Collected Fictions (52 page)

Or bottle.

Well, the man did not remember any of it—the struggle to get any cork out of anything, or which of them it was who had called out into the bleating air "Praise be the day!" What the man remembered was this—something was heating on the stove, something in a pot was heating on the stove, there was something in a pot that was heating heating gently gently heating heating hotly on the stove.

The man spoke with enormous care.

"I feel sacred," the man said. "I feel healthy," the man said. "I feel," the man said, "as if I have been given health," the man said—"and a certain holiness. Or sacrality!—I mean sacrality, don't I?"

Was he bleating?

The man burped a little, or belched a little, and touched the tip of his finger to the lips of the girl in love, whereupon the girl in love took the tip of the man's fingertip between her little teeth and gave to it a little tugging nip to it with her little tiny teeth.

"Next time your nose," said the girl in love.

"Watch out it's not next time your nose," the man heard the girl in love say.

"What did you say?" the man said, grinning madly into the amazing eventfulness of this experience.

"Bite it, bite it!" either or both or neither of the other girls shrieked. But this was impossible. Everything was impossible. It was all these opposites ceaselessly disposed to opposing each other, or one another—in a state of ceaseless—well, of opposition, if you like. Ah, the devil take it, love!—yet when in all his days had the man ever seen anything anything anything lovelier?—this gesture of the girl's. The head-leaning. The head-resting. Combined with the murmuring, combined with the mad murmuring combinatory madness of it all—the smiling and the sighing and the sighing and the smiling. Well, hadn't her head—the head of the girl in love—hadn't it been laid to rest, or lain, lain, is it?—against the head of a nearby girl? Look, the main thing is this enormous cup. An altogether wrong sort of a cup for people to be drinking tea out of, isn't it?

Or mug.

Mexican, it looks like, doesn't it?

Tribal.

Humble.

Rudimentary.

Crude.

"Will you just listen to me!" the man said. "My goodness!" the man said. "Oh my goodness," he said.

How strange, the man thought, that a passion could come about in any language, let alone in his own.

"Oh, but we are listening to you," said the one with the bright-bladed knife.

The stove—it was the tiniest humblest affair. It might have been a thing for a child to play with, though fire, although fire, burbled up from its one encrusted burner, a subtle, an even demure, flame.

Pinwheel.

What is a pinwheel, anyway?

Good heavens, is it possible for a story to be told when what is in it are only words?

There was a platter being reached down from somewhere very high up in this place. Wasn't one of the girls reaching down a platter from very high up above the head of the man up in the amazed air of the world far up above the head of the man somewhere altogether too terribly overhead in this place? Because wherever it was—given the man's age, given the man's ridiculous age—the event was altogether too high up for the man to be able to lean back his head far enough for him to give anything that high above his head a look to see what the event up over himself unbearably was.

Clerestory.

Hadn't the word clerestory once been sort of a part of all of this?

Oh, love, love!—here was the cake.

Behold the cake.

The great éclair, the celestial éclair.

The dango-dango, by God—it lay relieved of the foil and the foil lay dropped into the black well beneath the stone where—unseen, unseen!—the foil struggled to relieve itself of the folds that had been folded into it, strained to throw off the cruel twistings the cruel turnings all the multifarious cruelties folded into it to force its silver wing into a crusted lump of goo.

His money!

Where was his money?

Ah, my money, the man said to himself.

"Ah, my money," the man said aloud, touching the pocket where the great lump of money in it was still making a great comforting lump of itself all thick and becrusted on the man's chest.

The voices seemed ever so ardent, so urgent, these voices raised in oblation in a nearby place of prayer, or in prayer in a nearby place of oblation. Well, it's probably in or very near a kind of sanctuary of some kind. Perhaps some sort of hilltop, or hillside, or hill-bound—that's it, hill-bound!—retreat of some kind.

Redoubt?

A redoubt?

Well, where was this place, anyway?

Was this some crazy like claustral place like outside of somewhere elsewhere like some improbable land such as Turkistan or something?

Some abbey in Nepal, do they call it?

Or Tibet—perhaps in Tibet, in perhaps Tibet?

Oh, love, love!—the things we people will do and do again until done for for love.

His head hurt. His back hurt. His legs, they were finished. You'd had to twist and turn so many times for you to make it up the hill. The man had had to twist and turn so many times for him to make it up the hill.

It was oh so cruel.

So grotesque.

"To the happy couple!" the girl with the knife called out into the burning air.

Yes, yes, to the happy couple—of course, to the happy couple, yes of course—but this was so strange, such an expression as this in such a place as this.

The air burned.

Was burnt.

