JANE: Go on. Go on, drink it.
SNOW WHITE: No, I won’t drink it now. Perhaps later. Although something warns me not to drink it at all. Something suggests to me that it is a bad scene, this Vodka Gibson on the rocks you proffer. Something whispers to me that there is something wrong with it.
JANE: Well that’s possible. I didn’t make the vodka myself, you know. I didn’t grow the grain myself, and reap it myself, and make the mash myself. I am not a member of the Cinzano Vermouth Company. They don’t tell me everything. I didn’t harvest the onions. I’m not responsible for everything. All I can say is that to the best of my knowledge, this is an ordinary Vodka Gibson on the rocks. Just like any other. Further than that I will not go.
SNOW WHITE: Oh well then. It must be all right in that case. It must be all right if it is ordinary. If it is as ordinary as you say. In that case, I shall drink it.
(SNOW WHITE takes the glass from JANE. As she is about to drink, PAUL enters and takes it away from her, drinking deeply.)
PAUL: This drink is vaguely exciting, like a film by Lina Wert-muller. It is a good thing I have taken it away from you, Snow White. It is too exciting for you. If you had drunk it, something bad would probably have happened to your stomach. But because I am a man, and because men have strong stomachs for the business of life, and the pleasure of life too, nothing will happen to me. Lucky that I sensed you about to drink it, and sensed that it was too exciting for you, from my pit where—
(PAUL falls to the ground.)
SNOW WHITE: Look how he has fallen to the ground, Jane! And look at all that green foam coming out of his face! And look at those convulsions he is having! Why it resembles nothing else but a death agony, the whole picture! I wonder if there was something wrong with that drink after all? Jane? Jane?
(JANE has slipped away.)
(Blackout)
(Lights up on CLEM and EDWARD)
CLEM: Well I don’t know . . . seems a little harsh.
EDWARD: I’m against it.
CLEM: We voted. The decision’s made.
EDWARD: But is it the right decision?
CLEM: It’s got to be the right decision because it was the decision that was, uh, decided.
EDWARD: Your logic is . . . interesting.
CLEM: Well I don’t like to just go hang Bill lightly. Even though he’s guilty, and when you’re guilty, then you got to be hanged—no two ways about it. Still, I think the whole thing is going to be just very unpleasant.
EDWARD: It’s a moral question, that’s clear. Whether our leader, Bill—
CLEM: Our former leader, Bill—
EDWARD: Our former leader, Bill, guilty of fear and failure, should be . . . Whether fear and failure in themselves, qua fear and qua failure, are, in the light of present-day attitudes, and the prevalence of fear-inducing as well as failure-generating occasions—
CLEM: I wonder how many of us will hafta pull on the rope. I mean one can’t do it, and two can’t do it, and probably three can’t do it. . . Probably about four will have to do it. . .
EDWARD: But! Looking at the matter in an entirely different way, from the point of view of the one who has not looked at it from this point of view previously—
CLEM: And let’s see, it’s probably gonna take two to hold him, that’s one on each side, and them two will probably have to give him a little boost to get him started . . .
EDWARD: So the case is not clear. Not at all. Ambiguities, difficulties—
CLEM (counting on his fingers): Four and two are six, and probably we’ll need somebody to stand close to Snow White, so if she swoons during the . . . the . . . so if she swoons, then he can ketch her . . . (To EDWARD) Hey, we’re one short.
EDWARD (wearily; giving up): Hogo. You forgot Hogo.
(Blackout)
(Lights up on a princely funeral scene, PAUL’S. A large purple coffin, HOGO is delivering the oration.)
HOGO: One thing you can say about him is that Paul was straight. A straight arrow. And just by looking at him, on those occasions when our paths crossed, at the bus stop, for example, or at the discount store, I could tell that Paul had a lot of ginger. He must have had a lot of ginger, to have dug that great hole, outside the house, and to have put all those wires in it, and connected all those dogs to the wires, and all that. That took a lot of mechanical ingenuity, and a lot of technical knowledge too, that shouldn’t be understated, when we are making our final assessment of Paul. And now his friends have gathered together here, waiting to see him tucked away under the earth, friends who have been deprived at a stroke of the Lord’s pen, as it were, of a source of amusement and warmth and human intercourse, which we all regard so highly, and need so much. I leave that thought to stick in your minds. As for myself, I am only Hogo, a citizen spitted on a passion for Snow White, that girl in the first row there, seated next to Jane. But that is my business, and not the business we are gathered together here in the sight of God to execute, which is the burning of Paul, and the putting of him into a vase, and the sinking of the vase into the ground, in the niche that has been prepared for it. Some people like to be scattered on top, but Paul wanted to be put under the ground. That is like him. (Pause) Good night, sweet prince.
