J R

  —Listen, no, I don’t want a Cadillac, I don’t want a car, I don’t want to buy a car I just, all I need is a small advance on my salary, just . . .

  —Yes well the ahm, with a car of course you could excuse me, hello? Oh. Yes it is . . . Yes we do, he . . . yes and doing a very fine job, he . . . he what? Oh, I see . . . Oh . . . I see. Yes well the, yes someone from the school of course, as soon as we . . . yes tell him as soon as we can yes, goodbye.

  —Never mind it Whiteback, I . . .

  —Yes that was the ahm, have you got a few minutes Gibbs?

  —What is it, I’ve got a train I . . .

  —Yes that was the police they ahm, Coach, Vogel, Coach Vogel that is to say, you know him, you know him? I mean of course you could identify him that is to ahm, that police flyer telling the youngsters to, I have one right here somewhere yes, report any stranger who tries to join you in your play, do not play near public ahm, Coach was passing that field down near Hyde’s ahm, Major Hyde’s shelter this policeman thought looked like a public ahm, convenience I think he said and Coach stopped to join in their, throw the ball around with them that is to say and one of them, youngsters who don’t know him of course one of them called the police and they ahm, you know him of course? Coach? They just want someone to identify him so they can ahm, have you got a few minutes?

  —Be glad to yes, can you drive me over?

  —Yes well I was just ahm, I have to get over to the bank that is to say there was something I ahm, I’ll come out with you yes these complaints that is to say Gibbs, opening class without the ahm, the proscribed openings we’ve had some complaints through this new citizens’ group you probably know them yes let me lock this door, after those baseballs of course you probably . . .

  —Certainly do yes who are they, the Ku Klux Klan?

  —Who this ahm, this citizens’ group yes no they, it’s the Citizens Union on Neighborhood Teaching yes they . . .

  —All women?

  —Yes well no I don’t know of course I wouldn’t laugh no, no they’re quite serious about their ahm . . .

  —Their proscribed openings yes never knew one that wasn’t, how about the Constitution. Next time I have homeroom I’ll start things off reading the Constitution how’s that.

  —Yes well that sounds ahm, of the United States that is to say yes that certainly sounds like a proscribed ahm, of course the last thing we want right now is any cause for dissension that is to say all you’ve done for the ahm, taking on Mrs Joubert’s class in addition to your own in terms of ahm . . .

  —She’s back yes, she’s back isn’t she?

  —Yes but of course she doesn’t look, quite a striking looking woman but of course these doors open out don’t they yes, of course in terms of her health that is to say if we had to let her go it wouldn’t cause a problem because she hasn’t got her certificate none of the right credits in ahm, she studied in some foreign country where they don’t have it yes I think she has a master’s in French civilization which of course doesn’t ahm, educationwise for teaching sixth grade social studies doesn’t really do the ahm, doing a fine job of course there she is now yes quite a striking looking . . .

  —There? Christ no that’s . . .

  —Yes no that’s Mrs ahm, Dan’s wife yes I think I’ll go this way, my car’s right around the ahm, you were going to the police station?

  —I have an idea, Whiteback. Why don’t you just stop in and identify Vogel yourself, save you the trouble of driving me all the way over.

  —Yes well ahm, yes of course that does make things simpler . . .

  —Just get my train then . . . and he turned a heel in the gravel,—sorry . . .

  —Oh Mister, Mister Gibbs? I’m . . .

  —Dan’s wife yes . . . he sidestepped,—I was sorry to hear about it.

  —About what, oh his accident you mean . . . she came on beside him—Jack? Don’t people call you Jack?

  —Yes occasionally they . . .

  —I thought you might have seen Mister Bast Jack, the young composer we had here he doesn’t seem to be anywhere.

  —Maybe after that rather, that remarkable lesson on Mozart he may have arranged some sort of hasty sabbatical.

  —I’ll tell you who arranged a hasty sabbatical for him, the same ones who sabotaged his lesson they . . .

  —Did you see it?

