The Rosy Crucifixion 2 - Plexus

by Henry Miller

  The place was in darkness when I arrived home. I was so drunk with excitement that I had to swallow a few tumblers of sherry to calm myself. I wondered what Mona would say on hearing about my splurge. I forgot all about the copy in my coat pocket—all I could think of was Timbuctoo, China, India, Persia, Siam, Borneo, Burma, the great wheel, the dusty caravan routes, the odors and sights of the Far East, boats, trains, steamers, camels, the green waters of the Nile, the Mosque of Omar, the souks of Fez, outlandish tongues, the jungle, the veldt, the bled, beggars and monks, jugglers, mountebanks, temples, pagodas, pyramids. My brain was in such a whirl that if some one didn’t appear soon I would go mad.

  There I sat, in the big chair at the front window. The light of a candle flickered unsteadily. Suddenly the door opened softly. It was Mona. She came over to me, put her arms around me and kissed me tenderly. I felt a tear run down her cheek.

  You’re still sad? What on earth’s the matter?

  For answer she threw herself in my lap. In a moment her arms were about me. She was sobbing. I let her weep for a while, comforting her silently.

  Is it so very terrible? I asked after a time. Can’t you even tell me?

  No, Val, I can’t. It’s too ugly.

  Little by little I succeeded in worming it out of her. Her family again. She had been to see her mother. Things were more desperate than ever. Something about a mortgage—had to be paid at once or they would lose the house.

  But it isn’t that, she said, still sniffling, it’s the way she treats me. As though I were dirt. She doesn’t believe I’m married. She called me a whore.

  Then for Christ’s sake let’s stop worrying about her, I said angrily. A mother who talks like that is no god-damned good. Anyway, it’s fantastic. Where would we get three thousand dollars in a hurry? She must be out of her mind.

  Please don’t talk that way, Val. You only make it worse.

  I despise her, I said. I can’t help it if she’s your mother. To me she’s just a leech. Let her go drown herself, the stupid old bitch!

  Val! Val! Please … She began to weep again, more violently than before.

  All right, I won’t say another word. I’m sorry I let my tongue run away with me.

  Just then the bell rang, followed by a few quick taps on the window-pane. I jumped up and ran to the door. Mona was still weeping.

  Well, I’ll be damned, I exclaimed, when I saw who stood there.

  You ought to be damned, hiding away from a bosom friend all this time. Here I am living around the corner and neither hide nor sight of you. Same old bastard, aren’t you? Well, how are you anyway? Can I come in?

  He was the last person I wanted to see at that moment—MacGregor.

  What’s up … some one die? he exclaimed, seeing the candle and Mona huddled in the big chair, the tears streaming down her face. Been having a tiff, is that it? He went up to Mona and held out his hand, thought better of it, and stroked her head. Don’t let him get you down, he mumbled, trying to display a little sympathy. A nice thing to be doing at this time of day. Have you folks had dinner yet? I thought I’d stop by and invite you out. I didn’t dream I was going to enter a house of mourning.

  For God’s sake, can it! I begged. Why don’t you wait till I explain things.

  Please don’t say anything, Val, said Mona. I’ll be all right in a moment.

  That’s the way to talk, said MacGregor, sitting down beside her and putting on a professional air. Nothing is ever as bad as you imagine it to be.

  For Christ’s sake, must we listen to that crap? Can’t you see she’s in trouble?

  At once his manner altered. Rising to his feet he said solemnly: What is it, Hen, is it something serious? I’m sorry if I put my foot in it.

  It’s all right, just don’t say anything for a while. I’m glad you came. Maybe it would be a good idea to go out for dinner.

  You two go, I’d rather stay here, pleaded Mona.

  If there’s anything I can do … MacGregor began.

  I burst out laughing. Sure there’s something you can do, I said. Raise three thousand dollars for us by to-morrow morning!

  Jesus, man, is that what’s worrying you? He pulled a big cigar from his breast pocket and bit the end off. I thought it was something tragic.

  I was kidding you, I said. No, it’s got nothing to do with money.

