Donald Barthelme

by Donald Barthelme

  The Joker’s Greatest Triumph

  FREDRIC WENT over to his friend Bruce Wayne’s house about every Tuesday night. Bruce would be typically sitting in his study drinking a glass of something. Fredric would come in and sit down and look around the study in which there were many trophies of past exploits.

  “Well Fredric what have you been doing? Anything?”

  “No Bruce things have been just sort of rocking along.”

  “Well this is Tuesday night and usually there’s some action on Tuesday night.”

  “I know Bruce or otherwise I wouldn’t pick Tuesday night to come over.”

  “You want me to turn on the radio Fredric? Usually there’s something interesting on the radio or maybe you’d like a little music from my hi-fi?”

  Bruce Wayne’s radio was a special short-wave model with many extra features. When Bruce turned it on there was a squealing noise and then they were listening to Tokyo or somewhere. Above the radio on the wall hung a trophy from an exploit: a long African spear with a spearhead made of tin.

  “Tell me Bruce what is it you’re drinking there?” Fredric asked.

  “I’m sorry Fredric it’s tomato juice. Can I get you a glass?”

  “Does it have anything in it or is it just plain tomato juice?”

  “It’s tomato juice with a little vodka.”

  “Yes I wouldn’t mind a glass,” Fredric said. “Not too heavy on the vodka please.”

  While Bruce went out to the kitchen to make the drink Fredric got up and went over to examine the African spear more closely. It was he saw tipped with a rusty darkish substance, probably some rare exotic poison he thought.

  “What is this stuff on the end of this African spear?” he asked when Bruce came back into the room.

  “I must have left the other bottle of vodka in the Bat-mobile,” Bruce said. “Oh that’s curare, deadliest of the South American poisons,” he affirmed. “It attacks the motor nerves. Be careful there and don’t scratch yourself.”

  “That’s okay I’ll just drink this tomato juice straight,” Fredric said settling himself in his chair and looking out of the window. “Oh-oh there’s the bat symbol spotlighted against the sky. This must mean a call from Commissioner Gordon at headquarters.”

  Bruce looked out of the window. A long beam of yellowish light culminating in a perfect bat symbol lanced the evening sky.

  “I told you Tuesday night was usually a good night,” Bruce Wayne said. He put his vodka-and-tomato-juice down on the piano. “Hold on a minute while I change will you?”

  “Sure, take your time,” Frederic said. “By the way is Robin still at Andover?”

  “Yes,” Bruce said. “He’ll be home for Thanksgiving, I think. He’s having a little trouble with his French.”

  “Well I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Fredric said. “Go ahead and change. I’ll just look at this magazine.”

  After Bruce had changed they both went out to the garage where the Batmobile and the Batplane waited.

  Batman was humming a tune which Fredric recognized as being the “Warsaw Concerto.” “Which one shall we take?” he said. “It’s always hard to decide on a vague and indeterminate kind of assignment like this.”

  “Let’s flip,” Fredric suggested.

  “Do you have a quarter?” Batman asked.

  “No but I have a dime. That should be okay,” Fredric said. They flipped, heads for the Batmobile, tails for the Batplane. The coin came up heads.

  “Well,” Batman said as they climbed into the comfortable Batmobile, “at least you can have some vodka now. It’s under the seat.”

  “I hate to drink it straight,” Fredric said.

  “Press that button there on the dashboard,” Batman said. Fredric pressed the button and a panel on the dashboard slid back to reveal a little bar, with ice, glasses, water, soda, quinine, lemons, limes etc.

  “Thanks,” Fredric said. “Can I mix you one?”

  “Not while I’m working,” Batman said. “Is there enough quinine water? I forgot to get some when I went to the liquor store last night.”

  “Plenty,” Fredric said. He enjoyed his vodka tonic as Batman wheeled the great Batmobile expertly through the dark streets of Gotham City.

  In Commissioner Gordon’s office at Police Headquarters the Commissioner said: “Glad you finally got here Batman. Who is this with you?”

