J R

  —Damn it just give it to me . . .

  —God damned game just like real life stop on White Rose bar there’s Schepperman can’t help him Tom, woke up sitting on a God damned bench in Central Park one morning God damned lady’s shoe in his hand didn’t know where he’d been can’t help him Tom . . .

  —Just give me it Jack and, and damn it where’s the little one.

  —Sorry my turn? Draw a God damned card . . . paper tore,—buy surgical appliances for the whole God damned family pay one thousand dollars go to jail just like real life how’s that.

  —Look just shut up and help me find the other piece, the little Baby Jesus piece damn it.

  —Thought you said Baby Jetter Tom stuff really make you sick, game call it Baby Jetter whole God damned family in surgical appliances make a million dollars sweep the country really make you God damned sick, your turn. Where the hell all the pieces go.

  —I put them away God damn it look move your leg, where’s the little one . . .

  —Where’s the little one got away Tom thought you just said Baby Jetter . . .

  —Jeeter God damn it I said Jeeter, David used to call them Baby Jeeter and the Three Wide Men now God damn it will you get up so I can find it?

  —Try to Tom, thought you said he grew up to be an Indian.

  —No damn it that was just, I was just trying to explain once to David about the cruci, look Jack if you want to stand up get your feet down first, crucifixion, he asked me if Jesus was a regular person and damn it look out, you’re going to . . .

  —God damned profound question regular person Tom, whole God damned Council of Nicaea taste like apricots make you . . .

  —Jack look if you’re going to be sick don’t, look get away from the bed, bathroom’s end of the hall . . .

  —God damned heresy Tom regular person hell do you think they banished Arius to Illyricum for . . . he was getting down the hall at an angle to the wall,—whole God damned problem Council of Nicaea give Baby Jeeter like substance taste like apricots . . . the light came on as his shoulder caught it struggling upright,—thanks, glass of water . . . he made the basin, pulled the medicine cabinet open to sweep the mirrored image away,—Tom . . .?

  —What.

  —God damned drugstore Tom, Mrs Eigen two every four hours, Mrs Eigen one every two hours if headache persists, Mrs Eigen one every three hours but no more than God damned drugstore in here, Tom?

  —What.

  —Regular God damned drugstore in here caps off toothpaste every God damned coathanger, hell she did to that coathanger . . . and he caught himself steadied at the water closet in a dry heave, staring down.—Tom . . .?

  —What.

  —Got to see this Tom.

  —What.

  —Said she didn’t leave any message for you got to see this.

  —What.

  —Message for you can’t bring it have to come read it yourself, Tom? God damned message for you left it where you couldn’t miss it kiss goodbye.

  —What?

  —Kiss God damned goodbye I said . . .! he lurched, caught the handle and the water swirled the imprint of thin lips slightly parted in a lipstick blot on the square of tissue and drew it down, a hand of his came up to touch his lips and fell,—hell I come in here for . . . he made the hall,—Tom . . .?

  —Went to bed Jack.

  —Hell did he go . . . he reached the lighted door, reached for the low bed.—Tom?

  —I went to bed, just want to wipe the whole damn thing out till tomorrow.

  —Hell did he go, he muttered coming down carefully, pulling a bundle close and the string off it,—Raindance where the hell did he go . . . turning pages, gradually subsiding in fragments of chorus—kommen in der vindows . . . he turned pages, pulled more from the heap,—God damned purple crayon, schluss die vindows . . . and more pages,—Tom? have some music in here, God damned tumescent purple baritone container smashed on the God damned sidewalk . . . more pages, he invaded the next bundle,—schluss die God damned words waiting for him in the morning didn’t know if the girl was alive and he was dead if they both were alive or both were dead . . . his foot began to tap,—he was alive then the milkman wasn’t . . . and he hunched abruptly, turning pages, foot tapping heavily,—when, you’re alone, in the middle of the bed, and you wake, like some, one hit you on the . . .

  —Jack what the hell is going on in there.

