Where
The greedy
Are waiting
And grinning
18
The leaves a deepening green in the sunshine on the tree outside Christian's window. Fluttering in breezes till the end of June. The Danes celebrating Constitution Day, the Swedes giving a folk and festival dance in the park. And a nice bunch of kids dancing along the curb snapping radio aerials off the cars.
Fanny threw me out of her apartment for the fifth time. And I stayed away penniless reading a tome on job opportunity. The hunchback in his high politely pitched voice called through the door that he respected me as a gentleman and would I please pay the rent. And the pair of rude debt collectors sent by the steam ship company said we'll break this fucking door down.
Christian breakfasting in the automats pouring out unemptied coffee cups. Stealing folks' baked beans when they went looking for ketchup. Till finally getting credit from the Irish grocer round the corner by increasing the thickness of a brogue every day. With selected newspapers from the better garbage pails one sat reading in my window. Lots of action as that swell crew of youngsters dumped garbage on steps and threw bricks through the janitor's fanlight who came out shaking his fist. And once my institutional friend came by wearing white shorts sneakers and a baseball cap. With a new sign.
DOWN WITH DUST
A balmy morning a man stopped me on the steps just as I was trying to belch and sneeze at the same time. Thought by the way he wanted to make sure it was me that he was from some contest, dozens of which I'd entered. And I promptly got handed a subpoena. To appear in court, ten o'clock of a Tuesday.
Christian with a last clean shirt and unholed socks went for a swim at the Game Club. Scrubbing the dirt off his heels with a big soft brush and pine scented soap. Members waddling by with their walrus rolls of fat. Could go without eating for weeks. Just as I lay in my increasing skin and bones, wrapped in three sheets, my name was paged for the telephone.
"Cornelius."
"Yes."
"This is Charlotte Graves. I hope I haven't disturbed you.
How are you."
"Destitute."
"O what's wrong."
"I need a job."
"Why don't you go and see Mr Mott."
Christian dressed, hair combed leaping three steps at a time down into the subway. Thundering trains beating against the brain. A black gentleman sitting across. His shoulders going up and down, his fists banging on his knees as he chants man I'm gonna go, I'm gonna go, just set me alight. I'm gonna explode, I'm gonna blow the place up, I'm gonna knock the place down. Don't nobody stop me because I 'm gonna go.
Christian going. Up dark steps and along a shadowy narrow street. Standing outside this towering beige colored building. Look up at clouds passing overhead and feel the world is falling over. Chiselled in the stone above the battery of bronze doors, the huge word Mott surmounted by an eagle. The pink marble lobby. A directory on the wall and the hot shit faces scurrying by with their briefcases.
Christian zooming up on the elevator. Stepping off on a wide brown carpeted floor. Paintings of countryside, rolling hills and hedgerows. Horses leaping fences. Just approach the reception desk. In all this gleaming polished tranquility.
"May I help you, sir."
"O I'm just sort of making a call."
"Whom do you wish to see."
"Well I guess I only know one person."
"I'm afraid I'll have to know whom you wish to see.''
"I mean it doesn't matter, I was just passing and I thought I'd stop in."
"I'm sorry unless you tell me what your business is and which department or person you wish to be referred to I can't help you."
"Well I'd like to see Mr Mott."
"Mr Mott."
"Yes Mr Mott."
"Do you know who Mr Mott is."
"Yes. He's the owner or something. I 'd like to see him.''
"That's impossible."
"Why."
''Do you have a prior appointment."
"No."
"Then it's quite impossible.''
"I'm a friend."
"Excuse me but there are people waiting behind you.''
''This is a democracy.''
''Would you mind, there are people waiting."
"I demand that you contact Mr Mott and tell him Cornelius Christian is calling.''
Christian bending forward, hands on desk. Perspiration on brow. Bubbles there the instant the world decides yet again to cramp my style. This bitch sitting between me and survival. Tapping her god damn pencil on her pad. Smiling that smirk.
"Unless you have an appointment, I 'm afraid.''
"You'd better be afraid because madam Mr Mott would much prefer to be merely bothered by your enquiry for five seconds than have five squads of police roaring up through this building looking for me after I administer a suitable chastisement to you and send this line standing behind me running for their lives. Unless by god this instant you get in touch with Mr Mott and tell him Cornelius Christian is calling.''
Receptionist with her blood red fingernails. Picking up the telephone. Raising her eyebrows and sniffing down her nose.
"There's a gentleman here, Cornelius Christian would like to see Mr Mott. No he hasn't. But he insists. Yes. He really does."
Receptionist holding her hand over phone. Looking up at Christian. As more folk get off the elevator.
''What is the nature of your urgency.''
''I 'm offering myself."
"He's offering himself.''
Grumbling guy trying to push the sharp point of a package into my back. Jesus what a town. No one will even give you two indifferent minutes out of their lives to save twenty five million desperate ones in your own. As this girl's jaw drops. And she looks up.
"Mr Christian, I'm sorry. You should have told me who you were. You can go in right away. Just see the secretary the last office on the left down the hall.''
"Thank you."