  “This is my friend Fredric Brown,” Batman said. “Fredric, Commissioner Gordon.” The two men shook hands and Batman said: “Now Commissioner, what is this all about?”

  “This!” Commissioner Gordon said. He placed a small ship model on the desk before him. “The package came by messenger, addressed to you, Batman! I’m afraid your old enemy, The Joker, is on the loose again!”

  Batman hummed a peculiar melody which Fredric recognized as the “Cornish Rhapsody” which is on the other side of the “Warsaw Concerto.” “Hmmmmm!” Batman said. “This sounds to me like another one of The Joker’s challenges to a duel of wits!”

  “Flying Dutchman!” Fredric exclaimed, reading the name painted on the bow of the model ship. “The name of a famous old ghost vessel? What can it mean!”

  “A cleverly disguised clue!” Batman said. “The ‘Flying Dutchman’ meant here is probably the Dutch jewel merchant Hendrik van Voort who is flying to Gotham City tonight with a delivery of precious gems!”

  “Good thinking Batman!” Commissioner Gordon said. “I probably never would have figured it out in a thousand years!”

  “Well we’ll have to hurry to get out to the airport!” Batman said. “What’s the best way to get there from here Commissioner?”

  “Well if I were you I’d go out 34th Street until you hit the War Memorial, then take a right on Memorial Drive until it connects with Gotham Parkway! After you’re on the Parkway it’s clear sailing!” he indicated.

  “Wait a minute!” Batman said. “Wouldn’t it be quicker to get on the Dugan Expressway where it comes in there at 11th Street and then take the North Loop out to the Richardson Freeway? Don’t you think that would save time?”

  “Well I come to work that way!” the Commissioner said. “But they’re putting in another two lanes on the North Loop, so that you have to detour down Strand, then cut over to 99th to get back on the Expressway! Takes you about two miles out of your way!” he said.

  “Okay!” Batman said, “we’ll go out 34th! Thanks Commissioner and don’t worry about anything! Come on Fredric!”

  “Oh by the way,” Commissioner Gordon said. “How’s Robin doing at Exeter?”

  “It’s not Exeter it’s Andover,” Batman said. “He’s doing very well. Having a little trouble with his French.”

  “I had a little trouble with it myself,” the Commissioner said jovially. “Où est mon livre?”

  “Où est ton livre?” Batman said.

  “Où est son livre?” the Commissioner said pointing at Fredric.

  “Tout cela s’est passé en dix-neuf cent vingt-quatre,” Fredric said.

  “Well we’d better creep Commissioner,” Batman said. “The Joker as you know is a pretty slippery customer. Come on Fredric.”

  “Glad to have met you Commissioner,” Fredric said.

  “Me too,” the Commissioner said, shaking Fredric’s hand. “This is a fine-appearing young man Batman. Where did you find him?”

  “He’s just a friend,” Batman said smiling under his mask. “We get together usually on Tuesday nights and have a few.”

  “What do you do Fredric? I mean how do you make your living?”

  “I sell Grit, a newspaper which has most of its circulation concentrated in rural areas,” Fredric said. “However I sell it right here in Gotham City. Many of today’s leaders sold Grit during their boyhoods.”

  “Okay,” said Commissioner Gordon, ushering them out of his office. “G
ood luck. Téléphonez-moi un de ces jours.”

  “Righto,” Batman said, and they hurried down the street to the Batmobile, which was parked in a truck zone.

  “Can we stop for a minute on the way?” Fredric asked. “I’m out of cigarettes.”

  “There are some Viceroys in the glove compartment,” Batman said pushing a button. A panel on the dashboard slid back to reveal a fresh carton of Viceroys.

  “I usually prefer Kents,” Fredric said, “but Viceroys are tasty too.”

  “They’re all about the same I find,” Batman said. “Most of the alleged differences in cigarettes are just advertising as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right about that,” Fredric said. The Batmobile sped down the dark streets of Gotham City toward Gotham Airport.

  “Turn on the radio,” Batman suggested. “Maybe we can catch the news or something.”

