Tom Wolfe - Bonfire of the Vanities (Picador Books)

And then say what? say, forget youre hungry, forget you got shot inna back by some racist copChuck was here? Chuck come up to Harlem

No, Ill tell you what

Chuck come up to Harlem and

Ill tell you what

Say, Chuck come up to Harlem and gonna take care a business for the black community?

That does it.

Heh-heggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Its one of those ungodly contralto cackles somewhere out there in the audience. Its a sound from down so deep, from under so many lavish layers, he knows exactly what she must look like. Two hundred pounds, if shes an ounce! Built like an oil burner! The cackle sets off the men. They erupt with those belly sounds he hates so much.

They go, Hehhehhehunnnnhhhh-hunhhhThats rightTell em, broYo

Chuck! The insolenthes right there, right there in the fronthe just called him a Charlie! Chuck is short for Charlie, and Charlie is the old code name for a down-home white bigot. The insolence of it! The impudence! The heat and glare are terrific. It makes the Mayor squint. Its the TV lights. Hes inside a blinding haze. He can barely make out the hecklers face. He sees a tall silhouette and the fantastic bony angles the mans elbows make when he throws his hands up in the air. And an earring. The man has a big gold earring in one ear.

The Mayor leans into the microphone and says, No, Ill tell you what. Okay? Ill give you the actual figures. Okay?

We dont want your figures, man!

Man , he says! The insolence! You brought it up, my friend. So youre gonna get the actual figures. Okay ?

Dont you shine us up with no more your figures!

Another eruption in the crowd, louder this time: Unnnnh-unnnnh-unnnhTell im, broY on the caseYo, Gober!

In this administrationand its a matter of public recordthe percentage of the total annual budget for New York City

Aw, maaaan, yells the heckler, dont you stand there and shine us up with no more your figures and your bureaucratic rhetoric!

They love it. The insolence! The insolence sets off another eruption. He peers through the scalding glare of the television lights. He keeps squinting. Hes aware of a great mass of silhouettes out in front of him. The crowd swells up. The ceiling presses down. Its covered in beige tiles. The tiles have curly incisions all over them. Theyre crumbling around the edges. Asbestos! He knows it when he sees it! The facestheyre waiting for the beano, for the rock fight. Bloody noses!thats the idea. The next instant means everything. He can handle it! He can handle hecklers! Only five-seven, but hes even better at it than Koch used to be! Hes the mayor of the greatest city on earthNew York! Him!

All right! Youve had your fun, and now youre gonna shut up for a minute!

That startles the heckler. He freezes. Thats all the Mayor needs. He knows how to do it.

Youuuu asked meeeee a question, didnt you, and you got a bigggg laugh from your claque. And so now youuuuure gonna keep quiiiiet and lissssten to the answer. Okay ?

Say, claque? The man has had his wind knocked out, but hes still standing up.

Okay ? Now here are the statistics for yourrr community, right here, Harlem.

Say, claque? The bastard has hold of this word claque like a bone. Ain nobody can eat statistics, man!

Tell im, broYoYo, Gober!

Let me finish. Do youuuuu think

Dont percentage no annual budget with us, man! We want jobs !

The crowd erupts again. Its worse than before. Much of it he cant make outinterjections from deep in the bread basket. But theres this Yo business. Theres some loudmouth way in back with a voice that cuts through everything.

Yo, Gober! Yo, Gober! Yo, Gober!

But he isnt saying Gober . Hes saying Goldberg .

Yo, Goldberg! Yo, Goldberg! Yo, Goldberg!

It stuns him. In this place, in Harlem! Goldberg is the Harlem cognomen for Jew. Its insolentoutrageous!that anyone throws this vileness in the face of the Mayor of New York City!

Boos, hisses, grunts, belly laughs, shouts. They want to see some loose teeth. Its out of control.

Do you

Its no use. He cant make himself heard even with the microphone. The hate in their faces! Pure poison! Its mesmerizing.

Yo, Goldberg! Yo, Goldberg! Yo, Hymie!

Hymie! That business! Theres one of them yelling Goldberg and another one yelling Hymie. Then it dawns on him. Reverend Bacon! Theyre Bacons people. Hes sure of it. The civic-minded people who come to public meetings in Harlemthe people Sheldon was supposed to make sure filled up this hallthey wouldnt be out there yelling these outrageous things. Bacon did this! Sheldon fucked up! Bacon got his people in here!

A wave of the purest self-pity rolls over the Mayor. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the television crews squirming around in the haze of light. Their cameras are coming out of their heads like horns. Theyre swiveling around this way and that. Theyre eating it up! Theyre here for the brawl! They wouldnt lift a finger. Theyre cowards! Parasites! The lice of public life!

In the next moment he has a terrible realization: Its over. I cant believe it. Ive lost.

No more yourOutta hereBooooDon wannaYo, Goldberg!

Guliaggi, the head of the Mayors plainclothes security detail, is coming toward him from the side of the stage. The Mayor motions him back with a low flap of his hand, without looking at him directly. What could he do, anyway? He brought only four officers with him. He didnt want to come up here with an army. The whole point was to show that he could go to Harlem and hold a town-hall meeting, just the way he could in Riverdale or Park Slope.