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- Hollywood and prostituted himself. He used to take me with him once in a while. Ernie's
a big fat colored guy that plays the piano. He's a terrific snob and he won't hardly even
talk to you unless you're a big shot or a celebrity or something, but he can really play the
piano. He's so good he's almost corny, in fact. I don't exactly know what I mean by that,
but I mean it. I certainly like to hear him play, but sometimes you feel like turning his
goddam piano over. I think it's because sometimes when he plays, he sounds like the kind
of guy that won't talk to you unless you're a big shot.
12
The cab I had was a real old one that smelled like someone'd just tossed his
cookies in it. I always get those vomity kind of cabs if I go anywhere late at night. What
made it worse, it was so quiet and lonesome out, even though it was Saturday night. I
didn't see hardly anybody on the street. Now and then you just saw a man and a girl
crossing a street, with their arms around each other's waists and all, or a bunch of
hoodlumy-looking guys and their dates, all of them laughing like hyenas at something
you could bet wasn't funny. New York's terrible when somebody laughs on the street very
late at night. You can hear it for miles. It makes you feel so lonesome and depressed. I
kept wishing I could go home and shoot the bull for a while with old Phoebe. But finally,
after I was riding a while, the cab driver and I sort of struck up a conversation. His name
was Horwitz. He was a much better guy than the other driver I'd had. Anyway, I thought
maybe he might know about the ducks.
"Hey, Horwitz," I said. "You ever pass by the lagoon in Central Park? Down by
Central Park South?"
"The what?"
"The lagoon. That little lake, like, there. Where the ducks are. You know."
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Well, you know the ducks that swim around in it? In the springtime and all? Do
you happen to know where they go in the wintertime, by any chance?"
"Where who goes?"
"The ducks. Do you know, by any chance? I mean does somebody come around
in a truck or something and take them away, or do they fly away by themselves--go south
or something?"
Old Horwitz turned all the way around and looked at me. He was a very
impatient-type guy. He wasn't a bad guy, though. "How the hell should I know?" he said.
"How the hell should I know a stupid thing like that?"
"Well, don't get sore about it," I said. He was sore about it or something.
"Who's sore? Nobody's sore."
I stopped having a conversation with him, if he was going to get so damn touchy
about it. But he started it up again himself. He turned all the way around again, and said,
"The fish don't go no place. They stay right where they are, the fish. Right in the goddam
lake."
"The fish--that's different. The fish is different. I'm talking about the ducks," I
said.
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