Donald Barthelme

by Donald Barthelme

  —You’re not afraid that Charles will bust in here unexpectedly and find us?

  —Charles is in Cleveland. Besides, I’d say you were with Ramona. Elsa giggled.

  Ramona burst into tears.

  Elsa and Jacques tried to comfort Ramona.

  —Why don’t you take a 21-day excursion-fare trip to “preserves of nature”?

  —If I went to a “preserve of nature,” it would turn out to be nothing but a terrible fen!

  Ramona thought: He will go into a room with Elsa and close the door. Time will pass. Then they will emerge, acting as if nothing had happened. Then the coffee. Ugh!

     4.

  Charles in Cleveland.

  “Whiteness”

  “Vital skepticism”

  Charles advanced very rapidly in the Cleveland hierarchy. That sort of situation that develops sometimes wherein managers feel threatened by gifted subordinates and do not assign them really meaningful duties but instead shunt them aside into dead areas where their human potential is wasted did not develop in Charles’ case. His devoted heart lifted him to the highest levels. It was Charles who pointed out that certain operations had been carried out more efficiently “when the cathedrals were white,” and in time the entire Cleveland structure was organized around his notions: “whiteness,” “vital skepticism.”

  Two men held Charles down on the floor and a third slipped a needle into his hip.

  He awakened in a vaguely familiar room.

  —Where am I? he asked the nurselike person who appeared to answer his ring.

  —Porter Street, this creature said. Mlle. Ramona will see you shortly. In the meantime, drink some of this orange juice.

  Well, Charles thought to himself, I cannot but admire the guts and address of this brave girl, who wanted me so much that she engineered this whole affair—my abduction from Cleveland and removal to these beloved rooms, where once I was entertained by the beautiful Elsa. And now I must see whether my key concepts can get me out of this “fix,” for “fix” it is. I shouldn’t have written that letter. Perhaps if I wrote another letter? A followup?

  Charles formed the letter to Ramona in his mind.

  Dear Ramona—

  Now that I am back in your house, tied down to this bed with these steel bands around my ankles, I understand that perhaps my earlier letter to you was subject to misinterpretation etc. etc.

  Elsa entered the room and saw Charles tied down on the bed.

  —That’s against the law!

  —Sit down, Elsa. Just because you are a law student you want to proclaim the rule of law everywhere. But some things don’t have to do with the law. Some things have to do with the heart. The heart, which was our great emblem and cockade, when the cathedrals were white.

  —I’m worried about Ramona, Elsa said. She has been missing lectures. And she has been engaging in hilarity at the expense of the law.

  —Jokes?

  —Gibes. And now this extra-legality. Your sequestration.

  Charles and Elsa looked out of the window at the good day.

  —See that blue in the sky. How wonderful. After all the gray we’ve had.

     5.

  Elsa and Ramona watched the Motorola television set in their pajamas.

  —What else is on? Elsa asked.

  Ramona looked in the newspaper.

  —On 7 there’s “Johnny Allegro” with George Raft and Nina Foch. On 9 “Johnny Angel” with George Raft and Claire Trevor. On 11 there’s “Johnny Apollo” with Tyrone Power and Dorothy Lamour. On 13 is “Johnny Concho” with Frank Sinatra and Phyllis Kirk. On 2 is “Johnny Dark” with Tony Curtis and Piper Laurie. On 4 is “Johnny Eager” with Robert Taylor and Lana Turner. On 5 is “Johnny O’Clock” with Dick Powell and Evelyn Keyes. On 31 is “Johnny Trouble” with Stuart Whitman and Ethel Barrymore.

  —What’s this one we’re watching?

  —What time is it?

  —Eleven-thirty-five.

  —“Johnny Guitar” with Joan Crawford and Sterling Hayden.

     6.

  Jacques, Elsa, Charles and Ramona sat in a row at the sun dance. Jacques was sitting next to Elsa and Charles was sitting next to Ramona. Of course Charles was also sitting next to Elsa but he was leaning toward Ramona mostly. It was hard to tell what his intentions were. He kept his hands in his pockets.

  —How is the struggle coming, Jacques?

  —Quite well, actually. Since the Declaration of Rye we have accumulated many hundreds of new members.

  Elsa leaned across Charles to say something to Ramona.

  —Did you water the plants?

  The sun dancers were beating the ground with sheaves of wheat.

  —Is that supposed to make the sun shine, or what? Ramona asked.

