J R

by William Gaddis

  —Good, God . . . he recovered the edge of the sofa.

  —Yes, Mister Beaton . . .? No, no nothing I, I just knocked over a vase, what . . . Yes but you told me . . . but when I was in your office yesterday you said, you said you thought . . . But I told you this would happen! I told you it would with your court orders and depending on an old fool like Judge Ude to . . . He’s senile and alcoholic and you know how many lawyers have please . . .! She seized the hand prying past her knee,—what? No I’m upset yes of course I’m upset, if no one else is going to do anything I’ll go over there myself if I must and . . . Not what you called about? Well then what . . . Right now? to come down to your office oh honestly . . .! The phone buried against one breast she rent his face from the other,—now will you please stop it! and she pulled up the tear in the robe.—Yes hello? yes of course I’m all right I . . . yes I told you I’m angry you can tell Uncle John that I . . . That I was made a trustee with what understanding . . . No I certainly don’t want to talk to him now tell him I don’t care what he arranged, if he didn’t have to ask me about selling it all just to destroy this child’s father he doesn’t have to ask me to come down there and sign things so the Foundation can will you stop it! I’m sorry what . . .? No tell him that too I don’t care what the Foundation does when this tender offer goes through either, if all he and Daddy think about is . . . No he hasn’t, when I called him his office said he wouldn’t be back in Washington until . . . Well he knows I’m not out there teaching anymore doesn’t he? that I’m here just waiting at this number for someone to . . . Well it’s my trust fund isn’t it? Can’t he simply now please . . .! No I’m sorry but, if he’d just call me, yes . . . and she stood, the robe pulled round her tight.—Honestly Jack, honestly! How can you be so, couldn’t you tell this was important? I simply sometimes I simply don’t understand you!

  —Well what do you . . . he was up with a step toward her and stopped, pulled his shirt together to little purpose—wait where are you . . .

  —I’m going in to take a shower, you might use one yourself.

  —Oh . . . the shirt parted with his step after her,—fine we’ll . . .

  —When I’m finished Jack. And I got you a razor, it’s there in that bag with the cough drops I wish you’d use it.

  —Amy, I’m sorry Amy . . . he dropped his eyes from hers and then, tone dropped to an aside,—love means being able to say you’re sorry . . . and he winked.

  She looked there, snatched the robe over the dark circled crest peering from the tear in it—honestly! It’s not funny Jack you’re not funny! and past him she pulled the collar of it suddenly to her eyes.

  There was no sound but running water. Back on the sofa he reached down and scratched, brought up the ankle to examine it as though for signs of life, tore open the paper bag from the table and the box in it for a cough drop gone with a heavy crunch of teeth as he reached for that handwriting arabesque and Flaw in Nature’s Symmetry? crushed in his hand, opening and closing on the wad of them getting over for the phone, dialing, and the wad went flung to the top of a drapery.—Tom . . .? Yes it is listen what the hell is going on, I just called your . . . To me? no what do you mean nothing’s happened to me, I’m . . . Won the double yes called you that night haven’t been able to since, I’ve been . . . No I know it God damn it I’m sorry Tom listen buy you a shirt, buy you a new suitcase and fifty shirts I won the . . . What Schepperman? you’ve found him . . .? no I told you I haven’t had a chance to . . . no I know it but God damn it look Schramm now it’s Schepperman I . . . For me what do you mean for me what made you think I’d . . . What and the school told you I wasn’t there anymore . . .? God damned right I have yes, found a cleaner greener maiden in a neater sweeter land look has my lawyer called me there? Only number I could . . . She agreed to it? the visiting rights too? Thank, Christ I . . . was worth how much? But . . . Well good God no, broken down old family company I never imagined it was worth . . . Worst God damned best news I ever had though God damn it it’s worth it, every two weeks rain or shine writing that God damned money order to the Department of Probation so she can bail out that poor son of a bitch out selling textbooks even brings her his laundry, God damned shirts on the line every time I go out there to . . . What, now? No I’m uptown someplace feels like we’re entertaining in Bloomingdale’s furni . . . Not Ninety-sixth Street Christ no haven’t been there since the . . . What do you mean office equipment no, I . . . Bast? no just trying to write music as far as I . . . No thought I might use the back there though Schramm’s place, to . . . No that’s not what I mean no, to work in, try to get back to that book I . . . no I will yes but wait, that idea for a game I had have you thought of it . . .? No down there that night idea for a parlor game Tom God damn it you’ve got to remember it before we see somebody else come out with it make a million . . . No I almost have it and then it slips away all I come up with is Baby Jeeter and the three God damned . . . To tell me who called . . .? Didn’t know I gave Stella your number no what did she . . . no good Christ no just what I’m recovering from Tom got a sweeter cleaner . . . Tonight? I, no I don’t think so have to call you but I don’t think . . . for Schepperman yes but I’ll call you . . . he hung up, turned to raise the wad of torn drawers on a toe and came silent down the hall’s carpeting, shirt parted brushing behind her where she stood in the bedroom door one hand resting white on a warm cheek wet from the shower, and she held up the towel with the other.

