Buddha of the Marsh
Allen Ginsberg
Photo copyright
Jack Miller
Chapter 9-- Buddha of the Marsh
Apprehension tightened the knot in Landry's belly. He had been packing for days. His finances were unmanageable. Every day he wrote more checks. The movers had taken half his furniture to storage and the other half to Burnside Island. Boxes of china, silverware, glasses, towels, the stuff of his genteel existence, were stacked and labeled, neatly surrounding him. The most difficult chore of all was packing his books. Landry wanted to preserve their order, to keep all the categories intact. Keats and Yeats were easy. The art books in all sizes, the other areas of criticism and philosophy, were the bitch. He had to choose boxes he and friends could carry since he intended to move them himself.
Again, Landry felt the knot. He tried to smooth away the pain by massaging his stomach. "Too much coffee," he said out loud. A cup half full remained on the empty bookshelf. In an hour or so David and Eddie would appear; then Jules would arrive with Charlotte who was driving with him from Atlanta. Was the coincidence of the move with Jules' birthday a good omen, or a bad one? May Day. Moving Day. "The Gyres are spinning again," Landry said to Yeats. There must be antacid in the medicine cabinet.
Landry's morning blues dissipated in the afternoon sunshine. His Volkswagon hatchback was packed to the roof. David sat beside him as he drove. Behind them Eddie drove his mother's station wagon, also filled with boxes. As they passed the old Bethesda Orphanage, David said, "Auntie Mame would be proud of us."
Landry laughed. "I always forget this is the same Bethesda."
"Can you believe we are really moving out here?" David's excitement was infectious.
"I'll believe it when my books are on the shelf."
Nonetheless, he did believe it. For the next three months he would enjoy the existence of a country gentleman. The Burnside Island house, home of Johnny Mercer, would be his. Eighteen acres of land, gardens, terraces, pine trees, and riverfront would allow him to entertain or not as he pleased.
"It certainly will be nice to walk along the river, sit on the dock, sip coffee in the breezeway between the kitchen and the green house," Landry mused. "The mornings should be cool enough for breakfast outside, don't you think?"
David agreed. Both continued to daydream as they drove over the causeway and bridge to the island. David loved the palmettos and winding creeks snaking through the marshes. Moon River was an hour from downtown. David wondered what country life would be like with Don and Eddie as Eddie's wedding day approached.
At the entrance to the estate a dirt lane led across the property to the front of the yellow, two-story, wood frame house. There was an expanse of open green lawn in front of the house. Pine trees rose tall and thin behind the house into a deep blue sky overhead. The gardens of Moon River surrounded the brick patio behind the house, facing the river. When Johnny Mercer had lived here and written his famous song, the river was called, simply, the Back River. The county renamed it Moon River when Mercer won the Academy Award for Breakfast at Tiffany's.
As they arrived, the tide was high, filling the marshes that stretched away toward Ossabaw Sound. The river did look "wider than a mile."
It took over an hour to unload the cars. The first thing Landry opened was the cat box. Fergus exited the open box as if carefully stepping out of a limousine. He looked around at Landry, Eddie, and David, sniffed the grass of the front lawn, and followed the humans into the house. There was a brave new world for Fergus to inhabit and make his own. Yet his first choice was the familiar, torn Sheridan settee onto which he leaped and curled up to oversee the humans unpacking.
A few hours later, Landry relaxed on the broad brick patio between the house and the river. A large Magnolia tree behind him was fragrant with huge white blossoms. Jules had arrived and helped complete the unpacking and arranging of everything. They all sat sipping sherry or drinking beer.
"When does Ginsberg arrive," Jules asked.
"Not for another week, thank God." Landry replied. Arranging for Allen Ginsberg to appear before the Savannah Poetry Society, to read and discuss his poems, was Landry's crowning achievement as president of the society. Inviting him to stay three nights at Moon River was a decision Landry feared he might deeply regret. In fact, Ginsberg's acceptance was something of a surprise.
"And you got a full scholarship to study at Tulane University?" Jules asked David.
"Yep. Pretty fantastic, isn't it? Summer here, then off to New Orleans. You know that Don is going to drive me there in August on his way to Mexico? And you will be going to San Francisco?”
“I’ve gotten a temporary appointment with the new Wilkes Bashford store there. I’ll design window displays and handle sales. If I do well, the job will be permanent. Right now, I just want to get settled.
“You’ll invite me to visit, I hope. San Francisco-- city of love. “
“Yes,” Jules replied.