  —Jack I didn’t have to see it, the minute they see talent and sensitivity they sabotage it and call it technical it’s not just him they’re after it’s all of us, anybody creative scares them Jack, maybe you don’t know it but they’re after you too because you’re talented and creative I can tell by your hands . . . she seized the one nearest her leaving the curb—just your fingers, the strength of character in your thumb look . . .

  —Yes I, I’ve seen it . . . but he did look down, slipping its length from her peristaltic grasp as though relieved to see it again—I’m sorry I, I have to get the train Mrs di . . .

  —No Ann, Ann. Jack? because I know, because I’m a talented woman who’s never been allowed to do anything Jack? I’ll be home later, maybe we could get together and talk?

  —Yes but I’ll be, I may not be back out at all I . . .

  —As late as you want yes Dad, Dan’s Dad lives with us but they’re in bed by nine Jack . . .? pursued him round the turn,—maybe we can talk . . .? digging in pockets to come up with a cigarette packet, empty, crumpled and flung as he made the steps to burst out on the platform above where a length of train moaned and fell still and then, in total silence as he ran toward it, moved. The platform narrowed with his pursuit, rapping on the glass in the door at what might have been a face through the encrusted filth when all at once the door, all the doors flew open, and he staggered on as though the train’s momentum had become his own in the squeal of its halt, searching a clean handhold slipping past the serge shine of the conductor’s back and up an aisle through planes of smoke grabbing, as the train lurched forward, at the corner of a seat, disturbing, enough only to bring her eyes half up from vacancy and limn her profile the woman seated there as he fell back, ducked to retrieve a rolled newspaper jammed in a seat hinge and sidled with it raised before his face toward the door and the car beyond.

  —Your ticket?

  —Ah? He lowered New York’s picture newspaper.

  —Oh Jesus.

  —Ah! Wie geht’s!

  —Okay look, just give me your ticket.

  —Ja, ich bin es, beide Hälften, nicht? He was digging in pockets with enthusiasm.—Für den Kopf, ja? und . . . he thrust out a battered cardboard square,—und . . .

  —Look, if you can’t speak English how come you’re reading American newspaper?

  —Ah, die Zeitung? He flourished it, digging with his free hand,—amerikanische Kunst, ja? Schwarze Kunst, grausig . . . he came abruptly forward with a lurch of the train, aiming an index finger at his temple, thumb cocked,—das Blut! der Krieg! And he straightened back, rolling eyes settled in a leer, plumbing a closed hand with the length of a finger,—geschlechtlicher Umgang! Scheisserei . . .!

  —For Christ sake just give me the other ticket.

  —Für den Unterkörper . . . he was digging again,—ja . . .

  —And let the lady get by.

  —Oh I, ja die ah . . . he came up with another battered cardboard,—das Hinterteil nicht vergessen eh? he leered cupping from behind the curve of Mrs Joubert’s skirt as she got past and through the door to the next car, where he turned and threatened a handshake,—danke, danke . . . and got it closed after them before he spoke again.—Hello I, I didn’t ah, see you . . .

  —What in the world was all that? she asked, down the aisle of empty seats.

  —Oh the ah, the conductor, yes . . . he sank into the seat beside her.—A young German boy, hasn’t been over here very long and I’ve sort of befriended him, sort of try to encourage him. It’s his first job over here and he’s sort of ah, gets sort of discouraged sometimes.

  —Oh I see.

  —Yes y
ou can’t really blame him can you, passing a scene like that day after day . . . he gestured across her where broken fence enclosing a fleet of rusting bus hulks fled past the dirty pane, tried to cross a knee and gave it up.—How any normally constructed human being can get comfortable in these . . .

  —Here, let me move my bag, she said and, doing so,—oh, you’ve torn your pocket.

  —Well I . . . he straightened up piecing it together, pulled the flap over the tear—damn it, did it on that door trying to make this God damned train.

  —It’s late, we sat there at the platform for hours, she said.—Every time the train started all the doors opened and we stopped again. I thought I saw you on the platform, running.

