J R

by William Gaddis

  —on the Exchange floor which is made of solid maple . . .

  —Boy what a mess.

  —Hey I thought we’re going to the Museum of Natural History.

  —thousand brokers who have the privilege of trading stocks on the floor . . .

  —We getting tested on this Mrs Joubert?

  —that look like hieroglyphics on the ticker tape band you see running high above the . . .

  —See that little guy waving down there hey? I bet if I spit . . .

  —stock of companies that provide jobs for millions of Americans in every walk of . . .

  —Where we going hey, Mrs Joubert? We’re supposed to go buy this here stock off somebody down in that . . .

  —No this way, this way, someone from the company’s meeting us here . . . she quested through the modest playland of corporation exhibits off the gallery where questions posed fabricated to answers that flashed at the touch of a button, racks offered free picture postcards, pamphlets, booklets, brochures on Investment Facte, The Language of Investing, How to Invest on a Budget, A Glossary of Investment Terms —I think I see him, Mister Davidoff? We’re over here . . .

  —So these are our new owners!

  —Boys and girls this is Mister Davi . . .

  —Better keep the profits coming in hadn’t we, he elbowed his way toward her from a height whose precise statistical average left him looking shorter than any adult he approached —look like a pretty shrewd bunch . . . he paused there taking them in at a glance as he seemed to anything that moved —well! We all set?

  —Nine, ten oh there . . . she turned at a glimpse of diamond-patterned sweater dodging from push button information on How To Read a Stock Table, —come along now let’s follow Mister Davidoff . . .

  —I got sixteen postcards wha’d you get . . .

  —Quit pushing . . . the elevator doors gasped closed like the breath held till they opened —where we going now hey . . .

  —Icecream, there’s a guy out there selling icecream hey . . .

  —Where we going now . . .

  —Right up here everybody . . . Mister Davidoff wheeled her off balance toward the figure ahead commanding the Treasury steps whose greeting he returned with a wave of bonhomie and introduced all round —standing here in the cradle of American history boys and girls where he took the oath as our first president . . . he threatened passersby with instructive left jabs —under a button wood tree back in seventeen ninety-two when merchants met there to buy and sell securities and over here, here look right over here the pits in this wall boys and girls, see them here . . .? But her gaze, shifting, evading the stabs of his free hand, rose to rest on the magnificent chandelier glittering serene through the lazy drift of a full American flag reflected from the fortress behind them rising, falling back on gentle billows, shifting planes of reflection and reality where the still points of light pierced the engulfing warmth of the sun —left by a bomb planted by a Russian anarchist that killed a dozen innocent people right where you youngsters are standing right now, and when J P Morgan heard what’s the matter . . .

  —Nothing no, I was just a little dizzy.

  —Shall I get you a . . .

  —No I’m quite all right I, I haven’t felt awfully well all day if you’ll get them across . . .

  And Davidoff found himself standing alone —on the northernmost line of defense of this tiny Dutch settlement, and once we cross Wall Street boys and girls, he led in a brave stride off the curb, —we’re in Indian country . . . pausing past the dark mass of —an Italian Renaissance palace in Italy, but it’s really the Federal Reserve Bank and there are millions of dollars right under your feet, in vaults five stories down in bed rock . . . and they kicked at the filthy pavement experimentally, eddying round him finally as he stopped at a portal plaqued Crawley & Bro. over vicious chevaux-de-frise, to allot them to the elevators within.

  —Boy, hey . . .

  —Look at that one . . .!

  —Boy hey what would you do if they were all alive?

  But of all the eyes fixed on them only the blue ones moved, as the blonde behind the desk ahead looked up; the others simply stared with hapless fixity relieved, in the wild hog, by some remembered ferocity, by rue in an antelope —like a regular jungle hey . . .

  —What I told you, the Museum of Nat . . .

  —Where’s the snakes? They got any snakes Mrs Joubert?

