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Orpheus Emerged

Page 13

by Jack Kerouac


  afternoon—well, now,

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  Prometheus

  bids thee

  farewell...”

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  Michael interrupted himself with a violent

  cough. “I’m sick,” he choked. “I’m too sick to

  live. Dégout! Dégout! I abandon all my natu-

  ral rights…” He went on talking thickly, and

  Paul no longer could make out what he was

  saying; and suddenly Michael’s face lit up.

  “Paul!” he cried. “I just remembered. You

  have my poetry with you, in your room. I

  want it! I want it to go down with me!”

  “Certainly!” cried Paul happily. “Go in

  and get it!”

  “Are you hinting anything!?” yelled

  Michael suspiciously. “Get out of my way—

  I’m going to get it!” And with this he lunged

  past Paul, almost knocking him down, and

  lumbered heavily into the hall. Paul was

  right at his heels.

  “It’s got to go with me, as a symbol of my

  failure,” Michael was muttering. He went

  into Paul’s room and wavered uncertainly.

  “Where is it?” he demanded menacingly.

  Paul was in the doorway. “On my desk,”

  he said. “There.”

  Michael scuffled to the desk and scooped

  up the papers, and folded them in a heap to

  fit into his coat pocket. Turning, he saw

  Helen standing by the couch in a shadowy

  corner of the room. He rubbed his hand

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  across his jaw, and smiled inwardly.

  “I’m having visions,” he told Paul.

  Staggering, he walked towards the door.

  “Visions! It’s wonderful. I just saw her…”

  “Well?” Paul drawled, still standing in the

  doorway and blocking the way.

  “Out of my way,” said Michael, waving his

  heap of papers.

  “It isn’t a vision,” said Paul quietly. “She

  is here. I told you she would come.”

  Michael frowned at Paul, and his lips

  began to tremble. He turned awkwardly,

  almost fearfully, and looked once again

  towards the shadowy corner. Helen came

  out of the shadows and walked soundlessly

  to Michael and Paul. The papers dropped

  out of Michael’s hand and he breathed out

  the name, as though he didn’t believe what

  he saw, and was afraid to believe. His

  clothes were dripping wet, and a little pool

  was forming at his feet; rain water poured

  down from his face, and now he was as pale

  as a sheet.

  Helen stopped just three feet away and

  gazed anxiously at Michael, a small wrinkle

  forming on her smooth white brow. One

  hand, she partly held out, trembling faintly…

  Michael’s eyes opened wide with some sort

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  of terror. He was trying to mumble something,

  his lips were working. Finally, he managed to

  mutter out, in a hoarse whisper, “I … thought …

  I … had no right … to … ever … see… you …

  again.”

  Helen advanced another foot.

  “Why not?” she asked clearly.

  Paul, standing in the doorway, was feel-

  ing so faint he didn’t dare speak; he thrust

  his hands in his pockets, because they were

  trembling; and leaned against the doorjamb

  in an attitude of complete exhaustion,

  watching Michael with something of fearful

  expectation. He opened his mouth to say,

  “Michael,” but no sound issued from his

  throat.

  “Because…” Michael was whispering

  awesomely, his eyes fastened on Helen’s

  face, “…because…of what…I’ve…done.”

  “What have you done?” Helen demanded

  softly.

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  Michael was swaying on his feet.

  “Lived?” he whispered.

  “That’s probably all,” Helen said. “Don’t

  you think you’re good enough for me?” She

  was almost on the verge of tears.

  Michael sobbed out one word, “No,” in a

  great quivering cry, and fell to his knees

  before Helen, and lay there huddled and

  weeping pathetically. Helen, with a groan

  of despair, immediately knelt down on the

  floor beside him and took him into her

  arms.

  Slowly, Paul closed the door and wavered

  across the room to sit on the couch and

  watch. There he sat.

  Michael was almost hysterical, his

  weeping grew more and more profuse.

  Helen said nothing, but only leaned her

  head against his and closed her eyes; and

  cupping Michael’s face in her hands she

  rocked his head gently back and forth, as

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  though to lull away his tears…

  Paul sat for a long while watching.

  Suddenly, he realized that the rain had

  stopped outside; there was only the sound of

  dripping eaves, and of a gentle breeze. He

  rose from the couch and went over to the

  window to open it.

  Michael was holding the weight of

  Helen’s dark hair in the palm of his hand

  and awesomely looking at it.