  —You can use the shower now, here . . .

  —Amy . . .

  —Please . . . her shoulder turned from his breath’s solicitous warmth, her hand from the solicitation parting his shirt below.

  —But Amy . . .

  —Jack can’t you understand! I’m simply, I simply want to go out for some air if you’ll simply get ready, we might look for a suit and that shirt, did you look in these drawers for one?

  —Yes all right! He pulled one open, clattered it closed and pulled the next,—good Lord . . . he reached in,—someone you know?

  —What? Oh that’s, no will you just put it back please.

  —Lacks sympathy doesn’t she, needs old Lucien in there feeling in . . .

  —Put it back! Honestly Jack I’ve . . .

  —Mustache is a nice touch though . . . and he turned to watch the shimmers mounting from her steps through the door where he stepped aside for her a moment later carrying a packaged shirt, to return, wet, unfurling it behind her at the glass where she lined an eye.—Sorry, can I get at that drawer?

  —You’ve got a shirt in your hand, what . . .

  —Well look at it damn it size ten, shall I put it on? Size ten for a, now what’s the matter . . .

  —Nothing, nothing but why you can’t simply, laundries make mistakes can’t you simply look for another one without . . .

  —Well damn it that’s why I wanted to open the drawer! He clattered it open again,—one more in here, he said tearing away the gay wrapping, holding it up by the collar,—well Christ.

  —Jack I can’t . . .

  —Well look at it! Clean starched ironed and ripped right down the God damned front, beautiful transparent packaging Your Shirt Sir! Serviced by Professionals God damn it can’t you see why I, talk about my negative thinking you tell me how tired you get of my negative thinking about everything but every God damned place I look there’s something clean neat packaged serviced by professionals and ripped right down the God damned front . . .

  —Will you hand me that scarf . . .

  —Some black girl three dollars a day standing there steaming shirts in a window watching the commuting trains up from Grand Central the professional son of a bitch who designed the packaging sold a million on his way home to Larchmont she rips the God damned thing down the front folds it wraps it doesn’t even notice . . .

  —I’ll wait for you in the living room . . . And there,—Jack did you bring that money? It should be in a bank before anything happens to it, wait let me be sure I have my key . . . and the door snapped
closed behind them, finally the white telephone rang as though touched off caught by sunlight crossing the room, leaving it behind in shadow, in darkness,—was that the telephone? I thought I’d left a light on . . .

  —Didn’t know you meant to, I turned it off when we went out. Where shall I put these?

  —Just, anywhere. Put them down anywhere.

  —Always upsets me to see energy leaking, this place uptown where the hot water . . .

  —Everything upsets you, everything seems to you . . .

  —Only way to keep something real long enough to . . .

  —Is that how you explain that performance you just put on in the elevator at Tripler’s? Jack honestly . . .

  —Going to get a drink, do you want one?