  I can always lend you ten bucks, said MacGregor cheerily. When it comes to thousands you’re talking a foreign language. Nobody has three thousand dollars to hand out right off the bat, don’t you know that yet?

  But we don’t want three thousand dollars, I said.

  Then what’s she crying for—the moon?

  Please go and leave me alone, won’t you? said Mona.

  We couldn’t do that, said MacGregor, it wouldn’t be sporting. Listen girlie, whatever it is, I swear it isn’t as bad as you think. There’s always a loop-hole, remember that. Come on, wash your face and put your duds on, eh? I’ll take you to a good restaurant this time.

  The door suddenly swung open. There stood O’Mara, slightly boiled. He looked as though he were delivering manna from above.

  How did you get in? was MacGregor’s greeting. The last time I laid eyes on you was at a poker game. You swindled me out of nine bucks. How are you? He stuck out a paw.

  O’Mara’s living with us, I hastened to explain.

  That settles it, said MacGregor. Now you’ve really got something to worry about. I wouldn’t trust this guy even in a strait-jacket.

  What’s up? said O’Mara, suddenly aware of Mona all hunched up in the big chair, her face streaked with tears. What’s wrong?

  Nothing serious, I said. I’ll tell you later. Have you had dinner?

  Before he could say yes or no MacGregor piped up: I didn’t invite him. He can come of he pays his own way, sure. But not as my guest.

  O’Mara simply grinned at this. He was in too good a mood to be upset by a little plain talk.

  Listen, Henry, he said, making a bee line for the Sherry, I’ve got lots to tell you. Wonderful things. I had a great day today.

  So did I, said I.

  Do you mind if help myself to a drink too? said MacGregor. Seeing as how it was such a good day for you guys, maybe a drink will do me good.

  Are we going out for dinner? asked O’Mara. I don’t want to spill the beans till we get set somewhere. There’s too much to tell, I don’t want to spoil it going off half-cocked.

  I went over to Mona. You’re sure you don’t want to come with us?

  Yes, Val, I’m sure, she said weakly.

  Oh come on, said O’Mara, I’ve got grand news for you.

  Sure, pull yourself together, said MacGregor. It’s not everyday I invite people to eat with me—especially in a good restaurant.

  The upshot was that Mona finally consented to go. We sat down to wait for her while she tidied up. We drank some more Sherry.

  You know, Hen, said MacGregor, I have a hunch I may be able to do something for you. What are you doing these days? Writing, I suppose. And broke, eh? Listen, we need a typist in our office. It doesn’t pay much, but it may tide you over. Until you’re recognized, I mean. He finished this off with a leer and a chuckle.

  O’Mara laughed in his face. A typist! Haw Haw!

  That’s mighty white of you, Mac, I said, but right now I don’t need a job. I just landed a big one to-day.

  What? yelled O’Mara. Gripes, don’t tell me that! I just fixed one up for you myself—a beauty too. That’s what I wanted to tell you about.

  It isn’t really a job, I explained, it’s a commission. I’m to write a serial for a new magazine. After that I may be going to Africa, China, India…

  MacGregor couldn’t restrain himself. Forget it, Henry, he burst out, somebody’s been taking you for a ride. The job I’m talking about pays twenty a week. Real money. Write your serial on the side. If it turns out O.K. nothing’s lost. Right? But honest, Henry, aren’t you old enough to know that you can’t count on such things? When
are you going to grow up?

  Mona now joined in. What’s this I hear about a job? Val doesn’t want a job. You’re talking nonsense, all of you.

  Come on, let’s go, urged MacGregor. The place I’m taking you to is in Flatbush. I’ve got a car outside.

  We piled in and drove to the restaurant. The proprietor seemed to know MacGregor well. Probably a client of his.

  I was astounded to hear MacGregor say: Order anything you like. And how about a cocktail first?

  Has he any good wine? I asked.

  Who’s talking about wine? said MacGregor. I asked you if you’d like a cocktail first.

  Sure I would. I’d like to see the wine card too.

  Just like you. Always making it difficult for me. Sure, go ahead, order wine if you must. I never touch it. Makes my stomach sour.