Was a phosphor scorched—had become a phosphorescence scorched to the very core of the word.

There was something heating. A pot of something, something in a pot—wasn't an ember of it still heating gently gently heating on the stove?

"To us!" the man bleated.

"By Jove, to all of us!" the man bleated, the ponderous cup—no, mug, call it a mug—leaden in his hand.

With all his might the man sought to elevate the massive vessel from the table, his uncontainable heart smouldering with the violence of choice.

Iberian.

Moravian.

Anatolian.

Sudanese.

Ah, it was somewhere along the Levant, of course.

"I had been having for myself a bit of a travel, you understand, and been putting up somewhere elsewhere, I do believe—along the Levant, was it not?"

Pomeranian!

Perfect, perfect—the stupendous cup, it was a Pomeranian cup—or Pomeranian mug. So that these, therefore, these females, didn't every large-bodied one of them have to be a Pomeranian person, female female female?

Oh, love, love!

The man had never been happier.

"Everybody, everybody!—I want you to hear this! I have never been happier, I have never been happier!"

Was this bleating?

Then so be it, if indeed it be it—a ructation, an eructation, of the bleating kind.

The man cared not. The man was happy. The man was a happy man—just able to twist and turn his head to see the girl in love with her head leant ever so cruelly just so. Leant, burnt, becrusted—wonderful, it was all so wonderful. Well, it put the man in mind of the word indolence. Yes, this was your authentic indolence for you, wasn't it? By golly, what I would like to know is this—is the smoking air redolent enough with enough authentic indolence for you? Oh, it all reminded the man of the way his mother had had of tapping her lacquered fingernails against the backs of playing cards—how the man had loved that, how the man had really loved that—and loved too the way the woman had of rolling her eyes at him in a show of what he took to be a sort of mock surprise at him—or bewilderment—or, that's it, in a sort of a show of a kind of a good-natured mocking befuddlement over him, of her regarding the man with a certain air of what you might have said appeared to be a kind of a genuine mock befuddlement with him, or over him, genuinely actually real.

Unless it had been a wife of his.

Unless it had been one of the man's wives who had rolled her eyes at him. Who had lifted her eyes heavenward in a show of authentically mock consternation with him. But good-naturedly, good-naturedly, even if real.

Or at him.

Well, what matter which and who and all of that? It was only this that counted. But what, in fact, was this, anyway? And where was it, where?

Was he under the card table?

Was the man down under the table where his mother had played card games at the table, clicking her painted fingernails against the backs of the playing cards that the women, all the women, played with at the table?

No, no, of course not.

Hadn't the man made his way up some dreadful hill? Well, he had, hadn't he? And how on earth had he managed it, such a ceaseless twisting turning in the desperately angry heat, the immense child clunking along at his side as the man struggled to keep the grotesque pastry from leaning all the way away from him and with the torporous abandon of the inanimate sagging all the way away from him and slumping into the mad wild buzzing fields of, well, of Pomerania.

The girl had her head leant well away from the man.

Something in a pot was gently heating heating hotly on the stove. They sat at the table, those who were sitting. The man understood he must tell of all this when he had been restored to his own country, and that, when he told, he would say the table had been a refectory table and that the devout could be heard in testimony of their devotions from the world next door and that somewhere elsewhere too far away for anyone to summon the strength for him to see it there was an ember glowing, there was an ember smoldering, as Pomeranian after Pomeranian prepared to sever into parts the gooey domain of the great éclair.

Why did the word chestnut keep occurring to the man? And vastation, not vastitude?

It was cold, or cool, for the season.

But didn't this all depend upon where it was the season was seasoning? Oh, seasoning, seasoning—the man rather liked such effects, and understood them to constitute the profit of his touring among the humble of the earth. Then there was the girl, the gigantic sighing child, and her even larger no less innocent friends—colleagues, the tiny-toothed thing had called them, and yes, yes, so they were and would be, colleagues, the lot of them, colleagues all in all of this amazing romance.

The man caught sight of the flame.

Or was it where the light caught the knife?

Let me correct that.

Meant where knife
knife
caught light
light
.

"To iridescence!" the man shrieked—or did I somewhere elsewhere, wherever it was, use this word already?—and looked about himself at the notice such aptitude seemed to provoke in these colleagues of his.

No, tenderness.

This was the one word—this one, this!

Tendresse.

Yes, they would do it, wouldn't they?—these colleagues all about him. No, confederates—may we not say, as the man himself must come to say, confederates? Oh, but of course confederates, and would they not in due course do it with nothing less than with—yes, yes!—than with the customary—nay, celebrated—expression of Pomeranian tendresse?

