Read Outside the Dog Museum Online
Authors: Jonathan Carroll
Outside the Dog Museum (22 page)
Thus it took some time to catch up with Hasenhüttl at the baggage claim. Although my bag was already in sight, I stood five or six feet behind him and waited till he got his before snatching mine off the belt. I kept the six feet between us while we walked toward the “Nothing to Declare” door to the outside. He passed the last customs officer and the electric doors slid open.
Ambassador “Off-the-Record” Awwad was standing on the other side of the doors, and for a moment I thought he was there for me, but I soon realized he wasn’t. A smile erupted on Awwad’s face when he saw Hasenhüttl, then he stepped forward and grabbed his bag. Simultaneously, a customs officer touched my arm and gestured for me to stop and open my suitcase. Outside, my two pals turned and walked away. The doors slid closed.
“Shit!”
“
Bitte?
”
Bitte?
”
“I said
shit
! You want to look in my bag? Here!”
shit
! You want to look in my bag? Here!”
I HAD TO TALK
to someone about this and the best person, if only he’d been alive, was Venasque. Halfway back to town in the taxi I remembered what had happened with Walker Easterling’s young son when I was last here: Nicholas’s magic at the lunch table, the way his parents had unconcernedly let us go alone to the flea market, then climbing the roof there, the way the boy jumped onto the train and told me to listen for … the voice of God? What was it exactly? That part was foggy in my mind. What was most vivid and important was the conviction that Venasque had returned from the dead that day to inhabit this child so as to tickle and point me in a certain important direction.
to someone about this and the best person, if only he’d been alive, was Venasque. Halfway back to town in the taxi I remembered what had happened with Walker Easterling’s young son when I was last here: Nicholas’s magic at the lunch table, the way his parents had unconcernedly let us go alone to the flea market, then climbing the roof there, the way the boy jumped onto the train and told me to listen for … the voice of God? What was it exactly? That part was foggy in my mind. What was most vivid and important was the conviction that Venasque had returned from the dead that day to inhabit this child so as to tickle and point me in a certain important direction.
Was it possible to reach my mentor again through this child? I needed only ten, fifteen minutes to talk, to lay it out and say “What should I do? And if you won’t tell me that, just say if I’m warm or
cold here. Is my compass pointing in the right direction?” Venasque. If I could touch base with him I knew he would help. I knew he would want to help. Nicholas Easterling. I had to see that kid, talk to him,
try.
cold here. Is my compass pointing in the right direction?” Venasque. If I could touch base with him I knew he would help. I knew he would want to help. Nicholas Easterling. I had to see that kid, talk to him,
try.
I got to the hotel too late to call but was so wide awake and wound up by this new possibility that I dropped off my bag and went out to walk on the Ringstrasse. I passed a man in a phone booth and saw him take off his hat before dropping coins in the slot. I wondered if he always took his hat off before talking on the phone. My father always listened to Verdi’s
Masked Ball
when he did his income taxes. Venasque had a special spoon he used only for cooking soup. Habits. They keep us so comfortably grounded on earth. With a jolt I realized most of the habits I’d accumulated over my adult life had generally disappeared or changed very noticeably in the last months. Walking in the cold Vienna air, I checked this idea by examining how I brushed my teeth—up and down now, when for years it had been side to side. I startled a couple nearby by proclaiming, “I was always up and down!” From there I mentally scanned a bunch of habits, as well as other personal trivia, and it became disturbingly apparent that virtually without noticing it, great chunks and blocks of what I’d been had either vanished or changed dramatically in the last year.
Masked Ball
when he did his income taxes. Venasque had a special spoon he used only for cooking soup. Habits. They keep us so comfortably grounded on earth. With a jolt I realized most of the habits I’d accumulated over my adult life had generally disappeared or changed very noticeably in the last months. Walking in the cold Vienna air, I checked this idea by examining how I brushed my teeth—up and down now, when for years it had been side to side. I startled a couple nearby by proclaiming, “I was always up and down!” From there I mentally scanned a bunch of habits, as well as other personal trivia, and it became disturbingly apparent that virtually without noticing it, great chunks and blocks of what I’d been had either vanished or changed dramatically in the last year.
