The Recognitions (Dalkey Archive edition) (64 page)

—Christ, my boy, you’ve got to get hold of yourself.

—Small choice, then, to take what others leave.

—You feel better now, do you? Take a rest. After this Herbert picture, take a rest. And just forget these crazy things you’ve said. Hell, you can paint this picture and you know it. And as for what you said about . . . well hell, we’ll just forget the other things but don’t forget, just keep away from Valentine.

—You are so damned familiar, Brown.

—Why Jesus Christ, my boy, I’ve known you quite awhile now. I want to watch out for you. And keep away from him, do you hear?

—So damned familiar.

—I’d trade him for you any day. Now take care of yourself. You’ll feel better when you get yourself back to work.

In the hall doorway, the weight of the arm remains extended for another moment, and the cumbrous diamonds, hanging beside the rough cheek. Behind, the dog lay licking her belly. Beside hung the portrait, udder-like hands to the front. The weight of the arm and the diamonds, the milkless mamma, malfeasant, even at pendulant rest, that and the sound of the dog, licking, licking, in pestilential heat, as inertly oppressive as the hand, shaded in insensible intimacy to suffocation; and had Recktall Brown not, just then, patted the shoulder which he released, saying, —Get hold of yourself and finish up this last one, my boy, and then take a rest. You just need a rest . . . the shadow which united them, after an instant’s complication, might have been simplified by one-third.

—Hi, gang! Your friend Lazarus the Laughing Leper brings you radio’s newest kiddies’ program,
The Lives of the Saints
, sponsored by
Necrostyle
. Before we hear from your friend Lazarus, just let me ask you a question. Does Mummy have trouble sleeping? If she does, and ha ha what Mummy doesn’t, ask her if she knows about
Necrostyle
, the wafer-shaped sleeping pill. Remember the story Laughing Lazarus told you last week, kids? About the saint who didn’t sleep for the last eight years of her life? That’s right. Agatha of the Cross. But Mummy’s not a saint, is she.
Mummy needs her sleep. Tell her about
Necrostyle
, if she doesn’t already know. Don’t forget, kids,
Necrostyle
, the wafer-shaped sleeping pill. No chewing, no aftertaste . . .

—Ellery, Esther interrupted.

—Just a second. Ellery sat forward with a newspaper rolled in his hand, his head down, listening to the radio. —This is a new account.

—your friend Laughing Lazarus will be here in just a minute, but listen kids. Here’s one real confidential question I want to ask you first, just between us. Do you have enough brothers and sisters? I know, you love big brother or little Janey, don’t you. But too many can spoil your chances. Look at it this way. When you have pie for dessert, how many ways does it have to be divided up? Do you get your share? If you have enough brothers and sisters, or even if you don’t have any and don’t want any, tell Mummy about
Cuff. Cuff
, the new wonder preventative.
Cuff
is guaranteed not to damage internal tissues or have lasting effects. But you don’t have to remember all those long words, just tell Mummy to ask about
Cuff
next time she visits her friendly neighborhood druggist. Remember,
Cuff
. It’s on the
Cuff
.

—I feel ill, Esther said.

—Listen.

—and
Zap
. But I’ll be back to tell you more about
Zap
later on. Now, here’s your friend Laughing Lazarus, ha ha, who’s going to tell us about what happened to Blessed Dodo of Hascha, when he . . .

—Can you turn it off now? Esther asked, resting her head back, her eyes closed.

—Rose wants to hear it. I’ll just turn it down, Ellery said. He walked over to the radio with the laborious movements of a football player demonstrating that simply the act of being physical is one of high achievement. Ellery was lithely, easily built. He handled himself and everything round him with an air of clumsy familiarity. When he walked it was with an air of patient indifference to where he was going, though he never arrived anywhere else. Clothes looked well on him: he was what tailors with a sporting bent had in mind when they designed loose-fitting jackets and pleatless narrow-legged trousers. Cigarettes smoked from between his fingers lifelessly, forgotten, leaving him unresponsible for the ashes which dropped to the rug when they grew heavy enough. Smoking, he blew rings heavy with disdain which seemed to jar wherever they hit. He looked at things and at faces with patient boredom, and he shrugged his shoulders. Sometimes he winked, as he did now at Rose who sat on the floor, cowered against the loudspeaker
of the radio. Ellery turned the volume down. Rose stared at him.

