J R

by William Gaddis

  He was back in muttering, dug out a cigarette and lit it before he came down to the sofa—forty million tax credits Christ thought he was up here writing music what the hell he’s been, where was I . . . he picked up the folder, set the enchilada can on Moody’s—get anything done here ought to just let the God damned thing ring, consoled only by the fact that Madame Bernhardt had allowed herself to be photographed in a yellow mackintosh as ungainly as his for the jaunt, Wilde still knew no country in the world where machinery is so lovely as in America. I have always wished to believe that the line of strength and the line of beauty are one. That wish was realized when I contemplated American machinery. It was not until I had seen the waterworks at Chicago that I realized the wonders of machinery. The rise and fall of the steel rods, the symmetrical motion of great wheels is the most beautifully rhythmic thing I have ever seen. Spread broadcast, this particular aesthetic experience of Wilde’s was now leveling men’s claims to being absolutely equal since they were absolutely free, the symmetrical motions of those great wheels homogenizing their no, no wait spread broadcast, this wait. On less aesthetic levels, Wilde’s experience spread broadcast leveling no damn it leveling levels wait. In less aesthetic versions, the symmetrical motions were, motions were, no, no elsewhere. Elsewhere the symmetrical motion . . . he tapped ashes into the enchiladas, tapped one foot against the other on Thomas Register.—Leveling men’s claims to being absolutely equal since they were absolutely free, the symmetrical motion of, symmetrical motion of God damn it, the symmetrical motion . . . he sat there tapping,—where the hell did that come from . . . and he had the guitar by the throat, plucked it, cradled it and strummed a chord—can’t be his no whole God damned thing’s out of tune . . . he hunched over it trying strings, tightening keys—owner must be a deaf mute . . . he plucked, tried chords, loosened a key, tightened one, tried a string, a chord, a bar—thing of Granados how the hell does it go . . . he made a fresh start. Another. The long hand crept from NO DEPOSIT, passed the short, the second hand swept past them both to NO RETURN, reappeared and was gone—almost had it that time God damn it just try to get anything done here . . .

  He got in past 200 2-Ply, braced a foot and reached,—hello . . .? No wait this is . . . wait this isn’t . . . Look this isn’t Mister Bast he’s not here, he . . . Lunch? but it’s . . . too bad yes but . . . Well look it’s not his fault if you brought in Pouilly Fuissé and this salmon mousse before you called, he’s not even . . . that you’ve got a grand piano in your suite now fine I’ll tell him, good . . . what? Me? No that’s . . . yes that’s very kind of you but . . . no I have a lunch appointment just leaving for it, good . . . I will yes, au voir . . . he came down cautiously,—seems to lead quite a life up here . . . and he picked up a red cup to rinse it under the torrent in the tub, fill it at the one in the sink and drop in a teabag, back to set it on Moody’s and find a cigarette—get through one simple sentence here before something else where the hell was I, published this ten years ago it really would have been here, disappointed with Ni, spread broadcast yes. Spread broadcast, this aesthetic no wait what did I, elsewhere yes. Elsewhere, close and intimate acquaintance got with the wonders of machinery at first hand were lev, was leveling men’s claims to being absolutely equal since they were absolutely free, the symmetrical motion of those great wheels homogenizing their differences till Christ damn it now. At less exalted. At the less exalted levels where close and intimate acquaintance was, with the wonders of damn it God damn it . . .! He reached for the cup, spilled it back on Moody’s—get something to eat just no God damned energy, where I put those cigarettes. Now. At less exalted levels the synep, symmet, the symmetrical motion . . . his head came back, his eyes climbed 2-Ply Facial Tissue Yellow through planes of sunlight from the askew blind to rest on the Baldung propped up there,—that symmetrical motion . . . and the cigarette, dangling unlit, finally fell.

  ——mouthwash with the distinctive continen . . .

  —Wha . . . he sat up abruptly, brought a hand up against the sun come round full on his face.

  ——to perk up your personality. Do something nice for . . .

  —Perk up your personality you bastard, thought that God damned thing was dead . . . He was up,—thought I, somebody at the door . . .? he got through past the torrent at the tub—one minute’s peace get anything done here, yes?

