“Bulls and concordats,
“The Index, the Last Judgment,
“Heaven and Hell,
“I believe it all. It’s impossible not to believe. That’s what makes things so difficult.”
“But then . . .”
“It was basketball I didn’t believe in.”
But there is more, it was the first ritual which discovered to me the possibility of other rituals, other celebrations, for instance Blood of Dracula, Amazing Colossal Man, It Conquered the World. Can Bane-Hipkiss absorb this nice theological point, that one believes what one can, follows that vision which most brilliantly exalts and vilifies the world? Alone in the dark one surrenders to Amazing Colossal Man all hope, all desire, meanwhile the bishop sends out his patrols, the canny old priests, the nuns on simple errands in stately pairs, I remember the year everyone wore black, what dodging into doorways, what obscene haste in crossing streets!
Bane-Hipkiss blushes, looks awkward, shuffles feet, opens mouth to speak.
“I have a confession.”
“Confess,” I urge, “feel free.”
“I was sent here.”
Under their noses or in Tibet, they have agents even in the lamaseries.
“That reminds me of something,” I state, but Bane-Hipkiss rises, raises hand to head, commands: “Look!” As Burligame shrinks he strips away his skin. Clever Bane-Hipkiss, now he has me, I sit gape-mouthed, he stands grinning with skin draped like dead dishrag over paw, he is white! I pretend imperturbability. “That reminds me, regarding the point I was making earlier, the film we are viewing is an interesting example . . .”
But he interrupts.
“Your position, while heretical, has its points,” he states, “but on the other hand we cannot allow the integrity of our operation to be placed in question, willy-nilly, by people with funny ideas. Father Blau was wrong, we get some lemons just like any other group. On the other hand if every one of our people takes it into his head to flee us, who will be saved? You might start a trend. It was necessary to use this” (holds up falseface guiltily) “to get close to you, it was for the health of your soul.”
Barefaced Bane-Hipkiss rattles on, has Burligame at last been taken, must he give himself up? There is still the sign marked EXIT, into the john, up on the stool, out through the window. “I am empowered to use force,” he imparts, frowning.
“Regarding the point I was making earlier,” I state, “or beginning to make, the film we are watching is itself a ritual, many people view such films and refuse to understand what they are saying, consider the . . .”
“At present I have more pressing business,” he says, “will you come quietly?”
“No,” I affirm, “pay attention to the picture, it is trying to tell you something, revelation is not so frequent in these times that one can afford to diddle it away.”
“I must warn you,” he replies, “that to a man filled with zeal nothing is proscribed. Zeal,” he states proudly, “is my middle name.”
“I will not stir.”
“You must.”
Now Bane-Hipkiss moves lightly on little priest’s feet, sidewise through rows of seats, a cunning smile on face now revealed as hierarchical, hands clasped innocently in front of him to demonstrate purity of intent. Strange high howling noises, as in Night of the Blood Beast, fearful reddish cast to sky, as in It Conquered the World, where do they come from? The sweetness from beneath the seats is overpowering, I attempted to warn him but he would not hear, slip the case from jacket pocket, join needle to deadly body of instrument, crouch in readiness. Bane-Hipkiss advances, eyes clamped shut in mystical ecstasy, I grasp him by the throat, plunge needle into neck, his eyes bulge, his face collapses, he subsides quivering into a lump among the seats, in a moment he will begin barking like a dog.
Most people haven’t the wit to be afraid, most view television, smoke cigars, fondle wives, have children, vote, plant gladiolus, iris, phlox, never confront Screaming Skull, Teenage Werewolf, Beast with a Thousand Eyes, no conception of what lies beneath the surface, no faith in any manifestation not certified by hierarchy. Who is safe in home with Teenage Werewolf abroad, with streets under sway of Beast with a Thousand Eyes? People think these things are jokes, but they are wrong, it is dangerous to ignore a vision, consider Bane-Hipkiss, he has begun to bark.
Will You Tell Me?
