Some of Us Had Been Threatening Our Friend Colby

by Donald Barthelme

  We weren’t even supposed to have a puppy.

  We weren’t even supposed to have one, it was just a puppy the Murdoch girl found under a Gristede’s truck one day and she was afraid the truck would run over it when the driver had finished making his delivery, so she stuck it in her knapsack and brought it to school with her. So we had this puppy. As soon as I saw the puppy I thought, Oh Christ, I bet it will live for about two weeks and then … And that’s what it did. It wasn’t supposed to be in the classroom at all, there’s some kind of regulation about it, but you can’t tell them they can’t have a puppy when the puppy is already there, right in front of them, running around on the floor and yap yap yapping. They named it Edgar – that is, they named it after me. They had a lot of fun running after it and yelling, ‘Here, Edgar! Nice Edgar!’ Then they’d laugh like hell. They enjoyed the ambiguity. I enjoyed it myself. I don’t mind being kidded. They made a little house for it in the supply closet and all that. I don’t know what it died of. Distemper, I guess. It probably hadn’t had any shots. I got it out of there before the kids got to school. I checked the supply closet each morning, routinely, because I knew what was going to happen. I gave it to the custodian.

  And then there was this Korean orphan that the class adopted through the Help the Children program, all the kids brought in a quarter a month, that was the idea. It was an unfortunate thing, the kid’s name was Kim and maybe we adopted him too late or something. The cause of death was not stated in the letter we got, they suggested we adopt another child instead and sent us some interesting case histories, but we didn’t have the heart. The class took it pretty hard, they began (I think; nobody ever said anything to me directly) to feel that maybe there was something wrong with the school. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the school, particularly, I’ve seen better and I’ve seen worse. It was just a run of bad luck. We had an extraordinary number of parents passing away, for instance. There were I think two heart attacks and two suicides, one drowning, and four killed together in a car accident. One stroke. And we had the usual heavy mortality rate among the grandparents, or maybe it was heavier this year, it seemed so. And finally the tragedy.

  The tragedy occurred when Matthew Wein and Tony Mavrogordo were playing over where they’re excavating for the new federal office building. There were all these big wooden beams stacked, you know, at the edge of the excavation. There’s a court case coming out of that, the parents are claiming that the beams were poorly stacked. I don’t know what’s true and what’s not. It’s been a strange year.

  I forgot to mention Billy Brandt’s father, who was knifed fatally when he grappled with a masked intruder in his home.

  One day, we had a discussion in class. They asked me, where did they go? The trees, the salamander, the tropical fish, Edgar, the poppas and mommas, Matthew and Tony, where did they go? And I said, I don’t know, I don’t know. And they said, who knows? and I said, nobody knows. And they said, is death that which gives meaning to life? And I said, no, life is that which gives meaning to life. Then they said, but isn’t death, considered as a fundamental datum, the means by which the taken-for-granted mundanity of the everyday may be transcended in the direction of –

  I said, yes, maybe.

  They said, we don’t like it.

  I said, that’s sound.

  They said, it’s a bloody shame!

  I said, it is.

  They said, will you make love now with Helen (our teaching assistant) so that we can see how it is done? We know you like Helen.

  I do like Helen but I said that I would not.

  We’ve heard so much about it, they said, but we’ve never seen it.

  I said I would be fired and that it was never, or almost never, done as a demonstration. Helen looked out of the window.

  They said, please, please make love with Helen, we require an assertion of value, we are frightened.

  I said that they shouldn’t be frightened (although I am often frightened) and that there was value everywhere. Helen came and embraced me. I kissed her a few times on the brow. We held each other. The children were excited. Then there was a knock on the door, I opened the door, and the new gerbil walked in. The children cheered wildly.

  Margins

  Edward was explaining to Carl about margins. ‘The width of the margin shows culture, aestheticism and a sense of values or the lack of them,’ he said. ‘A very wide left margin shows an impractical person of culture and refinement with a deep appreciation for the best in art and music. Whereas,’ Edward said, quoting his handwriting analysis book, ‘whereas, narrow left margins show the opposite. No left margin at all shows a practical nature, a wholesome economy and a general lack of good taste in the arts. A very wide right margin shows a person afraid to face reality, oversensitive to the future and generally a poor mixer.’