So did Esther. —Sometimes . . . I hear those things and I just can’t believe them, she said.

—It’s a big account, Necrostyle Products. That’s the way to get at them, through the kids.

—But it . . . how can it be so vulgar? She breathed that last word heavily. She had opened her bloodshot eyes to stare at the ceiling.

—Vulgar? That’s what people like. That’s what vulgar means, people.

—Ellery, but I don’t see why . . . I don’t see why . . .

—You told me that yourself. They didn’t teach Latin at Yale.

She lowered her eyes to look at him. In her lap, Esther held the kitten too close, threatening the strain of life in it with her attention.

—Not that I ever knew of, anyhow. He shrugged his shoulders. —How many people have you got coming to your party?

—Twenty or so, she said wearily.

—It’s a hell of a time for a party. For you to give a party.

—I know it is, do you think I feel like it?

—Why don’t you just call it off, then? Because you’ve already invited this great poet you’ve always wanted to meet. I know why, too, honey. But believe me, it won’t help your writing any.

—I wish . . . She was staring at her typewriter and its silent litter.

—Isn’t one enough?

—I wish you wouldn’t talk this way now, please. We’ve got to find a doctor, Ellery, quickly.

—There’s a call I have to make, he said, and went into the bedroom where the telephone was with the newspaper rolled in his hand. His voice broke above the radio. —Just a second, operator. It’s the Hospital of the Immaculate some damn thing, hang on a minute . . . He opened the newspaper on the bed.

Rose turned from Blessed Dodo of Hascha. —Someone is at the door, she said to her sister. —Blessed Dodo, Blessed Didée, Blessed Bartolo of San Gimignano . . .

—Rose!

—Or even Doctor Biggs of Lima Peru.

—You . . . ? Embracing his weariness in her own voice, Esther opens.

—Don’t disturb, don’t disturb. Only to find some things I left here, for safekeeping, they say. I enter sparingly.

—And Rose? says Rose.

—Rose.

—Rose of Lima, Peru. Saint Rose of Lima. Then you . . . Don Diego Jacinto Paceco . . .

—Rose, now, that’s enough, says Esther. —She is . . . but you . . . ?

(—Yeh, that’s the guy, honey, he jumped out a window but the newspaper says he only broke a few ribs . . .)

—My wife God love you, even now some Mozart especially. Symphony Number Thirty-seven especially. Four four four.

—But you, you . . . here you are.

—Kind words then, while it’s still daylight. Have you kept my secrets, then? I’ve come to get them.

(—Visiting hours, two to four and seven to eight. Thanks honey.)

—You look . . . are you . . . is everything all right? Esther comes alive; even her eyes seem to clear. —I have so much . . . there must be some way to . . . is it drinking has you this way?

—Its powers of magnification embrace us all, do they not, or do they not. Well, into the study, for I’ve trusted you there.

—Well you . . .

—I . . .

—Oh, this . . . is my husband, Ellery?

—How do you . . .

—This is a . . . friend, Ellery.

Lighting a cigarette with the hand he had used to shake the hand he had been offered, Ellery sat down. —I fixed it up, he said to Esther. —It’s a cinch.

She looked at him, her eyes wide, daring relief. Ellery drew heavily on his cigarette, and then sent a smoke ring rolling toward Rose curled before the radio. Rose cringed at its approach. —She’s like a kid, isn’t she. I could probably get a good audience reaction from her on this program. Ellery picked up a magazine. It was an issue of
Dog Days
devoted to Doberman pinschers which had been here when he came.

§ A
NNOUNCEMENT
§
As a Token of his Appreciation
To every bitch who presents him with a Champion heir
Dictator will give an additional service
with his compliments

Ch. Dictator von Ehebruch was offered at stud (“to bitches for whom only the best is good enough”) for one hundred fifty dollars.

—My eyes. May I show him my eyes?

—Sit down, Rose. Rose has been upset, Esther said, standing with the kitten. —She had a job in Bloomingdale’s for the Christmas
rush, and she was victimized. They fired her. Let’s . . . sit down?