This creature with a blouse of green and a grey flannel dress. Leading me along the hall. Across another reception room. Past flowers. Through a little panelled lobby and a door she pushes open. Feels good to be accidentally somebody for a minute.
Huge room and window. Looking out and down over the city. Water towers on all the flat tarred roofs. That statue of a woman holding aloft a torch over the grey green harbour of New York. Two flat ferries pass, one to and one fro. And this blue suited man with his whitening hair neatly combed back, holding out his hand.
"Well if it isn't my boy Christian, isn't it."
"Yes Mr Mott, it is."
''A party of myson's wasn't it.''
"Yes sir."
"Well, sit down, nice to see you. Have a smoke, my boy. Good cigar. Just bought it yesterday, I mean bought the company. I like to use my new products right away.''
"Thank you."
"Well what can we do for you.''
"Mr Mott I 'd like to make money.''
"That's the smartest thing I've heard anybody say for a long time. Well now. How do you feel we can help. Got something to offer us."
"Myself."
"Well now, another pretty straightforward answer. I like that. Connotes purpose. It's Cornelius Christian isn't it."
"Yes."
"Well now, I'll call you Cornelius. Well Cornelius, so you'd like to make money. Want you to look out and down there. Wall Street and the harbour of New York. Like you could wipe your feet in it. What put us way up here.''
''Well I guess the elevator."
''Boy, I 'm talking on a different level.''
"O."
"Ingenuity. It's a word we use around here. Say it.''
"Ingenuity."
"That's better boy. I remember you. Came along with that wonderful girl Charlotte. Just back from Europe weren't you. You had a bit of sadness with your wife. Which I was sorry about. Juke box short circuited. It was like war for a minute. Remember a couple of comments you made caught my ear. Yeah."
"Yes I was at the short circuit.''
"Look tell you what. Bit rushed just now, excuse me a second."
Mr Mott bending forward, his hand pressing down a lever. A left hand tapping ash from his cigar.
"Miss Peep, get me personnel, Mr How. Go ahead Cornelius, help yourself to the view. Ah. Hello Howard. Got a young man here, friend of my boy's. He wants to make money. Want you to talk to him and show him around. Thinks we can use him. Cornelius you free right now.''
"Yes."
"All right Howard, you take care of that. Kids, Howard, o k. Long time no see. Fine. Well life will get less noisy as you get older Howard and the kids grow up. Great. Fine. Yes. That's great. O k. Howard. Bye. Well Cornelius, our Mr How will take care of you. See what we can do. Maybe we can have a chat again. I like to talk to the young kids coming along. Now what's that word."
"What word."
"That word. That we use around here."
"O. Ingenuity."
"Attaboy Christian. Ok."
"Hope that spot's a little better. You know the red dot you had in front of your eyes, that keeps flying across your horizon."
"You got some memory boy. Yes you have. And memory makes money. Remember that utterance. Words are wonderful. Remember that too.''
"It's been extremely good of you Mr Mott.''
"Anything anytime for the young people. Keep in touch. Find Mr How five floors down.''
"Thanks again Mr Mott."
Christian with a slow swaggering step proceeding along this corridor. Opening the mouth wide to fit in the end of this cigar. Blow a blast of smoke at the receptionist's desk. And one last puff out the elevator doors. As I plunge five floors to blue carpeting and narrower halls. Past a room, a sea of desks. Everybody empty faced.
Christian entering this pale green walled office. Another window looks out and down. Red and black funnels of an ocean liner slowly passing. Flags flying above the white black and monstrous decks. Someone sets sail. Out of this cauldron of woe. And this man sits smiling behind his desk and horn rimmed spectacles. Secretary closing the door behind.
"Mr Christian I presume."
"Yes."
"I'm Howard How."
"Hello. I 'm thinking of moving to the Bronx.''
Christian lifting a hand to his lips. Smoke pouring out between the fingers.
"You're what."
"O sorry, Mr How. Guess I'm nervous. I've just strangely had something on my mind about the Bronx. Once it was meadow land, I 've been reading an old guide book.''
"O."
"Yes, ha ha. Was thinking maybe some parts might still be meadow land."
"We manufacture spark plugs, Mr. Christian."
"Of course, of course. I don't dispute that for a minute.''
"And there are no meadows left in the Bronx.''
''I would never dispute that either."
"What do you dispute Mr Christian."
"I don't dispute anything. Nothing at all. 0 there are some things I don't like, all right. But I don't dispute anything. It's just that there must have been real Indians once canoeing around the bay out there.''
"Well let's get back to the twentieth century now.''
"Sure."
''And you 're interested in our using you.''
"I'd like it if you could."
"Point is Mr Christian, just what can we use you for. I note you smoke cigars and have a rather English tone to your voice. Didn 't by any chance pick that up in the Bronx.''
"As a matter of fact I learned it out of a book. And Mr Mott gave me the cigar.''
"O now look, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings. For what it's worth you might as well know Mr Mott likes to have an English quality about the place. You've noticed the rural scenes of England in the halls. We know how to appreciate that kind of atmosphere here."