  —God damned thing Tom find Raindance and Mister Fred . . . he turned pages, foot starting again and his free hand thumping the offbeat,—cream, of a nightmare dream, and you’ve got, the hoo ha’s, coming to you. Hoo hoo . . .

  —Well God damn it can you shut up so I can sleep?

  —Right with you Tom, Tom? Remembered get Grynszpan to that God damned parade Soldiers Field costumes for all . . . and he hunched to a whisper, pages sweeping under his hand until,—Hoo ha how’s that, God damn it how’s that. Raindance by seven lengths God damn it how’s that, Tom? Raindance by seven lengths how’s that . . . He tore at the next bundle,—stuff make you God damned sick . . . turning pages, sweeping papers aside,—Tom? hell did he go . . . pulling more from the heap,—hell did he go Mister Fred taste like apricots . . . until, abruptly, he came forward, gained his feet teeming in one direction and back grabbing the chair—God damned sick, Tom . . .? God damned profound question regular person, Tom? Schramm God damned regular person get him in Arlington name rank serial number biggest God damned tombstone in Arlington how’s that, name rank serial number carve in granite believing and shitting two very different things how’s that . . . He tipped toward the door held back by his hand gripping the chair, tipped to a crunch underfoot and kicked aside the sea of paper,—Tom? Found Baby Jeeter . . . and he caught the back of the chair with both hands,—Tom know what I’d like to do Tom . . .? Go right up to the God damned sky disappear, come down like the, like the . . . and he pitched abruptly over the open suitcase in a rush that left him heaving, another, clinging there until he could free a hand to find a dry sock and wipe his mouth, another, bringing the sock up again, clinging there till he could drop the sock in and free both hands to bring the suitcase closed, snap one of its locks and, as intently, the other before he fell back on the low bed, flung out there still as a man cast up by the sea when light caught the window and slowly gave it definition, finally filled it leaving the overhead a yellowed pall and the buildings wide across the way in the sunlight undulant through the cheap glass pane like a part of a submarine landscape.

  —Jack . . .!

  —What . . .?

  —I just woke up I’m late, I’ve got to get up to God what a mess, look clean up these newspapers before you go will you? I’ve got to get right up to the office.

  —No wait, wait . . .

  —I can’t I have to get to the office, look clean up these papers before you leave will you? he said in the door there pulling a tie under his collar,—and Jack do something about your throat before you . . .

  —Wait just wait a minute what time is it, look I have to get out to the track Tom leave me ten can you? twenty?

  —Ten . . . he came down the hall pulling on a jacket,—leaving it here by the dishrack and Jack? He pulled the door open,—make sure this locks when you leave?

  —Wait wait twenty, can’t leave twenty? Listen this double today’s the surest thing I ever had wait, damn it need a shirt, where the shirts I brought down from Schramm’s . . .

  —You didn’t bring them . . . he held the door with his foot to reach in and drop another ten by the dishrack,—shirts in that suitcase right there on the chair Jack, haven’t even unpacked it . . . and he pulled the door closed behind him, paused in a turn for the elevator and then made for the stairs and down them two, three at a time and out, fingers parting his teeth in a shrill whistle, and he slumped in the back of the cab tying his tie, finally got the last of his shirt buttoned as their swoop to the curb threatened to pin the dapper haste of a chauffeur against the Z S number tag on the limousine throbbing ahead, and his own
leap to the sidewalk ended abruptly against a policeman.

  —Just slow down buddy.

  —That’s not him.

  —Okay buddy move along.

  —What do you mean move along, I want to get into the building and you’re standing right in the . . .

  —Just slow down buddy, slow down . . .

  Beyond them a furred croup of ursine magnitude emerged from the cavernous shelter of the limousine.—Look what the hell is . . .

  —Just move along I said.

  He caught the glass weight of the outside door without a look back, caught a rise and fall of yellow skirting another stolid mass of blue toward the elevators, called—Carol . . .?

  —Oh Mister Eigen good morning . . . arms full, she stayed the elevator door with a hip,—you back?