  But she’d sunk back on a leather bench, left the assault to their guide’s officious requests for —the photographer, has he showed up yet? Nobody from my office here? One of our PR boys was, oh and Shirl has Monty called? I’m expecting a call from Monty here and the cars, the limousines . . .

  A loud buzz cut him off. She pushed her nail polish aside and responded to the box at her elbow. —Yes sir, yes sir . . . oh and Mister Crawley, Mister Davidoff is here with . . . yes sir.

  —And Shirl, tell him . . .

  —He’ll be right out, she said, as an unencumbered massive panel behind her proved to be a door.

  —What in God’s . . .!

  —I want you to meet a real live stock broker boys and girls, this is Mister Crawley, he came on with the sweep he had used to introduce them to the father of their country —oh and Crawley, he added in a hoarse aside, —don’t try any fast ones on them. They’re a pretty shrewd bunch!

  —We’ll try not to take a lot of your time, Mister Crawley, said Mrs Joubert. —We just wanted the class to learn something about actually buying stock through a broker . . .

  —No trouble no trouble at all, for you. Shirley? Get that Diamond Cable certificate out, the one . . .

  —Yes sir. Telephone.

  —For me . . .? Davidoff’s arm shot out and the reach of heavy tweed over his shoulder came near garroting him with its cord. —If it’s Monty better let me . . .

  —Crawley here. What? No, I don’t know what the hell’s going on there nobody does . . . What? no, it’s not just two or three stocks, it’s the whole market . . . do what? Certainly not. If you want to quote me you can say the long overdue technical readjustments taking place in our present dynamic market situation offer no convincing evidence of the sort that has characterized long-term deterioration in past major business downturns. What might appear at this ah, this juncture as conflicting behavior, the conflicting behavior of prevailing economic forces . . . right. Expect a certain leveling off period when . . . right. Right. Any time . . . Shirley? any more papers call tell them I’m out, he finished handing back the phone, turning, —now. These young ladies and gentlemen are here to buy some stock are they?

  —Right this way boys and girls.

  —They, wait a minute here . . .!

  —Just want to get them inside for the pictures.

  —Pictures?

  —It’s Mister Moncrieff, sir.

  —Oh here, wait! sorry . . . Davidoff let the door go in their faces —he said he’d call me here if . . .

  —Monty? Crawley here.

  —Tell him I . . .

  —Hold on a minute. Just get them settled in there will you Dave? I’ll be right along. Now, Monty? You did, eh? So did I. Nobody knows what the hell’s going on over there . . . Box? How the hell would he know he’s right in the midst of it, he . . . you will? What time do you leave for Washington, I’ll be . . . close that door there will you Shirley? I said I’ll be . . .

  —Boy!

  —More!

  —Still no snakes?

  —What’s that skinny one up there with the great big eyes, it looks sad.

  —You’d be sad too if you . . .

  —It says kudu.

  —Well now, said Davidoff sitting, —we’re a long way from that old buttonwood tree aren’t we, boys and girls . . . and he’d barely shot his cuffs, treating them all to a double bolt of sapphires, when the panel door easing open brought him to his feet. —What is it, Shirl . . .? But the blonde stopped a step inside to bend over Mrs Joubert, who nodded and excused herself. —Yes, well . . . he sat again slowly w
atching the door ease closed, —are there, does anybody have a question?

  A sweatered arm shot up from a distant bastion of brown leather. —What’s a warrant?

  —A stock warrant, eh? I think that had better wait until you boys and girls know a little more about the price of apples, you with me? Now first off, what’s the whole point of this stock market, anyhow. It’s to bring together people who want to buy with people who want to sell. Now if you’re selling something, something definite . . . He shaped the space before him with empty hands into —a basket, baskets let’s say. You may have a tough time finding somebody that wants to buy exactly your kind of baskets. But if you own stock in a company that makes baskets, you can sell it in a minute. There’s always a buyer waiting somewhere, maybe five thousand miles away, somebody you don’t know and never even have to see. Are you with me?