THE TEST

TOMMY IS HERE, HELLO, TOMMY
. Does Tommy want to play? Where is Timmy? Is Timmy in the yard? Yes, there's Timmy. Timmy is in the yard. Is Bobby here? Is Andy here? What about Lew? Where is Lew? The other boys, they are not here yet. Bobby and Andy and Lew, those boys are not here yet. But Tommy is. Hello, Timmy. Hello, Tommy. Did Tommy come to play? Yes, Tommy came to play. Okay, Tommy, ask Mother for something for you to play with. Ma'am, may I have something for me to play with? Yes, Tommy, here is what Timmy has. Oh yes, I want what Timmy has. Do you know what this is? This is a spork, Tommy. What is a spork? Who can say what a spork is? I can, I can. A spork is half a spoon and half a fork. Do you know what this spork is made out of? Who can say what this spork is made out of? This spork is made out of plastic. Can you say plastic? Say plastic. A spork is half a spoon and half a fork and this spork is made out of plastic. My mother doesn't call it that. My mother calls that a foon. What did you say, Tommy? Did Tommy say his mother calls a spork a foon? Why on earth does Tommy's mother call a spork a foon, Tommy? I don't know, missus, I don't know. Very well, boys—play nicely while I start the sandwiches cut in quarters with the crusts cut off and make the chocolate milk. Oh, look—here is another boy, here is Bobby. Hello, Bobby. Here is a spork for you too, Bobby. Go and play with Timmy and Tommy, Bobby. Are Timmy and Tommy in the yard? Yes, Bobby, Timmy and Tommy are in the yard. See the thing Timmy started killing before Tommy got here? Timmy knocked it off a leaf. Timmy used his spork to knock the thing off the leaf the thing was creeping, creeping, creeping on. Timmy has a nail he went and got from the garage. But Timmy used the spork Mother gave for the job of knocking the thing off the leaf before Tommy got here. Can you remember the job? What was the job? The job was knocking the thing off the leaf the thing was creeping, creeping, creeping on. Can you say creeping, creeping, creeping on? Try saying creeping, creeping, creeping on. Raise your hand if you can say creeping, creeping, creeping on. Oh, look what happened when Timmy knocked the thing off the leaf it was creeping, creeping, creeping on. It's in the dirt, it's in the dirt! Is the thing creeping down in the dirt? Oh, look at the thing creeping down in the dirt. Where oh where could the thing think it is creeping down in the dirt to? Do you know where the thing thinks it is creeping down in the dirt to? Look, everybody, Timmy is getting it with his nail. But what about Tommy? Oh, Tommy is doing what Timmy is doing, only Tommy only has a spork. Timmy has a nail and Timmy has a spork. But Tommy only has a spork. What does Tommy only have? Tommy only has a spork. See the boys stick the thing with their things? The boys are sticking the thing with their things. But Tommy started sticking it after Timmy started sticking it and Tommy only sticks it the same way Timmy sticks it and Tommy can only stick it only with a spork. If Timmy sticks it this way, then Tommy sticks it this way. If Timmy sticks it that way, then Tommy sticks it that way. Only Tommy can only stick it with a spork. But Bobby, how about Bobby? Is Bobby doing anything at all? What is Bobby doing? Oh, I know, I know. Bobby is talking to himself in his mind. Bobby is saying things to himself in his mind. Bobby is getting ready for him to say something about something. The way Bobby gets ready for him to say something about something is for Bobby first to say it over and over again in his mind. So what is Bobby doing? Can you say what Bobby is doing? Bobby is getting ready for him to say something by practicing saying something over and over again in his mind. Bobby really wants to say things. But Bobby has to get them all set first in his mind. Look, everybody, look! See the thing? Oh, it has lots of colored dots on it and there is stuff all coming out. Who can see the colored dots on it and the stuff all coming out? Ooey, ooey, it's on my spork. Is it on your spork? Ooey, ooey, it got all over my spork. Wait, everybody, wait! Tommy has it all over his spork. Stick out your spork, Bobby. I don't want to stick out my spork. Oh, come on, Bobby, stick out your spork. No. Big baby. Am not, am not! If you're not a baby, then stick out your spork. I don't have to. What a big baby! Stick out your own spork. Oh fuck, what a big baby! I'm telling, I'm telling. Go tell. Who gives a shit if you go tell? Can't we just play? Jesus, fuck, what a big fucking baby! How come you came? Nobody asked you to come. Big stinking fucking baby can't even stick out his spork. Can't make me, can't make me. Who can't make you? You want to see us make you? Wait, wait, the thing, the thing—is the thing getting away? No, no, the thing is not getting away. How could the thing get away? Does anything ever get away? Not one thing in the world ever gets away. Isn't Timmy watching it? Timmy is watching it. Timmy is guarding it. Do you know the word