KEVIN: And now Bill moves toward his lack of reward.
(PAUL’S coffin is carried off in a sort of parody of the final scene of the Olivier Hamlet; the pallbearers immediately reenter rolling on bicycle wheels a large gibbet, BILL is brought out from the other side of the stage with his arms tied behind his back.)
EDWARD (a clumsy attempt at casualness): Hi, Bill.
BILL: Hi.
EDWARD: How are . . . things?
BILL: So-so.
HENRY: Now we must hang Bill. Bill is guilty of vatricide and failure, and when you are guilty, then you must be hanged. Bill’s friend Dan is the new leader. We have decided to let Hogo live in the house. He is a brute perhaps but an efficient brute. He is good at tending the vats. Dan has taken charge with a fine aggressiveness. He has added three new varieties to the line: Baby Water Chestnuts, Baby Kimchi, and Baby Bean Thread. They are selling well, these new items.
(BILL is placed on the gibbet, the rope adjusted around his neck, etc. SNOW WHITE and JANE enter, holding hands.)
DAN (to BILL): Uh . . . I hope you don’t have any last words?
BILL: Yes I do have a few words as a matter of fact. (He pulls a large sheaf of papers from his shirt) My topic for today (Pause) is Failure. (Pause) Failure. Many people fear failure, but it is a natural part of life. It is as natural as death. We prefer, of course, the boiling purity of success. We prefer, of course, the blessed grace of breathing. But failure, like death, is an ever-present possibility, and as we shamble through life, it is very likely that we shamble into it. We shamble into it by looking for “something better.” How does this monstrous idea, “something better,” arise, in our tidy lives? I could mention a certain individual whose raving beauty brought it to our door. But I will not. She was our idea, but we were not her idea. So be it. There’s no use crying over spilt marble—the marble of her marble brow, for example. You must all strive for a positive adjustment. Failure will be among your possibilities, but can be minimized by lowered expectations. Failure. (Pause) How does it feel? It feels terrible. Thank you.
DAN: Goodbye, Bill.
ALL: Goodbye, Bill.
BILL: Fare thee well. And if forever, then forever, fare thee well.
(BILL is hanged, to the first few bars of “The Ride of the Valkyries. “His body is lifted out of sight. All onstage stare upward after him.)
SNOW WHITE: I feel. . . I feel as if I never really knew him.
DAN: We shall not look upon his like again. Thank God.
(They continue staring upward.)
SNOW WHITE: I must leave you now. I will return to the forest, and wander there, until my prince finds me.
DAN: We know.
JANE: I’ll accompany you. Who knows who might be holding the bridle of your prince’s hor
se?
(They embrace in sisterly fashion.)
DAN: We’ll remember you, Snow White. We’ll continue to be part of your story, forever.
KEVIN: And in spite of what Bill said, we will continue to search for a new principle.
(All look upward again. The sky releases a shower of red towels.)
ALL (a shout): Heigh-ho!
(Blackout)
Notes
SATIRES, PARODIES, FABLES, AND ILLUSTRATED STORIES
THE TEACHINGS OF DON B.: A YANKEE WAY OF KNOWLEDGE
First appeared in The New York Times Magazine, February 11, 1973. Reprinted in Guilty Pleasures (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1974).
I WROTE A LETTER . . .
First appeared in “Notes and Comment,” unsigned, The New Yorker, October 27, 1980. Previously uncollected.
CHALLENGE
First published in The New Yorker, October 5, 1981, signed “William White,” one of Barthelme’s pseudonyms. Previously uncollected.
THREE GREAT MEALS
First published in The New Yorker, June 1, 1987, signed “William White.” Previously uncollected.
LANGUISHING, HALF-DEEP IN SUMMER . . .
First published in “Notes and Comment,” unsigned, The New Yorker, July 30, 1979. Previously uncollected.
THE PALACE
First appeared as an untitled, unsigned “Notes and Comment” piece in The New Yorker, December 24, 1973. It was reprinted in Guilty Pleasures as “The Palace,” with minor changes.