  —Oh?

  —And you came into that car up ahead?

  —Oh well the, oh, oh yes the smoker, yes I got in there and found I didn’t have any cigarettes. He slumped further in the seat beside her, his elbow over the back of it and his hand that close to her shoulder.—You don’t smoke?

  —I do sometimes.

  —I meant, you don’t happen to have any cigarettes with you now, do you?

  —I’m afraid not . . . She’d opened the bag on her lap, bending over it, thrust back her hair and he stared along the line of her cheekbone as though seizing this sudden opportunity to study this close the meticulous care in her makeup.—No . . . she looked up square at him and he dropped his eyes to his own hand, and a nail that might have been cleaner.—I’m sorry, I don’t . . . she had out a pair of tinted glasses and he dropped his eyes again, from her long fingers there putting them on, to her knee, and cleared his throat.—You come into New York quite often, don’t you, she said.

  —To get away from that place? I certainly do.

  —Is that all? just, to get away?

  —Well I, no, no today I’m coming in to, I have an appointment to, coming in to see a publisher yes . . .

  —You’re writing a book? she turned sharply, caught her glasses against his dangling hand.

  —Yes but it’s still, it’s not finished I’m . . .

  —A novel?

  —Not a, no no it’s more of a book about order and disorder more of a, sort of a social history of mechanization and the arts, the destructive element . . .

  —It sounds a little difficult, is it?

  —Difficult as I can make it.

  —Oh? she drew her knees close as he tried again to cross a leg,—you do have trouble with seats don’t you.

  —Seats?

  —The day in that cafeteria after that field trip when you . . .

  —Had trouble with more than seats yes, wasn’t really one of my better days . . .

  —I hope not.

  —No but listen when we left there in the cab I didn’t mean . . .

  —It’s all right no, I got where I was going but you know you really were quite unkind to that young man Mister Bast, talent doing what it can? and those who can’t, teach? and turning everything upside down he tried to say about, who was it Bizet? All he wanted from you was encouragement, he . . .

  —Bast? from me? All he talked about was . . .

  —Himself of course, the things he’s doing because I’d asked him, that was all. He’s so young and earnest so, just such a romantic I suppose, he’s really quite dear I hope you’ve seen him and told him you were sorry?

  —Well I, matter of fact . . .

  —I’ve felt badly about it, I’ve tried to call him once or twice to thank him for bringing the class back out. I felt so foolish when I found those tickets in my bag I, you did give them to him didn’t you?

  —Matter of fact . . . he’d finally got one knee wedged over the other looking deliberately slumped, a foot dangling in the aisle, as flags, pennants and used cars, beer by the case, hero sandwiches, Dunkin Donuts fled past the window opposite—I meant to yes I, somehow I thought I had but things got a little confused . . .

  —But you did get the right train didn’t you? You told me you would . . .

  —Thought I had yes, but . . . he was unlimbering his leg, digging in pockets to come up with an assortment of battered cardboard—keep finding them in my . . .

  —Oh honestly, now I feel simply terrible about it he must have had to pay all those fares himself, I know he couldn’t afford it and whatever’s become of him . . .

  —Just coming to that, yes . . . he separated a soiled square of white from Win Third Race, half fare,—found it on the floor in the Post Office.

  —But, what in the world. Business representa, representive? It must be a, some sort of . . .

  —Lackawanna four phone number must be somewhere in midtown but . . .

  —But is he, have you called? do you know . . .

  —Haven’t needed a business representive no, what . . .

  —But how, how odd I thought he, he was going to spend all his time composing I thought he was working on a, music for some dancers a ballet or something, that that’s why he left teaching . . .

  —You didn’t see his maiden venture on the, his little presentation on Mozart did you.

  —No, no someone mentioned it but . . .

  —Strayed a little from the curriculum you might say, rather Whiteback might say, that probably had a little more to do with his leaving teaching the minute they see talent and sensitivity they sabotage it and call it tech . . .