What did that mean? Was it good or bad? I asked Venasque that question a million times—“Is it good or bad?” At the beginning he answered because I was so confused and needed his help too much. But as I healed and got stronger he’d turn it around, “What do
you
think, Harry?” Or once when he was cranky, “Jesus Christ, that’s the only interesting thing
about
life—trying to find out if things are good or bad. You want me to tell you all the time. You’re like the dumb man who’s never had sex. He goes up to someone and asks, ‘What’s sex like?’ This other guy says, ‘Nice, but it always gets me in trouble.’ So the first guy says, ‘That’s all I need to know. I’m staying away from it.’”
you
think, Harry?” Or once when he was cranky, “Jesus Christ, that’s the only interesting thing
about
life—trying to find out if things are good or bad. You want me to tell you all the time. You’re like the dumb man who’s never had sex. He goes up to someone and asks, ‘What’s sex like?’ This other guy says, ‘Nice, but it always gets me in trouble.’ So the first guy says, ‘That’s all I need to know. I’m staying away from it.’”
In front of a McDonald’s I looked through their beaming, gleaming window and wondered if I was disappearing. First my habits jump ship, which I don’t realize till
now,
then comes a nervous breakdown that wipes most of the rest of my slate clean … . Carrying these thoughts, I entered the yellow/red happyland of the perpetual cheeseburger. At the counter a tired-looking Oriental girl tried to smile when asking what I wanted. I ordered a Big Mac and a Coke and took them to the nearest table. Say what you will, there’s something comfortably womblike about eating at McDonald’s, no matter where it is. I used to think their garish American “Midwestness” made these restaurants as outrageous and incongruous as flying saucers, especially when you saw them plopped down and glowing on the streets of Berlin or Bangkok. But that opinion changed too one night in Aachen when the only thing I wanted in the world was a burger with fries and I found a Golden Arches and it was great. No matter who you are, sitting at one of those familiar tables munching familiar warm food, knowing everyone around you is eating the same meal, is like a religious ceremony: Let us all now unwrap and eat our hamburgers.
now,
then comes a nervous breakdown that wipes most of the rest of my slate clean … . Carrying these thoughts, I entered the yellow/red happyland of the perpetual cheeseburger. At the counter a tired-looking Oriental girl tried to smile when asking what I wanted. I ordered a Big Mac and a Coke and took them to the nearest table. Say what you will, there’s something comfortably womblike about eating at McDonald’s, no matter where it is. I used to think their garish American “Midwestness” made these restaurants as outrageous and incongruous as flying saucers, especially when you saw them plopped down and glowing on the streets of Berlin or Bangkok. But that opinion changed too one night in Aachen when the only thing I wanted in the world was a burger with fries and I found a Golden Arches and it was great. No matter who you are, sitting at one of those familiar tables munching familiar warm food, knowing everyone around you is eating the same meal, is like a religious ceremony: Let us all now unwrap and eat our hamburgers.
On the last bite of my late meal in Vienna, I realized that disappearing and McDonald’s had a lot in common. Western culture sends out so many mixed signals it’s a wonder there aren’t more lunatics at large. On the one hand we’re taught to do whatever we can to prove we’re individuals. Hey, short of death, what could be worse than being mistaken for another person? An added benefit is, the more individual you are, the more chance you have at a kind of immortality. Look at Gandhi. Look at Mao. Look at Elvis.
On the
other
hand, we’re expected to be Republicans or Democrats, Beatles fans, members of the Lion’s Club or Kiwanis, proud citizens of the U.S. of A., France … Trinidad.
other
hand, we’re expected to be Republicans or Democrats, Beatles fans, members of the Lion’s Club or Kiwanis, proud citizens of the U.S. of A., France … Trinidad.
What sane society screams that one must be different to be successful, then with the same breath says anyone who doesn’t like
hamburgers is a “weirdo”? To yourself be true, but if you’re too true you’ll be alone. Or you’ll “disappear” because the status quo has no use for the genuine oddball. Taking out a pen, I wrote on a rumpled napkin: “Two ways to be invisible—eat every meal at McDonald’s, or be so strange that people make every effort
not
to see you—bums, real geniuses, etc.”
hamburgers is a “weirdo”? To yourself be true, but if you’re too true you’ll be alone. Or you’ll “disappear” because the status quo has no use for the genuine oddball. Taking out a pen, I wrote on a rumpled napkin: “Two ways to be invisible—eat every meal at McDonald’s, or be so strange that people make every effort
not
to see you—bums, real geniuses, etc.”
