J R

  —Can’t argue with you no . . . he pulled off his shirt,—Grynszpan has a similar arrangement here with the Edison Company . . . he leaned close over the torrent at the sink looking into the cookie tin top—Christ . . .

  —Oh wow, man I mean turn around a little . . . she paused closer pulling on the raincoat,—like I mean that must have been some screwing man . . .

  —What are, what do you think you . . .

  —Man like what do you think I think, you were out picking blackberries? Like all these old fingernail scars right down your back man I mean she was really hanging in, like who was it that black haired chick?

  He shuddered at her blunt finger run down from his shoulder, turned abruptly backed against the sink there—but what do you, how did you . . .

  —Man like what’s wrong I mean ljust asked was it that black haired chick you were balling that time . . . she got the door,—I mean I bet she really stayed screwed . . .

  He turned back slowly to the sink gripping its edge—Christ, what . . . reached suddenly up to seize his shoulder and try to bring it under his twisted gaze, then as abruptly thrust his head under the torrent, banged it on the tap coming up—God damn it . . . wiping his face, trampling film cans, reaching up a wet hand—hello . . .? No he’s . . . said he was having calls transferred to this number yes but he’s not here, who . . . who? Can’t accept a collect call from Mrs Eigen no, I . . . look operator I’ll tell Mister Eigen she’s trying to reach him but . . . said I can’t no! goodbye . . .

  The gum wad bounded off the sill, rose, dropped again. He tipped the bottle over the empty cup—all I need right now little encouragement from Marian . . . he came down on H-O with the blue folder, set the cup aside emptied again—just need to loosen up a little, run through the rest of this before I type it where the, one eyed, good eye yes the good eye could now peer into Aris tripods here, tripods of Hephaestus which, says the poet, of their own accord entered the assembly of the gods, if, in like manner, the shuttle would weave and the plectrum touch the lyre without a hand to guide them, chief workmen would not want servants, nor masters slaves. For though the tale how for art’s sake Wilde had faced Leadville’s bullies to a standoff continued to amuse long after he’d withdrawn to join the compost smoldering in Europe with Pater’s recipe for, fueled by Pater’s no. The tale no. For though, and though the, for now the tale . . .

  Long hand drove short toward the summit, descended into NO RETURN. Gum wad bounded, withdrew, dropped again—still smoldering in, no the compost ignited by, lit no, hell’s that God damned dictionary . . . He tipped the bottle over the cup, edged closer to the sill as he raised it, put it down empty on Moody’s watching the gum wad bound, rise again, gradually reached to raise the window, chin on the sill blowing gently. The curler wavered. The gum wad hesitated, dropped rose and bounded off. The curler wavered to the edge, rolled back, the gum wad rose. The long hand climbed from NO DEPOSIT. At the sill’s edge the curler trembled and was gone, the gum wad swung aimless and slowly rose from sight.

  —Get anything done here God damn it . . . he grabbed up the shirt coming through—catch pneumonia this way, hello . . .? No now wait who do you . . . no company spokesman here right now no, goodb . . . never heard of Teletravel no, now . . . Frigi what? Look . . . no listen . . . look I don’t know a God damned thing about filing an environmental impact statement on the . . . effect on marine life of disposing of what sound shards at sea look I don’t know what you’re talking ab . . . Yes well look if that’s what their head of R and D testified before the Armed Services Committee what else do you want, if I was a tuna fish I’d . . . because I’m not a God damned tuna fish! now . . . President of who you mean the president of the company? here? are you out of your . . . Well look if he called you and . . . look if he gave you all that in a phone statement what are you calling . . . Look I’d like to be in Honduras myself, now . . . because I don’t know God damn it, good . . . no comment yes goodbye . . .!