On their first evening at Moon River, Eddie cooked. He presented Landry, David and Jules each a plate of frozen green peas, a baked potato, and a deviled crab from Williams’ Seafood. They sat at Landry’s formal dining table. The setting sun sent red rays through the kitchen window, across the dining room, to the large gilt mirror which reflected the rays onto the Hogarth engravings now hanging above the 18th Century sideboard.
Landry felt tears well up as the others ate. The evening light suggested to him the end of something—he no longer lived in the elegant mansion on Gaston Street. In a few months, everyone would be gone from this place. The prospect of going to Mexico was wonderful; yet he still felt regret or loss at what he was giving up.
“Are you OK?” David asked. They all saw that Landry was crying.
“Yes, yes. I am just overwhelmed by all the change. He laughed, a little embarrassed, and gave each of the others a smile. The three men looked so young, suddenly. The thought made him both happy and sad.
“The deviled crab was a good choice, Eddie.” Landry said. Everyone relaxed as his melancholy passed.
“Will you do the cooking when you are married?” Jules asked Eddie.
“Good question. Neither of us does much cooking, I’m afraid.”
“Where is Sharon, tonight?” David asked.
“I have no idea,” Eddie replied as if proud of the fact.
After dinner, Eddie and David wired the stereo. In no time Ravel filled the living room and the sun porch. Jules admired the art work, both Johnny Mercer’s and Landry’s. “Tell me about your African masks.”
Landry talked at length about the Dogon, Igbo, and Baule cultures. David made the coffee. They all sat on the sun porch sipping coffee, brandy, talking of art, and listening to French music.
“We are going back to town, right?” David asked.
“Yes, I suppose we must,” Landry replied. “There is another car load we should bring out tonight. The house needs to be vacated in two more days.”
“Is there enough time to stop in at Pinkie’s?”
“Oh, I think so. We can all sleep in tomorrow.”
“When will you move to San Francisco?” David asked. It was a few days later and both Jules and David were sunbathing in the side garden. The grounds provided privacy enough to sunbathe nude. They lay in broad, cushioned deck chairs on their stomachs.
“In just two weeks. So much to do to get ready.”
“Wish I could drive with you,” David said. “How long will it takes?”
“About a week. I’ll stop in Austin and in Santa Fe. You know Ken Lovell, don’t you? He makes jewelry and had a shop here.”
“Yes, I remember him.” David recalled. “Good looking guy.”
“He’ll put me up for a few days there, before the last leg of the drive to San Fran.”
“Where will you live when you get there? Do you know yet?”
One of the managers of Wilkes Bashford has promised to locate me an apartment near the shop.”
As they talked of their upcoming travels, and moves to new cities, Landry caught sight of them from the upstairs window. He made up the large, four-poster bed, tidied up the room, and was about to go downstairs. The glimpse of the two naked men held him. He stared at David’s white buttocks, thought of fucking him, even. He took a pillow from one of the Hepplewhite chairs of the bedroom and placed it on the floor. He removed his trousers and knelt on the pillow, just looking over the window sill so that he could see the two below. Imagining ravishing David, he stoked himself to orgasm, stifling a cry of longing and pleasure less he call attention to his voyeurism.
“And you go to New Orleans in August?” Jules asked David. “It will be hot, won’t it? Landry will take you on his way to Mexico…”
“We are going to stay with an elderly couple who befriended Don when he was a grad student, himself, at Tulane. She spins poodle hair from their dogs on a big spinning wheel. Her husband weaves on a loom. They are native New Orleanians. She is also a great cook, Don says; so I have good food to look forward to having. I also have to find an apartment.”
“It must be fate that we are all going to new homes at the same time,” Jules said. “I feel we are all simultaneously expanding our consciousness, growing to a new spiritual level.”
Feeling the warmth of sunshine on his naked flesh, smelling the flowers of the garden, fragrant with magnolia blooms and a hint of honeysuckle, David had to agree. “We are blessed to have so much, all this, and so much opportunity,” he said. He reached over and gave Jules a kiss.
----------
There was no mistaking Allen Ginsberg at the Savannah Airport. Despite his having shaved his famous full beard, the bare-faced poet emerged from among the deplaning passengers like a radiant genie. He carried a gleaming brass trident, around which he had tied a pink, silk scarf from India. Holding the trident like a scepter, he was a grinning sea god, a long chain of wooden beads around his neck. The beads culminated in a small skull that dangled over his faded blue button down shirt and his bulging belly that hang out of well worn blue jeans. What hair Ginsberg had preserved formed a laurel crown above his wide ears and his shining, bald head. He walked up to the welcoming party as if he already knew them.
"You have a choice," Landry offered as they walked to the baggage claim. "We can drive straight to Moon River or go into Savannah first for a drink and a look around."