  Now—explosively, for there had been

  much silence—Paul said, “Well! So one

  rejoins his true love and the occasion is all

  tears! That’s the so-called poet all over. And

  money lying outside in the street!” Paul

  went to the door. He stopped and gazed

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  down at the two on the floor. Then, since

  they were both smiling up at him, he

  kneeled in front of them and took both their

  hands, while they too clasped hands. “The

  fault,” Paul said to Michael, “is with you,

  and not with anything else, not even God…

  If you actually know how to love her—

  though she can be bitter—she can flood

  your soul with light, all of your soul! Aren’t I

  right? Helen, tell him—I’m right!”

  Helen pressed both their hands tightly

  and only smiled…

  And in this manner, amid the happy

  endearments of the woman, and the silence

  of thought and imagination, the miracle of

  wholeness was renewed.

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  X

  AT MIDNIGHT,

  LEO,

  his studies finished, put out the light in

  his room and went down the dormitory

  hall. He knocked at Arthur’s door.

  “Come in!”

  Arthur was seated at his desk, writing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Writing some poetry.”

  “What about examinations?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Leo sat on the edge of Arthur’s desk.

  “I came here earlier,” he said, “but you

  weren’t in. I wanted to tell you some-


  thing amazing: I went to Paul’s tonight,

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  and there, with him in his dirty little room,

  was the most beautiful girl I ever saw in my

  life, and her name was Helen.”

  “Helen?” Arthur exclaimed. “Why, that’s

  the name Paul used to get Michael so mad

  the night of the party.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think they’re still there?”

  “I guess so, but Paul wouldn’t let me in.

  He closed the door in my face.”

  “Let’s go there,” Arthur said, rising and

  putting on his coat. “And where’s Michael?”

  “I left him in the Boulevard Bar. He was

  weeping and getting drunk.”

  “Good Lord!”

  They started down the stairs. Arthur

  seemed very excited: “I was just working

  out something,” he told Leo happily. “I want

  to show it to Michael.”

  “What is it?”

  “It isn’t finished yet. It’s an idea. A poem

  about the poet and God.”

  They were out on the street; it had

  stopped raining. Great gaps in the clouds

  revealed clusters of stars, and across the

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  sodden campus darkness, the boulevard

  glistened in the freshness and glitter of the

  lights.

  Julius was just then coming across the

  campus and they met him.

  “I’ve just been to the Boulevard Bar,” he

  told them. “They told me that Michael was

  thrown out for disturbing the peace, upset-

  ting the table.”

  “Oh my God!” cried Leo, laughing. “I

  should have taken him home. I knew he’d

  get too drunk!”

  “Come on with us,” Arthur told Julius.

  “We’re going over to Paul’s to see the myste-

  rious Helen we’ve heard so much about.”

  “Helen?” exclaimed Julius, suddenly

  quite interested.

  “Yes. And Leo claims her to be the most

  beautiful girl he ever saw.”

  They hastened down M street and turned

  to enter Paul’s gate.

  “There’s no light,” put in Leo.

  Arthur pushed open the hall door and

  they all trooped in; in Paul’s room, they lit a

  match and found an oil lamp. There was no

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  one there, and even the old tattered rain-

  coat that had hung on a nail for months

  beside the little table, was gone. Just a pair

  of old shoes beneath the bed.

  “Let’s go see if they’re in the Boulevard

  Bar,” Arthur suggested. “They must be

  around somewhere.”

  “It’s strange,” Julius said softly.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Once again in the street, they marched

  three abreast towards the bar. Suddenly,

  Leo cried out and pointed up the boulevard.

  “There! There’s Paul now, and he’s with

  her!”

  Arthur and Julius turned to see.

  “But you’re crazy,” Julius said. “That’s

  not Paul. That’s Michael.”

  “It’s Paul’s old raincoat…don’t you recog-

  nize him? Let’s catch up to them…” And

  they started hurrying up the boulevard.

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  Helen and her

  lover were

  standing on a

  trolley island

  in the middle

  of the boule-

  vard, just

  beneath a

  street lamp,

  with arms

  entwined

  around each

  other’s

  waists.

  A trolley was clanging towards them.

  “But he’s too tall to be Paul,” Julius was

  saying as he hurried along after Arthur and

  Leo. “Michael’s taller.”

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  “Nonsense,” laughed Leo. “He’s too

  husky to be Michael.”