  —Oh, I think it’s just sort of to . . . honor the sun. I don’t think it’s supposed to make it do anything.

  Elsa stood up.

  —That’s against the law!

  —Sit down, Elsa.

  Elsa became pregnant.

     7.

  “This young man, a man though only eighteen . . .”

  A large wedding scene

  Charles measures the church

  Elsa and Jacques bombarded with flowers

  Fathers and mothers riding on the city railway

  The minister raises his hands

  Evacuation of the sacristy: bomb threat

  Black limousines with ribbons tied to their aerials

  Several men on balconies who appear to be signalling, or applauding

  Traffic lights

  Pieces of blue cake

  Champagne

     8.

  —Well, Ramona. I am glad we came to the city. In spite of everything.

  —Yes, Elsa, it has turned out well for you. You are Mrs. Jacques Tope now. And soon there will be a little one.

  —Not so soon. Not for eight months. I am sorry, though, about one thing. I hate to give up Law School.

  —Don’t be sorry. The Law needs knowledgeable civilians as well as practitioners. Your training will not be wasted.

  —That’s dear of you. Well, goodbye.

  Elsa and Jacques and Charles went into the back bedroom. Ramona remained outside with the newspaper.

  —Well, I suppose I might as well put the coffee on, she said to herself. Rats!

     9.

  Laughing aristocrats moved up and down the corridors of the city.

  Elsa, Jacques, Ramona and Charles drove out to the combined race track and art gallery. Ramona had a Heineken and everyone else had one too. The tables were crowded with laughing aristocrats. More laughing aristocrats arrived in their carriages drawn by dancing matched pairs. Some drifted in from Flushing and São Paulo. Management of the funded indebtedness was discussed; the Queen’s behavior was discussed. All of the horses ran very well, and the pictures ran well too. The laughing aristocrats sucked on the heads of their gold-headed canes some more.

  Jacques held up his degrees from the New Yorker Theatre, where he had been buried in the classics, when he was twelve.

  —I remember the glorious debris underneath the seats, he said, and I remember that I hated then, as I do now, laughing aristocrats.

  The aristocrats heard Jacques talking. They all raised their canes in the air, in rage. A hundred canes shattered in the sun, like a load of antihistamines falling out of an airplane. More laughing aristocrats arrived in phaetons and tumbrels.

  As a result of absenting himself from Cleveland for eight months, Charles had lost his position there.

  —It is true that I am part of the laughing-aristocrat structure, Charles said. I don’t mean I am one of them. I mean I am their creature. They hold me in thrall.

  Laughing aristocrats who invent
ed the cost-plus contract . . .

  Laughing aristocrats who invented the real estate broker . . .

  Laughing aristocrats who invented Formica . . .

  Laughing aristocrats wiping their surfaces clean with a damp cloth . . .

  Charles poured himself another brilliant green Heineken.

  —To the struggle!

     10.

  The Puerto Rican painters have come, as they do every three years, to paint the apartment!

  The painters, Emmanuel and Curtis, heaved their buckets, rollers, ladders and drop cloths up the stairs into the apartment.

  —What shade of white do you want this apartment painted?

  A consultation.

  —How about plain white?

  —Fine, Emmanuel said. That’s a mighty good-looking Motorola television set you have there. Would you turn it to Channel 47, por favor? There’s a film we’d like to see. We can paint and watch at the same time.

  —What’s the film?

  —“Victimas de Pecado,” with Pedro Vargas and Ninon Sevilla.

  Elsa spoke to her husband, Jacques.

  —Ramona has frightened me.

  —How?

  —She said one couldn’t sleep with someone more than four hundred times without being bored.

  —How does she know?

  —She saw it in a book.

  —Well, Jacques said, we only do what we really want to do about 11 per cent of the time. In our lives.

  —11 per cent!

  At the Ingres Gardens, the great singer Moonbelly sang a song of rage.

     11.

  Vercingetorix, leader of the firemen, reached for his red telephone.

  —Hello, is this Ramona?

  —No, this is Elsa. Ramona’s not home.

  —Will you tell her that the leader of all the firemen called?

  Ramona went out of town for a weekend with Vercingetorix. They went to his farm, about eighty miles away. In the kitchen of the farm, bats attacked them. Vercingetorix could not find his broom.

  —Put a paper bag over them. Where is a paper bag?

  —The groceries, Vercingetorix said.

  Ramona dumped the groceries on the floor. The bats were zooming around the room uttering audible squeaks. With the large paper bag in his hands Vercingetorix made weak capturing gestures toward the bats.

