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rs either。 This was a line that provided only one service： The Meat Train。
A morning shift of cleaners were already busy hosing the blood off the seats and the floor of the train。 Somebody was stripping the Butcher's body； in preparation for dispatch to New Jersey。 All around Kaufman people were at work。
A rain of dawn light was pouring through a grating in the roof of the station。 Motes of dust hung in the beams； turning over and over。 Kaufman watched them； entranced。 He hadn't seen such a beautiful thing since he was a child。 Lovely dust。 Over and over； and over and over。
The driver had managed to separate Kaufman's lips。 His mouth was too wounded for him to move it； but at least he could breathe easily。 And the pain was already beginning to subside。
The driver smiled at him； then turned to the rest of the workers in the station。
〃I'd like to introduce Mahogany's replacement。 Our new butcher；〃 he announced。
The workers looked at Kaufman。 There was a certain deference in their faces； which he found appealing。
Kaufman looked up at the sunlight； now falling all around him。 He jerked his head； signifying that he wanted to go up； into the open air。 The driver nodded； and led him up a steep flight of steps and through an alley…way and so out on to the sidewalk。
It was a beautiful day。 The bright sky over New York was streaked with filaments of pale pink cloud； and the air smelt of morning。
The Streets and Avenues were practically empty。 At a distance an occasional cab crossed an intersection； its engine a whisper； a runner sweated past on the other side of the street。
Very soon these same deserted sidewalks would be thronged with people。 The city would go about its business in ignorance： never knowing what it was built upon； or what it owed its life to。 Without hesitation； Kaufman fell to his knees and kissed the dirty concrete with his bloody lips； silently swearing his eternal loyalty to its continuance。
The Palace of Delights received the adoration without ment。
THE YATTERING AND JACK
WHY THE POWERS （long may they hold court； long may they shit light on the heads of the damned） had sent it out from Hell to stalk Jack Polo； the Yattering couldn't discover。 Whenever he passed a tentative enquiry along the system to his master； just asking the simple question； 〃What am I doing here？〃 it was answered with a swift rebuke for its curiosity。 None of its business； came the reply； its business was to do。 Or die trying。 And after six months of pursuing Polo； the Yattering was beginning to see extinction as an easy option。 This endless game of hide and seek was to nobody's benefit； and to the Yattering's immense frustration。 It feared ulcers； it feared psychosomatic leprosy （a condition lower demons like itself were susceptible to）； worst of all it feared losing its temper pletely and killing the man outright in an uncontrollable fit of pique。
What was Jack Polo anyway？
A gherkin importer； by the balls of Leviticus； he was simply a gherkin importer。 His life was worn out； his family was dull； his politics were simple…minded and his theology non…existent。 The man was a no…account； one of nature's blankest little numbers…why bother with the likes of him？ This wasn't a Faust： a pact…maker； a soul…seller。 This one wouldn't look twice at the chance of divine inspiration： he'd sniff； shrug and get on with his gherkin importing。
Yet the Yattering was bound to that house； long night and longer day； until he had the man a lunatic； or as good as。 It was going to be a lengthy job； if not interminable。 Yes； there were times when even psychosomatic leprosy would be bearable if it meant being invalided off this impossible mission。
For his part； Jack J。 Polo continued to be the most unknowing of men。 He had always been that way； indeed his history was littered with the victims of his na？veté。 When his late； lamented wife had cheated on him （he'd been in the house on at least two of the occasions； watching the television） he was the last one to find out。 And the clues they'd left behind them！ A blind； deaf and dumb man would have bee suspicious。 Not Jack。 He pottered about his dull business and never noticed the tang of the adulterer's cologne； nor the abnormal regularity with which his wife changed the bed…linen。
He was no less disinterested in events when his younger daughter Amanda confessed her lesbianism to him。 His response was a sigh and a puzzled look。
〃Well； as long as you don't get pregnant； darling；〃 he replied； and sauntered off into the garden； blithe as ever。
What chance did a fury have with a man like that？
To a creature trained to put its meddling fingers into the wounds of the human psyche； Polo offered a surface so glacial； so utterly without distinguishing marks； as to deny malice any hold whatsoever。
Events seemed to make no dent in his perfect indifference。 His life's disasters seemed not to scar his mind at all。 When； eventually； he was confronted with the truth about his wife's infidelity （he found them screwing in the bath） he couldn't bring himself to be hurt or humiliated。
〃These things happen；〃 he said to himself； backing out of the bathroom to let them finish what they'd started。
〃Che sera； sera。〃 Che sera； sera。 The man muttered that damn phrase with monotonous regularity。 He seemed to live by that philosophy of fatalism； letting attacks on his manhood； ambition and dignity slide off his ego like rain…water from his bald head。
The Yattering had heard Polo's wife confess all to her husband （it was hanging upside down from the light…fitting； invisible as ever） and the scene had made it wince。 There was the distraught sinner； begging to be accused； bawled at； struck even； and instead of giving her the satisfaction of his hatred； Polo had just shrugged and let her say her piece without a word of interruption； until she had no more to embosom。 She'd left； at length； more out of frustration and sorrow than guilt； the Yattering had heard her tell the bathroom mirror how insulted she was at her husband's lack of righteous anger。 A little while after she'd flung herself off the balcony of the Roxy Cinema。
Her suicide was in some ways convenient for the fury。 With the wife gone； and the daughters away from home； it could plan for more elaborate tricks to unnerve its victim； without ever having to concern itself with revealing its presence to creatures the powers had not marked for attack。
But the absence of the wife left the house empty during the days； and that soon became a burden of boredom the Yattering found scarcely supportable。 The hours from nine to five； alone in the house； often seemed endless。 It would mope and wander； planning bizarre and impractical revenges upon the Polo…man； pacing the rooms； heartsick； panioned only by the clicks and whirrs of the house as the radiators cooled； or the refrigerator switched itself on and off。 The situation rapidly became so desperate that the arrival of the midday post became the high…point of the day； and an unshakeable melancholy would settle on the Yattering if the postman had nothing to deliver and passed by to the next house