  —Yeah but what about all these baskets? Like suppose this here company makes all these baskets which they can’t sell them either?

  —Well, we start right off with the old law of supply and demand don’t we, they probably wouldn’t have started making baskets in the first place unless . . .

  —They’re stuck with all these here lousy baskets they made which nobody wants to buy them, so who wants their stock?

  —Yes, well, something like that would cause the price of the stock to decline wouldn’t it, and the old law . . .

  —So this old law of supply and decline with all these baskets happens with their stock too so what’s the difference? Like everybody’s buying it and selling it which they all want to get rid of it at once so like how does anybody know how much it’s worth? Like we saw all these guys tearing up all this paper all over the floor which nobody knew what they were doing, so like now we buy this stock of Diamond Cable with our money so what if there’s all this here cable nobody wants like nobody that didn’t buy all those baskets so it just ends up all these guys are running around tearing up paper all over the floor like where does that leave us?

  —Hold on now, hold on. First, you’re not going to get stung with Diamond Cable, you can take my word for it. Second, every one of those guys out on the Stock Exchange floor knows what he’s doing, he knows to the penny where the stocks he handles stand. And third, stock prices don’t just fly out of control because a lot of those guys, as you call them, those men out on the floor of the Exchange, a lot of them are what are called specialists . . .

  —Sorry there . . . Crawley held the door wide for Mrs Joubert before he strode in to pause at eye level with a bighorn and match profiles. —Well, boys and, you little . . . ladies and gentlemen, getting right down to business, eh? That’s what brings us all together, eh? Business, Dave why don’t you just sit right down over there. That’s what brings people together, eh? Now then . . . He came crowding the blotter where Davidoff’s hands untangled ducking the reach for a button, —Shirley . . .?

  —Better have her check on that photographer . . .

  —Shirley? Where’s that Diamond Cable certificate? These young people are here on business, let’s not waste their time.

  —I’ll bring it right in sir, her boxed voice blurted at the fist doubled on the blotter.

  —Yes the, time is money, isn’t it. I guess you’ve, we’ve all heard that haven’t we . . . hands opening and grasping closed on nothing he glanced up and sought refuge from one blank face in the next till he found Mrs Joubert’s —maybe the ahm, your little people have some questions while we’re waiting . . .? he drummed off the blotter’s limits.

  —I think they’d like to hear what you . . .

  —Did you kill all these animals yourself Mister Crowley?

  —Crawley . . .

  —That tv on your desk is it color tv?

  —This, this is called a Quotron. Just by pressing a button or two I can ask it for the latest information on any stock, number of shares traded, latest bid and asked prices . . .

  —Is that you in that picture up there with that dead horse you just shot?

  —Horse? horse? That’s a, a hunter’s hartebeest, got it in Kenya there’s its head right over there, yes. Now then . . .

  —What are futures?

  —Futures? Crawley reared his chin toward the dim recess of dark leather.

  —Here where it says the effect on nickel futures of the new government cobalt stockpile requirements which . . .

  —What are you reading there!

  —Nothing just, just this here let . . .

  —Mister Beaton returning your call sir, the box blurted as Davidoff rounded the turn with the papers scooped from the low table in the corner to drop them on the desk blotter blinding the oval of burnished gold at Crawley’s cuff with a burst of sapphire, confiding —better let me have a word with him, Monty wants . . .

  —Beaton? Crawley here, what’s . . . the what . . .? No still got one certificate down here, this last option he picked up it’s . . . that’s right . . . he paced a step away from the desk, two steps back as though chained there before the eyes fixed on him from all directions as his own rose to the door panel abruptly jarring the dismal black on gray pattern backed against it, breaking out with an arm reaching the scrimshaw handed through. —That’s right just call it a blind trust, better than going in there with this public disclosure drag things out for a month and . . . probably will yes I’ll send it up . . . and he got the phone down before Davidofif’s lurched —Monty wants . . . could reach it.

  —Now then, you’ve got your certificate all we need is the . . .