  They served us a good soup first and then came a luscious roast duckling. I told you it was a good place, didn’t I? crowed MacGregor. When did I ever let you down, tell me, you bastard … So a typist’s job isn’t good enough for you, is that it?

  Val’s a writer, not a typist, said Mona sharply.

  I know he’s a writer, said MacGregor, but a writer has to eat once in a while, doesn’t he?

  Does he look as though he were starving? she retorted. What are you trying to do, bribe us with your good meal?

  I wouldn’t talk that way to a good friend, said MacGregor, his dander rising. I merely wanted to make sure he was O.K. I’ve known Henry when he wasn’t sitting so comfortably.

  Those days are past, said Mona. As long as I’m with him he’ll never starve.

  Fine! snapped MacGregor. Nothing better I’d like to hear. But are you sure you’ll always be able to provide for him? Supposing something were to happen to you? Supposing you become an invalid?

  You’re talking nonsense. I couldn’t possibly be an invalid.

  Lots of people have thought that way, but it happened just the same.

  Stop croaking, I begged. Listen, give us the truth. Why are you so eager for me to take that job?

  He broke into a broad grin. Waiter! he shouted, some more wine! Then he chuckled. Can’t put anything over on you, can I, Henry? The truth, you say. The truth is I wanted you to take the job just to have you around. I miss you. Fact is, the job pays only fifteen a week; I was going to add the other five out of my own pocket. Just for the pleasure of having you near me, just to listen to you rave. You can’t imagine how dull these bastards are in the law business. I don’t know what they’re talking about half the time. As for work, there’s not much to do. You could write all the stories you like—or whatever the hell it is you’re doing. I mean it. You know, it’s over a year since I last saw you. At first I was sore. Then I figured, hell, he’s just got married, I know how it is … So you’re serious about this writing business, eh? Well, you must know your own mind. It’s a tough game, but maybe you can beat ‘em at it. I toy with the idea myself sometimes. Of course I never considered myself a genius. When I see the crap that’s peddled around I figure nobody’s looking for genius anyway. It’s as bad as the law game, believe it or not. Don’t think I’ve got a cinch of it! The old man had more sense than either of us. He became an iron molder. He’ll outlive all of us, that old buzzard.

  I say, you guys, O’Mara broke in, can I get a word in edgewise? Henry, I’ve been trying to tell you something for the last hour or more. I met a chap today who’s nuts about your work. He coughed up a year’s subscription for the Mezzotints…

  Mezzotints? What’s he talking about? MacGregor exclaimed.

  We’ll tell you later … Go on. Ted!

  It was a long story, as usual. Apparently, O’Mara hadn’t been able to fall asleep after our talk about the orphan asylum. He had got to thinking about the past, and then about everything under the sun. Despite the lack of sleep he arose early, filled with a desire to do something. Packing my scripts—the whole caboodle—in his brief case, he set out with the intention of tackling the first man he should bump into. To change his luck he had decided to go to Jersey City. The first place he stumbled into was a lumber yard. The boss had just arrived and was in a good mood. I fell on him like a ton of bricks, just swept him oil his feet, said O’Mara. I don’t know what I was saying, to tell you the truth. I knew only that I had to sell him. The lumber man turned out to be a good egg. He didn’t know what it was all about either, but he was disposed to help. Somehow O’Mara had managed to transpose the whole thing to a very personal level. He was selling the man his good friend Henry Miller, whom he believed in. The man wasn’t much for books and that sort of thing but the prospect of aiding a budding genius, oddly enough, appealed to him. He was writing out a check for the subscription, said O’Mara, when the idea came to me to make him do something more. I pocketed the checks first, of course, and then I dug out your manuscripts. I put the whole pile on his desk, right in front of him. He wanted to know immediately how long it had taken you to write such a slew of words. I told him six months. He nearly fell off the chair. Naturally, I kept talking fast so that he wouldn’t start reading the bloody things. After a while he leaned back in his swivel chair and pressed a button. His secretary appeared. ‘Get out the files on that publicity campaign we had last year,’ he ordered.

