This is my room with me lying on the floor in front of a television set. The figure on the screen’s left is a woman. The one on the right a man. Now the man’s on the right and she’s on the left. Now they’re falling together onto the bed. Now a blanket’s on top of them. Now a cat jumps on the blanket and snuggles in between them. Now the light fades till the screen’s dark. (TPO to box 5.) I can’t draw all these movements and different shades of light in the little space I have for the TV screen in my drawing, so I’ll leave the figures the way I drew them: two vertical sticks, the ganglier one standing for the man, the small tire surrounding them being my TV set, which is on loan from my parents so I could see the presidential debates tonight: I don’t own: do you? One day I hope to see you where you live or where I love, which as I told you on the phone is many hours away from you in New York by plane. That’s bad English (please continue on page 2), but the only language I know well enough to illiterately know. The man in squares A and D on page 1 makes veriberi bad jokes, or tries to joke, as he just tried to, and unfailingly fails, as he just succeeded in unfailingly failing again, and again. What is the color of dumbness, which is the color I’d draw the man’s face in those two pictures if I hadn’t already drawn them read I mean red. That’s even worser English, and what I just wrote then the worsest, and there can’t be any worse English more than that, except maybe that, if I hadn’t capitalized the E in anguish and made it i. By the way, what I seem to be poking with a big stick in my self-portrait on page 1 is this letter I’m writing to you.
“P.S. The movie I’m watching ends with this rich lady getting sick from a strange disease known as kakemonomania scribbledibblebe, and the fiction writer in the film, ten years younger than I and much better-looking and whose name I think is Dom, saying, as she lies asleep in her hospital suite, ‘I’ve had enough of you and your lowdown friends for a lifetime, Mrs. Brawn, and I just wish I had the guts to say it to your face,” which he actually is doing, since he’s standing over her and she’s lying on her back. The young woman editor, which to make a long story short is a worker who makes short sentences and large spaces out of toiled-over compressed passages and long paragraphs, loves Dom or Rom or some hom-nom like Strom or Pom but only one of thom, comes to the hospital room, and she and the writer kiss and hug. The unedited editor says ‘You were truly in love with her, weren’t you, and there’s nothing in life worth living for more than that, in spite of it often ending in agony, fiasco and utter distress,’ and he nods yes-s-s. ‘Will you two idiots get the H out of here,’ the older woman says. ‘I’m exhausted with you both and want to get some shuteye before I die,’ and they smile at her, she at them, they leave the room and race downstairs and through the lobby. She whistles for a cab and they run to it hand in hand, while the doorman yells after them ‘That sure must’ve been a quick recovery,’ for you see, Lucia (as the closing credits and cooing music come on and the cab pulls away with the couple visible through the rear window kissing to beat the band), when the two of them came to the hospital separately a few minutes ago (TPO), the doorman saw they were very sad.
“No, no, all wrong. Say, who do I think I’m writing this letter to anyway? I’m about as adept at sending off epistles to bissles as I am missles. I mean missives to missies as I am apostles. But there again: too much effort. Too many wisecracks, lies, cricks, tricks, and gimcracks. There again. Never ends. In edition t’ ill wit y’ll git whit I premised mit (pleez T to new P last time),” and he draws a fullscale facsimile of the message-address side of a picture postcard, writes her name and address underneath a canceled stamp of a straddle-backed Don Quixote attacking a tilted windmill, and on the left side of the meticulously printed “Made in Spain (reproduction prohibida)” he writes: “Dear Lucia: Here’s the picture postcard I said I’d send. Having fun. Hope you are too. Wish you were here. Wish I were two. That heroic grave structure on the card’s front is not the posh posada my apartment’s in but this country’s largest bibliocrypt photographed right after the heaviest snowfall in a hundred years. Warmest regards to your mom. Love Piers.”
He goes out and mails the letter and calls Chloe an hour later.
“Hi, is it too late? Lucia and I had such an enjoyable talk before that I thought we could do it some more.”
“She’s in the camper, not feeling well. I shouldn’t have even taken her to the store with me.”
That was sudden. What’s it, something serious?”
“Hey. It’s presumptuous getting anxious over the phone when you can’t in any way help. It’s an earache, which she woke up with today. Painful, yes, but she’ll be out extroverting tomorrow morning after tonight’s antibiotic kicks in, so don’t be unnerving me with your concern, okay?”
“Suspension points.”
“You must have a fat roll to make all these calls.”
“Last term’s teacher savings—want some?”
“No,” she says. “I’ve always felt that once a person’s given material things, he resents the receiver and feels cleared of any emotional responsibilities he might have had. And I never felt you were obligated to give and don’t want you to feel you are.”
“I’d like to. I promise to remain emotionally sniggled and spiked. And you can’t be doing too well.”
“We’re always short. Now we’re on Welfare, but it provides. There is one think it won’t take care of and which I’d really like to do. Primal therapy. If I’m accepted, they can’t take me for a year, and then I’d have to have the two thousand to pay for it, money before words. If you care to contribute when the time comes, I’d be very grateful.”