  —Yes. In the bedroom, I’ve got to get out of these things . . .

  But when he came rattling ice on the sides of the glasses she was still sitting on the edge of a bed there, looking at her hands.—You didn’t want to talk about it now you want to, Amy?

  —Jack whatever made you behave that way? The way that old man was looking at us what possible reason, thank you . . . she took the glass and sipped,—I could see you in the mirror your mouth hanging open rolling your eyes Jack what, no I’m not angry I just have to know, what makes you do these things I just have to know!

  —Amy listen just, just listen . . . he came down across from her, drank off half his glass,—sometimes I, let me get off this damned jacket . . . and he was up to pull it off, finished his drink and came down beside her.—I mean sometimes there are situations that just don’t seem to have any solution in their own context do you, do you see what I mean? And the only way to, the only thing to do is step in and change the whole context almost like, sometimes it’s like a whole little play starting in my head Amy you’re so, just so damned elegant wherever we went today everybody so damned deferential, in the bank they would have kissed your feet and that woman in Bergdorf’s and I felt like . . .

  —Jack all that’s just because they know my . . .

  —No but finally in Tripler’s how God damned helpless you feel in an elevator and standing there this summer suit sleeves halfway to my elbows no tie and that shirt and, and look at the trousers and that prosperous old bastard looking us over, he really looked like he was going to speak to you and I just suddenly thought grab a context before he can, looks like the daughter of wealth and breeding let the old bastard in his ninety dollar shoes think she’s taking me shopping, family has an aging halfwit son and she’s taking him out to buy a new, Amy? He came down as abruptly as she’d turned away,—I just do things sometimes that, I’m crazy about you and sometimes I just seem to do the wrong things I God damn it I always do I . . .

  —Jack don’t say things like that! she was up and past him, bare time for him to get in to fill his glass and come back to find her there, sheet drawn up and a gaze fixed on the ceiling that took life brought down to him with—I wished you’d been able to wear that suit out of the store, it makes you look awfully distinguished Jack I can’t wait till you have it.

  —I can’t either, he said unfastening his waist, undoing buttons, down beside her dislodging the sheet.

  —At least you got shirts but why you didn’t simply get a dozen, didn’t you oh! Jack that’s not . . . she’d grabbed for the glass rested on the white rise under his hand,—not friendly to bellies . . .! and the ice cubes rattled with its toss.

  —Not what?

  —It’s just something silly, some sort of newsletter a boy in my class had about commodity futures I just thought of it. We are friendly to bellies in the long term it said, isn’t that . . .

  —Show you I can be as friendly to bellies as . . .

  —No please . . . she caught his forehead as his lips caught its rise, tongue sought water welled there from the glass,—if we can get in these here bellies he said and I asked him what on earth he was talking about, that bleak little Vansant boy and it’s not funny, really. He’s so earnest so, he thinks there’s a millionaire behind everything he sees and that’s all he does see, it’s just all so sad really.

  —Know what you mean, I owe him a dollar.

  —Do you I owe him eighty cents, if he were, if only he weren’t so eager about all the wrong things, they’re not bad things really just, things . . .

  —What do you mean not bad things, ever seen him in the Post Office with that kid with the head like a toothbrush? that Hyde kid? See them in there together getting their mail you suddenly know what the industrial military complex is all about.

  She drew his head up.—I guess I just don’t want to think about it. It was awfully selfish of me to do it in the first place really, taking that job, I simply had to change things for a little, she said against his shoulder where her nails traced down,—and I think at first I really thought I could help but, oh it all seems so long ago that dreadful Mister Whiteback, that poor little Mister diCephalis and his ghastly wife . . . her hand measured ribs, moved on to twine a finger into hair.

  —Create a second class profession you fill it with second class people, there’s no . . .

  —And that poor Mister Glancy and even that poor creature Mister Vogel . . .

  —No well Vogel was, tell you the truth I couldn’t have held out as long as I did without Vogel. He’d get me aside for discussions on things like the feasibility of sending people by telegraph and . . .