—Somebody pulled the old twenty-dollar-bill switch on her, Ellery said looking up from his magazine. —Somebody comes in and pays for something with a twenty with the corner torn off, then another guy comes in and pays with a buck, and when he gets change for only a buck he raises hell, see? He says he paid with a twenty, and he’s got the torn corner to prove it, he got it from the other guy outside . . .

—It’s a shame, Esther interrupted. —All she could tell police about the first one was that he had a hair-line mustache.

—And his hair! Rose burst in, —that he wore like a hat. She stared at them, and then returned to the radio and left them there abandoned to each other’s vacancy like three children met in a summer bungalow colony where the plumbing in each ugly cottage is the same, the beds sagged in discouragement, used only for supporting sleep, where the heat of the sun serves only to excuse the appearance of white-skinned parents in offensive states of undress while they pretend that there is something new under this sun and they have come to find it; while the children know that there are no new secrets, and so they are satisfied to keep the old ones from each other.

—What day is it? Esther asked, pushing the switch on the table lamp beside her.

—Wednesday.

—Thursday, Ellery corrected, damning a day later, and she winced.

—What is it, Rose?

—How old you all looked, when the light went on. How quickly you grew up together, Rose said from shadow.

—I just read the Pope uses an electric razor, said Ellery. —I wonder what make it is, how much do you think he’d take for a testimonial.

Looking across the room Esther said, —But . . . can I get you something? Are you all right?

—Just for a minute, I was dizzy just for a minute. But here, I’ve come for other things . . .

—Are you . . . have you been working lately?

—Not lately, no. Not lately.

Ellery got up suddenly, dropping
Dog Days;
and he picked up another magazine as he crossed the room. —Esther tells me you’ve done a lot of painting, and I’ve got something for you if you want something like this. He held forth a page of advertisements. —This here, this is one of our accounts. He indicated the largest. Over
a saccharine line drawing of a woman, her head covered, eyes raised,
YES, the Mother of God WILL relieve Your Pain, Disease, Distress . . . The name of the Virgin Mary is making the headlines in today’s newspapers . . . Write today for your free copy
 . . .

Beneath, another ad said, S
TIR UP YOUR LIVER BILE

Beneath, another ad said, Are YOU troubled with
STICKY HOT SORE FEET
?

—I just thought of this, Ellery went on. —I’ll bet you could do it, and it would pay you good money. They’re spending a hell of a lot on publicity. See, at first here we were going to have reproductions of some old masters, you know, pictures of the Virgin Mary like you see in museums. But this is better. It’s more modern, catches the eye. And if you could paint a couple of pictures for us, the Virgin doing . . . something, whatever the hell she does, but a real arty picture . . .

—Ellery, please . . . Esther said weakly.

—They’ve got a lot of money behind them, religion’s getting popular all over again. It would be a good deal for you, and I can . . .

—Ellery, wait. Let him go, Esther said. —It isn’t . . . he wouldn’t . . .

—All right, the hell with it, Ellery said, returning to his chair. —I just thought maybe he could do it, but he didn’t need to be so damn rude did he? Ellery picked up
Dog Days
again, watching the door to the studio come half closed. —I just thought maybe I could help him out. He returned to Ch. Dictator von Ehebruch, and his chest filled as he studied the Doberman.

Esther did not hear; but sat staring at the door half closed upon her: Persephone then, and Proserpina now, the same queen in another country, she stared at the doorway to his kingdom and faltered forward.

—What is it? Can I help you? she asked, entering. —Rose has been sleeping in here, that’s why it’s different.

—Well, I trust Rose then. What are these marvelous things?

—Oh, those are pictures of eyes. Rose does them. She likes . . . eyes.

—Somewhere, strips of canvas, somewhere strips of wood, painted upon. Hidden, Rose helped.

—Then you were here? You were here last night?

—Or was it?

—Because she said, Rose, said, she’d seen you in the mirror. And we . . . I didn’t understand. I was worried for Rose.

—The mirror, there?

—I’ve seen you in it too.

—To correct bad drawing. There.

—Under here? She put the kitten on the floor, stooping, reared the long lines of her thighs, and recovered a package wrapped in newspaper. —This?

Then face to face so abruptly that she startled back, her lips move before she can speak. —You don’t look well, is all she finds to say.

—Not myself?

—Not yourself? When you loved me, then . . .

—When you loved me?

—I was a whole dimension larger then, and now . . .