  Reaching across her for the button he muttered—Yes don’t tell anybody, rising to Begin the Beguine.

  —Oh Mister Eigen you’re always so satirical.

  —Listen just tell me what’s all the . . .

  —It’s all this plant food, she said breasting the bundles as the door slid open,—Miss Flesch sent me out for all this plant food. Coming? She had the door with a hip.

  —Wait it’s the wrong floor it, wait . . . he stepped out behind her,—that painting, the big painting that was there . . .

  —Oh you missed all the excitement Mister Eigen, right after you left they took it down, you know? And this crazy man came in yelling at everybody where was it? He was bigger than you, we had the police here and everything, they even said he threw a typewriter at Mister Beaton.

  —Is that what all those police are down there for now? he came up beside her down the corridor.

  —And they even have these private detectives that come in every day, like that one with the hat by the elevators? I think they have this board meeting this morning and they’re scared he’ll come back, he looked like he didn’t shave for a month. Miss Flesch said he’s psychiatrically unbalanced but he really acted crazy, you know?

  —Yes just, Carol wait listen this woman this, this Miss Flesch, is she here? I mean, she’s been hired?

  —Yes didn’t you meet her Mister Eigen? When she first . . .

  —Yes I met her, I . . . he’d paused at an opened door,—where’s Mister Davidoff.

  —I don’t know he didn’t come in today Mister Eigen, like he didn’t come in almost since you left, oh and Miss Flesch wants to see you but there’s somebody in there with her now, this same man that got mugged in the . . .

  —Yes all right Carol, thanks . . . He’d reached his own door and paused outside it, staring at the dirt rowed in conical heaps the length of the desk there.—Good morning Florence, what . . .

  —Oh good morning Mister Eigen, are you back? She half turned, over a shoulder—Miss Flesch just wanted me to repot these plants . . . she wiped her hands on a cloth and reached over the dirt heaps for the ringing phone—I think she wants to see you when you come in but, hello . . .? Yes he is, just a minute . . .

  He got in to his own cleared desk, got the phone,—Hello? Jack . . .? No by the dishrack in the kitchen, I put two tens right there by the dishrack, listen . . . Yes I know you do but listen, Schepperman’s off again, that big painting here of his I told you about, he came in here while I was away and . . . No the one I told you about last night, the mural size thing of his they had out here in the lobby, they took it down and . . . I did tell you about it last night but look that’s not the point, he came in here and really raised hell when he didn’t see it and this place here lis like an armed camp, if he shows up here again they . . . No just to find him and keep him out of trouble, I’m going to tour the White Roses as soon as I can get out of here and, just a second, Carol?

  —I just brought you some coffee Mister Eigen, you looked like you can use it.

  —Thanks just, yes just put it there, Jack? I thought you could look for him in some of those places down . . . no I know it but the first race isn’t till one o’clock is it? You can . . . what? What idea you had last night, all you talked about was . . . No all you talked about last night were these two horses look if . . . no but look Jack if you’d had an idea last night that would make a million dollars I’d remember the, just a second, what’s all this Florence?

  —The pictures and captions for the Annual Report Mister Eigen, Miss Flesch wants to know if . . .

  —Yes just a second Florence, Jack . . .? What do you mean something to do with Baby Jeeter, just a second, Carol?

  —Mister Eigen there’s this young man waiting to see you Mister Gall, he says Miss Flesch said that you’d . . .

  —Just tell him to wait a minute, I . . . what? No what about what suitcase . . .? No look never mind it whatever it is, I have to get off the . . . Yes by the dishrack, I told you I’d left two tens by the . . . no in the kitchen where the hell else would the . . . the dishrack in the kitchen yes . . . Yes if I remember your idea I’ll write it down, yes . . . No I told you there were clean shirts in that suitcase in by the bed look Jack I have to get off, call me later . . . he hung up.—Who’s this waiting Carol?

  —This Mister Gall Mister Eigen, he’s this writer friend of this man that’s in with Miss Flesch and he says she said Mister Davidoff said he had some project he . . .

  —Yes all right send him in, now what’s all this again Florence?