  —Mister Bass . . .?

  —Just a . . . he got it opened—good heavens! He stared down into décolletage—he’s, he’s not here, what . . .

  —Erebus Production buy im a fuck an ere I am.

  —Oh, oh I see, well . . .

  —E’s not ere Mister Bass?

  —Not, not right now but it’s hardly . . .

  —I ave a eavy schedule you know? Wen e’s ere.

  —Don’t know but wait, wait I’ve seen you somewhere yes in a drawer once, saw you in a man’s shirt drawer . . .

  —Don be crazy I don go in man’s drawers no, goodbye . . .

  —Bet you don’t, had a mustache too yes last time I saw you you had a mustache . . .

  —You very crazy goodbye . . .

  He dug a cigarette out and lit it before he got the door closed—couldn’t have been, Christ imagine that . . . barely past the tub—now what, God damn it . . . he braced a foot—hello . . .? Wait who’s . . . ah oui. Oui c’est fait, tout . . . l’inventaire complet oui, même que dans le catalogue c’est warehoused hell’s the word for warehouse. Déposée oui déposée au port de Houston . . . non non comme owston, en Texas . . . comment? No, non c’est un état, Texas . . . Oui tout reste ahm, préparé . . . Argent oui on peut payer là . . . là oui en Texas même si vous . . . look écoutez damn it just pay for it and get it out of there packed ready to go tout préparé oui . . . you’re welcome yes pas de quoi monsieur what the hell that’s all about never heard anybody so excited . . .

  ——to join the biggest savings bank family in town . . .

  —Problem’s I’m the God damned aerial, get in under their signal here . . . he crouched, dragged 24/One Pound H-O from the heap, dislodged a cache that clattered to the floor like broken glass—God’s name was that . . . he was down picking them up, held one to the light, another—who the hell’s been taking pictures of zebras, damn it got to get through this thing . . . He reached the folder, sat hunched on H-O—get through one simple sentence here, just one. Spread broadcast no, what was, at the less, at less exalted levels the symmetrical motion leveling God damn it, well God damn it what’s wrong with it like it was. Spread broadcast, this aesthetic experience of Wilde’s was leveling men’s claims to being fine what the hell’s wrong with that, homogenizing their fid, their differences didn’t write it to be read out loud anyhow, homogenizing their differences till by the time Horatio Alger died the hand at the machine had a distinctly childish cast and Ragged Dicks were everywhere, one and, one and? Supposed to be in, one in seven children between ten and fifteen out working for wages, a body thirty times the size of the U S Army for whom refinements on Cartwright’s loom and advances in the canning, in canning machinery and the glass problem’s that God damned till. Homogenizing their differences till by the time wait, shrinking, just use shrinking. Shrinking their differences till the hand at the machine had a distinctly childish yes Cartwright’s loom advances in the canning, in canning machinery and the glass industry swelled the coercion of equal opportunity to the turgid proportions of Alger’s own achievement in a hundred and nineteen works, a generation indoctrinated in the comforting assurance that virtue is always rewarded by wealth and honor nothing wrong with that is there, and a century labeled one of the most fascinating chapters in the history of man’s upward progress by one of its survivors, Reverend Newell Dwight Millis. Where the hell did I find Reverend Newell Dwight Millis Christ start checking all my sources I’ll be, have to look for those notes. For the first time government, invention, art, industry, and religion have served all the people rather than the patrician classes. The millions join in the upward march now what the he
ll’s wrong with all that, nothing so God damned difficult why everybody says it’s difficult, now. And while those millions saw where they were marching much as no, much the way, much the way Mark Twain saw them through a glass eye, darkly, the one eyed man, these one eyed men no. And while those millions, while those millions . . . he came forward to pick up a slide—never saw so God damned many zebras . . . he picked up another, another, finally swept the entire pile toward him and settled back against Won’t Burn, Smoke or Smell to hold them one by one up to the failing light,—antelope looks like eland where the hell did all these come from . . .