“What is it?”
“What two of the Beatles went through.”
“Next will you be jetting to the Maharascal’s Indian ashcan for a real treat?”
They did that before Primal—all four. But don’t be superficial. Till now you’ve suppressed it and we could talk.”
“My transmisanthropicization tonight.”
“I don’t know what you mean. And if you’ve that much money to throw around, apply for Primal.”
“Have I never given you my views on psychotherapy for creative writers? It mars their handwriting and reduces their typing speed.”
This has to be what happens when someone talks to you twice in one night. And you say you want to fly out and nestle with us a spell?”
“Mit out mein hurts.”
“And if Lucia wasn’t here?”
“Why shouldn’t she be? Just the holy family we of us, campering in your damp hamper or in a fleecy sleepy caul in the copse. What do you say?”
“Same. A man who left me a year ago, and last month wanted me desperately back. Or my back desperately. Either way, I was alone, so why not? It’ll probably end with my heart efflorescing and then picked, plucked at and scrunched underfoot, ‘Keep Off The Grass’ and ‘This Vegetation To Be Regarded Not Discarded’ signs not worth standing. Another heavy relationship fraught with ambiguity and me once more forsworn against men per se and fi-dy till the sun god hisself sweeps me off his feet, seats me on his stick and streaks me to his utility closet. Not now. He’s here. In this very room searing marshmallows while his ears roar. You know I can’t leave a man but the reverse. Man a leave can’t I know? What I’m waiting for is one who will swear his everlasting love and positive intentions to me. Would you ever do that?”
“I could.”
“You might, as a device, in again, out again, win again, but I doubt I could really count on you. But if you do come out here, we’ll drive down to see you. Lucia and I. In short, I’d like us to at most remain friends.”
“No,” but she’s hung up.
KNOCK.
He knocked, I went to the door. Or she knocked, I went to the door. First I said “Did someone knock?” Then I listened as I stood in front of my chair to see if anyone behind the door was going to say something after I said “Did someone knock?” But first I listened as I sat in the chair to see if anyone was going to say something after he or she
knocked. No one did. Then I said “Is anyone there?” No one answered. Then I got up.
I was sitting in the chair I’m sitting in now, wearing the clothes I have on now, my right leg crossed over the left as it is now, a book in my lap as the same book’s in my lap now, reading, which I’m doing now. I was in the middle of a sentence when he knocked. Or she knocked. For it could have been one or the other who knocked, or even both. First he could have knocked, then she could have knocked. Or the other way around: first she, then he, but each knocking once and her knock coming right after his or his right after hers, for there were two quick knocks in succession: knock knock, like that. Or both could have knocked at the same time, each holding back the force of his knocks to about half a normal knock to make it sound like one person knocking twice.
Or it could have been two men or two women who knocked, instead of one and one. And he or he or she or she could have knocked, once, and right after that the other person could have knocked once. Or both of either couple could have knocked, twice at the same time, though each holding back the force of his knocks to about half a normal knock to make it sound like one person knocking twice. Or both of them could have knocked a half knock the first time, then one of them could have knocked a full knock right after that. Or the other way around: first one of them with a full knock, then two of them with a half knock, but in either case the sound made would be that of one person knocking twice.
Or it could have been any one of a number of other possibilities of two knocks made in quick succession on my door. Such as three or four people knocking twice at the same time, but each person holding back the force of his knock to about a third of a normal knock if it was three people knocking at once, or about a fourth if it was four, though in the end sounding like one person knocking twice on my door.
Or three to four or more people knocking once, with each person holding back the force of his knock to the fraction of the total number of people knocking. And then one person knocking a normal knock right after that, making it sound in the end like one person knocking twice: knock knock, like that. Or the other way around and all the numerical possibilities of three or four or more people knocking twice on my door. Such as two of them knocking once at the same time, each holding back the force, of his knock to about half a normal knock. And then three to four or more people knocking right after that at the same time, each holding back the force of his knock to a third or fourth or fifth or whatever fraction of the total number of people knocking at the same time. Though in the end this double knock sounding like one person knocking twice on my door.
Or it could have been a half to a full dozen people who knocked on my door and all the numerical possibilities of their knocking and whichever way around. But each person, if let’s say all twelve knocked at the same time for the first knock, holding back the force of his knock to a twelfth of a normal knock or as close as a person could get to that. And then each person who participated in the second knock, if let’s say the door this time was knocked on by nine of these twelve people at once, holding back the force of his knock to a ninth of a normal knock or thereabouts, with perhaps from one to eight of these nine people making up in the force of his knock for what the eight to one of these people lacked in force, though in the right proportions to everyone who knocked at the same time so it wouldn’t come out sounding in the end like anything more than the second half of a person’s normal double knock.