MR. FOOLFARM’S JOURNAL
First published in The Village Voice, May 16, 1974. Reprinted in Guilty Pleasures with minor changes and one elision.
NATURAL HISTORY
First published in Harper’s, August 1971. Previously uncollected.
THE JOKER’S GREATEST TRIUMPH
First published in Come Back, Dr. Caligari (Little, Brown, 1964).
THE AUTHOR
First published in The New Yorker, June 15, 1987. Previously uncollected.
I WAS GRATIFIED THIS WEEK . . .
First published in “Notes and Comment,” unsigned, The New Yorker, November 18, 1974. Previously uncollected.
WHEN I DIDN’T WIN . . .
First published in “Notes and Comment,” unsigned, The New Yorker, September 2, 1985. Previously uncollected.
RETURN
First published in the Houston Post, March 23, 1984. The Houston Festival Committee commissioned Barthelme for a “prose piece about some aspect” of Houston, and “Return” was his response. Barthelme read the piece on March 26 at the Museum of Fine Arts in conjunction with the Houston Festival. It is previously uncollected.
AT LAST, IT IS TIME . . .
First published in “Notes and Comment,” unsigned, The New Yorker, November 27, 1978. Previously uncollected.
THE INAUGURATION
First published in Harper’s, January 1973. Previously uncollected.
THE ART OF BASEBALL
First published in The Spirit of Sport, edited by Constance Sullivan (New York Graphic Society/Little, Brown, 1984). It originally appeared with photographs by Nicholas Nixon. Previously uncollected.
GAMES ARE THE ENEMIES OF BEAUTY, TRUTH, AND SLEEP, AMANDA SAID
First published in Mademoiselle, November 1966. Reprinted with some minor changes and one elision in Guilty Pleasures.
AN HESITATION ON THE BANK OF THE DELAWARE
First appeared as “A Dream” in The New Yorker, September 3, 1973, signed by “Lily McNeil,” another of Barthelme’s pseudonyms. It was reprinted in Guilty Pleasures under the current title.
I HAVE FOR SOME TIME . . .
First published in “Notes and Comment,” unsigned, The New Yorker, October 10, 1977. Previously uncollected.
THE GREAT DEBATE
First appeared in The New Yorker, May 3, 1976. It is previously uncollected.
SNAP SNAP
First appeared in The New Yorker, August 28, 1965. Reprinted in Guilty Pleasures.
MING
Previously unpublished. “Ming” was found on a computer disk early in 1990. Barthelme had worked on it in 1989, perhaps with The New Yorker’s “Notes and Comment” in mind. The draft stage of the piece is unknown.
DONALD BARTHELME’S FINE HOMEMADE SOUPS
First published in The Great American Writer’s Cookbook, edited by Dean Faulkner Wells (Oxford, Miss.: Yoknapatawpha Press, 1981). Wells solicited Barthelme for a recipe to include in the book, which includes contributions from, among others, Norman Mailer (“Stuffed Mushrooms”), Eudora Welty (“Charles Dickens’s Eggnog”), Walker Percy (“Salt Steak”), John Hawkes (“Sanglier”), John Barth (“Five Chesapeake Bay Recipes”), and E. L. Doctorow (“The Miracle of His Instant Potatoes”). Despite an introduction by Craig Claiborne and two staunch assistants who tested recipes, readers should be aware that writers often eat hurriedly. Previously uncollected.
ADVENTURE
First published in Harper’s Bazaar, December 1970. Previously uncollected.
HELIOTROPE
First appeared as an untitled, unsigned “Notes and Comment” piece in The New Yorker, April 1, 1974. It was later published as “Heliotrope” in Guilty Pleasures, with minor changes.
THE ANGRY YOUNG MAN
First appeared in Fiction 2, no. 2, 1973. It was reprinted in Guilty Pleasures with a significant rearrangement of the paragraphs and other minor changes.
CORNELL
First appeared as text in the Joseph Cornell Exhibition Catalogue, Leo Castelli Gallery, New York City (February-March 1976). It was reprinted in Ontario Review 5 (Fall/Winter 1976) and again in 1983 as an interchapter in Overnight to Many Distant Cities (Putnam’s, 1983).
I AM, AT THE MOMENT . . .