Ginsberg sized up the welcoming party, Landry the gray-haired professor wearing a gray cashmere sweater, tall Eddie, a student no doubt wearing a sheepish grin, Susan in jeans and a sweatshirt, short, aggressive, probably a lesbian, and David, also short, but sensual, hot, smart.
"Does Savannah have a peg house?" He asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Landry laughed. He knew the others had never heard this term. "We have two gay bars, but that is about it."
"I think I'd like to get settled in, if we could see your city afterwords," Ginsberg said. He gave David a smile that conjured in David's mind a leprechaun, "Then perhaps one of you can share the sights with me."
Landry smiled as Allen clearly directed his request to David.
"Do you want Eddie and me to come out to the house, or just to meet you later?' Susan asked. She was disappointed not to be going first downtown.
"Why don't we all meet at the Pink House," David suggested. "We can have a drink in the downstairs bar." There was a campy piano bar there where the clientele included Savannah's prosperous gays who often gathered at Happy Hour. David imagined injecting the crowd with a Beat poet. Susan loved the idea and seconded the choice. They all, Eddie reluctantly, agreed.
On the drive to Moon River, Ginsberg talked of the busy three days ahead. No, he had no interest in seeing the Owen Thomas House, nor the Davenport House, not the Juliet Gordon Lowe House. Yes, he wanted to walk the historic district, but, as he put it, he didn't want to goo-gaw over all the Bourgeois possessions of Victorian Savannah. Landry resisted the urge to make a cutting remark or point out that Savannah's best architecture was Regency, not Victorian.
"Would you consider giving a reading at the Carnegie Library?" asked David. He explained that Carnegie had a large children's section where school kids could easily sit and listen to a recitation. "There is usually a group, mostly poor black kids from the neighborhood, that meets on Friday mornings. " David did not confess that he had already mentioned the possibility of the poet visiting the library to Carnegie's head librarian, Mrs. Pope.
"Yes. Yes, splendid idea. " Allen replied. "I've been recording Blake's poems and I could sing them. I will chant to them as well." David foresaw Ginsberg perched on the old oak desk chanting and a dozen fifth graders howling along with him, gleeful and mesmerized.
As the road opened to the marshlands, palm trees, and meandering creeks, Allen became silent. He stared at the landscape and hummed to himself. His body relaxed as he held his head in his open palm and as he gazed from the passenger window. "How beautiful it is here," he said softly. The harsh, tense planning voice became calm and gentle. When, at last, he saw the yellow, two-story, wood frame house at the end of a grassy dirt lane, he proclaimed, "An oasis in the savannahs."
The bar below the Pink House restaurant was having a smashing Thursday evening. The piano man was belting out show tunes, and the usual 40-something crowd was perched around him. Several men sang along. Cocktails were generous, if expensive. Landry thought the gathering ludicrous. Allen had seen it all before, too many times in too many cities. David loved it.
Already sitting at a table across from the bar and away from the piano were Eddie and Susan. Misery sat on Eddie's face while Susan displayed a mocking smile and waved them over. "We thought we could talk better over here," Eddie said as the others pulled up chairs and joined them.
As David had surmised, Allen Ginsberg was noticed. The uninitiated looked with scorn at his jeans and his wood bead necklace. Most at the Piano wore suits. Yet, the few who recognized him quickly spread the word in the pause between "Summertime" and "Day of Wine and Roses."
Ginsberg ordered a beer and asked a few questions about the historic house they were in. He quickly tired of the place and the pretentiousness. Upstairs in the restaurant proper he laughed at the prices on the menu; then he ordered the most expensive seafood dish. "This, my friends, is not my scene. It's as stuffy as my stuffed crab." He smiled trying not to offend. After all, This dinner was on the Poetry Society.
"Why don't we split this place and go to Pinkies," Eddie offered.
"Is that the gay bar?" Allen asked, hopefully.
"It's our political bar," David explained. "But it's popular with gays."
"Too early for the real gay bars-- Feelgood's and the Basement," Susan added. "But we could go to a bar along the river, then to Feelgood's."
Allen shrugged. For now he was glad to let them lead him wherever.
"Let's walk then. The River will give you a sense of the city. " David said to Allen.
Charmed by David, Ginsberg concurred. "Be my guides then," he said to the party.
The five crossed busy Bay Street and made their way down the cobblestone streets. Mounds of dirt and disarray from the construction of the new riverfront plaza prompted Landry to explain the plans of the revival to Ginsberg. Landry pointed to the towering six story wall of buildings along Riverstreet. "Savannah has managed to preserve its river front almost exactly as it was two hundred years ago. All this area was considered a major city in Colonial days. These cobblestones we are stumbling over were brought as ballast in ships from England, then placed as paving stones."