More than a dozen people I don’t think could have fit around my door to knock on it, unless a dozen or so people had stood by the door and another dozen or so had sat, crouched and lain on the hallway floor within reach of the door. Then the dozen or so standing people could have knocked all at once for the first knock, each holding back the force of his knock to about a twelfth of a normal knock or as close to that as possible. And right after that the dozen or so sitting, crouching and lying people could have knocked at the same time for the second knock, each holding back the force of his knock to a twelfth or thereabouts. And again, if it was necessary, with from one to eleven of these dozen or so people making up in the force of his knock for what the eleven to one of them might have lacked, though in the approximate right proportion to everyone who knocked at the same time so that this double knock by about two dozen people would come out sounding in the end like one person knocking twice: knock knock, no more than that.
I don’t think more than two dozen or so people could have stood, sat, crouched and lain around my door and still have been able to reach it to knock. Though about three dozen people could have lain on their stomachs on top of one another in five or six even piles facing the door and knocked that way in whatever combinations they’d decided on beforehand and in all the right proportions to one another so it wouldn’t come out sounding like anything more than one person’s double knock.
And I suppose some four dozen or so people could have fit around my door to knock on it if about three dozen of them had lain in those five or six piles and the fourth dozen of them had suspended themselves from the ceiling around the door and had themselves fastened to the walls on the sides and above the door and to the ceiling upside down above the door. But all of these people facing the door or at least within a knock’s reach of the door. And every workable numerical possibility of these four dozen or so people knocking on my door, and whichever proportion of knocking they chose, or perhaps someone standing behind the piles but not in reach of the door, chose for them. Though in the end their knocks on my door, directed or not directed in any way by someone else, sounding like two normal knocks in quick succession by one person: knock knock, not much more than that.
For instance, the double knock I heard could have been done by two of those four dozen or so people making the first knock, each holding back the force of his knock to about a twenty-fourth of a normal knock, which could be possible, or something close to it, if well worked out beforehand. Followed right away by each of the second two dozen or so people knocking his one twenty-fourth of a knock. With perhaps both these knocks having to be made up in force by one to a few knockers for what some to many of the knockers lacked. Or even reduced in force by some to many or almost all the knockers if one to a few of the other knockers couldn’t learn to hold the force of their knock to even a half. But in the end the sound coming from these five to six piles and the dozen or so people hanging from the ceiling and fastened to the ceiling and walls would be that of one person’s normal double knock on my door.
Or all five or six piles around the door could have knocked the first knock, each person in each pile holding back the force of his knock to the fraction of the fifth or sixth of the total single knock allowed each pile if they want to make it sound like the first half of one person’s normal double knock. And then two persons from the same or different piles could have knocked on the door at the same time for the second knock, each holding back the force of his knock to about half a normal knock.
Or the double knock I heard could have been done by one person suspended above the door while the forty-seven or so other people looked on. Or even while all forty-seven or so slept, or half of them slept and a quarter of them looked on and the fourth quarter of them had their hands raised in knocking position in front of the door but didn’t knock.
Or one person fastened to the wall above the door could have knocked once, followed by a person at the bottom or top or squeezed somewhere inside one of the piles knocking the second knock with one or both hands, and if the latter, holding back the force of each hand’s knock to about half.
Or out of the four dozen or so people it could have been ten who knocked at the same time for the first knock. Five of them from one to five piles knocking with both hands and four of them hanging from the ceiling knocking with one hand and another person fastened to the wall knocking with one hand or even a foot. Though each person holding back the force of each hand’s knock or that knock from a foot to about a fifteenth of a normal knock, or as near as possible to that. And for the secon
d knock, a dozen or so people from any of the positions around the door could have knocked with both hands, or if they were fastened to the wall or hanging from the ceiling, with both feet or even a foot and hand. But each person holding back the force of each hand’s knock or knocks from his feet or knock from his foot to make the sound of about a twenty-fourth of a hand’s normal knock, which even with a lot of practice would only be barely possible. Or at least holding back the total force of both knocking hands or feet or hand and foot to make the sound of about a twelfth of a hand’s normal knock, with perhaps one hand or foot making up or holding back a little to a lot for what the other hand or foot of the same body lacked in force or gave too hard.
Or the double knock I heard could have been made by three hanging and fastened people while the forty-five or so other people looked on or slept or spoke with their hands or silently with their lips or had their hands or feet in position to knock. But each of these three people knocking two hands and a foot against the door or two feet and a hand against the door, and all knocking at once and each of them holding back the force of his knock from his hands and foot or feet and hand to about a ninth of the sound of a hand’s normal knock. Or at least holding back the total force of each of his triple knocks to about a third of the sound of a hand’s normal knock.
It’s also possible that someone, hanging freely by the chest in a sling or fastened to the wall at the waist with his limbs free, could have knocked that double knock, or the first or second part of it, with both hands and feet at the same time. Or even with his hands and a foot and head or feet and a hand and head, though holding back the force of each of whatever four of these five body parts he’s using to make the sound of about a quarter of a hand’s normal knock. Or at least controlling the total force of the knock from four of these five body parts, to make the sound of a hand’s normal knock.
What Is All This? Page 41