The Ishmael Gradsdovic Papers, part thirty-six


In part thirty-six of the Ishmael Gradsdovic papers, things start getting a little out of hand.


22 October 1994:

I sat in the yard in San Luis all afternoon yesterday after leaving work at around 10:30 a.m. but the only thing going North was an Amtrak. For a while I thought about trying to jump it -- the baggage car was open -- but I decided against it, reasoning that it'd probably stop in every town up the way, and someone would check the baggage car at each stop.

So nothing moving Friday. Spent the night at L4 and got up about a quarter to nine to try again. Met up with an old guy who asked me if I thought a string of cars in the yard would be moving today. I said I didn't know, but that I heard a whistle in the distance and thought that maybe this one had pulled off to favor an Amtrak or a faster freight. He said he'd seen 'em keep engines idling all day without moving, so when he sees the engine down and the air out, he usually figures it's gonna stay put for a while.

He asks a bit about the town. Mostly stuff about where to find a shelter or soup kitchen. I tell him about the Mission, but we're confused for a while because he uses the word "mission" more generically to mean shelters & soup kitchens run by religious groups, while I'm using it to mean The Mission, San Luis Obispo de Tolosa.

He also likes to discuss films. For someone as broke as he seems to be - other than a sleeping bag, all he seems to have is what he's wearing - he's pretty hip to current cinema. We discuss The Piano some. I tell him that Priscilla: Queen of the Desert is playing at the Palm and that my friends have recommended it.

His other big topic is prefrontal lobotomies. Apparantly JFK's sister was given one for insufficient reasons after the doctors convinced Joseph Kennedy that it would stop her temper tantrums. Aristocrats will do that, just sign a paper and put you under the knife. People who are rude to or condescending to bums are aristocrats.

.....

We stopped in Soledad, and then somewhere else. I blacked out and woke up not knowing how I got here and with a sliced-up bleeding face. I dunno what happened. Maybe I tripped getting off. Anyway, my face is all swolen and I don't remember why. I'm sitting here and I don't remember why I got here. My head hurts.

I'm inside some sort of metal room and we're moving around a lot. I'd say it was a train, except the walls are clean and I don't see a door and we're moving a lot more than laterally. My head hurts and I don't remember how I got here. I think I hear talking but none of it is in English.

I don't remember coming here or what I'm here for, but I think my head is bleeding. Maybe I should get up and get out of the car, but I don't see a door. Maybe it's not a car at all. My head is sore and seems to be bleeding.

I think I must be in



email Ishmael