  I know what’s coming, I couldn’t help remarking.

  Wait a minute, Henry, let me finish. Now comes the good news.

  I let him ramble on. As I anticipated, it was a job. Only I wouldn’t be obliged to go to the office every day; I could do the work at home.

  Of course you’ll have to spend a little time with him occasionally, said O’Mara. He’s dying to meet you. And what’s more, he’s going to pay you handsomely. You can have seventy-five a week on account, to begin with. How’s that? You stand to make between five and ten thousand before you’re through with the job. It’s a cinch. I could do it myself, if I knew how to write. I brought some of the crap he wants you to look over. You can write that stuff with your left-hand.

  It sounds fine, I said, but I just had another offer today. Better than that.

  O’Mara wasn’t too pleased to hear this.

  Seems to me, said MacGregor, that you guys are doing pretty well without my help.

  It’s all foolishness, Mona put in.

  Listen, said O’Mara, why don’t you let him earn some money honestly? It’s only for a few months. After that you can do as you please.

  The word honestly rung in MacGregor’s ears. What’s he doing now? he asked. He turned to me. I thought you were writing. What is it, Hen, what are you up to now?

  I gave him a brief resume of the situation, making it as delicate as I could for Mona’s sake.

  For once I think O’Mara’s right, he said. You’ll never get anywhere this way.

  I wish you people would mind your own business, blurted Mona.

  Come, come, said MacGregor, don’t stand on your high horse with us. We’re old friends of Henry’s. We wouldn’t be giving him bad advice, would we now?

  He doesn’t need advice, she replied. He knows what he’s doing.

  O.K. sister, have it your way then! With this he turned abruptly to me again. What was that other proposition you started to tell about? You know—China, India, Africa…

  Oh that, I said, and I began to smile.

  What are you shying off for? Listen, maybe you’ll need me for a secretary. I’d give up the law in a minute if there was anything to grab hold of. I mean it, Henry.

  Mona excused herself to make a telephone call. That meant she was too disgusted to hear a word about the proposition.

  What’s griping her? said O’Mara. What was she weeping for when I came home?

  It’s nothing, I said. Family troubles. Money, I guess.

  She’s a queer girl, said MacGregor. Don’t mind my saying that, do you? I know she’s devoted to you and all that, but her ideas are all wet. She’ll be getting you into a jam if you don’t watch out.

  O’Mara’s eyes were glistening. You don’t know the half
of it, he chirped. That’s why I was so keen to do something this morning.

  Listen, you guys, stop worrying about me. I know what I’m doing.

  The hell you do! said MacGregor. You’ve been telling me that as long as I know you—and where are you? Every time we meet you’re in a new predicament. One of these days you’ll be asking me to bail you out of jail.

  All right, all right, but lets’ talk about it some other time. Here she comes—let’s change the subject. I don’t want to rile her more than necessary—she’s had a hard day of it.

  And so you’ve really got many fathers, I continued without a pause, looking straight at O’Mara. Mona was lowering herself into her seat. It’s like I was saying a moment ago…

  What is this—double talk? said MacGregor.

  Not for him, I said, never moving a muscle. I should have explained the talk we had the night before, but it’s too long. Anyway, as I was saying, when I came out of the dream I knew exactly what I had to tell you. (Looking steadfastly at O’Mara all the while.) It had nothing to do with the dream.

  What dream? said MacGregor, slightly exasperated now.

  The one I just explained to you, I said. Listen, let me finish talking to him, will you?

  Waiter! called MacGregor, Ask these gentle-j men what they would like to drink, will you? To us—v I’m going to take a leak.

  It’s like this, I said, addressing O’Mara, you’re lucky you lost your father when you were a kid. Now you can find your real father—and your real mother. It’s more important to find your real father than your real mother. You’ve found several fathers already, but you’ don’t know it. You’re rich, man. Why resurrect the dead? Look to the living! Why shit, there are fathers everywhere, all around you, better fathers by far than the one who gave you his name or the one who sent you to the asylum. To find your real father you first have to be a good son.