  —Excuse me Mister Crawley perhaps they’d all like to hear what it says before we . . .

  —Sure it says, holy, it says two hundred ninety-three thousand shares it says this is to certify that the Emily Cates Moncrieff Founda . . .

  —Here give me that!

  —Give me that!

  Davidoff rounded one end of the desk, Crawley the other sweeping open the door as he caught the certificate in mid-air, —Shirley! . . .

  —But holy . . .

  —The telephone’s lighting up hey . . .

  —Hello? Davidoff here . . . He does? He did . . .? It is? Tell him I’m on my way, he hung up taking both hands to jam the Italian knit constriction at his throat still tighter, —brush fire, the boss wants me to get right up there I’d better take one of the cars, I think you can all fit into the other two they’ll be waiting downstairs, I’ll have everything on deck when you get there. Oh and Shirl . . .

  Crawley got the door closed with his back against it. —Here’s our certificate, now do any of you little, you young people know what it’s worth?

  A hand going up caught him in the ribs as he crossed the room. —The closing price of it was twenty-four dollars and sixty-three cents each.

  —Twenty-four sixty-three, he muttered with a pencil, —plus the twelve and a half cents odd-lot differential . . .

  —The what?

  —The, stocks are usually bought and sold in round lots, a hundred shares. When we deal in less than that we call it an odd lot and there’s a little price differential yes, plus the broker’s commission . . .

  —How much do you get?

  —We’ll make it one percent, eh? Plus four cents . . .

  —Mister Crawley, this might be an opportunity to show the boys and girls how your Quotron works, you might just push Diamond and see what’s happening to it?

  —Mphh . . .

  —Holy, two hundred eighty thousand that’s dollars?

  —No no that’s, number of shares traded so far today yes quite a, quite an active issue.

  —What’s that minus sign two and an eighth.

  —Yes, off two and an eighth points, isn’t it.

  —Dollars?

  —Well yes in a, in a manner of speaking . . .

  —So now it’s only twenty-two fifty and a half cents so we saved two dollars and twelve and a half . . .

  —And who are you? said Crawley looking up abruptly as the door cracked slowly. —If you’re here to clean the typewriters they’re ou
t there.

  —I’m a, I’m the photographer are you Mister Davidoff?

  —My God no. Come in, over there.

  —But I was told that a Mister Davidoff . . .

  —Come in if you’re coming and hurry up. Now then. Three, six, ten. Nine. That’s twenty-two ninety . . .

  —That four cents, what was that four cents?

  —What four cents.

  —When you added in four cents.

  —Four cents? Tax. Stock transfer tax.

  —Oh. Hey Mrs Joubert how come he . . .

  —Let’s not worry about it now boys and girls. You . . . she motioned to the slight figure strung with cameras, —if you’ll just get this, Mister Crawley? If you would just stand holding out the certificate to, yes that boy there and, yes, the money, get the money on the desk in . . .

  —Like that . . . Good . . . Once more. All right. Now just once more looking this way, once more . . .

  —Get off that table!

  —Yes sir.

  —I’m sure we have enough thank you, we’ve taken enough of Mister Crawley’s valuable time and, here, this way. Don’t forget our stock certificate and, no just leave the money there. I don’t think we have any more questions, do we . . .?

  —Did you shoot that there pig Mister Crowley?

  —Pig? That’s wild hog. A mean customer, wild hog.

  —Would he hurt you?

  —Hurt you? He killed three fine dogs.

  —So that’s why you shot him?

  —No, hunting. Hunt them with lances that’s right, right out that way . . . he came on, herding them along, —a mean customer . . . as the cropped head cupped in his hand turned sharply and he pulled back as though bitten.

  —What kind of gun have you got?

  —Gun? Got twenty of them. Here, keep with the others . . . what’s that you’ve got there.

  —Nothing just, I just wondered if I could take a pamphlet or something, came from behind him —like this thing Capital Gains and Losses, and this . . .