Ginsberg nodded appreciatively. He stopped and took it all in. "Any other place like this, one would fear for his life in these dark alleyways and passages. Isn't that Jack the Ripper I see over in that corner?"
"Oh, there were pirates and plenty of shady characters here in the early Nineteenth Century," David said. "The bars were full of your sailors and prostitutes. And it really isn't safe, future Plaza or no."
They wandered into a bar called The Other End. "It's behind the Boar's Head restaurant,"Eddie said.
A thin, lone singer did a James Taylor impersonation. There were only a handful of moderately drunk people in the bar. It was dark and smoky. They stayed for only one drink.
Again crossing Bay Street, heading south, Ginsberg visibly irritated by the tour of Factor's walk, they all marched up Drayton Street to Dr. Feelgood's. Landry took the lead with his long-legged gait and quickly paid the small cover charge for the whole group. Inside, the five separated and relaxed. Allen, at David's invitation, followed him into the dark interior beyond the dance floor. No one was dancing yet and there were several empty tables and bar stools against the wall.
"Will you tell me about India?" David asked as they sat down.
Allen laughed, clearly glad to be alone with David. "It is a very big country."
"You know... what you did there, who you traveled with..."
"Yes, my lover, Peter. Peter Orlovsky. We visited temples. lovely vast temples with sacred erotic figures. We learned about Hinduism and the sensuous gods. We learned about Mahayana Buddhism. It opened our Heart Chakra."
David smiled, imagining the temples, remembering images he had seen in books. "And do you think, from your experience, that Buddhism can encompass our being gay?'
"Buddhism encompasses everything," Ginsberg shouted. "It goes beyond sex. It transcends our silly, limited categories. You must practice meditation and yoga and chant until the old snake of the West, the Satanic snake, exits your bowels, slithers up your crooked spine, spouts downy wings and flies out of your head as you bless yourself."
"Like an acid trip, you mean?" David asked. He loved Allen's rapture.
"Acid. Peyote. Sacred Mushrooms. Dope. Hashish form Morocco. They are all prickly pears to pierce the old world hide that holds our souls in. All you have to do, David, is let go," Ginsberg took David's shoulders in his hands. "Open your mouth and let your soul emerge from the depths of your solar plexus. Chant. Sing. Hum. Dance. Let go of your ego. Wake up!"
As the bar grew crowded, David brought people he knew to meet the poet. It was apparent that Allen enjoyed the adulation those who knew of his poetry gave. He held forth about Jack Kerouac and the tragedy of his death. He talked of Burroughs, of Algiers, of the Beats' struggle through the Fifties. His exchanges with people eventually included "the fascist regime of Nixon running the Vietnam genocide."
David waited until the harangues concluded or subsided and then turned the talk back to Blake and Whitman. Allen calmed. "You Southerners are too complacent and that means complicit." But he gave in to the urge to talk of love and sex. "Better to murder the child in the crib than to nurse an unrealized desire," he paraphrased Blake.
Dr, Landry never joined the group again. He saw David with Ginsberg and wondered why David idolized him. "He would. The whole Hippie worship of the beats and their rejection of conventional manners and morality. Ginsberg is just Diogenes without the torch." Don knew he was just being sour. He disliked the posing and posturing that characterized Feelgood's. The music was far too loud. He had to invite Allen to go elsewhere with him, but he was relieved when David offered to take care of him and see that he got a ride home to Moon River. Ginsberg was clearly enjoying himself. David's friend Brian had appeared and was enthralled with the poet.
After Landry left, David danced with Susan and Eddie, all three together on the strobe lit dancefloor. "Where is Sharon, tonight?' David asked.
Eddie's lips curled in contempt. "She's my fiance, not my mother. And you know how much she despises this place."
"And she's not at all jealous of me, is she? Now that she knows I am a thespian."
"Why do you all think it's ok to make fun of her? Eddie asked. "She is a perfectly wonderful person."
"We probably should pity her," Susan answered, immediately regretting being so harsh.
As midnight arrived Eddie said he needed to leave. "I told Sharon I'd give here a goodnight call from Moon River."
"Good fiance." Susan laughed.
"Let me check with Ginsberg and see if he's ready to leave."
Allen was in intimate, passionate talk with Brian. David's friend from St. Patrick's Day, Michael was also among those listening to Ginsberg's stories.
"You guys head on," Brian said. as David suggested leaving. "I'll give Mr. Ginsberg a lift out to Moon River. I have to return to Windsor Forest, anyway. Same direction."
