J R

  —Mister Bast I think, I think under the circumstances . . .

  —Import export place called Burmesquik where they make the crooked . . .

  —I think it might be wise to postpone your seeing Mrs Angel, considering her present condition and of course having met your please! be careful of your foot, had the pleasure of dealing with your aunts of course I should have been aware that stability is perhaps not your family’s most promin . . .

  —All got pissed off because their bellies dropped I mean what’s so erotic about that.

  —I, I’m sure I don’t know Mister Bast why don’t you just rest for a few minutes, perhaps we can find some music to . . .

  —Soothe the savage dot dot dot, get to wed some savage woman she will . . .

  —Rest your head back yes I believe we share an interest in your knee Mister Bast if you can move your knee, in fine music . . .

  —She shall rear my dusty race want to say scrotum in Danish Mister Coen?

  —Not, not particularly if I can, if I can just find some music yes if there’s one thing I dislike Mister Bast it’s disorder I don’t like surprises, the caterwauling on most of radio that’s why I felt the expense of having this FM here here listen! it’s, I think we have Handel that’s better isn’t it yes Jephtha? Handel’s Jephtha I remember this part yes when I was a child, I thought the soprano here was singing get away! get no no stop! stop! we almost what made you do that! We we could have been killed no get your foot down!

  —Up yours Mister Coen.

  —But you, you put your foot right through the . . .

  —Up mine up mine du haaaassest mich!

  —No no listen Mister Bast stop it stop singing! I can’t no, no you’ll have to sit still I can’t drive if you . . .

  —Help each other out Mister Coen make seventy-five dollars?

  —Why why what . . .

  —Ever handle a bankrup?

  —Mister Bast I . . .

  —Believing and shitting are two very different things Mister Coen.

  —I see yes I, I’m sure they are Mis . . .

  —Two very different things.

  —I’m sure yes I, I’d never really thought in precisely those terms now please . . .

  —Better think in precisely those terms Mister Coen drive in walk out, two very different things.

  —I will yes Mister Bast now sit back or we’ll have to . . .

  —What’s that what’s that! that, that white thing that round white thing . . .

  —It’s simply the knob to control the ventilator, now please . . .

  —Bet her ass if there’s this here millionaire for that like to win that bet wouldn’t you Mister Coen? Once just get a good look at it winked at you just this once get a divorce just like everybody wouldn’t you?

  —I’m sure I would Mister Bast that’s better yes, settle back . . .

  —Win the Finders Keepers award get to go to that banquet, where you shipping them all there in American bottoms?

  —I think we’ll go directly to the hospital where they’ve taken Mister Angel, I’m sure his physician will have you admitted you’re here get the coat over you you’re shivering where’s the, that cloth you’re perspiring heavily yes, yes I had thought if Mrs Angel should go to Bellevue I could certainly have you admitted there too but getting you out again might prove somewhat more diff . . .

  —Open a bank there wouldn’t you? Shrewd downstate interest lead the parade open the bank there first national bank of Burmesquik no deposit no return, wouldn’t you?

  —I’m sure I would Mister Bast yes, yes we won’t be long now . . . and his hand dropped from wiping the inside of the glass before him to lift away the foot renewing its errant threat to join his on the accelerator, rose to wipe again where the bursts of passing lights became more frequent, gave way finally to the sheltered giare of the tunnel, the open glows of green’s consent and red alerts in BAR, DRY CLEANING, EAT, EMERGENCY—yes here we oh . . .! where the glass doors hung still behind his haste through them as though content to reflect the novelty of the fender crumpled in his fervor of arrival until they were swept wide on the pursuit of a wheelchair—wait yes I think he’s still asleep, here let me . . .

  —No I can lift him he don’t weigh nothing, just get the blanket . . . and the doors outside returned to their diversion, inside deflected—he go to admissions?

  —Where the trees . . .

  —He wha’d he say?

  —He, no no I think that won’t be necessary I just arranged his admission with Miss, Miss . . .?

  —Is this the new boy? He’ll have to tell me all about it . . .

  —I don’t think he can he’s quite feverish, he became incoherent on the way in he’s been using language I’m sure he never . . .