  Fredric turned on the radio but there was nothing unusual on it.

  At Gotham Airport the jewel merchant Hendrik van Voort was just dismounting from his KLM jet when the Batmobile wheeled onto the landing strip, waved through the gates by respectful airport police in gray uniforms.

  “Well everything seems to be okay,” Batman said. “There’s the armored car waiting to take Mr. van Voort to his destination.”

  “That’s a new kind of armored car isn’t it?” Fredric asked.

  Without a word Batman leaped through the open door of the armored car and grappled with the shadowy figure inside.

  HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

  “That’s The Joker’s laugh!” Fredric reflected. “The man inside the armored car must be the grinning clown of crime himself!”

  “Batman! I thought that clue I sent you would leave you completely at sea!”

  “No, Joker! I’m afraid this leaves your plans up in the air!”

  “But not for long Batman! I’m going to bring you down to earth!”

  With a swift movement, The Joker crashed the armored car into the side of the Terminal Building!

  CRASH!

  “Great Scott!” Fredric said to himself. “Batman is stunned! He’s helpless!”

  “You foiled my plans Batman,” The Joker said, “but before the police get here, I’m going to lift that mask of yours and find out who you really are! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”

  Fredric watched, horror-stricken. “Great Scott! The Joker has unmasked Batman! Now he knows that Batman is really Bruce Wayne!”

  At this moment Robin, who was supposed to be at Andover, many miles away, landed the Batplane on the airstrip and came racing toward the wrecked armored car! But The Joker, alerted, grasped a cable lowered by a hovering helicopter and was quickly lifted skyward! Robin paused at the armored car and put the mask back on Batman’s face!

  “Hello Robin!” Fredric called. “I thought you were at Andover!”

  “I was but I got a sudden feeling Batman needed me so I flew here in the Batplane,” Robin said. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine,” Fredric said. “But we left the Batplane in the garage, back at the Bat-Cave. I don’t understand.”

  “We have two of everything,” Robin explained. “Although it’s not generally known.”

  With Fredric’s aid Robin carried the stunned Batman to the waiting Batmobile. “You drive the Batmobile back to the Bat-Cave and I’ll follow in the Batplane,” Robin said. “All right?”

  “Check,” Fredric said. “Don’t you think we ought to give him a little brandy or something?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Robin said. “Press that button there on the dashboard. That’s the brandy button.”

  Fredric pressed the button and a panel slid back, revealing a bottle of B & B and the appropriate number of glasses.

  “This is pretty tasty,” Fredric said, tasting the B & B. “How much is it a fifth?”

  “Around eight dollars,” Robin said. “There, that seems to be restoring him to his senses.”

  “Great Scott,” Batman said, “what happened?”

  “The Joker crashed the armored car and you were stunned,” Fredric explained.

  “Hi Robin what are you doing here? I thought you were up at school,” Batman said.

  “I was,” Robin said. “Are you okay now? Can you drive home okay?”

  “I think so,” Batman said. “What happened to The Joker?”

  “He got away,” Fredric said, “but not before lifting your mask while you lay stunned in the wreckage of the wrecked armored car.”

  “Yes Batman,” Robin said seriously, “I think he learned your real identity.”

  “Great Scott!” Batman said. “If he reveals it to the whole world it will mean the end of my career as a crime-fighter! Well, it’s a problem.”

  They drove seriously back to the Bat-Cave, thinking about the problem. Later, in Bruce Wayne’s study, Bruce Wayne, Fredric, and Robin, who was now dressed in the conservative Andover clothes of Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s ward, mulled the whole thing over between them.

  “What makes The Joker tick I wonder?” Fredric said. “I mean what are his real motivations?”