HUBERT GAVE Charles and Irene a nice baby for Christmas. The baby was a boy and its name was Paul. Charles and Irene who had not had a baby for many years were delighted. They stood around the crib and looked at Paul; they could not get enough of him. He was a handsome child with dark hair, dark eyes. Where did you get him Hubert? Charles and Irene asked. From the bank, Hubert said. It was a puzzling answer, Charles and Irene puzzled over it. Everyone drank mulled wine. Paul regarded them from the crib. Hubert was pleased to have been able to please Charles and Irene. They drank more wine.
Eric was born.
Hubert and Irene had a clandestine affair. It was important they felt that Charles not know. To this end they bought a bed which they installed in another house, a house some distance from the house in which Charles, Irene and Paul lived. The new bed was small but comfortable enough. Paul regarded Hubert and Irene thoughtfully. The affair lasted for twelve years and was considered very successful.
Hilda.
Charles watched Hilda growing from his window. To begin with, she was just a baby, then a four-year-old, then twelve years passed and she was Paul’s age, sixteen. What a pretty young girl! Charles thought to himself. Paul agreed with Charles; he had already bitten the tips of Hilda’s pretty breasts with his teeth. Hilda thought she was too old for most boys Paul’s age, but not for Paul.
Hubert’s son Eric wanted Hilda but could not have her.
In the cellar Paul continued making his bombs, by cellar-light. The bombs were made from tall Schlitz cans and a plastic substance which Paul refused to identify. The bombs were sold to other boys Paul’s age to throw at their fathers. The bombs were to frighten them rather than to harm them. Hilda sold the bombs for Paul, hiding them under her black sweater when she went out on the street.
Hilda cut down a black pear tree in the back yard. Why?
Do you know that Hubert and Irene are having an affair? Hilda asked Paul. He nodded.
Then he said: But I don’t care.
In Montreal they walked in the green snow, leaving marks like maple leaves. Paul and Hilda thought: What is wonderful? It seemed to Paul and Hilda that this was the question. The people of Montreal were kind to them, and they thought about the question in an ambiance of kindness.
Charles of course had been aware of the affair between Hubert and Irene from the beginning. But Hubert gave us Paul, he thought to himself. He wondered why Hilda had cut down the black pear tree.
Eric sat by himself.
Paul put his hands on Hilda’s shoulders. She closed her eyes. They held each other with their hands and thought about the question. France!
Irene bought Easter presents for everyone. How do I know which part of the beach Rosemarie will be lying upon? she asked herself. In Hilda’s back yard the skeleton of the black pear tree whitened.
Dialogue between Paul and Ann:
—You say anything that crawls into your head Paul, Ann objected.
—Go peddle your hyacinths, Hyacinth Girl.
It is a portrait, Hubert said, composed of all the vices of our generation in the fullness of their development.
Eric’s bomb exploded with a great splash near Hubert. Hubert was frightened. What has been decided? he asked Eric. Eric could not answer.
Irene and Charles talked about Paul. I wonder how he is getting along in France? Charles wondered. I wonder if France likes him. Irene wondered again about Rosemarie. Charles wondered if the bomb that Eric had thrown at Hubert had been manufactured by his foster son, Paul. He wonder
ed too about the strange word “foster,” about which he had not wondered previously. From the bank? he wondered. What could Hubert have meant by that? What could Hubert have meant by “from the bank”? he asked Irene. I can’t imagine, Irene said. The fire sparkled. It was evening.
In Silkeborg, Denmark, Paul regarded Hilda thoughtfully. You love Inge, she said. He touched her hand.
Rosemarie returned.
Paul grew older. Oh that poor fucker Eric he said.
2
The quality of the love between Hubert and Irene:
This is a pretty good bed Hubert, Irene said. Except that it’s not really quite wide enough.
You know that Paul is manufacturing bombs in your cellar don’t you? Hubert asked.
Inge brushed her long gold hair in her red sweater.
Who was that man, Rosemarie asked, who wrote all those books about dogs?