guard? Say the word guard. Let me hear you say the word guard. I love getting it with a spork. This is the best, getting things with a spork. This is how you can really get things with something. Try it like this. Try it with a nail and spork both. This is the best, a nail and a spork both. Now it's bent in two different ways. It's bent up at one dot and bent around at another dot. You know why this is? Who can say why this is? Raise your hand if you can say why this is. It's because it's been getting stuck in its dots. Hey, stick it all of the way down so it's stuck right down through it into the dirt. Oh, hooray, hooray! Now Bobby knows something he can get ready to say. Suppose we listen. Everybody, everybody, shall we listen to Bobby's mind so we can hear what Bobby is trying to get ready to say? Fellas, fellas, what about we roll him over and see if he's got any of those darn dots of his anywhere on his tummy too. Okay, here is Bobby trying it another way. Guys, guys, let's roll him over and see what the deal is with him underneath. That was Bobby. That was Bobby in his mind getting ready for him to have something to say. Now here's Bobby being Timmy and Tommy in Bobby's mind. A-hole. You hear the a-hole say tummy? Up yours, a-hole. What an a-hole—tummy. Go home, you fucking tummy a-hole jerk. Bobby is such a fucking tummy a-hole jerk. Hey, you fucking tummy a-hole jerk, how would you like it if we take down your pants and look at what's on you underneath? Bobby's hand feels all sticky to him. Do you remember which boy's hand feels all sticky to him? Bobby, it's Bobby, it's Bobby's hand. Bobby is the boy whose hand feels all sticky to him. Mother gets out the meat. Mother gets out the bread. Mother gets out a tiny bottle with white stuff in it. Oh, but wait, wait. Where is the ketchup? Where is the mustard? Where in the name of all that is holy is that fucking jar that had that last little fucking bit of fucking bit of fucking mayo in it? Shall we listen for another little while to what is going on inside of Mother's mind? Songs, there are songs, it is almost all songs that Mother is singing to herself inside of Mother's mind—such as willow, tit willow, that's one. Such as the flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la. And ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee. And here comes the one that goes come, come, I love you only, O come, come to me. That's the last one, that's the last. Let's see if you can remember them all. It is time to see if you remember them all. First, what's first? Willow, tit willow. Second, what's second? The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la. And next, say next? Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee. And last, last? Come, come, I love you only, O come, come to me. But what about the boys, the boys? Has Andy come yet? Has Lew? Who has come to Timmy's yard to play so far? Can you say who has come to Timmy's yard for them to play so far? Wait, wait, here is Andy. Hi, Andy. Hi, missus. Is Lew with you, Andy? Did you say Lew? Is Lew coming over? Really Lew? All in due course, Andy, all in due course. May I go play with Timmy, please? Why of course, Andy, of course. Take this spork and go look in the yard. Tommy's here. So is Bobby. All we need now is Lew. Be careful with your spork. Will you be careful with your spork? Tell the boys for them to be careful not to poke their eyes or anything. Can you do that for me, Andy? Yes, missus, I will. Oh, that's a good boy, Andy. Have a nice time playing. These sandwiches will all be ready for all of you in just a jiffy. O the flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la. O the flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la. Can you wait for Lew? I can't wait for Lew. Everybody, hey, everybody, say Lew! Hey, Andy. Hi, Timmy. Hi, Tommy. Hi, Bobby. Hey, what are you guys doing? You're not hurting that, are you? Don't hurt that. Let's just dig, okay? Let's play a game of digging, okay? Uh-oh, listen, it's Bobby in his mind. I'm turning the cocksucker over. Get out of the fucking way, you a-holes, I'm turning the cocksucker over. Scram, you darn cocksucking sons of darn bitches, I'm flipping the cocksucking sonofabitch over. Look how gooey my spork is, Timmy. You see how gooey my spork is, Timmy? Who has the gooiest spork, Timmy? Tisk, tisk, did you hear that, everybody? Shame on Tommy saying gooiest. All right, everybody, everybody all together now—shame, shame on Tommy for Tommy saying gooiest. Hey, Timmy, what are you rolling it over for? Did everybody see Timmy roll it over? Willow, tit willow. Meat. Bread. A little bit of this and a little bit of that. Then get the crusts all cut off. Then cut it all in quarters. Oh shit, it's all upside-down now and look at your spork. Missus, can I have a new spork? I'm busy, Tommy. Missus, I need another spork. Now, now, Tommy, didn't I give you a perfectly good spork to begin with? Look at it, missus, please. Now, now, Tommy—is Tommy going to cry? Oh, Tommy, can't