NEXT MORNING THE PHONE
rang while I was adjusting the water for a bath. Telephones make me nervous and excited. Inevitably I overreact when one rings nearby. Scampering naked back into the bedroom, I lifted the receiver prepared for anything.
rang while I was adjusting the water for a bath. Telephones make me nervous and excited. Inevitably I overreact when one rings nearby. Scampering naked back into the bedroom, I lifted the receiver prepared for anything.
It was Awwad, or rather his personal secretary, wanting to know if the ambassador or the embassy staff could do anything for me while I was in town. I wanted to say yes, answer these three questions in whatever order you please: (1) Who is Hasenhüttl? (2) What’s Awwad’s connection with him? (3) What does he want from me? Instead I thanked them for their concern and said I’d be in Vienna only a day or two and didn’t think I’d need their help.
I walked back into a welcoming cloud of hot-water steam in the bathroom. Adjusting the tap, I heard the phone ring again. This time it was Fanny.
“You told Hassan I have the temper of a badger?”
“You do. How are you Fanny? How is your mother?”
“It’s nine o’clock there, right? Have you taken your morning bath yet?”
“I was just running the water when the phone rang.”
“Well, here’s something for you to think about when you get in: I’ve decided to marry Hassan.”
There was a mirror across the room. I looked into it and raised my eyebrows, as if to say, “What can you do?”
“Aren’t you going to say anything? Aren’t you going to tell me not to?”
“No, Fanny. You want to marry the guy, do it. But to call up and tell me over the fucking
telephone,
does not deserve a human response from me! No, I’m not going to stop you. I will tell you I think you’re a coward for not having had the nuts to look me in the eye when you said it.”
telephone,
does not deserve a human response from me! No, I’m not going to stop you. I will tell you I think you’re a coward for not having had the nuts to look me in the eye when you said it.”
“You’re a genuinely dreadful man.”
“Better dreadful than spineless, Toots. I would never have done it like this to you. Never.”
“You’ll never get the chance, Fuck Head.” She hung up.
I walked back to the tub and got in although the water was still far too hot. When I got out twenty minutes later my body looked like smoked salmon. While soaking, I conjured and mouthed three or four hundred brilliantly witty and cruel lines I wished I’d been able to think up while talking to her. The French even have a phrase for it:
esprit de l’escalier.
The spirit of the staircase; what I wish I’d said a moment ago but didn’t. In my case, what I wish I’d said a moment ago but didn’t because I was too stunned and hurt to respond. Using the phone was her knockout punch. Like a doctor calling to say you’ve got terminal cancer.
esprit de l’escalier.
The spirit of the staircase; what I wish I’d said a moment ago but didn’t. In my case, what I wish I’d said a moment ago but didn’t because I was too stunned and hurt to respond. Using the phone was her knockout punch. Like a doctor calling to say you’ve got terminal cancer.
“Goddamned telephone!” I moaned, rubbing my neck with a towel and staring into the other room at that guilty black object. It slid so many words from so many voices into your ear and caused so much trouble. Voices. Words. Volume. “Maybe God is volume. Don’t be surprised that all the words are God.”
That’s
what little Nicholas Easterling had said to me, standing on the roof of that subway train as it moved out of the station. Words. Mysterious ones from a child. Shock words from a lover. And what had the inscrutable Hasenhüttl said to me the night before? “I’m the one who can walk on your voice.”
That’s
what little Nicholas Easterling had said to me, standing on the roof of that subway train as it moved out of the station. Words. Mysterious ones from a child. Shock words from a lover. And what had the inscrutable Hasenhüttl said to me the night before? “I’m the one who can walk on your voice.”