  “Consider him at any level of conduct,” Bruce said slowly, “in the home, on the street, in interpersonal relations, in jail—always there is an extraordinary contradiction. He is dirty and compulsively neat, aloof and desperately gregarious, enthusiastic and sullen, generous and stingy, a snappy dresser and a scarecrow, a gentleman and a boor, given to extremes of happiness and despair, singularly well able to apply himself and capable of frittering away a lifetime in trivial pursuits, decorous and unseemly, kind and cruel, tolerant yet open to the most outrageous varieties of bigotry, a great friend and an implacable enemy, a lover and an abominator of women, sweet-spoken and foul-mouthed, a rake and a puritan, swelling with hubris and haunted by inferiority, outcast and social climber, felon and philanthropist, barbarian and patron of the arts, enamored of novelty and solidly conservative, philosopher and fool, Republican and Democrat, large of soul and unbearably petty, distant and brimming with friendly impulses, an inveterate liar and astonishingly strict with petty cash, adventurous and timid, imaginative and stolid, malignly destructive and a planter of trees on Arbor Day—I tell you frankly, the man is a mess.”

  “That’s extremely well said Bruce,” Fredric stated. “I think you’ve given really a very thoughtful analysis.”

  “I was paraphrasing what Mark Schorer said about Sinclair Lewis,” Bruce replied.

  “Well it’s very brilliant just the same,” Fredric noted. “I guess I’d better go home now.”

  “We could all use a little sleep,” Bruce Wayne said. “By the way Fredric how are the Grit sales coming along? Are you getting many subscriptions?”

  “Yes quite a few Bruce,” Fredric said. “I’ve been doing particularly well in the wealthier sections of Gotham City although the strength of Grit is usually found in rural areas. By the way Dick if you want to borrow my language records to help you with your French you can come by Saturday.”

  “Thanks Fredric I’ll do that,” Dick said.

  “Okay Bruce,” Fredric said, “I’ll see you next Tuesday night probably unless something comes up.”

  To London and Rome

  DO YOU know what I want more than anything else? Alison asked.

  THERE WAS A BRIEF PAUSE

  What? I said.

  A sewing-machine Alison said, with buttonhole-making attachments.

  THERE WAS A LONG PAUSE

  There are so many things I could do with it for instance fixing up last year’s fall dresses and lots of other things.

  THERE WAS A TREMENDOUS PAUSE DURING WHI
CH I BOUGHT HER A NECCHI SEWING-MACHINE

  Wonderful! Alison said sitting at the controls of the Necchi and making buttonholes in a copy of the New York Times Sunday Magazine. Her eyes glistened. I had also bought a two-year subscription to Necchi News because I could not be sure that her interest would not be held for that long at least.

  THERE WAS A PAUSE BROKEN ONLY BY THE HUMMING OF THE NECCHI

  Then I bought her a purple Rolls which we decided to park on the street because our apartment building had no garage. Alison said she absolutely loved the Rolls! and gave me an enthusiastic kiss. I paid for the car with a check drawn on the First City Bank.

  THERE WAS AN INTERVAL

  Peter Alison said, what do you want to do now?

  Oh I don’t know I said.

  THERE WAS A LONG INTERVAL

  Well we can’t simply sit around the apartment Alison said so we went to the races at Aqueduct where I bought a race horse that was running well out in front of the others. What a handsome race horse! Alison said delightedly. I paid for the horse with a check on the Capital National Bank.

  THERE WAS AN INTERMISSION BETWEEN RACES SO WE WENT AROUND TO THE STABLES AND BOUGHT A HORSE TRAILER

  The trailer was attached by means of a trailer hitch, which I bought when it became clear that the trailer could not be hitched up without one, to the back of our new Rolls. The horse’s name was Dan and I bought a horse blanket, which he was already wearing but which did not come with him, to keep him warm.

  He is beautiful Alison said.

  A front-runner too I said.

  THERE WAS AN INTERVAL OF SEVERAL DAYS. THEN ALISON AND I DROVE THE CAR WITH THE TRAILER UP THE RAMP INTO THE PLANE AND WE FLEW BACK TO MILWAUKEE

  After stopping for lunch at Howard Johnson’s where we fed Dan some fried clams which he seemed to like very much Alison said: Do you know what we’ve completely forgotten? I knew that there was something but although I thought hard I could not imagine what it was.