"But that is a long drive." Allen protested. He didn't want to be rude to David, however charmed he was by Brian.
"No, not at all. I have a Mustang convertible and we can breeze out to the river with the top down. You'll love it."
"David, if that is fine with you... your friend has captured me."
David was caught off guard by the turn of events. "No, you should have a good time, mingle with Savannians. We'll see you at breakfast! Good night."
He turned to join Eddie and Susan who waved goodbye to Allen.
As the three climbed into the yellow Carmen Ghia, Susan thought how odd it was the way things evolved. She thought of her night on the slab of tomb in Colonial Cemetery when she momentarily wanted to make love to Eddie and David simultaneously. Or was it that she wanted to watch the two men make love, to see David penetrate Eddie, or the other way around. Poor David; now he was dropped by Brian for Ginsberg. She had to ask David, "Aren't you and Brian lovers?"
David winced. Did everyone know everyone he bedded down with? "If you mean did we fuck... yes."
"When was that?" Eddie asked. He never knew, nor really wanted to know, whom David fucked.
"Does it matter?"
"Sorry. I wasn't aware you were in a relationship. Are he and Ginsberg going to sleep together?" Eddie was puzzled but intrigued by gay pairings.
"How should I know?" David was pissed at Eddie's dismissive tone.
Susan's apartment was their first stop. She kissed both men on the lips. She wished they were couple. "Well, I think I've had enough of the Beat experience. But if you need me to take Ginsberg anywhere or attend any of his readings, just let me know. I'd love to hear him read from 'Howl.' You too behave, OK?"
When they arrived back at the narrow lane to Moon River, the house loomed large and dark, silhouetted against the pine trees. The only light came from the bulb above the back door leading to the patio.
"So. Don hasn't returned." David said.
"We should have stopped at Pinkies." Eddie replied.
"No. I'll bet he just went to the Basement, and probably got invited to some after hours party."
"I'd better call Sharon. It's already too late, but she made me promise to call." As Eddie expected, she was in bed asleep and mumbled love and thanks for calling.
The two made themselves drinks, Eddie joining David for a bourbon and Ginger, and settled on the sun porch. David put Bill Evans on the record player. A rendition of "My Funny Valentine with Evans and Miles Davis filled the room. Eddie smiled. David saw right off that he was willing or even wanted to be seduced.
Landry arrived home an hour or so later. He fumbled with the keys at the front door, not realizing it was unlocked. Aware on entering that others were up and lights on, he hurried quietly up to the master bedroom. He had no interest in joining in conversation, presuming wrongly that Ginsberg was still holding forth with those downstairs. Not bothering with the lights, he undressed in the dark and fell gratefully into his bed and into sleep. "Thank you, my dear God, for the oblivion of sleep." He muttered as he dozed off.
It was approaching dawn when Brian's convertible drove noisily up the dirt lane of Moon River. David watched from the sun porch as Ginsberg said goodnight and climbed out of the Mustang. David knew Brian would not come in.
"I think I'd better go to bed. " Eddie said, seeing David staring out of the window. "You and Allen can have the room to yourselves."
"Don't you want to watch the sunrise?' David asked, half mocking Eddie. Ginsberg entered the room mid-question.
"You are still up! Am I invited to share the sunrise with you?'
"Of course. It comes up right over moon River. You won't be disappointed." David replied.
Eddie nodded, then mounted the stairs to his bedroom. David and Allen walked across the brick patio, Ginsburg humming, down through the tall pines toward the dock. The wooden planks of the dock were rotting, the dilapidation making walking out on it dangerous. Allen and David tiptoed gingerly out to the end of the pier overlooking the flowing creek. They stood at the old railing staring at the point where, at any moment, the sun would emerge from the bright, glowing layer of cloud above the marsh grass and across Moon River.
Allen sat in lotus position facing the sunrise. David felt half asleep, as if in a trance. He wanted to ask Ginsberg if he had made love to Brian, had it been good. But he couldn't break the soothing silence of the flowing river below, the lapping of the water on the mud at the base of the pilings holding them up. He knew he had, anyway.
"You have a choice," Landry offered as they walked to the baggage claim. "We can drive straight to Moon River or go into Savannah first for a drink and a look around."
Ginsberg sized up the welcoming party, Landry the gray-haired professor wearing a gray cashmere sweater, tall Eddie, a student no doubt wearing a sheepish grin, Susan in jeans and a sweatshirt, short, aggressive, probably a lesbian, and David, also short, but sensual, hot, smart.
"Does Savannah have a peg house?" He asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Landry laughed. He knew the others had never heard this term. "We have two gay bars, but that is about it."
