The 'Priest' They Called Him

William S. Burroughs
Kurt Cobain
"Fight tuberculosis, folks." “
Christmas Eve, an old junkie selling Christmas seals on North Park Street
The "Priest", they called him
"Fight tuberculosis, folks."“
People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall
It was getting late and no money to score
He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife
Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight
Boy got out with a suitcase
Thin kid in prep school clothes
"Familiar face," the Priest told himself, watching from the doorway“
"Reminds me of something a long time ago." “
The boy, there, with his overcoat unbuttoned, reaching into his pants pocket for the cab fare
The cab drove away and turned the corner
The boy went inside a building

The suitcase was there in the doorway
The boy nowhere in sight
"Gone to get the keys, most likely, have to move fast."“
He picked up the suitcase and started for the corner
Made it. Glanced down at the case
It didn’t look like the case the boy had, or any boy would have
The Priest couldn’t put his finger on what was so old about the case
Old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy
"Better see what’s inside."“
He turned into Lincoln Park, found an empty place and opened the case
Two severed human legs that belonged to a young man with dark skin
Shiny black leg hairs glittered in the dim streetlight
The legs had been forced into the case and he had to use his knee on the back of the case to shove them out
"Legs, yet," he said, and walked quickly away with the case“
Might bring a few dollars to score
The buyer sniffed suspiciously
"Kind of a funny smell about it."“
"It’s just Mexican leather." He shrugged“
Well, some joker didn’t cure it."
The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor
"Not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is“
Three is the best I can do and it hurts
But since this is Christmas and you’re the Priest…"
He slipped three bills under the table into the Priest’s dirty hand
The Priest faded into the street shadows, seedy and furtive
"Three cents didn’t buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel
Say, remember that old Addie crooker told me not to come back unless I paid him the three cents I owe him
Yeah, isn’t that a fruit for ya. Blow your stack about three lousy cents."
The doctor was not pleased to see him
"Now, what do you WANT? I TOLD you!"“
The Priest laid three bills on the table
The doctor put the money in his pocket and started to scream
"I’ve had TROUBLES! PEOPLE have been around! I may lose my LICENSE!"“
The Priest just sat there, eyes old and heavy with years of junk, on the doctor’s face
"I can’t write you a prescription."“
The doctor jerked open a drawer and slid an ampule across the table
"That’s all I have in the OFFICE!" The doctor stood up“
"Take it and GET OUT!" he screamed, hysterical“
The Priest’s expression did not change
The doctor added in quieter tones
"After all, I’m a professional man, and I shouldn’t be bothered by people like you."“
"Is that all you have for me? One lousy quarter G? Couldn’t you lend me a nickel or…?"“
"GET OUT, GET OUT, I’ll call the police I tell you."“
"All right, doctor, I’m going."
Of course it was cold and far to walk, rooming house, a shabby street, room on the top floor
"These stairs," coughed the Priest there, pulling himself up along the bannister“
He went into the bathroom, yellow wall panels, toilet dripping
and got his works from under the washbasin, wrapped in brown paper
back to his room, get every drop in the dropper
He rolled up his sleeve
Then he heard a groan from next door, room eighteen
The Mexican kid lived there
The Priest had passed him on the stairs and saw the kid was hooked
But he never spoke
Because he didn’t want any juvenile connections
Bad news in any language
The Priest had had enough bad news in his life
He heard the groan again, a groan he could feel, no mistaking that groan and what it meant
"Maybe he had an accident or something“
In any case, I can’t enjoy my priestly medications with that sound coming through the wall."
Thin walls you understand
The Priest put down his dropper
cold hall
and knocked on the door of room eighteen
"Quien es?"
"It’s the Preist, kid“
I live next door.
He could hear someone hobbling across the floor
A bolt
slid
The boy stood there in his underwear shorts
eyes black
with pain
He started to fall
The Priest helped him over to the bed
"What’s wrong, son?"
"It’s my legs, señor，“
cramps, and now I am without medicine."
The Priest could see the cramps
like knots of wood there in the young leaning legs
Dark shiny black leg hairs
"A few years ago I damaged myself in a bicycle race“
It was then that the cramps started."
And now he has the leg cramps back
with compound junk interest
The old Priest stood there
feeling the boy groan
He inclined his head as if in prayer
Went back and got his dropper
"It’s just a quarter G, kid."“
"I do not require much, señor."“
The boy was sleeping when the Priest left room eighteen
He went back to his room and sat down on the bed
Then it hit him like heavy silent snow
All the gray junk yesterdays
He sat there received the immaculate fix
And since he was himself a priest
There was no need to call one