  ‘I don’t believe in it,’ Carl said.

  ‘Now,’ Edward continued, ‘with reference to your sign there, you have an all-around wide margin which shows a person of extremely delicate sensibilities with love of color and form, one who holds aloof from the multitude and lives in his own dream world of beauty and good taste.’

  ‘Are you sure you got that right?’

  ‘I’m communicating with you,’ Edward said, ‘across a vast gulf of ignorance and darkness.’

  ‘I brought the darkness, is that the idea?’ Carl asked.

  ‘You brought the darkness, you black mother,’ Edward said. ‘Funky, man.’

  ‘Edward,’ Carl said, ‘for God’s sake.’

  ‘Why did you write all that jazz on your sign, Carl? Why? It’s not true, is it? Is it?’

  ‘It’s kind of true,’ Carl said. He looked down at his brown sandwich boards, which said: I Was Put In Jail in Selby County Alabama For Five Years For Stealing A Dollar and A Half Which I Did Not Do. While I Was In Jail My Brother Was Killed & My Mother Ran Away When I Was Little. In Jail I Began Preaching & I Preach to People Wherever I Can Bearing the Witness of Eschatological Love. I Have Filled Out Papers for Jobs But Nobody Will Give Me a Job Because I Have Been In Jail & The Whole Scene Is Very Dreary, Pepsi Cola. I Need Your Offerings to Get Food. Patent Applied For & Deliver Us From Evil. ‘It’s true,’ Carl said, ‘with a kind of merde-y inner truth which shines forth as the objective correlative of what actually did happen, back home.’

  ‘Now, look at the way you made that “m” and that “n” there,’ Edward said. ‘The tops are pointed rather than rounded. That indicates aggressiveness and energy. The fact that they’re also pointed rather than rounded at the bottom indicates a sarcastic, stubborn and irritable nature. See what I mean?’

  ‘If you say so,’ Carl said.

  ‘Your capitals are very small,’ Edward said, ‘indicating humility.’

  ‘My mother would be pleased,’ Carl said, ‘if she knew.’

  ‘On the other hand, the excessive size of the loops in your “y” and your “g” displays exaggeration and egoism.’

  ‘That’s always been one of my problems,’ Carl answered.

  ‘What’s your whole name?’ Edward asked, leaning against a building. They were on Fourteenth Street, near Broadway.

  ‘Carl Maria von Weber,’ Carl said.

  ‘Are you a drug addict?’

  ‘Edward,’ Carl said, ‘you are a swinger.’

  ‘Are you a Muslim?’

  Carl felt his long hair. ‘Have you read As a Man Grows Older, by Svevo? I really liked that one. I thought that one was fine.’

  ‘No, c’mon, Carl, answer the question,’ Edward insisted. ‘There’s got to be frankness and honesty between the races. Are you one?’

  ‘I think an accommodation can be reached and the government is doing all it can at the moment,’ Carl said. ‘I think there’s something to be said on all sides of the question. This is not such a good place to hustle, you know that? I haven’t got but two offerings all morning.’

  ‘People like people who look neat,’ Edward said. ‘You look kind of crum
my, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

  ‘You really think it’s too long?’ Carl asked, feeling his hair again.

  ‘Do you think I’m a pretty color?’ Edward asked. ‘Are you envious?’

  ‘No,’ Carl said. ‘Not envious.’

  ‘See? Exaggeration and egoism. Just like I said.’

  ‘You’re kind of boring, Edward. To tell the truth.’

  Edward thought about this for a moment. Then he said: ‘But I’m white.’

  ‘It’s the color of choice,’ Carl said. ‘I’m tired of talking about color, though. Let’s talk about values or something.’

  ‘Carl, I’m a fool,’ Edward said suddenly.

  ‘Yes,’ Carl said.

  ‘But I’m a white fool,’ Edward said. ‘That’s what’s so lovely about me.’

  ‘You are lovely, Edward,’ Carl said. ‘It’s true. You have a nice look. Your aspect is good.’