"Yes, nice and green. I mean, you know, rustic. I like it."
"Glad. We feel it's a nice contrast to the product. Well, aesthetically we 've made progress together. Arrived at a nice base to use as a springboard. Now what Mr Christian are you exactly interested in doing. What are your qualifications, your degrees."
''Well as a matter of fact, Mr How.''
"Good. The facts. That's what we want, Christian, the facts."
Christian pulling out a handkerchief from a side pocket. Might be able to muffle the words a little through the fabric. And hide my expression behind my smoke.
"Mr How I just missed, I guess, by only a few subjects of course, getting my degree. At the time I had a lot of things on my mind. You see I've always been deeply interested in human nature and I guess I got distracted.''
"Sorry Mr Christian, but I understand you don't have a degree."
"Well. Except of misery I guess. But I almost made it. Gee don't write that down.''
"Don't be alarmed Christian, these notes I'm making are just a few facts. Note you got alacrity with words."
"But I almost made it, I really did."
"Easy boy. Easy. We make spark plugs. You want to make money. Right. You know I can see you really do, don't you."
"Yes."
"I 'm glad your desire is sincere.''
"Thanks."
"We have progressed. You're a friend of Mr Mott's son I venture to conclude. Mr Mott's a friendly but very busy man and this affair more or less, you understand me, rests in my hands if we're going to find you a slot. Do you have any preference as regards production or management."
''Well I 'd like to manage, if that can be arranged.''
"Just give that pitcher of water a push in my direction will you. Want some water.''
"Thanks a lot."
Christian taking his glass. Holding it up to the light.
"You got a far away look in your eye Christian."
"Well you see this water's got a history.''
"O."
''You 'll think I 'm crazy Mr How.''
"I'm prepared to wait until conclusions are conclusive. Let's hear the water's history.''
"Well the water has got to come from the Catskills,''
''That is fairly common knowledge.''
"From the Ashokan Reservoir.''
"Maybe that fact is not common.''
"I read in a geography book as a kid what they had to do. Am I boring you."
"O no. I 'm fascinated.''
"Well I know it's ridiculous but I just can't forget what it took to make this reservoir. Fifteen thousand acres. Seven villages sunk. Thirty two cemeteries with two thousand eight hundred bodies they had to dig up.''
How hesitating with his glass. Distant airplane crossing the sky. Somewhere over Hoboken. Above the grey swamplands, rubbish dumps, mire and slime. Put up my wigwam out there among the waving catkins. Live my final starving moments with the lonely ducks and seagulls.
''Boy you 're just full of facts."
''I guess we might be drinking somebody's soul.''
How pushing his glass away. Wipes a drop of water down his tie.
"Yeah."
"Mr How I 'm glad I 've had this drink. Thanks."
"Don't mention it. But I think we better reconstruct the relationship here. You're still looking for a job.''
"O yes."
"O k. We want men with ideas. Ideas more than anything. I may mention along this line that we prefer these ideas to be of a red blooded nature as opposed to weird. Can you type."
"Well. My uncle gave me one of those little typewriters when I was a kid but I don't expect that would qualify me as a typist at the moment, but it's something I could pick up. I pick up most things rather easily.''
"Like your degree for instance.''
"Look Mr How. I'm after a job. I don't want to misrepresent myself or give a false impression, but as I said I'm interested in human nature.''
"You said that."
"I don't have a degree. 0 k. Maybe I was too distracted by human nature in college. I got disappointed in human nature as well and gave it up because I found it too much like my own.''
"Wow
Christian you're some candidate."
"But I wasn't stupid you know.''
"Look, Mr Christian. You don't mind if we don't bother seeing things today. I mean you'll understand that until we know what you can do there isn't really much point in my showing you our set up at the moment. I know Mr Mott's one of the friendliest men you could ever want to meet and I know he wants to help you but it is rather a question in the end, can you help us. Bight."
"Guess so."
"You're a very presentable person and of course well spoken and by the way I like the way you tie your knots, that's a nice tie, always be sure of a man in this business if he wears a knitted tie. Just want both to face the facts. And that conservative suit too. Just the facts, Christian. Just the facts."
"Ok."
"Got an opening for a courier representative. Dispatch and deliver various important papers. Expenses, taxi and all the rest. Good starting slot.''
"Holy cow I'm heading for the age of thirty. You mean I delr'er papers. Like a messenger boy."
"Not in so many words Mr Christian. Not in so many words. It's of the nature of a confidential dispatch agent and you would of course hold the title of executive courier."
"What are the friends that I once knew that I might meet, going to say. They'd be overjoyed. Never stop laughing. I went to college you know.''
"A lot, an awful lot of people go to college, Mr Christian. Mr Mott never went to college and he controls a business extending to twenty nine states. We just added Texas yesterday."
"Well I 've had a job before.''
"I'm keeping an open mind. I'm perfectly reasonable you know, Mr Christian. What sort of work did you do. You see I'm not here to bring about a stalemate with applicants. I'm here to hire the right man for the right job. 0 k. Now what exactly are you experienced in.''