Free And the Hippos Were Boiled in their Tanks by William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac Page A

you tell them that?”
    “Well,” I said, “I didn’t think it would make any difference.”
    “Oh yes,” she said, “even if it was only for two weeks.”
    Then I started ingratiating myself with her by asking if she knew such-and-such in the Village, or had she met such-and-such, giving her a list of my old-time left-wing friends. She knew some of them. Then I began to overdo it, telling her about my communist activities in Pennsylvania and how once I’d been arrested on the Boston Common as an agitator. She was impressed by all this. She figured me as one of the boys.
    Then Al started telling funny stories, and the luncheon developed into a miniature party, only Phillip almost botched the whole works by laughing when she mentioned “the common man.”
    Finally Al made a date with her for next week, and that sort of clinched the whole deal. When we were finished she wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and said, “Well I think I can do something about that card of yours, Mike.”
    So we all went back to 17th Street and she told us to wait while she made a few interoffice calls. “I’ll have definite news for you by three o’clock,” she said, and we saw her to the Union Hall door.
    In the Anchor Bar, we ordered a round of beers, and when Phillip went into the men’s room Al said to me, “Well, Mike, so you’re headed for France. I sure wish I could come along.”
    “Why don’t you?” I said.
    “Phillip wouldn’t have it, I don’t think. What do you think?”
    “We haven’t talked about it. As far as I’m concerned I’d like to have you along. The more the merrier, and with you around we’d make a better go of it on the tramp, I imagine.”
    “Yes,” said Al nodding his head, “I think the three of us would make a better go of it. Both of you are young and impractical, you wouldn’t know how to get food or money.”
    “That’s logical,” I said. “Alone I imagine we’d starve.”
    “I believe you’re right,” Al said. Then he went on: “Mike, why don’t you persuade Phillip to let me come along?”
    “Well,” I said, “it’s okay with me, as I told you. And I guess there’s nothing to lose trying to persuade Phillip, he may relent. Sure, I’ll ask him.”
    “Give him all the arguments about food and money.”
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “Do that, Mike.”
    “I will.”
    Al patted me on the shoulder and ordered me another beer.
    Phillip got back, and he and Al began talking about the New Vision again. Phil was wondering maybe it was impossible to achieve since we were all equipped with a limited number of senses.
    Al nodded his head and said, “That’s interesting. But you might find a great deal of interesting occultist material in Yeats and also in cabalistic doctrine.”
    “Rimbaud thought he was God,” Phillip said. “Maybe that’s the primary requisite. In cabala man stands on the threshold of vegetable life, and between him and God remains only a misty shroud. But suppose you actually projected yourself as God, as the sun, then what would you see and know?”
    “Yes,” said Al. “You might have something there.But of course Rimbaud eventually failed after a projection of that sort.”
    Phillip knotted his fist. “Of course he did, and I think I understand why, though I’m not certain I could explain it coherently.”
    “Well try anyway,” Al persuaded gently and knitted his brow.
    Here Phillip waved the matter away and asked for more beer.
    Finally it was three o’clock, and we went back across the street into the hall. I called up the girl from the foyer and she told me who to see. I thanked her for her trouble and then Al took the phone and started chatting with her.
    The union official said she had heard of my special case from a sister, and due to the circumstances she was willing to issue me a new card. While it was being made out, I slipped a couple of blank cards in my pocket in case of any future emergency.
    I went back to Phillip and Al with the good