"I think I'd like to get settled in, if we could see your city afterwords," Ginsberg said. He gave David a smile that conjured in David's mind a leprechaun, "Then perhaps one of you can share the sights with me."
Landry smiled as Allen clearly directed his request to David.
"Do you want Eddie and me to come out to the house, or just to meet you later?' Susan asked. She was disappointed not to be going first downtown.
"Why don't we all meet at the Pink House," David suggested. "We can have a drink in the downstairs bar." There was a campy piano bar there where the clientele included Savannah's prosperous gays who often gathered at Happy Hour. David imagined injecting the crowd with a Beat poet. Susan loved the idea and seconded the choice. They all, Eddie reluctantly, agreed.
On the drive to Moon River, Ginsberg talked of the busy three days ahead. No, he had no interest in seeing the Owen Thomas House, nor the Davenport House, not the Juliet Gordon Lowe House. Yes, he wanted to walk the historic district, but, as he put it, he didn't want to goo-gaw over all the Bourgeois possessions of Victorian Savannah. Landry resisted the urge to make a cutting remark or point out that Savannah's best architecture was Regency, not Victorian.
"Would you consider giving a reading at the Carnegie Library?" asked David. He explained that Carnegie had a large children's section where school kids could easily sit and listen to a recitation. "There is usually a group, mostly poor black kids from the neighborhood, that meets on Friday mornings. " David did not confess that he had already mentioned the possibility of the poet visiting the library to Carnegie's head librarian, Mrs. Pope.
"Yes. Yes, splendid idea. " Allen replied. "I've been recording Blake's poems and I could sing them. I will chant to them as well." David foresaw Ginsberg perched on the old oak desk chanting and a dozen fifth graders howling along with him, gleeful and mesmerized.
As the road opened to the marshlands, palm trees, and meandering creeks, Allen became silent. He stared at the landscape and hummed to himself. His body relaxed as he held his head in his open palm and as he gazed from the passenger window. "How beautiful it is here," he said softly. The harsh, tense planning voice became calm and gentle. When, at last, he saw the yellow, two-story, wood frame house at the end of a grassy dirt lane, he proclaimed, "An oasis in the savannahs."
The bar below the Pink House restaurant was having a smashing Thursday evening. The piano man was belting out show tunes, and the usual 40-something crowd was perched around him. Several men sang along. Cocktails were generous, if expensive. Landry thought the gathering ludicrous. Allen had seen it all before, too many times in too many cities. David loved it.
Already sitting at a table across from the bar and away from the piano were Eddie and Susan. Misery sat on Eddie's face while Susan displayed a mocking smile and waved them over. "We thought we could talk better over here," Eddie said as the others pulled up chairs and joined them.
As David had surmised, Allen Ginsberg was noticed. The uninitiated looked with scorn at his jeans and his wood bead necklace. Most at the Piano wore suits. Yet, the few who recognized him quickly spread the word in the pause between "Summertime" and "Day of Wine and Roses."
Ginsberg ordered a beer and asked a few questions about the historic house they were in. He quickly tired of the place and the pretentiousness. Upstairs in the restaurant proper he laughed at the prices on the menu; then he ordered the most expensive seafood dish. "This, my friends, is not my scene. It's as stuffy as my stuffed crab." He smiled trying not to offend. After all, This dinner was on the Poetry Society.
"Why don't we split this place and go to Pinkies," Eddie offered.
"Is that the gay bar?" Allen asked, hopefully.
"It's our political bar," David explained. "But it's popular with gays."
"Too early for the real gay bars-- Feelgood's and the Basement," Susan added. "But we could go to a bar along the river, then to Feelgood's."
Allen shrugged. For now he was glad to let them lead him wherever.
"Let's walk then. The River will give you a sense of the city. " David said to Allen.
Charmed by David, Ginsberg concurred. "Be my guides then," he said to the party.
The five crossed busy Bay Street and made their way down the cobblestone streets. Mounds of dirt and disarray from the construction of the new riverfront plaza prompted Landry to explain the plans of the revival to Ginsberg. Landry pointed to the towering six story wall of buildings along Riverstreet. "Savannah has managed to preserve its river front almost exactly as it was two hundred years ago. All this area was considered a major city in Colonial days. These cobblestones we are stumbling over were brought as ballast in ships from England, then placed as paving stones."
Ginsberg nodded appreciatively. He stopped and took it all in. "Any other place like this, one would fear for his life in these dark alleyways and passages. Isn't that Jack the Ripper I see over in that corner?"
