The Billiken's Bluff

I jotted down these notes, in the form of a text message, before writing this post:

Rest of Life along those lines - vietnam market marble sales say no buying something not sure why never really wanted it- text messaging myself ideas while on BQE - risking life and limb.

Old Bull Lee.



My favorite passage from On the Road is a description of him while at college. It is the reason I like William Burroughs even though I never read anything he wrote.

There is a strange story about his college days that illustrates something else about him: he had friends for cocktails in his well-appointed rooms one afternoon when suddenly his pet ferret rushed out and bit an elegant teacup queer on the ankle and everybody hightailed it out the door, screaming. Old Bull leaped up and grabbed his shotgun and said, "He smells that old rat again" and shot a hole in the wall big enough for fifty rats. On the wall hung a picture of an ugly old Cape Cod house. His friends said, "Why do you have that ugly thing hanging there?" and Bull said, "I like it because it's ugly" All his life was in that line.

We rent motor bikes complete with drivers. 7 dollars for 3 hours, or however long it takes really. Sparse English is exchanged. Tourist lingo. They pretty much know what we want. What else could we want? Girls, drugs? They offer. We decline. Nods exchanged. Currency disseminated. 50 km per hour riding on the back holding on tight. A bike passes a woman with a Raiden-style hat rides side saddle showing me up.





Loosen my grip. I lean back a bit. A second bike approaches. If there is a peak season here, this is not it. "America's Cool!!!" She raises two thumbs up. No hands on handle bars.



They know where we are going of course. An attraction like Disney, but in the margins. This is going to have to be a transaction. I am the buyer, they sell. I close my eyes and hold on tight. This is as good as it gets.

In the mountain temples. A solitude of sorts. I photograph my friend in an important pose. I take the picture. Retake.



Play with the settings. Get it as right as it is going to get.

I exit, sweating. I buy a Coke, my first purchase here. We walk away from the rocks towards the ocean, off season. But the vendors, the sellers stay, it is what they do and there is no where else to go, so they wait. We walk to the water. Water that looks about as tropical as Jones Beach. Blue black water. China Beach. A beach anywhere in the world.



The Great Plains of beaches. A Dust Bowl of water. Us and no one else at all. A dozen children attack us, merrily and hungrily.





Marble. Hawking their wares. This is Marble Mountain, you see. I get it. No thanks.

But how about?... Trinkets. Idols. Buddhas. Elephants. Jade colored. Buy. Buy. Buy? There are no other tourists to absorb this dozen. Buy. Because that is what you do, right?



They ask me.

I don't disagree with you, with them. I should pay for something right? An unspoken obligation, democratizing the region. Bringing capitalism, and parting with currency, repaying debts. It's not that. These kids are young. I am older but still young. This is natural somehow. It feels that of course they should be selling and I should be buying.

They only want a dollar. I walk straight. I ignore I try to become immune to their sales pitches. Testimonials pleads, describing the durability of marble. They toss it in the sand to prove that it is unbreakable. It doesn't break. I ignore them. I glance down and consider a jade-colored monkey. I keep walking. The thought of pulling my wallet out of my pants pocket is overwhelming it wouldn't work. I would be swarmed.

Continually being sold something that I'm not sure I really want to buy.