All language subtitles for the_junky_s_christmas_1993_william_s._burroughs

Thank you.

This is from Andrew Zell and the Junkies
Christmas.

It was Christmas Day and Daddy the car
wiper hit the street junk sick and broke

after 72 hours in a precinct cell.

It was a clear, bright day, but there
was no warmth in the sun.

Danny shivered with an inner cold. He
turned up the collar of his worn, greasy

black overcoat.

This beat Danny wouldn't pawn for a
deuce, he thought.

It was in the West Nineties.

A long block of brownstone rooming
houses.

Here and there a holly wreath in a clean
black window.

Danny's senses registered everything
sharp.

and clear with a painful intensity of
junk sickness.

The light hurt his dilated eyes.

He walked past a car, darting his pale
blue eyes sideways in quick appraisal.

There was a package on the seat and one
of the ventilator windows was unlocked.

Danny walked on ten feet, no one in
sight.

He snapped his fingers and went through
a pantomime of remembering something and

wheeled around.

No one.

Bad setup, he decided.

Feet get empty like this, I stand out
conspicuous. Gotta make it fast.

He reached for the ventilator window.

A door opened behind him.

Danny whipped out a rag and began
polishing the car windows.

He could feel the man standing behind
him.

What are you doing?

Danny turned as if surprised.

Oh, just thought your car windows needed
polishing, mister.

The man had a frog face and a deep south
accent.

He was wearing a camel's hair overcoat.

My car don't need polishing. Nothing
stole out of it, nigga.

Danny slipped sideways. The man grabbed
for it.

I wasn't looking to steal nothing,
mister.

I'm from the south, too. Florida.

Goddamn sneaking thief.

Danny walked away fast and turned a
corner. Better get out of the

That hick is likely to call the law.

He walked 15 blocks, sweat running down
his body.

There was a raw ache in his lungs. His
lips drew back off his yellow teeth in a

snarl of desperation.

I got his score somehow, so I had some
decent clothes.

Danny saw a suitcase standing in a
doorway.

Good leather.

He stopped and pretended to look for a
cigarette.

Funny, he thought.

No one around.

Inside, maybe, phoning for a cab.

The corner was only a few houses away.

Danny took a deep breath and picked up
the suitcase.

He made the corner, another block,
another corner. The case was heavy.

I got a score, all right, he thought.
Maybe enough for a sixteenth in a room.

Danny shivered and twitched, feeling a
warm room and heroin emptying into his

vein. Let's have a quick look.

He stepped in the Morningside Park.

No one around.

Jesus, I never thought the town was this
empty.

He opened the suitcase.

Two long packages in brown wrapping.

He took one out. It felt like meat.

He tore the package open at one end,
revealing a woman's naked foot.

The toenails were painted with purple
-red polish.

He dropped the leg with a sneer of
disgust.

Holy Jesus, he exclaimed. The routines
people put down these days.

Legs! Well, I got a case anyway.

He dumped the other leg out. No
bloodstains.

He snapped the case shut and walked
away.

Legs, he muttered.

We found the buyer sitting at a table in
Harrow's Cafeteria.

Thought you might be taking the day off,
Danny said, putting the case down.

The buyer shook his head sadly.

I got nobody, so what's Christmas to me?

His eyes traveled over the case, poking,
testing, looking for flaws.

What was in it? Nothing.

What's the matter? I don't pay enough.

I tell you, there wasn't nothing in it.

Okay, so somebody travels with an empty
suitcase.

Okay, he held up three fingers.

For Christ's sakes, Gimpy, give me a
nickel.

You got somebody else, why don't he give
you a nickel?

It's like I say the case was empty.

Gimpy kicked at the case disparagingly.

It's all nicked up and kind of dirty
looking. He sniffed suspiciously.

How come it stink like that?

Mexican leather?

So, am I in the leather business?

Can't be shrugged. Could be.

He pulled out a roll of bills and peeled
off three ones, dropping them on the

table behind the napkin dispenser.

You want?

Okay, Danny picked up the money.

You see George the Greek, he asked.

Where are you, Benny? Got busted two
days ago. Oh, that's bad.

Danny walked out.

Now where can I score, he thought.

George the Greek had lasted so long,
Danny thought of him as permanent.

He was good age, too, and no short
counts.

Then he went up to 103rd and Broadway.

Nobody in Harrow. Nobody in the Auto
Man.

Yeah, he snarled all the pushes off on
the knob someplace.

What they care about anybody else, so
long as they get it in the vein. What

care about is thick junkie.

He wiped his nose with one finger,
looking around furtively.

There was no one he knew in the 23rd
Street Thompson's.

He thought, where is everybody?

He clutched his coat collar together
with one hand, looking up and down the

street.

There's Joey from Brooklyn. I'd know
that hat anywhere.

Joey! Hey, Joey!

Joey was walking away with his back to
Danny. He turned around.

His face was sunken, skull -like. The
gray eyes glittered under a greasy gray

belt hat.

Joey was sniffing at regular intervals.
His eyes were watering.

No use asking him, Danny thought.

They looked at each other with a hatred
of disappointment.

Guess you heard about George the Greek,
Danny said.

Yeah, I heard.

You been up to 103rd?

Yeah, just came from there. Nobody
around.

Nobody around anyplace, Joey said.

I can't even score for goofballs.

Well, Merry Christmas, Joey. See ya.
Yeah, see ya.

Danny was walking fast.

He had remembered a croaker on 18th
Street.

Of course, the croaker had told him not
to come back. Still, it was worth

trying.

Brownstone House with a card in the
window.

P .H. Zuniga, M .D.

Danny rang the bell. He heard slow
steps.

The door opened and the doctor looked at
Danny with bloodshot brown eyes.