  The long hand drove the short before it into NO RETURN.—Christ! he came forward—where was I. And while those millions yes, and while those millions saw where they were marching up to the one eyed man, these one eyed men no. And while those millions where’s that pencil, must expect to clear thirty or forty million next three or four years . . . Figures appeared in the margin—how the hell many shares outstanding though can’t figure the . . . he sat there tapping, finally came up all at once and in to find a number penciled under KER and dial.—Hello? I’m calling Mister Pis . . . yes this is Gryn, Piscator? Listen yes just had an idea on your Ereb . . . is who here? Whose boss your boss? here? No I don’t even . . . been reading what statements to the press no I don’t even . . . No told you this morning Mister Bast didn’t mention any leases on . . . Look I don’t know anything about this subcommittee either just this Ray-X inventory whatever the hell it is they’re picking it up tonight down there paying cash on the . . . don’t know anything about that either look I just called on this Ereb . . . class suit no he didn’t mention that either I just called with an idea on Erebus if you’ll listen for a min . . . Leva no Leva hasn’t called sent up a Mother’s Day greeting a little while ago but . . . Never mind no, no let’s forget the whole thing sorry I bothered you I . . . All right can you just listen for a minute then? Know how many shares of common Erebus has outstanding . . .? No but . . . book value of the stock’s one sixty-eight yes but . . . Look why waste the time chasing down their stockholders’ list just publish a flat offer eighty-five ninety dollars a share knock the bottom right out of it, talk that’s going around on these losses small stockholders must be so God damned scared they’ll trample each other to death dumping it in your laps probably be picking it up at fifty or sixty before the . . . who Leva? Why should he be, he’ll still have the big studio won’t he? Go right on making his Christ awful pictures build up your tax loss pos . . . you’re welcome yes good . . . Crawley no nobody named Crawley’s called goodbye, I . . . Look I’d like to help out on it but . . . No, I . . . no . . . I don’t know no, now . . . No listen I . . . listen I just told you I don’t know a God damned thing about these loans voting trust rumor or anything else Mister Piscator, something God damned important here I’m working on and . . . what? All right yes I’ll take a message for Mister Bast if it’s brief, what . . . yes a shipment of sweaters ready to be flown back from Hong Kong, what . . . What, it’s overloaded . . .? If the pilot’s ready to fly it anyhow what’s the difference if the plane is over . . . oh. The price the insurance company’s named for the premium would wipe out your profit I’ll tell him when I . . . no I . . . no I told you I . . . and the what . . .? No I don’t know when he . . . No now wait listen, listen. Save us a lot of trouble here look, there must be a girl around the Hong Kong factory there who’d like a free ride to New York, give her a handful of quarters how much are the sweaters worth at retail . . . Fine just insure her for a quarter of a million write in the company as beneficiary if it goes down you’re . . . fine yes you’re . . . you’re welcome yes good . . . yes goodbye! Christ, give him an inch he wants what the hell did I come in here looking for, dictionary . . .

  Film cans crashed as he got a foot against 24-One Pint Mazola in ascent—probably have to go through every God damned box in the place . . . but he got no further than and the first book he took from it, slowly settling back up there turning unhurried pages motionless till he reached for the bulb strung overhead, rummaging occasionally for a cigarette and reaching the top of a film can up for an ashtray, turning page after unhurried page till he started up abruptly snapping the black covers closed with an emptied cigarette pack thrust in at page 149—never should have called him back Christ, tell him Grynszpan’s taken cyanide . . . he stretched across QUICK QUAKER,—hello . . .? the what . . .? It was John Adams yes what the . . . what . . .? Look I don’t . . . look God damn it I don’t want a free dance lesson no, goodbye!

