Soul of a Whore and Purvis Read Free Page B

dickering on the price to Dallas.
    Never has the price. Just comes to talk
    And settle down and sleep all afternoon.
    Nights you’ll spy her drooling on his grave,
    Wailing for the Resurrection, weeping.
    But ain’t she sweet and harmless in the daylight?
    BILL JENKS : Do you know what? If something moved you to,
    If curiosity prompted you, or pity,
    You could take three hundred steps from that
    Gray bench in those pretty blue shoes and stand
    Exactly in the holy chamber where
    Tonight they’ll execute a human being.
    MASHA : I read about it. Hey. If guys like you
    Weren’t punished, where’d we be? All you
    Deranged and violent mulattos and
    Your numerous other friends. If you
    Were just forgiven, where would we be then?
    BILL JENKS : In Heaven. Watching Masha shake her thang…
    Look. In the joint the cereal don’t go
    Snap crackle pop. It pewls and moans.
    The dogs don’t go bow-wow. They say, Achtung!
    They say, Jawohl! Sieg Heil! et cetera.
    The whistle doesn’t blow. It reams your brains.
    MASHA : They have a whistle?
    CLERK :                                    Lady, they sure do.
    BILL JENKS : Every morning, middle of your dreams.
    You maybe did a little stretch?
    CLERK :                                               Why, no…
    MASHA : I never got your name.
    BILL JENKS :                                Name’s Bill. Bill Jenks.
    MASHA : You realize your initials are “BJ.”
    BILL JENKS : It hadn’t escaped my attention entirely, no.
    MASHA :…So you’re a preacher. Or you used to be.
    BILL JENKS : So I don’t look familiar? Not at all?
    Really?
    MASHA :          I very seldom cruise the links.
    BILL JENKS : Don’t you watch the TV?
    MASHA :                                             I’m the show.
    BILL JENKS : It happens I was poorly represented.
    MASHA : Legally or journalistically?
    BILL JENKS : Both ways. And up and down and back and forth.
    When schism racks a flock, some sheep are torn.
    The shepherd too sometimes. That’s showbiz, folks.
    MASHA : Shepherd or showman?
    BILL JENKS :                                Shaman,
    Shaman of the Children of Jehovah.
    My scheme went wrong. My streetcar hopped the track.
    A woman was the ripple in the rail.
    MASHA : Were you a preacher or an engine driver?
    BILL JENKS : I was a shaman, babe, a shaman with a scheme.
    MASHA : Shepherd, shaman, engine driver—hey,
    All I know—you just got outa prison.
    BILL JENKS :… Crimes …No… Love … Love …Let me
    make my case…
    MASHA : O, Jesus Christ! Love! That’s a crazy word—
    Ain’t no bigger than a postage stamp,
    But go to pry the corner up, you’re peeking
    Upon a continent.
    BILL JENKS :                    OK, OK,
    I rest my case.
    MASHA :                     What case?
    BILL JENKS :                                  Hell, I don’t know.
    If I had courtroom skills, I’d be a judge.
    I wouldn’t be no puppy-blind parolee
    Strolling around in pegged and checkered pants.
    At least they fit.
    MASHA :                       At least you think they do.
    BILL JENKS : Come on now, Masha, honey, have a heart.
    MASHA : Look, I’ve got a heart, and I’ve got feeling
    For the luckless, and I’ve even got two cousins
    Locked up—or one; they let the other loose.
    But I’ve got troubles too, that’s all. OK?
    BILL JENKS : You think I didn’t know that? It’s the Greyhound.
    This train don’t carry no senators’ sons.
    â€¦God. Is