He said nothing.

He just... leaned there looking at
Danny.

Goddamn alcoholic, Danny thought.

He smiled.

Merry Christmas, Doctor.

The doctor did not reply.

You remember me, Doctor.

Danny tried to edge past the doctor into
the house.

I'm sorry to trouble you on Christmas
Day, but I've suffered another attack.

Attack?

Yes, facial neuralgia.

Danny twisted one side of his face into
a horrible grenade.

The doctor recoiled slightly and Danny
pushed into the dark hallway.

Better shut the door or you'll be
catching cold, he said jovially, shoving

door shut.

The doctor looked at him, his face
focusing visibly. I can't give you a

prescription, he said. But doctor, this
is a legitimate condition, an emergency,

you understand.

No prescription impossible.

It's against the law.

You took an oath, doctor. I'm in agony.

Daddy's voice shot up to a hysterical
grating whine.

The doctor winced and passed a hand over
his forehead.

Let me think. I can give you one quarter
grain tablet. That's all I have in the

house. But doctor, a quarter G.

The doctor stopped him.

If your condition is legitimate, you
will not need more.

If it isn't, I don't want anything to do
with you. Wait right here.

The doctor weaved down the hall, leaving
a wake of alcoholic breath.

He came back and dropped the tablet into
Danny's hand.

Danny wrapped the tablet in a piece of
paper and tucked it away.

There is no charge.

The doctor put his hand on the doorknob.

And now, my dear, but doctor, can't you
inject the medication?

No, you will obtain longer relief than
using orally. Please not to return. The

doctor opened the door.

Well, this will take the edge off and I
still have money to put down on a room,

Danny thought.

Danny put down two dollars on a six
dollar a week room in the West Forties

he knew the landlord.

He bolted the door and put his spoon,
needle, and dropper on a table by the

He dropped the tablet in the spoon and
covered it with a dropper full of water.

He held a match under the spoon until
the tablet dissolved.

He tore a strip of paper, wet it, and
wrapped it around the end of the

fitting the needle over the wet paper to
make an airtight connection.

He dropped a piece of lint from his
pocket into the spoon.

and sucked the liquid into the dropper
through the needle, holding the needle

the lint to take up the last drop.

Danny's hands trembled with excitement
and his breath was quick.

With a shot in front of him, his
defenses gave way and junk sickness

body. His legs began to twitch and ache.

Cramps stirred in his stomach. Tears ran
down his face from his smarting,

burning eyes.

He wrapped a handkerchief around his
right arm, holding the end in his teeth.

He tucked the handkerchief in and began
rubbing his arm to bring out a vein.

Guess I can hit that one, he thought,
running one finger along the vein. He

picked up the dropper in his left hand.

Danny heard a groan from the next groan.
He frowned with annoyance. Another

groan.

You're not helpless.

He walked across the room, the dropper
in his hand inclined his ear at the

The groans were coming at regular
intervals, a horrible inhuman sound

from his stomach.

And he listened for a full minute.

He returned to the bed and sat down.

Why don't someone call a doctor, he
thought indignantly. It's a bring -down.

He straightened his arm and poised the
needle.

He tilted his head, listening again. Oh,
for Christ's sake!

He tore off the handkerchief and placed
the dropper in a water glass, which he

hid behind the wastebasket.

He stepped into the hall and knocked on
the door of the next room. There was no

answer. The groans continued.

Then he tried the door. It was open.

The shade was up and the room was full
of light.

He had expected an old person somehow,
but the man on the bed was very young,

or 20.

Fully clothed and doubled up with his
hands clasped across his stomach.

What's wrong, kid? Danny asked.

The boy looked at him, his eyes blanked
with pain.

Finally, he got out one word.

Kidney.

Kidney stones.

Danny smiled.

I don't mean it's funny, kid. It's just
I've faked it so many times and never

saw the real thing before.

I'll call an ambulance.

The boy bit his lip.

Won't come.

Doctors won't come.

Boy hit his face in the pillow.

Danny nodded.

They figure it's just another junkie
throwing a windang for a shot.

Your case is legit.

Maybe if I went to the hospital and
explained things, I guess I wouldn't be

good.

Danny trailed off.

Suddenly he put out his thin, dirty hand
and touched the boy's shoulder.

I'm sorry, kid. You wait. I'll fix you
up. He went back to his room and got the

dropper and returned to the boy's room.

Roll up your sleeve, kid.

The boy fumbled his coat sleeve with a
weak can. That's okay. I'll get it.

Danny undid the shirt button at the
wrist and pushed the shirt and coat up,

borrowing a thin brown forearm.

Danny hesitated, looking at the dropper.

Sweat ran down his nose. The boy was
looking up at him.

Danny shoved the needle in the boy's
forearm and watched the liquid drain

the flesh.

He straightened up. The boy's face began
to relax.

He sat up and smiled.

Say, that stuff really works, he said.
You a doctor, mister?

No, kid.

The boy lay down, stretching.

I feel real sleepy.

Didn't sleep all last night. His eyes
were closing.

Danny walked across the room and pulled
the shade down.

He went back to his room and closed the
door without locking it.

He sat on the bed, looking at the empty
dropper. It was getting dark outside.

Danny's body ached for junk, but it was
a dull ache now, dull and hopeless.

Suddenly a warm flood pulsed through his
veins and broke in his head like a

thousand golden speedballs.

For Christ's sake, Danny thought, I must
have scored for the immaculate fix.

The vegetable serenity of junk settled
in his tissues.

His face went black and peaceful in his
head.

fell forward.

Danny the car wiper was on the knot.

Merry Christmas to all of you.

One and all.

I wish you a Merry Christmas.