  The second hand rose from NO DEPOSIT and swept the vacant arc to descend to NO RETURN—whole God damned day gone . . . he sank down on H-O, reached the blue folder,—out of cigarettes can’t be . . . he was up again rummaging pockets,—out for something to eat probably work better at night anyhow all these God damned interruptions, she can’t be back before Christ! He was back at QUICK QUAKER, reached up to dial,—Tom? Yes listen I . . . Ninety-sixth Street yes listen just realized there’s a phone up here, told you I gave her your number there when she calls you can . . . No I know she can’t be back yet but . . . what you knew Bast had a phone put in here . . .? No wait look if you’re doing that just have all your calls transferred to this number, anything went wrong now I’d . . . Haven’t even been out to eat up here all day working yes, hardly get through one God damned sentence people at the door phone ringing gets calls from every . . . no just trying to help him out sounds like he has about twenty part time jobs left here this morning with an armload of music Indian headdress God knows just trying not to think about it, I . . . Fine yes read you some of it right now if you . . . what? Oh, no well not, not yet not exactly I didn’t mean actually writing no can’t find the God damned typewriter, thought we’d brought Schramm’s in but . . . going over this first part again yes read you some of it right now if you . . . yes I know it Tom but . . . know how many times you have yes but I’ve made some changes thought you might . . . know I said that too but . . . look I know it but God damn it I can’t without my notes, spend half the God damned day up here looking for my notes so much stuff piled up by now the place is like Kafka’s . . . what this last load of yours? Hasn’t come yet no thought it was going back into Schramm’s no place left here to put a . . . no just out for something to eat haven’t felt too God damned well either I . . . really? Which tooth is it . . . Sounds more like a nerve dying not a God damned thing you can . . . know it yes hard as hell to concentrate on any . . . know it yes not a God damned thing you can . . . know it yes look I’ve got to get off go out and get something to . . . Who said that your lawyer or hers . . .? that you have to pay her lawyer’s fee too just part of the God damned system nothing you can . . . no I know she’s the one who pulled out look Tom . . . I know he’s your son yes but . . . look from now on you’ve got responsibility without authority, whole thing’s like driving the back end of a God damned hook-and-ladder downhill at night I’ve got to get off Tom I . . . who? Well what the hell did you think he’d . . . know what a fatuous bastard this German publisher is what the hell did you expect, look I’ve got to get something to eat working up here all day haven’t had anything think I can work better at night anyhow and wait listen, this phone call . . . Well she might, anything went wrong now I’d cut my . . . know it yes look I’ve got a good root canal man if you need one just . . . two or three hundred depends on the tooth, let me know if you . . . know it yes won’t keep you on, goodbye . . .

  The door brought in a cascade of mail swept through with a foot, the last pieces kicked in from the hall as he got it closed against the lull of falling waters broken only by occasional peals of the phone until it shuddered in again, hung open behind the flap of sandals past the tub and 200 2-Ply, dump of mail and the bag shaken over it at the sofa where motion came down stilled against

  ——prompt temporary relief by reducing painful swelling of . . .

  The peal of the phone convoked 24-One Pint Mazola and NO DEPOSIT NO RETURN, Moody’s, H-O, Musical Couriers and lampshades, paper bags,
Appletons’, 500 Novelty Rolls 1-Ply White and the collapse on the sofa alike, abandoned them to

  ——Alsaka Development working day and night to bring the American family its full share of the world’s energy. Alsaka. A proud member of the J R Family of Companies. When you see a product. A service. A promise of human betterment for all. If it’s J R. It’s just right. J R. An American family of American com . . .

  And the flap of sandals took up from the dark, the mail bag dragged empty past 200 2-Ply out the door left hung open on the tub’s three gallon a minute torrent to the sink’s two.

  —Thought I closed the God damned door, Bast? Anybody here? What’s her, Rhoda . . .? He got it closed, in over mail to the sofa where he dropped a paper bag—get right back to this before I, get it done Christ published it ten years ago it would have where the hell is that light . . . he got the punctured lampshade, yanked, dug in the paper bag for cigarettes,—now. Where the, where was I tripods of Hephaestus no back at, millions here those God damned millions here. And while those millions saw where they were marching much as Mark Twain saw them through a glass eye, darkly, the, what, what the God damn it . . . He reached to shake the lamp, the light came on again,—much as Mark Twain saw them through a glass eye, darkly, the one, the good that’s it yes the good the good eye could now peer into hell’s that pencil, the good what damn it God damn it! Must have loosened the God damned plug when I, well Christ! Just look at the God damned thing and it comes on again what was I, get through one sentence get through one God damned word this way . . . The longer hand lapped the shorter, the arc went dark—could have cleared up the whole God damned thing tonight first God damned peaceful no, can’t be no middle of the . . . he was up,—might be no she might be back . . .