First appeared as an interchapter in Overnight to Many Distant Cities.
NOW THAT I AM OLDER . . .
First appeared as an interchapter in Overnight to Many Distant Cities.
SPEAKING OF THE HUMAN BODY . . .
First appeared as an interchapter in Overnight to Many Distant Cities.
A WOMAN SEATED ON A PLAIN WOODEN CHAIR . . .
First published in this form as an interchapter in Overnight to Many Distant Cities. Certain sections appeared earlier in “Presents” (Penthouse, December 1977).
THAT GUY IN THE BACK ROOM . . .
First appeared as an interchapter in Overnight to Many Distant Cities.
THEY CALLED FOR MORE STRUCTURE . . .
First appeared as an interchapter in Overnight to Many Distant Cities.
A NATION OF WHEELS
First appeared in The New Yorker, June 13, 1970. Reprinted in Guilty Pleasures with paragraphs 4 and 5 reversed. The New Yorker version is reprinted here.
KISSING THE PRESIDENT
First appeared in The New Yorker, August 1, 1983. Previously uncollected.
AND NOW LETS HEAR IT FOR THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW!
First published in Esquire, April 1969. Reprinted in Guilty Pleasures.
BLISS . . .
Previously unpublished. The date of composition is uncertain. It was, however, found in 1990 among unused drafts of work associated with The Dead Father, making the likely date of writing about 1973–75.
BRAIN DAMAGE
First appeared in The New Yorker, February 21, 1970. Reprinted in City Life (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1970) with substantial changes. “Brain Damage” incorporates the uncollected fable “Blue Flower Problem,” Harvest 31: 2, May 1967.
MANY HAVE REMARKED . . .
First published in “Notes and Comment,” The New Yorker, unsigned, June 13, 1970. Parts of the piece were later incorporated into “Flying to America” (The New Yorker, December 4, 1971) which itself later became part of “A Film” (Sadness, 1972). The title “A Film” was changed to “The Film” in Forty Stories, 1987, but is otherwise identical. The textual history of the Sadness version of “A Film”—there was also a New Yorker story with the same title (September 26, 1970)—has been called by Barthelme’s bibliogra
pher “the most complex of any Barthelme story.” In short, this “Comment” piece was intercut and combined with “Flying to America” and The New Yorker “A Film” to create the Sadness “A Film.” In addition, a part of “Flying to America” not used in the Sadness “A Film” was later resurrected as “Two Hours to Curtain” (published in Guilty Pleasures and reprinted here), and other parts of “Flying to America” were used in The Dead Father. “Many have remarked. . .” is previously uncollected in its original form.
SWALLOWING
First appeared on The New York Times op-ed page, November 4, 1972. It was reprinted in Guilty Pleasures with minor changes.
THE YOUNG VISITIRS
First appeared as an unsigned “Notes and Comment” piece titled “A Made Up Story” in The New Yorker, February 10, 1973. It was reprinted as “The Young Visitirs” in Guilty Pleasures. The spelling of “Visitirs” is an allusion to nine-year-old Daisy Ashford’s extraordinary “novel” The Young Visiters, published in 1919.
MY LOVER SAID TO ME . . .
First published in “Notes and Comment,” unsigned, The New Yorker, August 11, 1986. Previously uncollected.
THAT COSMOPOLITAN GIRL
First appeared in The New Yorker, July 16, 1973, signed “Lily McNeil.” Reprinted in Guilty Pleasures.
L’LAPSE
First appeared in The New Yorker, March 2, 1963. “L’Lapse” was Barthelme’s first publication in The New Yorker. Reprinted in Guilty Pleasures with minor changes.
MORE ZERO
First appeared in The New Yorker, July 7, 1986, signed “William White.” Previously uncollected.
THE STORY THUS FAR:
First published in The New Yorker, May 1, 1971. Previously uncollected.
BUNNY IMAGE, LOSS OF: THE CASE OF BITSY S.
First appeared in Guilty Pleasures.
TWO HOURS TO CURTAIN
“Two Hours to Curtain” originally appeared as part of “Flying to America” (The New Yorker, December 4, 1971), then appeared under its current title in Guilty Pleasures.
THE ROYAL TREATMENT
First appeared in The New York Times, November 3, 1973, signed “Lily McNeil.” It was reprinted in Guilty Pleasures, with minor changes.
The Teachings of Don B. Page 28