  He ducked to Hoppin’ With Flavor! to tip the bottle over the cup—-just stop answering the God damned thing call Tom work out some kind of Christ, try to call him there they’ll tell me to call him here . . . he set the cup down emptied—now. For though, for now the tale how God damned tomato and cheese right down the, wonder how old that pizza is . . . he got a cheese clot off Wilde with a thumbnail, bit, blew it out—should have brought something in damn it, shoot the pianist just get to the end of this God damned sentence shoot the pianist. For thow, damn it God damn it! His hands went white against his face, drawn down for fingertips to press his eyes, dig at them, fall away to leave them staring—find the God damned typewriter should have done this in the first place . . . he dragged the case from behind Thomas Register of Manufacturers, squared it on top and snapped it open—retype the whole thing right from, be God damned . . . he caught the stained manila folder sliding off the keyboard—wondered what the hell happened to this . . . he opened it and turned a page, sank down on H-O with it and turned another, found a cigarette and brought the enchilada can closer tapping ashes, settling back against Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell tapping ashes, leaning forward to tip the bottle, back to where the sun streaked down one margin crossing closer to the other with each turning page till it had left them altogether when the peal of the phone brought him up steadied against Hoppin’ With Flavor!—coming God damn it . . . against 200 2-Ply as he passed it on the fourth ring.

  —Yes hello . . .? Not back yet no goodb . . . oh it is? Put him on yes thought I forgot his, hello? Thought I forgot your message didn’t you, sonorous torns of hone and kettle . . . the who . . .? No no nope boss company president whatever the hell he is not here either hasn’t called no, not a . . . you what . . .? Wouldn’t say that Mister Crawley, he prob . . . no no wouldn’t think he’d do a thing like that good Christ see a fine man like you go under just for a little margin money, company like this one he must hold enough stock to cover any . . . closed down four points? God damned shame, what’s . . . They what . . .? Who filed it Piscat . . . God damned shame atmosphere of mistrust these days isn’t it, old Piscator files an affidavit accepting service of the summons these lenders go ahead and attach his stock anyhow tell you what it is Crawley whole God damned decline from status to contract what’s wrong with the whole God damned modern . . . Sounds like to me see them attach his stock to guarantee his court appearance sounds like they’re trying to grab off his company what it sounds like, what’s wrong with the whole God damned country atmosphere of mistrust say incidentally Crawley, don’t happen to be planning a trip to Honduras . . .? Honduras yes, just happened to think you might bump into him down there, newspaper called says there’s a rumor wait, listen . . . no no listen . . . hear a funny nose in this phone? noise . . .? He held it up and shook it, started unscrewing the mouthpiece—what? Why not sounds like a God damned exciting place Honduras might be thinking of buying it, vastness of the plains the purple hello . . .? hear me . . .? Can’t hear me . . . he had the cover off holding it closer, forcing a nail under a wire, twisting—God damned bug in it . . . he pulled it out,—hello? screwing the cover back on,—hello Crawley? Bastard hung up . . .

  He tossed the thing ahead of him coming down, steadied against 200 2-Ply to crush it under a heel—whole God damned place probably bugged . . . the bottle tipped horizontal and he held it up to what light there was—Christ . . . he raised the cup—what, something move God damn it saw something move up there looked like a . . . he reached to Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell to pull himself up—well God damn it! and he was down picking up cigarette lighters, view of the Ghiralda, glue,—God, suppose she . . . and he steadied against H-O, came down on it—what was I, typed yes get it typed Christ, get something typed . . . he dragged Thomas Register closer, reached the bottle over, rummaged in Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell beside him,—now . . . He hit R.

  ——your loved ones, open a trust savings ac . . .

  —Get under their God damned signal, here . . . he emptied the cup, hunched closer, typing—God d
amned apostrophe hardly see in here . . . the roller turned, turned again, each time more slowly till he was up abruptly shaking the punctured lampshade, rattling open the battered shopping bag from the sofa as the lamp lighted—knew they eat snails Christ but, catfood . . .? The lamp went off, came on—chicken parts necks and backs, palmitate, d-activated plant sterol choline chloride pyridoxine better not no where the, where those cigarettes . . . the lamp went off.