Hilda sat in a café waiting for Paul to return from Denmark. In the café she met Howard. Go away Howard, Hilda said to Howard, I am waiting for Paul. Oh come on Hilda, Howard said in a dejected voice, let me sit down for just a minute. Just a minute. I won’t bother you. I just want to sit here at your table and be near you. I was in the war you know. Hilda said: Oh all right. But don’t touch me.
Charles wrote a poem about Rosemarie’s dog, Edward. It was a sestina.
Daddy, why are you writing this poem about Edward? Rosemarie asked excitedly. Because you’ve been away Rosemarie, Charles said.
At Yale Eric walked around.
Irene said: Hubert I love you. Hubert said that he was glad. They lay upon the bed in the house, thinking about the same things, about Montreal’s green snow and the blackness of the Black Sea.
The reason I cut down the black pear tree Howard, which I’ve never told anyone, was that it was just as old as I was at that time, sixteen, and it was beautiful, and I was beautiful I think, and we both were there the tree and me, and I couldn’t stand it, Hilda said. You are still beautiful, now, at nineteen, Howard said. But don’t touch me, Hilda said.
Hubert was short in a rising market. He lost ten thousand. Can you pay the rent on this house for a while? he asked Irene. Of course darling, Irene said. How much is it? Ninety-three dollars a month, Hubert said, every month. That’s not much really, Irene said. Hubert reached out his hand to caress Irene but decided not to.
Inge smiled in the candlelight from the victory candle.
Edward was tired of posing for Charles’s poem. He stretched, growled, and bit himself.
In the cellar Paul mixed the plastic for another batch of bombs. A branch from the black pear tree lay on his worktable. Seeds fell into his toolbox. From the bank? he wondered. What was meant by “from the bank”? He remembered the kindness of Montreal. Hilda’s black sweater lay across a chair. God is subtle, but he is not malicious, Einstein said. Paul held his tools in his hands. They included an awl. Now I shall have to find more Schlitz cans, he thought. Quickly.
Irene wondered if Hubert really loved her, or if he was merely saying so to be pleasant. She wondered how she could find out. Hubert was handsome. But so was Charles handsome for that matter. And I, I am still quite beautiful, she reminded herself. Not in the same way as young girls like Hilda and Rosemarie, but in a different way. I have a mature beauty. Oh!
From the bank? Inge wondered.
Eric came home for the holidays.
Anna Teresa Tymieniecka wrote a book to which I. M. Bochénski contributed a foreword.
Rosemarie made a list of all the people who had not written her a letter that morning:
George Lewis
Peter Elkin
Joan Elkin
Howard Toff
Edgar Rich
Marcy Powers
Sue Brownly
and many others
Paul said to the man at the hardware store: I need a new awl. What size awl do you have in mind? the man asked. One about this size, Paul said, showing the man with his hands. Oh Hilda!
What is his little name? Charles and Irene asked Hubert. His name, Hubert said, is Paul. A small one, isn’t he? Charles remarked. But well made, Hubert noted.
Can I buy you a drink? Howard asked Hilda. Have you had any grappa yet? It’s one of the favorite drinks of this country. Your time is up Howard, Hilda said ruthlessly. Get out of this café. Now wait a minute, Howard said. This is a free country isn’t it? No, Hilda said. No buddy, a free country is precisely what this is not insofar as your sitting at this table is concerned. Besides, I’ve decided to go to Denmark on the next plane.
The mailman (Rosemarie’s mailman) persisted in his irritating habit of doing the other side of the street before he did her side of the street. Rosemarie ate a bowl of Three-Minute Oats.
Eric cut his nails with one of those 25¢ nail cutters.
The bomb Henry Jackson threw at his father failed to detonate. Why did you throw this Schlitz can at me Henry? Henry’s father asked, and why is it ticking like a bomb?
Hilda appeared in Paul’s cellar. Paul, she asked, can I borrow an axe? or a saw?
Hubert touched Irene’s breast. You have beautiful breasts, he said to Irene. I like them. Do you think they’re too mature? Irene asked anxiously.
Mature?
3
Ann the Hyacinth Girl wanted Paul but could not have him. He was sleeping with Inge in Denmark.