"Oh, there were pirates and plenty of shady characters here in the early Nineteenth Century," David said. "The bars were full of your sailors and prostitutes. And it really isn't safe, future Plaza or no."
They wandered into a bar called The Other End. "It's behind the Boar's Head restaurant,"Eddie said.
A thin, lone singer did a James Taylor impersonation. There were only a handful of moderately drunk people in the bar. It was dark and smoky. They stayed for only one drink.
Again crossing Bay Street, heading south, Ginsberg visibly irritated by the tour of Factor's walk, they all marched up Drayton Street to Dr. Feelgood's. Landry took the lead with his long-legged gait and quickly paid the small cover charge for the whole group. Inside, the five separated and relaxed. Allen, at David's invitation, followed him into the dark interior beyond the dance floor. No one was dancing yet and there were several empty tables and bar stools against the wall.
"Will you tell me about India?" David asked as they sat down.
Allen laughed, clearly glad to be alone with David. "It is a very big country."
"You know... what you did there, who you traveled with..."
"Yes, my lover, Peter. Peter Orlovsky. We visited temples. lovely vast temples with sacred erotic figures. We learned about Hinduism and the sensuous gods. We learned about Mahayana Buddhism. It opened our Heart Chakra."
David smiled, imagining the temples, remembering images he had seen in books. "And do you think, from your experience, that Buddhism can encompass our being gay?'
"Buddhism encompasses everything," Ginsberg shouted. "It goes beyond sex. It transcends our silly, limited categories. You must practice meditation and yoga and chant until the old snake of the West, the Satanic snake, exits your bowels, slithers up your crooked spine, spouts downy wings and flies out of your head as you bless yourself."
"Like an acid trip, you mean?" David asked. He loved Allen's rapture.
"Acid. Peyote. Sacred Mushrooms. Dope. Hashish form Morocco. They are all prickly pears to pierce the old world hide that holds our souls in. All you have to do, David, is let go," Ginsberg took David's shoulders in his hands. "Open your mouth and let your soul emerge from the depths of your solar plexus. Chant. Sing. Hum. Dance. Let go of your ego. Wake up!"
As the bar grew crowded, David brought people he knew to meet the poet. It was apparent that Allen enjoyed the adulation those who knew of his poetry gave. He held forth about Jack Kerouac and the tragedy of his death. He talked of Burroughs, of Algiers, of the Beats' struggle through the Fifties. His exchanges with people eventually included "the fascist regime of Nixon running the Vietnam genocide."
David waited until the harangues concluded or subsided and then turned the talk back to Blake and Whitman. Allen calmed. "You Southerners are too complacent and that means complicit." But he gave in to the urge to talk of love and sex. "Better to murder the child in the crib than to nurse an unrealized desire," he paraphrased Blake.
Dr, Landry never joined the group again. He saw David with Ginsberg and wondered why David idolized him. "He would. The whole Hippie worship of the beats and their rejection of conventional manners and morality. Ginsberg is just Diogenes without the torch." Don knew he was just being sour. He disliked the posing and posturing that characterized Feelgood's. The music was far too loud. He had to invite Allen to go elsewhere with him, but he was relieved when David offered to take care of him and see that he got a ride home to Moon River. Ginsberg was clearly enjoying himself. David's friend Brian had appeared and was enthralled with the poet.
After Landry left, David danced with Susan and Eddie, all three together on the strobe lit dancefloor. "Where is Sharon, tonight?' David asked.
Eddie's lips curled in contempt. "She's my fiance, not my mother. And you know how much she despises this place."
"And she's not at all jealous of me, is she? Now that she knows I am a thespian."
"Why do you all think it's ok to make fun of her? Eddie asked. "She is a perfectly wonderful person."
"We probably should pity her," Susan answered, immediately regretting being so harsh.
As midnight arrived Eddie said he needed to leave. "I told Sharon I'd give here a goodnight call from Moon River."
"Good fiance." Susan laughed.
"Let me check with Ginsberg and see if he's ready to leave."
Allen was in intimate, passionate talk with Brian. David's friend from St. Patrick's Day, Michael was also among those listening to Ginsberg's stories.
"You guys head on," Brian said. as David suggested leaving. "I'll give Mr. Ginsberg a lift out to Moon River. I have to return to Windsor Forest, anyway. Same direction."
"But that is a long drive." Allen protested. He didn't want to be rude to David, however charmed he was by Brian.
"No, not at all. I have a Mustang convertible and we can breeze out to the river with the top down. You'll love it."
"David, if that is fine with you... your friend has captured me."
David was caught off guard by the turn of events. "No, you should have a good time, mingle with Savannians. We'll see you at breakfast! Good night."