  ‘Oh, hell,’ Edward said despondently. ‘You’re very well-spoken,’ he said. ‘I noticed that.’

  ‘The reason for that is,’ Carl said, ‘I read. Did you read The Cannibal by John Hawkes? I thought that was a hell of a book.’

  ‘Get a haircut, Carl,’ Edward said. ‘Get a new suit. Maybe one of those new Italian suits with the tight coats. You could be upwardly mobile, you know, if you just put your back into it.’

  ‘Why are you worried, Edward? Why does my situation distress you? Why don’t you just walk away and talk to somebody else?’

  ‘You bother me,’ Edward confessed. ‘I keep trying to penetrate your inner reality, to find out what it is. Isn’t that curious?’

  ‘John Hawkes also wrote The Beetle Leg and a couple of other books whose titles escape me at the moment,’ Carl said. ‘I think he’s one of the best of our younger American writers.’

  ‘Carl,’ Edward said, ‘what is your inner reality? Blurt it out, baby.’

  ‘It’s mine,’ Carl said quietly. He gazed down at his shoes, which resembled a pair of large dead brownish birds.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t steal that dollar and a half mentioned on your sign?’

  ‘Edward, I told you I didn’t steal that dollar and a half.’ Carl stamped up and down in his sandwich boards. ‘It sure is cold here on Fourteenth Street.’

  ‘That’s your imagination, Carl,’ Edward said. ‘This street isn’t any colder than Fifth, or Lex. Your feeling that it’s colder here probably just arises from your marginal status as a despised person in our society.’

  ‘Probably,’ Carl said. There was a look on his face. ‘You know I went to the government, and asked them to give me a job in the Marine Band, and they wouldn’t do it?’

  ‘Do you blow good, man? Where’s your ax?’

  ‘They wouldn’t give me that cotton-pickin’ job,’ Carl said. ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘This eschatological love,’ Edward said, ‘what kind of love is that?’

  ‘That is later love,’ Carl said. ‘That’s what I call it, anyhow. That’s love on the other side of the Jordan. The term refers to a set of conditions which … It’s kind of a story we black people tell to ourselves to make ourselves happy.’

  ‘Oh me,’ Edward said. ‘Ignorance and darkness.’

  ‘Edward,’ Carl said, ‘you don’t like me.’

  ‘I do too like you, Carl,’ Edward said. ‘Where do you steal your books, mostly?’

  ‘Mostly in drugstores,’ Carl said. ‘I find them good because mostly they’re long and narrow and the clerks tend to stay near the prescription counters at the back of the store, whereas the books are usually in those little revolving racks near the front of the store. It’s normally pretty easy to slip a couple in your overcoat pocket, if you’re wearing an overcoat.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Yes,’ Carl said, ‘I know what you’re thinking. If I’ll steal books I’ll steal other things. But stealing books is metaphysically different from stealing like money. Villon has something pretty good to say on the subject I believe.’

  ‘Is that in “If I Were King”?’

  ‘Besides,’ Carl added, ‘haven’t you ever stolen anything? At some point in your life?’

  ‘My life,’ Edward said. ‘Why do you remind me of it?’

  ‘Edward, you’re not satisfied with your life! I thought white lives were nice!’ Carl said, surprised. ‘I love that word “nice.” It makes me so happy.’

  ‘Listen Carl,’ Edward said, ‘why don’t you just concentrate on improving your handwriting.’

  ‘My character, you mean.’

  ‘No,’ Edward said, ‘don’t bother improving your character. Just improve your handwriting. Make larger capitals. Make smaller loops in your “y” and your “g.” Watch your word-spacing so as not to display disorientation. Watch your margins.’

  ‘It’s an idea. But isn’t that kind of a superficial approach to the problem?’

  ‘Be careful about the spaces between the lines,’ Edward went on. ‘Spacing of lines shows clearness of thought. Pay attention to your finals. There are twenty-two different kinds of finals and each one tells a lot about a person. I’ll lend you the book. Good handwriting is the key to advancement, or if not the key, at least a key. You could be the first man of your race to be Vice-President.’

  ‘That’s something to shoot for, all right.’