  —Don’t worry he can’t shock me I just came here from working at a public school, oh this man in intensive care you just asked about, this Mister Angel? They said his condition’s unchanged, this bullet entered beside the eye it’s lodged in the brain if you want to stay awhile maybe they . . .

  —No I can’t no I have to get over to the nineteenth precinct if he should, if his condition should change they should be notified immediately and, Mister Bast? Goodnight I have to leave, I’ll look in tomorrow perhaps we’ll have a clearer picture of things . . .

  —Off we go, Mister Bast is it? We’re going for a little ride . . .

  —Walk out drive in.

  —Yes we’ll get those wet things off and something to help us sleep won’t we, Joe? Tell the doctor room three nineteen you better see about an oxygen tent too just in case . . . and the wheels spun through bull’s eye doors for the lull of an elevator, down corridors of greens unknown in nature.—Here we are . . .

  —Where the trees.

  —Silly there aren’t any trees . . . only the flurry of hands and sheets, the rattle of carts and trays and finally of a shade coming down on the glow at a wall socket indifferently exchanging day for night, night for day.

  —I’m telling you this place is a dream after where I was at, did I ever tell you what was . . .

  —Wait, hello . . .? He’s in three nineteen yes wait here’s Miss Waddams she can . . .

  —Hello . . .? Oh hi . . . last night yeah but I just went on days this morning, he’s coming along fine he didn’t even wake up since you . . . now? with him? No we got him in a tent he’s not even . . . no an oxygen tent Mister Coen he’s got enough trouble breathing already without trying to talk on the tele . . . I know yeah he really hit the jackpot double pneumonia nervous exhaus . . . what? Malnutrition yeah I don’t know a couple of days maybe, they always worry about complications with this you know? So how’s your other patient . . . No I mean your friend they got here in the intensive care . . . You really got your hands full haven’t you Mister Coen . . . I sure will Mis . . . you bet Mister Coen goodbye, anyway this place is a dream after where I was at . . .

  —No lunch for three nineteen either?

  —No he’s on iv maybe I better go check him now, don’t go away wait till I tell you what they found stopping up the junior high plumbing . . . and she came hedged by that despair of color down the corridor to weigh in green’s arrest OXYGEN NO SMOKING with a shoulder and search a pulse among whites left sallow with her steps away in the wall socket glow’s indifference day to night, night to day.

  —Anyway like what I was telling you yesterday can you imagine that back when you were in junior high? I’m telling you this place is wait, hello . . .? Oh hi Mister Coen? It’s me yeah he’s coming along fine he still didn’t really wake up since you . . . no I mean just for tests and all but he’s still on the . . . no but even if you have these important matters to discuss with him he couldn’t even . . . I sure will Mister Coen so how’s your other patients you really got your hands full haven’t you you must be . . . you bet Mister Coen goodbye. I better go check him don’t go away I didn’t even tell you where we had this kid that was always sticking people up with a cap pistol . . . and she was down the corr
idor shouldering in OXYGEN NO SMOKING,—how we feeling today Mister Bast . . .? flashing a light, searching a pulse—just take one day at a time . . . and leaving that one behind, undistinguished by the steady glow from the one that followed.

  —I’m telling you after where I was at only don’t you get bored here? Hello . . .? for Mister who . . .? No it can’t be three twelve three twelve’s a hysterectomy . . . seven till eight yes goodbye, anyway did I tell you where we had these junior high girls leaving their samples for wait, hello . . .? Oh hi there Mis . . . much better yeah he’s out of the tent I bet he’d like to see you Mister Coen, he seems sort of lone . . . no he’s talking sure but . . . sure but he’s saying things like a dollar is e, fifty cents is d, a quarter is . . . yeah then he tells me if corn is this god we don’t even have electricity and he’s only fit for public life then he tells me some poetry about some ancient founts, what he said about this place where he said he’s been what they do there I wouldn’t even . . . I sure will Mister Coen so how’s your other pa . . . you really got your hands full I’ll . . . you bet Mister Coen, goodbye. What’s this . . .

  —A postoperative for three nineteen.