He turned to join Eddie and Susan who waved goodbye to Allen.
As the three climbed into the yellow Carmen Ghia, Susan thought how odd it was the way things evolved. She thought of her night on the slab of tomb in Colonial Cemetery when she momentarily wanted to make love to Eddie and David simultaneously. Or was it that she wanted to watch the two men make love, to see David penetrate Eddie, or the other way around. Poor David; now he was dropped by Brian for Ginsberg. She had to ask David, "Aren't you and Brian lovers?"
David winced. Did everyone know everyone he bedded down with? "If you mean did we fuck... yes."
"When was that?" Eddie asked. He never knew, nor really wanted to know, whom David fucked.
"Does it matter?"
"Sorry. I wasn't aware you were in a relationship. Are he and Ginsberg going to sleep together?" Eddie was puzzled but intrigued by gay pairings.
"How should I know?" David was pissed at Eddie's dismissive tone.
Susan's apartment was their first stop. She kissed both men on the lips. She wished they were couple. "Well, I think I've had enough of the Beat experience. But if you need me to take Ginsberg anywhere or attend any of his readings, just let me know. I'd love to hear him read from 'Howl.' You too behave, OK?"
When they arrived back at the narrow lane to Moon River, the house loomed large and dark, silhouetted against the pine trees. The only light came from the bulb above the back door leading to the patio.
"So. Don hasn't returned." David said.
"We should have stopped at Pinkies." Eddie replied.
"No. I'll bet he just went to the Basement, and probably got invited to some after hours party."
"I'd better call Sharon. It's already too late, but she made me promise to call." As Eddie expected, she was in bed asleep and mumbled love and thanks for calling.
The two made themselves drinks, Eddie joining David for a bourbon and Ginger, and settled on the sun porch. David put Bill Evans on the record player. A rendition of "My Funny Valentine with Evans and Miles Davis filled the room. Eddie smiled. David saw right off that he was willing or even wanted to be seduced.
Landry arrived home an hour or so later. He fumbled with the keys at the front door, not realizing it was unlocked. Aware on entering that others were up and lights on, he hurried quietly up to the master bedroom. He had no interest in joining in conversation, presuming wrongly that Ginsberg was still holding forth with those downstairs. Not bothering with the lights, he undressed in the dark and fell gratefully into his bed and into sleep. "Thank you, my dear God, for the oblivion of sleep." He muttered as he dozed off.
It was approaching dawn when Brian's convertible drove noisily up the dirt lane of Moon River. David watched from the sun porch as Ginsberg said goodnight and climbed out of the Mustang. David knew Brian would not come in.
"I think I'd better go to bed. " Eddie said, seeing David staring out of the window. "You and Allen can have the room to yourselves."
"Don't you want to watch the sunrise?' David asked, half mocking Eddie. Ginsberg entered the room mid-question.
"You are still up! Am I invited to share the sunrise with you?'
"Of course. It comes up right over moon River. You won't be disappointed." David replied.
Eddie nodded, then mounted the stairs to his bedroom. David and Allen walked across the brick patio, Ginsburg humming, down through the tall pines toward the dock. The wooden planks of the dock were rotting, the dilapidation making walking out on it dangerous. Allen and David tiptoed gingerly out to the end of the pier overlooking the flowing creek. They stood at the old railing staring at the point where, at any moment, the sun would emerge from the bright, glowing layer of cloud above the marsh grass and across Moon River.
Allen sat in lotus position facing the sunrise. David felt half asleep, as if in a trance. He wanted to ask Ginsberg if he had made love to Brian, had it been good. But he couldn't break the soothing silence of the flowing river below, the lapping of the water on the mud at the base of the pilings holding them up. He knew he had, anyway.
The sun appeared. A blood red ball blazed up from behind the clouds. Immediately, a wavering line of light shimmered in the expanse of water that stretched through the marshland to the Sun.
"I think I shall go back and go to bed, now," David said to Allen. David stood behind the sitting poet.
"Thank you," Allen replied. "Thank you for bringing me to this divine place. You are beatific."
As David worked his way over the dock's broken planks to the land, he gazed back at Allen Ginsberg. The sun was forming a glowing halo around him. Allen had become the Buddha of the Marsh, radiating holiness in the morning mist. He appeared to float above Moon River from his perch at the end of the pier. David wished he had his camera. "I must take more photos later, David reminded himself.
When he reached the house and climbed the steps to his room, he took a last long glimpse of the river. The sun had become white hot in the sky. Allen had not moved an inch. "Some day I will learn to meditate like that," David whispered as he undressed. In seconds he was asleep in the large Stickley bed.
End, Ch. 9
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