  —Jack he was crazy wasn’t he? Her hand’s inquiry paused, found shapes changing dimension in its warmth,—really quite insane?

  —Probably still is . . . he came on his side, closer,—really just a question of technical difficulties though, run into problems of preserving life in the tissue when you lower the organism’s degree of activity to keep it stable while part of it’s being broken down to be recreated somewhere else but . . .

  —No Jack honestly . . . her hand, stilled, moved again, filling.

  —Had some interesting theories on the genesis of the steam engine too, he said hand running down her side to descend the slope turned from him, seeking warmth,—great admirer of yours . . .

  —Oh I know that’s what was so sad but, but it wasn’t even that Jack how can children grow up thinking things like, that same boy J R he thought a museum exhibit he’d seen pictures of Jack he thought the Eskimos in it were stuffed oh it’s not funny . . . her fingers closed abruptly in their rise,—and when things happened like that poor boy Buzzie and that tragic accident that child who was actually shot I’ve kept myself even from thinking about it . . .

  —Look it would have been an accident if it hadn’t happened, point everything’s reached Amy it God damned near couldn’t not have happened . . .

  —No I don’t want to talk about it it’s all the same thing, that and stuffed Eskimos and sending people by wire and I don’t . . .

  But he’d come up on one elbow against her,—there’s one thing though listen I don’t want you to think I’m, in the elevator today that I think being retarded or simple minded is . . .

  —Jack I don’t want to talk about it . . . her hand resumed its flow,—I’m not brave really . . .

  —But if you thought I think it’s funny because I, because a boy I knew in boarding school family so God damned wealthy all they exchanged at Christmas were three percent municipals I used to try to help him with his stamp collection, they probably could have bought him the British Guiana two cents rose if they’d ever thought of him as anything but retarded luggage but the Minuet in G you’d look at him and know he was hearing things you didn’t, knew things nobody else did my throat still closes when I hear that, sweetest lonely God damned person I ever . . . she pulled him down silenced against her, his face held close as though to free her own for some expression, or for none, fixed on the ceiling as her fingers rose and fell and her free hand came to stroke his temple,—because Amy I wouldn’t want you to think I . . . and she pulled him over lips gone in the curve of her throat, her knees reared till ankle caught ankle at his back, nails bit his shoulders raking
down and her head slipped from the edge and then her shoulders all rise and fall as they came off together to the floor between the beds where her feet rose wide, found purchase to bring her weight up disputing the plunge of his, to still dispute it when it was destroyed until her nails relented at his neck, allowed a gasp that almost shaped her name.

  —Jack. You’re heavy.

  He helped her up, got a knee behind her sitting back on the welter of sheets, reaching his glass.—Always afraid the damned telephone’s going to go off the minute we . . .

  —Jack please that’s not fair you, I told you at supper there are just things, some family things I have to straighten out I’m just waiting for Daddy to call and . . .

  —Sounds like somebody I’d hate to meet in a dark alley, he . . .

  —No don’t be silly he’s not like that he’s just, remote, I’d talk to him and he’d always seem to listen so attentively . . . she sank back there against his knee,—standing there listening and shaping his nose, he’d broken it in college football and they injected it with something that softens in hot weather oh I know it sounds awful but it’s not, really . . . She ran a nail along the leg he’d brought up across hers,—so attentive but I finally realized he was always attentive to something else, it was all still like coming to tell him something when I was small and he was watching people play football on television . . . She parted hair still caught with perspiration to her face,—Mama always said he only watched because he liked to see someone lose . . . and then, as though suddenly aware how she was sitting, scissored there,—Jack I’ve never done things like, like we’ve done I, I think we need air could you open the . . . but his leg behind brought her close where he caught away a last strand clinging to her lips to bring his there, slip them away along her hair, along a collarbone and off her shoulder coming on his back and staring up as though such things had never happened anywhere all hair and airless rutting shrunk myriad crease and fold hid in the simple parting of her breasts.—Jack . . .?