you see I am busy making everybody lunch? You go back outside and just be patient. Can't I have that spork? How come I can't have that spork? Oh, Tommy, I am so disappointed in you. That spork is going to be Lew's spork. That spork's Lew's. Oh, missus, mine is all icky, icky, icky. Tommy, Tommy, am I going to have to send you home? Don't you see how nicely the other boys are all playing? Don't you want chocolate milk? Give me this one and Lew can have mine. Why can't Lew have mine? Oh, Tommy, I am so disappointed. How could you be such a disappointment to me? Don't you see how you're wrecking everything? Now look, now look, it sounds like Lew is coming. Is Lew here? Lew, is that you? How come Lew does not answer? Does Lew not know how to answer? Answer, Lew, answer! Here is what Bobby is getting ready to say. Let's listen to what Bobby is getting ready to say. Let's get something else. Squoosh it, squoosh it—then we'll go get something else. Oh, its back, look at its back! Its back is all bent crazy. See how crazy its back is bent? That's from the sporks. Do you know what else it's from? It's also from the nail. Its back is all bent all crazy like that from Timmy and Tommy sticking it in its back with sporks and with a nail. Were we watching when they did it? We were not watching when they did it. But they did it anyway. Did you hear what Andy just said? I'm hungry. Let's play a game of digging a little bit. We could play a game of digging a little bit and then by then we could eat. Get out the chocolate syrup, get out the milk. Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee. O come, come, I love you only, come, come to me. And Bobby, what about him? Bobby's getting ready. Do you hear Bobby getting ready? Let's get Andy, let's get Andy! We're all going to jump you and get you and really do something to you, Andy, if you don't give me your spork. Andy, I'm telling them they better jump you and smash you and beat the shit out of you if you don't give me your spork. Oh, hi, Lew! Yeah, hi, Lew! Did Mother give you a spork? Take a look at what we got over here. You see this, you see this? Get me that fucking rock! Oh, Lew, see how you can dig with a spork? We are going to play a game of digging with our sporks. Who wants to be captain? How about you, Lew? Do you want to be the captain? We were just waiting for you to be captain. Let's review. Shall we review? There is Timmy and there is Tommy and there is Bobby and Andy and who? Who is the last boy? Is it Lew? Yes, yes, the last boy is Lew. It is Lew who is littlest and last—so this would be one of the reasons among all the unrevealed reasons for us to watch out for Lew. Because Lew is littlest and last. Go get me that fucking rock! Could I borrow your spork, Lew, could I? Ass-wipe! Bunch of sissy ass-wipes! Take this plastic shit and get me the fucking rock! Come, come, I love you only, come, come to me. Who wants to see how gooey it can get? You want to see how gooey it can get? Look at them. See them things with them wings over there? And ants. Hey, how about we let us get some ants? Let's spork the shit out of a whole bunch of ants! The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la, the flowers that bloom in the spring. Can't count any dots now, can you? Hand me the nail. It's my nail. Give me the nail. It's my yard and my nail. Can't we just play digging? Selfish little prick. I'll give it back. Give it here for a sec and I'll give it right back. It's his, it's his. Shut your face. Make him shut his face, Lew. Lew, I'd like to see you make him do it, Lew. Shut his yap for him. Shut his hole. Shut your hole! Willow, tit willow. Oh, everybody, look—here comes Mother with everything on a platter all ready for everybody to eat. Dive in, boys. Get ready to dive in. Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee. Ah, I know at last the secret of it all. Guys, guys, there is this great idea I've got which I have been thinking about. Hey, guys, no kidding around—don't you guys want to hear this great idea? It's spork-collection time. Mother, Mother, collecting all sporks! Each boy will wipe off his spork on his sandwich, face me and drop his spork at his feet. Stick the bitch, stick her! No, no, stick anything instead. What instead? There's never any instead. Come, come, I love you only, come, come to me. Answer me, answer me. Isn't answerability everything, Lew? Everybody, everybody, tell Lew. Is not answerability not the very thing of everything, Lew? Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee. Foon the bitch before she sporks us all to hell. But she did not have to. Mother did not have to. Remember the white stuff? Oh, come on, don't say you don't remember the white stuff! All right, here's a new one. Is a spork a foon, or a foon a spork? Raise your hand if you need extra help. A spork is not a foon because a foon is what? Gee willikers, class, see the white stuff go to work on them all? Anybody, anybody, come take a seat down in front if you
cannot see the secret of it all.