  When it came on he was sitting on Hoppin’ With Flavor! staring at the vacant sill outside. He reached the bottle. The second hand sprang from NO DEPOSIT, plunged to NO RETURN and suddenly he was up digging in Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell, had the glue squeezing it on the Liberty head quarter as the lamp flickered off and on for him pressing the quarter on the sill, banging the window up steadying an arm on 2-Ply Facial Tissue Yellow—couldn’t, couldn’t be God suppose she . . . It rang again. He looked down his front, brushed at it, tripped against H-O getting through to steady against the tub, let it ring again.—Hel, hello . . .? Christ that you Tom? did, she didn’t call did she . . .? no no just, that’s right just thought . . . no couldn’t have missed her no been here the whole God damned day been here got Schramm’s typewriter, found Schramm’s typewriter been . . . what? Notes? find my notes told you I can’t find my notes whole place is . . . Schramm’s notes? in what typewriter . . . old manila folder got what spilled on it . . .? Keep an eye out for it Tom I’ll keep an eye out typewriter manuscript old manila spilled on God damn it . . . Nothing no foot just slipped on this God damned what . . .? Drink two drinks yes had three drinks been up here all . . . well God damn it listen I . . . know I said that yes but God damn it look Tom she . . . listen say something like that listen Tom told you I haven’t felt too God damned well I . . . no what . . . Didn’t tell me that no, what . . . no which eye . . . No but look if it was your . . . heard of that happening listen Tom had a detached retina you’d really be . . . Wouldn’t try that Christ no find a good eye man a good, eye man, not a good eye, the good eye could . . . the what? Called who, here? Oh called here yes she called this morning collect didn’t even . . . visitation rights make the kid sound like John the Bap wait listen ever think of that game idea we . . . no just reminded me jumping for joy in the womb Mary visiting Elisa wait Christ listen what day is it . . .! no no now today what . . . Not the God damned date the day the day! got a God damned name like Monday Tues . . . Christ.

  ——court begging for permission to see my own son? Jack . . .?

  The phone swung free. His foot slipped again, recovered 24–12 Oz Btls Fragile! and he stared down at his front, brushed at it, caught his balance and grabbed for the phone, clung to QUICK QUAKER and tried again, caught it and reached his free hand up to dial.—Hello? Yes listen I . . . know it yes but listen I . . . know it yes I know what day it is that’s what I’m . . . Because I couldn’t God damn it because I couldn’t! will you lis . . . Don’t no I don’t want to tell her myself no I, look can you tell her next week tell her get the new boots for her next week can’t you just . . . Look I know it’s getting cold that’s not what’s God damn it couldn’t you . . . Because I can’t talk to her right now that’s why! Look at me! I, can’t you just once can’t you, just once couldn’t you, once just not have to win . . .?

  String came lowering a gum wad into the cast of light at the sill abruptly gone with his lurch against the punctured shade coming down on Hoppin’ With Flavor!—Christ what I’m, Christ . . .

  ——merican family its full share of the world’s health. Remember. It’s greenl Another fine product of Nobili Laboratories, a proud mem . . .

  —Man like you didn’t even bring in the mail . . . the door shuddered in on her wading through envelopes, kicking ahead the Journal of Business, Modern Packaging, Financial World—and like there’s this big fucking box out there I can’t even move it. Are you in here . . .?

  —In the library quick just been attacked by Cruden’s Concordance . . .

  —Man like what are you sitting in there in the dark and I mean what’s with the telephone, it’s just hanging here . . . she freed an arm, passing, to reach and hang it up.

  —Got my call took it off the hook . . . the lamp flickered on, the gum wad took up again, bounded merrily off the quarter, drew up,—got my call won a free dance lesson . . .

  —I mean look I’m expecting this very important call . . . she came in trailing mail, dumped the raincoat’s pockets of cans, jars, a clothing wad as she pulled it off—like I mean this job they said they’ll call me on this very short notice . . . she yanked at a zipper.

  —Charming little frock never pictured you in a charming little frock . . . he stared up from the cup’s emptiness, edged over to H-O in reach of the bottle—why you taking off charming little . . .