IT TOOK HOURS TO
reach the Easterlings. When I did, Maris said her husband was out of town and she had a cold. Meaning, obviously, go
away and call back at a better time. I convinced her it was important, I wouldn’t stay long, and without directly mentioning the boy said it had mostly to do with their “offspring.” She chuckled and invited me over.
reach the Easterlings. When I did, Maris said her husband was out of town and she had a cold. Meaning, obviously, go
away and call back at a better time. I convinced her it was important, I wouldn’t stay long, and without directly mentioning the boy said it had mostly to do with their “offspring.” She chuckled and invited me over.
The apartment was a quick ride from the hotel. I was there in a jiffy and despite knowing I was coming, Maris still sounded flabbergasted to hear my voice on her intercom.
“How’d you get here so
fast?
Did you beam up?”
fast?
Did you beam up?”
The door buzzed and with a very excited heart, I pushed it open.
Standing at the bottom of the staircase, I looked up and realized the grim fact I would have to climb more than five flights to reach the Easterling apartment. Americans aren’t used to climbing stairs anymore. Or more than one flight, anyway. Tedious and old-fashioned, a long climb is also guaranteed to cause depression because it reminds you in two minutes how grossly out of shape you are. I was beginning to breathe heavily by the third floor and sounded like a dirty phone caller rounding the banister to the fifth. A thin cat with a sweet face stood up there on the landing, twitching its tail.
“Hello there, kitty.” I reached down and stroked its head. It pushed up into my hand and purred. Very nice. My kind of feline. Any cat that behaves like a dog is welcome in my universe. Otherwise not. I contend that an animal that thinks itself superior, yet is content to play with a piece of string for three hours, is lacking in important matters of the spirit.
“His name is Orlando.”
Bent over to pet the cat, I twisted around, looked up, and saw a giant round belly. Peering over it came the beautiful face of Maris Easterling. Although she wore no makeup and her complexion was too pale, she still looked fine. Stupendously pregnant, but fine. Maris Easterling had not been pregnant when I saw her less than a week before!
My spirit said, “Uh-oh” before my conscious mind caught up and began realizing what was going on.
“Hi. You made it up those stairs okay?”
I was staring at her stomach. She was so very,
very
pregnant under that blue sweatshirt and stretched pair of pants. This woman
was not pregnant
when we met a hundred hours before.
very
pregnant under that blue sweatshirt and stretched pair of pants. This woman
was not pregnant
when we met a hundred hours before.
Rudely, instead of going to her, I sat down on the step next to the cat and rubbed a hand over the top of my head.
“Are you okay, Harry? Those stairs can really kill. Want a drink of water?”
“No thanks. Your boy isn’t around, is he?” But already I knew there was no Easterling child. Yet. No Nicholas. It
had
been Venasque who led me to the flea market that day, but only that day masquerading as a child not yet born. Once again, my shaman had put on one of his performances for me.
had
been Venasque who led me to the flea market that day, but only that day masquerading as a child not yet born. Once again, my shaman had put on one of his performances for me.
Maris continued smiling at me and then shrugged. “You mean Walker? No, I told you, he’s out of town until tomorrow.”
“No, not your husband, your
son,
Nicholas.”
son,
Nicholas.”
“God, how’d you know that?”
Purring louder, the cat pushed into my side. I hugged him into me, as if for dear life. “Know
what?
What do you mean?”
what?
What do you mean?”
“That name, ‘Nicholas’! We only decided on names the other night and here you are already knowing it! Nicholas for a boy and Lydia for a girl.” She looked at her stomach. “Do you think they’re nice names?”
“There is no boy yet, is there?” Unthinkingly I looked at her door, still hoping the child I’d met would emerge. But there was no magical son Nicholas yet. Not for months. Not till he was born.
“We don’t know if it’s a boy yet. I was in the hospital and they gave me that test where they can determine what sex the child is? But I said I didn’t want to know. Walker agreed. This’ll probably be the only child we have. We want it to be a surprise.”
Venasque came as the boy for a day to tell me those things about God, volume, words. One day, no more. I was alone now. Did that
mean he thought I could handle matters on my own, or was he limited to one visit, that sole appearance? Was he standing on a cloud in heaven, eating potato chips and shaking his head at how badly I was handling my life?
mean he thought I could handle matters on my own, or was he limited to one visit, that sole appearance? Was he standing on a cloud in heaven, eating potato chips and shaking his head at how badly I was handling my life?
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