The Gift lyrics

Artist  : John Cale 
Song : The Gift



 Send "The Gift" Ringtone to your Cell 

 

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now
Mid-August which meant that he had been separated
from Marsha for more than two months. Two months,
and all he had to show was three dog-eared
letters and two very expensive long distance
phone calls. When school had ended and she'd
returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust,
Pennsylvania. She had sworn to maintain a certain
fidelity, she would date occasionally, but merely
as amusement. She would remain
faithfull.

But lately Waldo had begun to
worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when
he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at
night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated
quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes. As he
pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by
liquor and the smooth soothing of some
neanderthal, finally submitting to the final
caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the
human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's
faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of
sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the
thing was they wouldn't really understand how she
really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He
had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of
her psyche. He had made her smile, and she needed
him, and he wasn't there. (ahhh....)

The
idea came to him on the Thursday before the
Mummers' Parade was scheduled to appear. He had
just finished mowing and etching the Edelsons
lawn for a dollar fifty and had checked the
mailbox to see if there was at least a word from
Marsha. There was nothing more than a circular
from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America
inquiring into his zoning needs. At least they
cared enough to write. It was a New York company.
You could go anywhere in the mail.

Then it
struck him, he didn't have enough money to go to
Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why
not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He
would ship himself parcel post special delivery.
The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to
purchase the necessary equipment. He bought
masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized
box, just right for a person of his built. He
judged that with a minimum of jostling he could
ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some
water, of course, midnight snacks and it would
probably be as good as going tourist.

By
Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was packed
and the post office had agreed to pick him up at
three o'clock. He'd marked the package "Fragile",
and as he sat curled up inside, resting the foam
rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he
tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on
Marshas face as she opened the door, saw the
package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it
to see her Waldo finally there in person. She
would kiss him, then, maybe they could see a
movie. If he'd only thought of this before.
Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he
felt himself barne up. He landed with a thud in a
truck and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson
had just finished setting her hair. It had been a
very rough weekend. She had to remember not to
drink like that. Bill had been nice about it
though. After it was over he'd said that he still
respected her and, after all, it was certainly the
way of nature, and even though, no he didn't love
her, he did feel an affection for her. And, after
all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Billy could
teach Waldo - but that seemed like years
ago.

Sheila Klein, her very, very best
friend walked in through the porch screen door
and into the kitchen.

"Oh god, it's
absolutely maudlin outside."

"I know what
you mean, I feel all icky!" Marsha tightened her
cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran
her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen
table, licked her fingers and made a
face.

"I'm supposed to take these salt
pills," but she wrinkled her nose, "They make me
feel like throwing up." Marsha started to pat
herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on
television. "God, don't even talk about that." She
got up from the table and went to the sink where
she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins.
"Want one? Supposed to be better than steak." And
attempted to touch her knees.

"I don't
think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave
up and sat down, this time nearer the table that
supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill will call."
she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on a
cuticle.

"After last night, I thought
maybe you'd be through with him."

"I know
what you mean, my God, he was like an octopus.
Hands all over the place." She gestured, raising
her arms upwards in defense. "The thing is after
a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you
know, and after all he didn't really do anything
Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him,
you know what I mean." She started to
scratch.

Sheila was giggling with her hand
over her mouth. "I'll tell you, I feel the same
way, and even after a while," here she bend
forward in a whisper, wanted to," and now she was
laughing very loudly.

It was at this point
that Mr. Jameison of the Clarence Darrow Post
Office rang the door bell of the large colored
stucco frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened
the door, he helped her carry the package in. He
had his yellow and green slips of paper signed
and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mothers small beige pocketbook
in the den.

"What do you think it is?"
Sheila asked.

Marsha stood with her arms
folded behind her back. She stared at the brown
cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the
living room: "I don't know."

Inside the
package Waldo quivered with excitement as he
listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her
fingernail over the masking tape that ran down
the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at
the return address and see who it is
from?"

Waldo felt his heart beating. He
could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be
soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and
read the ink-scratched label. "God, it's from
Waldo."

"That schmuck!" said
Sheila.

Waldo trembled with
expectation.

"You might as well open it,"
said Sheila. Both of them tried to flip the
stable flap.

"Ah," said Marsha groaning.
"He must have nailed it shut." They tagged at the
flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get
this thing opened." They pulled again. "You can't
get a grip!" They both stood still, breathing
heavily. "Why don't you get the scissors," said
Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she
could find was a little sewing scissors. Then she
remembered that her father kept a collection of
tools in the basement. She ran downstairs and
when she came back, she had a large metal cutter
in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She
was out of breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna
die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and
exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit
between the masking tape and the end of the
cardboard, but the blade was too big and there
was not enough room. "G-damn this thing!" she
said feeling very exaspe- rated. Then, smiling "I
got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch,"
said Sheila touching her finger to her
head.

Inside the package, Waldo was
transfixed with excitement that he could hardly
breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat and
he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It
would be soon.

Sheila stood quite upright
and walked around to the other side of the
package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped
the cutter by both hands, took a deep breath and
plunged the long blade through the middle of the
package, through the middle of the masking tape,
through the card-board through the cushioning and
right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head,
which split slightly and caused little rhythmic
arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning
sun.