at the head of this street a gasping organ is waving moth-eaten tunes. a fattish hand turns
the crank; the box spouts fairies, out of it sour gnomes tumble clumsily, the little box is
spilling rancid elves upon neat sunlight into the flowerstricken air which is filthy with agile
swarming sonal creatures.
—Children, stand with circular frightened faces glaring at the shabby tiny smiling, man in
whose hand the crank goes desperately, round and round pointing to the queer monkey
(if you toss him a coin he will pick it cleverly from, the air and stuff it seriously in, his minute
pocket) Sometimes he does not catch a piece of money and then his master will yell at him
over the music and jerk the little string and the monkey will sit, up, and look at, you with his
solemn blinky eyeswhichneversmile and after he has caught a, penny or three, pennies he will be thrown a peanut (which he will open skillfully with his, mouth carefully holding, it, in
his little toylike hand) and then he will stiff-ly throw the shell away with a small bored
gesture that makes the children laugh.
But i don’t, the crank goes round desperate elves and hopeless gnomes and frantic fairies
gush clumsily from the battered box fattish and mysterious the flowerstricken sunlight is
thickening dizzily is reeling gently the street and the children and the monkeyandtheorgan
and the man are dancing slowly are tottering up and down in a trembly mist of atrocious
melody…. tiniest dead tunes crawl upon my face my hair is lousy with mutilated singing
microscopic things in my ears scramble faintly tickling putrescent atomies,
and
i feel the jerk of the little string! the tiny smiling shabby man is yelling over the music i
understand him i shove my round red hat back on my head i sit up and blink at you with my
solemn eyeswhichneversmile.
yes, By god.
for i am they are pointing at the queer monkey with a little oldish doll-like face and hair arms
like an ogre and rubbercoloured hands and feet filled with quick fingers and a remarkable
tail which is allbyitself alive. (and he has a little red coat with i have a real pocket in it and
the round funny hat with a big feather is tied under myhis chin.) that climbs and cries and
runs and floats like a toy on the end of a string.
the crank; the box spouts fairies, out of it sour gnomes tumble clumsily, the little box is
spilling rancid elves upon neat sunlight into the flowerstricken air which is filthy with agile
swarming sonal creatures.
—Children, stand with circular frightened faces glaring at the shabby tiny smiling, man in
whose hand the crank goes desperately, round and round pointing to the queer monkey
(if you toss him a coin he will pick it cleverly from, the air and stuff it seriously in, his minute
pocket) Sometimes he does not catch a piece of money and then his master will yell at him
over the music and jerk the little string and the monkey will sit, up, and look at, you with his
solemn blinky eyeswhichneversmile and after he has caught a, penny or three, pennies he will be thrown a peanut (which he will open skillfully with his, mouth carefully holding, it, in
his little toylike hand) and then he will stiff-ly throw the shell away with a small bored
gesture that makes the children laugh.
But i don’t, the crank goes round desperate elves and hopeless gnomes and frantic fairies
gush clumsily from the battered box fattish and mysterious the flowerstricken sunlight is
thickening dizzily is reeling gently the street and the children and the monkeyandtheorgan
and the man are dancing slowly are tottering up and down in a trembly mist of atrocious
melody…. tiniest dead tunes crawl upon my face my hair is lousy with mutilated singing
microscopic things in my ears scramble faintly tickling putrescent atomies,
and
i feel the jerk of the little string! the tiny smiling shabby man is yelling over the music i
understand him i shove my round red hat back on my head i sit up and blink at you with my
solemn eyeswhichneversmile.
yes, By god.
for i am they are pointing at the queer monkey with a little oldish doll-like face and hair arms
like an ogre and rubbercoloured hands and feet filled with quick fingers and a remarkable
tail which is allbyitself alive. (and he has a little red coat with i have a real pocket in it and
the round funny hat with a big feather is tied under myhis chin.) that climbs and cries and
runs and floats like a toy on the end of a string.
Comments