Original subtitles

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.