Michael Malone - Weebly

artists, Habzi Rabies would have the most practical gift,
as he now had a commission to paint a mural on a
section of the Alaskan pipeline and needed a warm
coat. And for herself, as a treat, she would buy another
piece of statuary by the young Cuban refugee Bébé
Jesus. Perhaps the J. Edgar Hoover wastepaper basket
done in tin, the one he had shown her last spring when
she went to pay his landlord so that he could get back
into his studio in Sullivan Square.
Mrs. Canopy already owned (and used) a toilet
made by Bébé of Fidel Castro's affable face, with his
army cap lifting off as the lid and his cigar a foot flusher.
"My God in heaven," Priss had said when she first saw
it installed in the bathroom. "I'm going to use the
facilities upstairs, if you don't mind. I'm afraid I'm simply
incapable of relaxing while squatted over the head of a
Communist."
"That's the point Señor Jesus wanted to make.
Political oppression. So witty, I think."
"Ha!" said her friend.
Tracy wished she could chat with Priss now. She
went to her window. Sammy Smalter's light was still on.