  ‘Would you like me to go get the book?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Carl said, ‘no thanks. It’s not that I don’t have any faith in your solution. What I would like is to take a leak. Would you mind holding my sandwich boards for a minute?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Edward said, and in a moment had slipped Carl’s sandwich boards over his own slight shoulders. ‘Boy, they’re kind of heavy, aren’t they?’

  ‘They cut you a bit,’ Carl said with a malicious smile. ‘I’ll just go into this men’s store here.’

  When Carl returned the two men slapped each other sharply in the face with the back of the hand – that beautiful part of the hand where the knuckles grow.

  Game

  Shotwell keeps the jacks and the rubber ball in his attaché case and will not allow me to play with them. He plays with them, alone, sitting on the floor near the console hour after hour, chanting ‘onesies, twosies, threesies, foursies’ in a precise, well-modulated voice, not so loud as to be annoying, not so soft as to allow me to forget. I point out to Shotwell that two can derive more enjoyment from playing jacks than one, but he is not interested. I have asked repeatedly to be allowed to play by myself, but he simply shakes his head. ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘They’re mine,’ he says. And when he has finished, when he has sated himself, back they go into the attaché case.

  It is unfair but there is nothing I can do about it. I am aching to get my hands on them.

  Shotwell and I watch the console. Shotwell and I live under the ground and watch the console. If certain events take place upon the console, we are to insert our keys in the appropriate locks and turn our keys. Shotwell has a key and I have a key. If we turn our keys simultaneously the bird flies, certain switches are activated and the bird flies. But the bird never flies. In one hundred thirty-three days the bird has not flown. Meanwhile Shotwell and I watch each other. We each wear a .45 and if Shotwell behaves strangely I am supposed to shoot him. If I behave strangely Shotwell is supposed to shoot me. We watch the console and think about shooting each other and think about the bird. Shotwell’s behavior with the jacks is strange. Is it strange? I do not know. Perhaps he is merely a selfish bastard, perhaps his character is flawed, perhaps his childhood was twisted. I do not know.

  Each of us wears a .45 and each of us is supposed to shoot the other if the other is behaving strangely. How strangely is strangely? I do not know. In addition to the .45 I have a .38 which Shotwell does not know about concealed in my attaché case, and Shotwell has a .25 caliber Beretta which I do not know about strapped to his right calf. Sometimes instead of watching the console I pointedly watch Shotwell’s .45, but this is simply a ruse,
simply a maneuver, in reality I am watching his hand when it dangles in the vicinity of his right calf. If he decides I am behaving strangely he will shoot me not with the .45 but with the Beretta. Similarly Shotwell pretends to watch my .45 but he is really watching my hand resting idly atop my attaché case, my hand resting idly atop my attaché case, my hand. My hand resting idly atop my attaché case.

  In the beginning I took care to behave normally. So did Shotwell. Our behavior was painfully normal. Norms of politeness, consideration, speech, and personal habits were scrupulously observed. But then it became apparent that an error had been made, that our relief was not going to arrive. Owing to an oversight. Owing to an oversight we have been here for one hundred thirty-three days. When it became clear that an error had been made, that we were not to be relieved, the norms were relaxed. Definitions of normality were redrawn in the agreement of January 1, called by us, The Agreement. Uniform regulations were relaxed, and mealtimes are no longer rigorously scheduled. We eat when we are hungry and sleep when we are tired. Considerations of rank and precedence were temporarily put aside, a handsome concession on the part of Shotwell, who is a captain, whereas I am only a first lieutenant. One of us watches the console at all times rather than two of us watching the console at all times, except when we are both on our feet. One of us watches the console at all times and if the bird flies then that one wakes the other and we turn our keys in the locks simultaneously and the bird flies. Our system involves a delay of perhaps twelve seconds but I do not care because I am not well, and Shotwell does not care because he is not himself. After the agreement was signed Shotwell produced the jacks and the rubber ball from his attaché case, and I began to write a series of descriptions of forms occurring in nature, such as a shell, a leaf, a stone, an animal. On the walls.

  Shotwell plays jack and I write descriptions of natural forms on the walls.