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 mommy 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

Haiti supplies the trip's most damning image: 'The pompous tossing their half dollars into the ocean for the natives to pluck out with their teeth,' children 'lying diseased and naked in the street with their hands reaching out,' the women calling them 'pests' - 'right before the Papa Doc revolution.' Michael 'drank straight through' to Nassau, refusing his father's call to 'show some responsibility' for 'Money. God, it's the biggest joke going.' Against the country-club babies 'reminded not to cry' so 'mommy' can 'take a dip in the warm pool,' he sets the whore house where 'The women are really good, and that's not out of Eugene O'Neill,' insisting he works in them rather than visits.