Shit Money
(dedicated to my late husband, a Holocaust Survivor)
Rudy whistles the tune with no melody, the one he learned long ago from the Naxi soldier who also strolled up and down the aisles.
Rudy looks like he has all the time in the world as he throws his head back and exhales cigarette smoke into the cavernous casino. He runs one hand lovingly over the slot machines. The other hand is thrust deep in the pocket of his army jacket with its collar turned up.
Three hours later Rudy’s whistle echoes down the deserted, windswept street of Atlantic City. He looks up for a second and the late sun accentuates his deep wrinkles. Both hands are in his pants pockets now and the jacket with the collar still turned up is thrown over his shoulders. As Rudy reaches the bus and climbs the steps, the bus driver looks up from his newspaper and winks at him.
“You’ve got another hour out there, you know.”
“I know. But I’m cleaned out. Thought I’d take a nap.”
The bus driver laughs. “Good thing they give you that token to get back to New York on this bus, huh, Rudy?”
Rudy pulls his empty pockets inside out and grins. “Ah, you get used to it.”
“You’re something, man. Once a month. Like clockwork you are. Always back early, always cleaned out. Don’t look like it bothers you much though. They’ll all be back here in an hour, long in the face, but not you. Smiling all the way back to the city. What’s the deal man?”
“Well, you see, it’s a long story.”
“I got an hour. Nothing much in this damn paper but horror stories anyhow. It never ends, this damn shit.”
“Yeah, right, it never ends.”
“So what’s the deal?”
Rudy eases himself into a front seat and pulls the brim of his baseball cap lower. He slumps back and folds his hands over his stomach. His smile fades. Joe turns sideways to see him.
“Well?”
“Yeah. So like you said, it never ends. You don’t know how right you are, Joe. Like the money I just lost. It’s shit money. Officially it comes from Germany. It’s called Wieder Gut Machen.”
“I don’t know any German, Rudy. Give me a break.”
Rudy doesn’t smile. “It means to make amends.”
“Hey, come on, I don’t know them fancy words either.”
“Okay Joe, it means to make things good again. They give it to us poor suckers who were in the concentration camps. It’s the money they give me for taking shit, more shit than you can imagine, Joe. You see, they kept feeding me all this shit. Not for one day, or one week or one month. They fed it to me for years. I took more shit than you’d think anybody could stand. So much Joe, that after a while a person feels like he’s just an animal rolling around in all that shit. It’s inside you. It’s all around you. It’s hot and it sticks to you and it smells like, shit. And you know, Joe, all that shit turns you into a fucking animal.” Rudy looks up and smiles. ” And then Joe, guess what happens?”
Joe’s mouth hangs open as he leans forward. “What happens?”
“Once they see for sure that you can’t take one more ounce of lousy, stinking shit, that you are ready to give up…”
“Yeah?”
“They give you shit money. And they say, ‘Okay animal, go have yourself a ball. Here’s your shit money. See if you can be human again.'”
Joe shakes his head.
“But see, that’s the funny part, Joe. A lot of people don’t understand this but the more money they give you and the more you try to use it to become human, the more you become an animal.
It’s a funny thing. It’s like a trap. It’s like there isn’t enough shit money in the world. It’s like shit money is really just shit. That’s how they fool you. They’re just giving you more shit. That’s why you can’t stop being an animal.”
“I don’t understand but heh, how come you look so happy?”
Rudy sits up in his seat and moves to the edge. He bends over the aisle so that his face is only a foot away from Joe’s. “Now look, Joe, you got to promise you are not going to tell this to anyone. See?”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.”
Rudy looks over his shoulder and lowers his voice. “Well, if you can just get rid of the shit money fast enough, you get clean. Like me, see, cleaned out. You still look like an animal, people look at you like you’re still an animal, but you know what Joe? I ain’t no animal. I ain’t no animal, Joe. You know how I know?”
Joe shakes his head again.
“Because I have a heart. They think I got no more heart. That I have no more feelings. But I do, Joe, I feel everything.”
“Is that it, Rudy?” Joe’s forehead wrinkles. “Is that the end of the story, man?”
“Yeah, Joe” Rudy slides back into his seat and pulls the baseball cap completely over his face. “That’s the end of the story.”
THE END
© Cora Schwartz