  —Good he’ll be glad for some company in there.

  —Yeah . . .? they swung the bed down the corridor,—wait till he sees it.

  —Mister Bast? you awake? We brought you a roommate see . . .? but all that emerged from the heap on the rolling bed once in place was a rude sound which set its pattern of response for the night.

  The shade clattered up on a gray that seemed to draw light from the room itself.—And how are my boys this morning? Mister Bast? are you awake?

  —He went back to sleep, what’s your name.

  —I’m Miss Waddams, did you boys both wash?

  —Get me some newspapers I haven’t seen one for a week, what are you doing there.

  —I have to take your pulse, would you get your arm out of the covers?

  —You try to find it.

  —Now now let’s act our age, did you and Mister Bast get acquainted last night?

  —Thinks I’m his father, he says let’s improve this orange place by chopping everything down like the olden times.

  —He doesn’t mean anything by it, he tells me somebody broke in his house and I say who and he says you did! Then he tells me some creepy poetry about the dreary moorland and wants to see the scar around my neck he said he heard I’m a witch, he heard I screw my head off at night.

  —I’ll bet you do too Waddles, come around tonight and we’ll . . .

  —Now now let’s act our age . . .

  —Just want to get fixed up and . . .

  —We’ll fix you up don’t worry, I’ll get your newspapers . . .

  —Bast? you awake . . .? and he subsided till the rustle of sheets gave way to the ruffle of newspaper, the clatter of trays—don’t think he even wants to wake up for lunch. What’s this, fisheye?

  —It’s tapioca.

  —It’s fisheye . . . a clatter that gave way finally to a variety of solitary expressions of relief, and a silence broken eventually by the ruffle of newspapers.—Bast? you awake? Read you the paper and cheer you up, so full of other people’s misery it’s enough to cheer anybody up listen to this one. She told investigators she had not seen her husband since one evening last week, when she hid herself in a closet and watched him carefully make up his face and dress in an elaborate array of woman’s clothing before slipping out. Answering a knock minutes later, she said he confronted her at the door insisting he was his own sister on a trip through town and just wanted to say hello. Unmoved by her demand that he come in and stop the nonsense, she said he suddenly turned and left and she has heard nothing from him since. In recounting her discovery, Mrs Teets appeared most annoyed by the variety of silk underthings she found hidden in his shirt drawer, since she had been restricted to cotton and synthetics throughout their marriage to save money. Mister Teets is being sought in connection with a subpoena for . . .

  —Have we used the bedpan today?

  —Think it’ll hold us both? Let’s wait, don’t go away Waddles I’ve got a stiff proposition here for you . . .

  —Now now . . .

  —Real spoilsport isn’t she, listen to this one. For a fifth straight day, the brave little fourth grader trapped in the soaring steel sculpture Cyclone Seven patiently awaits court settlement in a case that promises to set precedents in art and insurance circles alike. As tightlipped members of the local fire department stand their lonely vigil with acetylene torches ready, prepared to free the boy from what has been called one of the most outstanding contemporary sculptural comments on mass space, insurance company attorneys continue to work around the clock assembling briefs covering interpretations of the health, accident, life and property provisions contained in the numerous subclauses of the policies directly and indirectly involved in the controversy. Prospects for the out of court settlement rumored yesterday were suddenly dimmed by the intervention of a group calling itself the Modern Allies of Mandible Art. Through its attorneys, MAMA is seeking an injunction against what it terms willful destruction of a unique metaphor of man’s relation to the universe, stating its contention that altering the massive work in the smallest detail would permanently destroy the arbitrary arrangement of force and line that pushes Cyclone Seven beyond conventional limits of beauty to celebrate in the virile and aggressive terms of raw freedom the triumphant dignity of man. Braving the sleet and freezing rain that continue to sweep the bare expanse of the Cultural Plaza where Cyclone Seven stands, protesters picketing within a stone’s throw of the makeshift tent hastily suspended by friends and neighbors of the boy’s parents to give him some protection from Bast? Look at that picture looks like he’s being eaten alive, what’s this Waddles. Fish?

  —It’s your supper.

  —It’s fish.