  —Man like this place is so filthy I can’t even sit down in it, I mean they gave me this twenty dollars for it to look nice for this job like can you hold it a minute?

  —Sound like a God damned fastidious horse what’s the . . .

  —No I mean hold it up off the floor man . . . she shook herself into a shirt—like I’m supposed to be this secretary that’s got these personal problems like am I pregnant or something I said how do I know . . . she got through over his feet to hang the dress on the dishcloth rack,—I mean for when this public figure grabs me in the window like you should see this place man, I mean they must all shit American flags up there it’s so patriotic.

  —God damned disappointment public figure thought you said a horse . . . the bottle tipped, wavered—like the flags though, Macy’s draw a nice genteel crowd nothing vulgar . . .

  —Man like what do you keep saying this horse I mean I just told you it’s politics, I mean this Mister Cibo that hired me he’s like right out of the Mafia . . . she paused mismatching button to buttonhole,—I mean I’m jumping out this window with these personal problems and this politician saves me to make him this big hero, like I say how his courageous act shows he cares for people and gives me this courage to face life’s battles once more and they pay me this hundred bucks and I mean what’s with this lamp . . . she shook it, got around tugging at 24–7 Oz Pkgs Flavored Loops—like there’s this other lamp back here they sent him I mean have you got a quarter?

  —Gave you five dollars this morn . . .

  —Like I’m not selling it to you man . . . she dragged it out, set it up on Moody’s—I mean it’s made of this parking meter you need a quarter to make it go for ah hour.

  —Take twelve minutes here’s a nickel, careful that bottle . . .

  —No look man I mean a nickel’s too fat to go in the slot what do you wow, like you drank this whole bottle just today?

  —Grynszpan dropped in heavy drinker he, look! See it? damn . . .

  —Man what’s, see what . . .

  —Football up there box in front of the clock wait till the light comes back on, old football climbing out of No Dep there! See it?

  —Man like that’s here kitty kitty I mean that’s Chairman Meow man, here kitty . . .

  —Hell’s he doing here looks like a . . .

  —Man like where was I supposed to take him and I mean where’s that opener, like I had it in here for those enchilavies . . . and her sharp bend away looking under the sofa snapped the shirttail up where he swallowed abruptly on nothing, licked his lips and spilled the cup over the back of his hand getting it to them.—Here it is it’s still on the can I mean what a disgusting mess, like I mean these cigarette butts and enchilavies man couldn’t you even put garbage out in the hall like you’re supposed to?

  —Little old lady comes down cleans out the tunafish cans . . .

  —Man like we don’t even have tunafish and I mean the last time she tried that they almost put her in this little green panel truck and took her with it here kitty kitty . . .

  —This keeps up put us all in a little green panel . . .

  —No I mean this one that comes for the trash every night man like Bast says it’s some service his company must have fixed u
p kitty kitty kitty . . . she tapped the opened can on the floor.

  —Company his service fixed up just found a bug on the phone that’s who . . .

  —Man like that’s what I’m telling you, I mean this place is so filthy I expect to wake up with bites come here kitty . . .

  —Bite bug not a bedbug no a tap phone tap, on the floor in there just ripped it out of the phone I . . .

  —What that you ripped it out? Man like why’d you do that I mean he’ll just have to come back and fix it kitty kitty . . .?

  —He who, what . . .

  —This spade cat that works for the phone company man, I mean like he installs these telephones and these taps he does on the side so I mean like when they don’t hear anything they’ll just tell him to come put on another one I mean are you hungry?

  —Not that hungry . . . he moved a foot from the stealthy approach to the can opened on the floor,—ever see a football eating don’t disturb . . .

  —What do you have to say it with him standing right there man . . . she’d gone round on one knee on the sofa’s edge thrusting among mail for a jar, a can, inching the shirttail up—I mean can’t you look at somebody’s face instead of their ass? And like didn’t you find a quarter I mean this fucking lamp going on and off I can’t hardly see what . . . she was down biting open a transparent packet—like do you want some?