  —The pictures for the Annual Report Mister Eigen, Mister Davidoff had some airbrush work done on them and had a set sent out to those schoolchildren but Miss . . .

  —Just tell her I’m still working on the captions, Mister Gall? Come in and, Carol where’s my other chair.

  —Oh I’m sorry Mister Eigen I think Miss Flesch borrowed it to put some plants . . .

  —Well see if there’s another one out there someplace will you? Sorry . . . he reached across to shake hands,—things seem to be . . .

  —No that’s all right that’s all right I, but are you, you’re not the Thomas Eigen? Because I, I mean there was no picture of you on the jacket of your book so I . . .

  —I didn’t want one I, I’m just surprised that you . . .

  —No I always wanted to meet you but I guess I, I mean I’m just surprised to suddenly meet you in an office like this, oh thank you . . . he pulled the chair through the door, bent to brush the dirt off the seat.—I wrote to you the first time I read it, in care of the publisher I guess you never got it but I think it’s the most important book I, one of the most important books in American literature and I, since I’m a writer I mean trying to be a writer I . . .

  —Well it’s nice of you to say that . . . he tipped his own chair back, caught the edge of the file drawer with the sole of his shoe and pulled it out far enough to prop his feet up on it,—a million more like you and I’d be . . .

  —But you must have known when you were writing it, you must have known you were writing it for a very small audience, I . . .

  —Small audience! his feet dropped,—do you think I would have worked on it for seven years just for, do you know what my last royalty check was Mister . . .

  —Gall, I . . .

  —Mister Gall? Fifty-three dollars and fifty-two cents, the publisher dropped it cold the day it came out he must think I wrote it for a very small audience too.

  —Yes I know I . . .

  —I get letters from college kids who have it assigned in their courses, they must be passing one copy around. If he’d let me have the rights back do you think I’d be sitting here now?

  —Yes I know, I mean I’ve been working on a Western I can finish if I can get an advance on this book about cobalt or whatever it is for your company, then with the final payment on the Western I’ll be able to get far enough on the cobalt book to collect the second payment and settle things with this Foundation where they’re handing out grants to novelists who want to write plays and I . . .

  —Yes I’ve been working on a play myself . . . he tilted back, got his feet up on the file drawer again—I think I . . .

  —Yes well
to get a grant you have to be a novelist not a playwright but you have to be writing a play not a novel, I’ve applied for that under the name Jim Blake because that’s the name I wrote another Western novel under called Guns of God and if I can change the novel I’m working on now into a play for just long enough to get a grant I . . .

  —It’s good discipline yes, the play I’m working on now in fact, it started as a novel, sent the first chapter and an outline in to this publisher and got back a fatuous five page . . .

  —Yes well before I knew about these fourteen thousand dollar grants I’d already taken a job from another part of the same Foundation to write a book on school television for a lousy five thousand dollars. I worked on that while I was living on the advance I got for this Western and when I took it in half finished I thought I’d use that payment to go back and finish the Western, and then the Foundation just canceled the whole thing. I’ve been trying to reach the man in charge of it there ever since but it’s like trying to reach Klamm in The Castle, he’s always busy, always out, never returns a call and now their comptroller’s after me for a five hundred dollar expense advance, I told him I’ll settle it when they settle with me on the book but he says it’s a different kind of money and I . . .

  —Lake to meet just one of them who’d come right out and say he’s really in it for the money, this publisher of mine names himself a six-figure salary I’ve heard he’s written three novels himself, finally hid them in a drawer when his own poor God damn editors read them and had to plead with him not to publish them so Christ awful they were afraid he’d embarrass the whole, yes Carol?

  —Mister Eigen Miss Flesch wants to know if you . . .

  —Look just tell her I’m talking to Mister Gall about this book project, she . . .

  —Yes well this friend of mine who’s in there talking to her now is taking over the old publishing house he’s been working for, if he gets the contract for this book about cobalt and I can get an advance from him on it and get back to this play I . . .

  —Yes just a second, Florence?