began taking coats and hats.