From his window Charles watched Hilda. She sat playing under the black pear tree. She bit deeply into a black pear. It tasted bad and Hilda looked at the tree inquiringly. Charles started to cry. He had been reading Bergson. He was surprised by his own weeping, and in a state of surprise, decided to get something to eat. Irene was not home. There was nothing in the refrigerator. What was he going to do for lunch? Go to the drugstore?
Rosemarie looked at Paul. But of course he’s far too young for me, she thought.
Edward and Eric met on the street.
Inge wrote the following letter to Ann to explain why Ann could not have Paul:
Dear Ann—
I deeply appreciate the sentiments expressed by you in our recent ship-to-shore telephone conversation. Is the Black Sea pleasant? I hope so and hope too that you are having a nice voyage. The Matson Line is one of my favorite lines. However I must tell you that Paul is at present deeply embedded in a love affair with me, Inge Grote, a very nice girl here in Copenhagen, and therefore cannot respond to your proposals, charming and well stated as they were. You have a very nice prose style on the telephone. Also, I might point out that if Paul loves any girl other than me in the near future it will surely be Hilda, that girl of girls. Hilda! what a remarkable girl! Of course there is also the possibility that he will love some girl he has not met yet—this is remote, I think. But thank you for the additional hyacinths anyway, and we promise to think of you from time to time.
Your friend,
Inge
Charles lay in bed with his wife, Irene. He touched a breast, one of Irene’s. You have beautiful breasts Irene, Charles said. Thank you, Irene said, Charles.
Howard’s wire to Eric was never delivered.
Hubert thought seriously about his Christmas present to Charles and Irene. What can I get for these dear friends that will absolutely shatter them with happiness? he asked himself. I wonder if they’d like a gamelan? a rag rug?
Oh Hilda, Paul said cheerfully, it has been so long since I’ve been near to you! Why don’t the three of us go out for supper?
Hubert had a dinner engagement with the best younger poet now writing in English in Wisconsin.
Charles! Irene exclaimed. You’re hungry! And you’ve been crying! Your gray vest is stained with tears! Let me make you a ham and cheese sandwich. Luckily I have just come from the grocery store, where I bought some ham, cheese, bread, lettuce, mustard and paper napkins. Charles asked:
Have you seen or heard from Hubert lately by the way? He regarded his gray tear-stained vest. Not in a long time, Irene said, Hubert’s been acting sort of distant lately for some strange reason. Oh Charles, can I have an extra ninety-three dollars a month for the household budget? I need some floor polish and would also like to subscribe to the National Geographic.
Every month?
Ann looked over the ship’s rail at the Black Sea. She threw hyacinths into it, not just one but a dozen or more. They floated upon the black surface of the water.
“But I can’t stand the pain. Oh, why doesn’t God help me?”
“Can you give me a urine sample?” asked the nurse.
Paul placed his new awl in the toolbox. Was that a shotgun Eric had been looking at in the hardware store?
Irene, Hubert said, I love you. I’ve always hesitated to mention it though because I was inhibited by the fact that you are married to my close friend, Charles. Now I feel close to you here in this newsreel theater, for almost the first time. I feel intimate. I feel like there might be some love in you for me, too. Then, Irene said, your giving me Paul for a Christmas present was symbolic?
Inge smiled.
Rosemarie smiled.
Ann smiled.
Goodbye, Inge, Paul said. Your wonderful blondness has been wonderful and I shall always remember you that way. Goodbye! Goodbye!
The newsreel articulated the fall of Ethiopia.
Howard cashed a check at American Express. What shall I do with this money? he wondered. Nothing financial has meaning any more now that Hilda has gone to Denmark. He returned to the café in the hope that Hilda had not really meant it.
Charles put some more wine on to mull.
Henry Jackson’s father thought candidly: Henry is awfully young to be an anarchist isn’t he?
Put those empty Schlitz cans over there in the corner by the furnace Harry, Paul said. And thank you for lending me your pickup truck in this cold weather. I think you had better get some snow tires pretty soon though, as I hear that snow is predicted for the entire region shortly. Deep snow.
Donald Barthelme Page 5