  —Oh honestly you’re not going to start that again that, just taunting him as though he . . .

  —Look no Christ I’m just, don’t you know when I, when someone takes a ridiculous situation and just tries to . . .

  —But that’s all you do . . . she snapped her skirt tight at the knee straightening against the seat’s discomfort.—Isn’t it? without turning—well? isn’t it?

  —All right look I, all I meant was the whole thing’s ridic, out of proportion that appalling diCephalis woman, do you know her?

  —I don’t think so but . . .

  —Ann, she’s sort of you in a cheap edition, twentieth printing of the paperback when things begin to smear . . .

  —No I think I did get something from her in my box, about a strike?

  —Because they’re after all of us yes, sabotaging your friend Mister Bast because anything creative scares them. They’re after me too because I’m talented and creative, she could tell by my hands almost took my thumb with her, she . . .

  —You do have marvelous hands though.

  —What? I . . . he stared at hers resting half opened on her knee, hitched himself higher in the seat—doubt if that’s the reason they’re after me though.

  —Well of course they’re not, why should they be.

  —A little scuffle I had with that Major Hyde idiot on the school board, friend of mine had an accident and he was there when they called he, he said something stupid and I lost my temper that’s all.

  —But how could, what sort of accident would . . .

  —You don’t want to hear about it.

  —I only meant . . .

  —You don’t want to hear it! he slumped again, his hand on the seat’s back just touching her hair—I’m sorry I, it’s just something you don’t have to hear, somebody who goes through some bad periods I guess we all know somebody like him, talk him out of suicide till the day one of you finally dies in bed like talking to yourself most of the time . . .

  —But he, is he all right now?

  —In the hospital coming out of it, out of this last one as all right as he ever is he’s one of these, one of those men who wanted to write and had a father who thought writing was for sissies, made a million dollars in timber and Schramm’s spent the last twenty years just waiting for him to die, when he finally did well, there’s Schramm. The only time he was ever really alive was the war, he was a tank commander in the Ardennes and when it was all over he just never could quite, he has some bad periods that’s all and coming up against the insensitive stupidity of somebody like Hyde I just, just let go . . .

  Bent over her bag again,—I think I have a Hyde boy in my class,
she said slipping off the glasses,—is he . . .

  —Same military caste yes, he’s your class fire marshal in fact, about the most unpromising human being that size I’ve ever come across keep stumbling over him with that grubby boy he hangs out with over in the Post Office, they’re moving in.

  —Oh that’s J R probably, I think they send for things in the mail together. Cosmetic samples if you can imagine . . . and all the smile that lit her eyes was as suddenly gone again behind the tinted glass.—There’s something a little touching about him, I think.

  —About as touching as a bull shark.

  —No this other little boy I meant, J R he’s so, he always looks as though he lives in a home without, I don’t know. Without grownups I suppose, like he simply lives in those clothes of his.

  —Probably does, have you ever seen him when he wasn’t scratching himself somewhere?

  —Oh I know yes, I have felt he doesn’t bathe often but, no there’s something, something else, when you talk to him he doesn’t look at you but it’s not as though, not like he’s hiding something. He looks like he’s trying to fit what you’re saying into some utterly different, some world you don’t know anything about he’s such an eager little boy but, there’s something quite desolate, like a hunger . . . she turned to him abruptly—you, you must have been awfully small . . .

  —Small? I, what these half fare tickets? just told you they . . .

  —Don’t be silly no, no I meant young, when you went away to that boarding school you must have been awfully young, coloring leaves and . . .

  —I was five.

  —Five that’s, that is terribly young isn’t it, were you . . .

  —In the way, that’s all.

  —But I’m sure that’s not . . .

  —Not what, kids are in the way that’s how they’re all brought up now, do a good enough job on them it can last for life just look at the, what’s the matter . . .

  —Nothing.

  —But I don’t . . .

  —Please! she’d turned away, pressed the tinted glasses closer—I’d just, I remembered you talking about going away to school in the fall and, and bringing in leaves to color . . .