  —Mister Bast? Suppertime, let’s wake up and eat.

  —Cheer up Bast the worst is yet to come. Wait till you try this fish, remember anything you told me last night? not to bring fresh flowers into the cemetery? You don’t even know what failure is at your age how can you call yourself one when you’ve never done anything, talking about your father picking the wrong boy what you’re worried about inheriting from him I’ve been trying to get out of the wallpaper business for fourteen years how do you like that, these great plans he had for you to be somebody? get your picture in the paper wearing a tuxedo? I never tasted anything like this before I don’t see how you can get it down, I’ll tell you a story about my boy. Tell me about this limited reliability you found in the trash I’ll tell you a story about him. That war those same son of a bitches were running when they ran the whole country into the ground ten years ago he met a girl overseas and brought her back she was pregnant all right, I think this fish is going to make me vomit. He finally told me he couldn’t swear it was his I could have told him that with one look at her he told me it didn’t matter, he just wanted to save somebody love somebody help make up for some of the hands and feet we blew off over there it wouldn’t matter, there didn’t anybody ever need to know if it was his he married her and she had the baby it was black as your hat, how do you like that. A little boy now he’s in second grade as black as your hat see what I mean? It’s taken me fourteen years to get out of the wallpaper business people think winning’s what it’s all about just ask those son of a bitches who ran that war, ran the whole country into the ground while they were at it where’s that woman, Waddles? Come in and get this tray it’s the worst meal I ever ate.

  —Did we take our medication?

  —What medication just get this tray out of here.

  —This little white cup yes you took it didn’t you, if milk of magnesia doesn’t help we may need an enema.

  —Just crank me down a little I thought it was the sauce for the fish, here give me those papers read about other people’s troubles see what I mean Bast? Can’t get her mind off enemas here’s one, remember the shelter fad? Here’s one somebody built on
Long Island it’s got such a fancy big waste disposal system the whole district’s sewer assessment’s in trouble look at that, afraid of losing federal funding so they’re condemning the whole thing turning it into a public convenience look at it, make a nice fifty holer won’t it Waddles, ever been to Long Island? It says here the water table’s so high the whole island’s turning into a leaching field it may have to be declared a disaster area, one look at it I could have told them that . . .

  —Are you finished too Mister Bast?

  —If that fish didn’t finish him nothing will you better take his pulse see if he still has one, here’s a Senate subcommittee that still thinks winning’s what it’s all about holding hearings on a project part of a company the same son of a bitches that got me out of the wallpaper business listen to this. Testifying before the Broos committee on operational difficulties, Doctor Vogel stated that the only remaining problems appear to be those encountered in handling the noise or sound shards as they are called, and in perfecting the timing element in the thawing process. In what Doctor Vogel described as perhaps too ambitious a trial in this early state of the art, the shards comprising Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony proved more difficult to handle than had been anticipated, and the sequential thaw technique was not entirely reliable. Appearing before the committee with his left arm in a cast and his face partially hidden by bandages, the colorful research director stated that the injuries sustained by himself and three of his technicians occurred when the entire first movement thawed in an unscheduled four seconds, ascribing the damage mainly to the strident quality of the musical work’s opening bars . . .

  —Move your feet let me tuck this in here, I don’t think Mister Bast hears a word you’re saying I think he’s gone back to sleep.

  —He knows how to get along with people he’s a good listener aren’t you Bast, pass me his orange drink he never touches it. The next test series will be conducted with a selection from The Red Mill by Victor Herbert, which Doctor Vogel chose as being less hazardous to personnel in the event of a repeated malfunction in the thawing process. Initiated by the Defense Department for reasons that remain unclear, the Frigicom project is being carried on in conjunction with noise environment studies in several cities and has attracted the interest of the recording industry due to the complete absence of friction associated with conventional transcription. Concluding his testimony with a jocular reference to turning the other cheek, Doctor Vogel was believed to be referring to cost overrun and feasibility studies in connection with a highly secret project said to involve a revolutionary method of transportation which is the focus of acute military interest. Informed sources stated that his abrupt departure for Texas this evening signaled the probability of a trial run of the new what are you looking for under there Waddles.