Free Soul of a Whore and Purvis by Denis Johnson Page B

goes on there.
    â€œThey dance till two and then they screw.” That’s right.
    Sylvester pimped you as a nightly thing.
    You sucked and blew and bent and spread and squirmed
    For college jocks and gap-tooth farmer boys
    And fat-ass salesmen in their Cadillacs.
    You gave each other phony names and fucked,
    And they were all your dirty little husbands,
    And Jesus Christ can strike me down and turn
    My guts to pus if I’ve said one false thing.
    Look me in the face and tell me Jesus
    Jack is gonna cancel who you are.
    â€¦Baby…You are suckin’ my cock with your eyes.
    MASHA : Don’t. Don’t. I’m bad luck. It’s just gonna hurt you.
    WILL : I would kiss you even if it killed me.
    â€¦Jesus won’t protect you. Hell with him.
    You wanna hide? You wanna leave yourself?
    You need a stack of credit cards, a beauty parlor,
    Stocks and bonds and money in the bank,
    A little sports car and a big suburban wagon,
    Air-conditioned condo by the golf course,
    Fifty inches on your television.
    Jesus isn’t gonna give you that.
    I’m the one who’s gonna give you that.
    My fingerprints on your velour.
    MASHA :                                              O, stop.
    WILL : I’m gonna lift your skirt.
    MASHA : You can lift it a little bit.
    WILL : I’m gonna lift it higher.
    MASHA : You can lift it a little higher.
    WILL : I’m gonna lift it all the way up. Do you want me to?
    MASHA : You can. OK. You can if you want to.
    WILL : I’m gonna do whatever I want.
    MASHA : I know you are. OK. I know you are.
    BLACKOUT
    Â 
    Lights up stage right:
    BJ and SIMON as before.
    SIMON : I love this guy. You’re such a baby loser!
    You shit yer pants while pissing on yer shoes.
    BILL JENKS : You owe me, bud. I left you free to wander.
    Didn’t I leave you free for fun and travel?
    Haven’t you had some share of fun and travel?
    SIMON : Of course I have!—This year or so, since Huntsville,
    I’ve circuited the earth a dozen times,
    Entering any soul who offered entrance.
    From sin to sin I’ve wafted like a spore.
    I’ve bent the gambler to his knee,
    I’ve dragged the junkie through the grime,
    I’ve parked the harlot on her corner,
    I’ve sent the rapist on his round.
    I’ve given reasons to the traitor,
    Glossy varnish to the liar,
    Piety to hypocrites—
    And left them hobbled and alone,
    Waiting like dogs for any scent of me.
    And next, who knows? Some other galaxy.
    Prepare for takeoff! Five, four, three, two, one…
    In whose name do you cast out spirits, Healer?
    BILL JENKS : I’m not casting anybody out.
    We’re talking here. We’re making simple average
    Conversation as we grope toward
    An understanding.
    SIMON :                             Or you cast me out.
    BILL JENKS : I could. I could. So why not demonstrate
    A modicum of flexibility—
    On both our parts? I let you play with Simon;
    You hand me out my standard three predictions.
    SIMON : You’ve had your three. And one just now came true.
    Today you met your mirror, as I’m sure
    You gather. Sometime soon you’ll touch a corpse’s
    Clay and set it throbbing on the slab,
    And when, one day, as all men must, you die,
    That day an innocent shall be killed.
    BILL JENKS : Unless today’s the day, there’s bigger fish
    To get the griddle under. Bankruptcy
    For one.
    SIMON :             It’s coming sooner than you think.
    BILL JENKS : What’s coming sooner? Bankruptcy? Or death?
    SIMON : You get no more prognosticating, Jenks.
    Now, do your worst. I’m all strapped in.
    In whose name do you cast out spirits, Healer?
    BILL JENKS : What do you mean? The usual. JC
    SIMON : LIAR!
    BILL JENKS :      I don’t name names. I’ve got the gift.
    I cast out demons in my own damn name.
    â€”Is