  “Hey!” Arthur now yelled, as he hastened

  his footsteps and waved his hand at Helen

  and her lover. Helen turned and smiled. To

  Leo and Julius, Arthur said: “She does look

  beautiful from here, that Helen. I’ve always

  wanted to meet her, after all the mystery

  that enshrouded her!…”

  The trolley was now pulling up in front of

  the two people on the island and stopping.

  Helen turned once again and waved her

  hand at the oncoming students.

  “There,” Arthur said, hurrying. “She’s

  waving at us. But look! They look as

  though… They are! They’re getting into the

  trolley!”

  “Well!” snapped Julius, a little peeved.

  “There’s no sense in hurrying any further.”

  He stopped in his tracks. They were still

  about a hundred or so feet from the trolley

  island. Helen and the other had gotten into

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  the trolley and now it was pulling away and

  clanging its bell.

  “Well!” panted Arthur, a bit disappointed,

  with arms akimbo, standing and watching

  the departing trolley.

  Then they saw Michael, or Paul, or

  whomever they thought it was, come to the

  back window of the trolley and wave at

  them as it reeled away. Helen was at his

  side, and she too was waving.

  Then, in another moment, the trolley was

  on the bridge and speeding over the river

  towards the outskirts of the city.

  “They should at least have waited for us,”

  Leo was now saying sadly. “But I guess they

  wanted to catch that trolley. Damn that

  Paul.”

  “It wasn’t Paul!” Julius insisted again.

  “Well, whoever it was,” Leo went on discon-

  solately, “I have a feeling we’ll never see them

  again, neither one of them. I can feel it by the

  way they were waving us good-bye.”

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  “Don’t be silly,” said Arthur. “Well, we

  might as well go to the Boulevard Bar and

  have a few drinks. I want to show you my

  poetry.”

  “It was Michael,” Julius was still insisting

  to Leo.

  Leo sighed and waved an impatient hand

  at him. “All right, all right. But we’ll never

  see them again.”

  They were all three very silent as they

  walked to the Boulevard Bar. And of course,

  they were indeed destined never to see Paul

  or Michael again—as Leo had instinctively

  divined—but they were not destined to form

  any vague notion of what had really hap-

  pened that night until several weeks later,

  when Arthur, coming back from a class one

  day, found a letter in his mailbox.

  It read: “Amenehmet looks upon the

  beauty of the sun!”—a quotation which

  Arthur remembered from his studies in

  Egyptian history—and it was signed,


  “Orpheus.” This was when the first faint

  understanding of the full significance of

  what had happened, began to come to

  Arthur.

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  Excerpts from Jack

  Kerouac’s Journals

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  Journals 1943-’44

  Jan. 1944

  We are all too sensitive to go on: it is too cold, and our

  bodies are too exhausted. There is too much life around.

  The multitude is feverish and ill. There is war where

  men sleep on the snow, and when we waken from sleep

  we do not desire to go on. I hiccup very violently, twice.

  This is an age that has created sick men, all weaklings

  like me. What we need is a journey to new lands. I shall

  embark soon on one of these. I shall sleep on the grass

  and eat fruit for breakfast. Perhaps when I return, I shall

  be well again.

  Brief notes on “The Half Jest”

  (Orpheus Emerged)

  MICHAEL – the genius of imagination and art, 22

  PAUL – the genius of life and love, 22

  MAUREEN – Michael’s mistress, 32 years old

  CLAUDE [Arthur] – Michael’s friend, a student, 20

  LEO – a student, 18

  ANTHONY – Paul’s friend, a drunkard and artist, 38

  “TONI” – Claude’s [Arthur’s] girl, 21

  JULES – a strange student, 17

  MARIE – Dmitri’s [Anthony’s] beautiful wife, 27

  “BARBARA” – Maureen’s friend, 25

  “ROBERT”– a psychopath, 26

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  HELEN – the beloved of Marcel Opheus, 21

  MARCEL ORPHEUS, who is never seen, 22

  Setting – A large city called West, in the land of Promethea

  – or vice versa.

  M. has suffered the wound of his calling and deliber-

  ately sold out P. The story concerns P.’s return and the

  ultimate rejoining, and the struggle with appropriate

  principles involved.

  Journals 1943-’44

  Plot structure of novelette

  I. Paul in bookstore; on way to class with Leo, pathetically expresses his desire for learning; class scene, Claude

  [Arthur] introduced; then to Paul’s cellar room; Dmitri

  [Anthony] there with problem; poverty and few pathetic

  books, and picture of Helen.

  II. Paul’s call on Michael; patches up things for Dmitri

 

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