Page 126

By Jack Joseph Smith

There were those kind too. I don't remember anything after Haiti. The pompous tossing their half dollars into the ocean for the natives to pluck out with their teeth. It was right before the Papa Doc revolution, and the children were lying diseased and naked in the street with their hands reaching out to touch the tour ists feet. I can't stand these pests any longer, was the general type of remark coming from the women. I drank straight through, until we reached Nassau. At this point my father thinks I should start showing some responsibility. For what? Money. God, it's the biggest joke going. I wonder if he has ever taken a look inside the garbage cans I have been walking through, while my mind was filled with I don't know how many questions? You tell me that forms change. Well, your God damn right they do. I have seen that womans face in a thousand faces for five years. Look at me with mimic hands touching cheeks of pretended sleep. I need a stiff shot of whiskey, before I can return to the castle. I've seen makeup on a white woman so heavy, you knew she had no skin. Cancer? I don't know, but she asked me for a dime for the jukebox. Christ, how benevolent I am. The cat houses are another thing. Have you ever been in one? He shook his head, which was unbent. I don't mean that question badly Daniel. As you said before, a lot of conversation is talking to yourself. I knew you hadn't. It's funny, the way I am talking to you, is the way a pimp was talking to me a little while ago on the street. I probably would have never been in a whore house either, if it wasn't for the fact that I work in them. The women are really good, and that's not out of Eugene O'Neill. I see babies being carried around the varanda, at the country club. I see babies being reminded not to cry, because it's time for to take a dip in the warm pool.

Original Scan

Page 126

AI Interpretation

GPT

Haiti, Nassau, diseased children, irritated tourists, heavy drinking, women worn down by makeup and poverty, and brothel work all gather into Michael's disgust with money, responsibility, and the false polish of country-club life.

The social vision widens sharply here, and almost every scene is split between display and degradation. Brothels, jukeboxes, and resort surfaces all belong to the same economy of pretending not to see what is right in front of you.

Claude

Michael recalls a cruise past Haiti, where 'The pompous' tossed half dollars for the natives 'to pluck out with their teeth' while diseased children reached for the tourists' feet, then drinking 'straight through' to Nassau, his father's talk of responsibility, a heavily made up woman begging a dime for the jukebox, and his work in the cat houses, ending with babies at the country club 'reminded not to cry'.

The page is a montage of display and degradation, and Michael refuses to separate the brothel from the country club. His bitter jokes, 'Christ, how benevolent I am', turn against himself as much as against the rich, and the question to Daniel about the cat houses shows him testing how much of this world his listener can take.