  —God, if one gets in my hair, Ramona said.

  —They don’t want to fly into the bag, Vercingetorix said.

  —Give me the bag, if one gets in my hair I’ll croak right here in front of you.

  Ramona put the paper bag over her head just as a bat banged into her.

  —What was that?

  —A bat, Vercingetorix said, but it didn’t get into your hair.

  —Damn you, Ramona said, inside the bag, why can’t you stay in the city like other men?

  Moonbelly emerged from the bushes and covered her arms with kisses.

     12.

  Jacques persuaded Moonbelly to appear at a benefit for the signers of the Declaration of Rye, who were having a little legal trouble. Three hundred younger people sat in the church. Paper plates were passed up and down the rows. A number of quarters were collected.

  Moonbelly sang a new song called “The System Cannot Withstand Close Scrutiny.”

  The system cannot withstand close scrutiny

  The system cannot withstand close scrutiny

  The system cannot withstand close scrutiny

  The system cannot withstand close scrutiny

  Etc.

  Jacques spoke briefly and well. A few more quarters showered down on the stage.

  At the party after the benefit Ramona spoke to Jacques, because he was handsome and flushed with triumph.

  —Tell me something.

  —All right Ramona what do you want to know?

  —Do you promise to tell me the truth?

  —Of course. Sure.

  —Can one be impregnated by a song?

  —I think not. I would say no.

  —While one is asleep, possibly?

  —It’s not very likely.

  —What sort of people have hysterical pregnancies?

  —Well, you know. Sort of nervous girls.

  —If a hysterical pregnancy results in a birth, is it still considered hysterical?

  —No.

  —Rats!

     13.

  Charles and Jacques were trying to move a parked Volks­wagen. When a Volkswagen is parked with its parking brake set you need three people to move it, usually.

  A third person was sighted moving down the street.

  —Say, buddy, could you give us a hand for a minute?

  —Sure, the third person said.

  Charles, Jacques, and the third person grasped the VW firmly in their hands and heaved. It moved forward opening up a new parking space where only half a space had been before.

  —Thanks, Jacques said. Now would you mind helping us unload this panel truck here? It contains printed materials pertaining to the worldwide struggle for liberation from outmoded ways of thought that hold us in thrall.

  —I don’t mind.

  Charles, Jacques, and Hector carried the bundles of printed material up the stairs into the Porter Street apartment.

  —What does this printed material say, Jacques?

  —It says that the government has promised to give us some of our money back if it loses the war.

  —Is that true?

  —No. And now, how about a drink?

  Drinking their drinks they regarded the black trombone case which rested under Hector’s coat.

  —Is that a trombone case?

  Hector’s eyes glazed.

  Moonbelly sat on the couch, his great belly covered with plants and animals.

  —It’s good to be what one is, he said.

     14.

  Ramona’s child was born on Wednesday. It was a boy.

  —But Ramona! Who is responsible? Charles? Jacques? Moonbelly? Vercingetorix?

  —It was a virgin birth, unfortunately, Ramona said.

  —But what does this imply about the child?

  —Nothing, Ramona said. It was just an ordinary virgin birth. Don’t bother your pretty head about it, Elsa dear.

  However much Ramona tried to soft-pedal the virgin birth, people persisted in getting excited about it. A few cardinals from the Sacred Rota dropped by.

  —What is this you’re claiming here, foolish girl?

  —I claim nothing, Your Eminence. I merely report.

  —Give us the name of the man who has compromised you!

  —It was a virgin birth, sir.

  Cardinal Maranto frowned in several directions.

  —There can’t be another Virgin Birth!

  Ramona modestly lowered her eyes. The child, Sam, was wrapped in a blanket with his feet sticking out.

  —Better cover those feet.

  —Thank you, Cardinal. I will.

     15.

  Ramona went to class at the Law School carrying Sam on her hip in a sling.

  —What’s that?

  —My child.

  —I didn’t know you were married.

  —I’m not.

  —That’s against the law! I think.

  —What law is it against?

  The entire class regarded the teacher.

  —Well there is a law against fornication on the books, but of course it’s not enforced very often ha ha. It’s sort of difficult to enforce ha ha.

  —I have to tell you, Ramona said, that this child is not of human man conceived. It was a virgin birth. Unfortunately.

  A few waves of smickers washed across the classroom.


  A law student named Harold leaped to his feet.

  —Stop this smickering! What are we thinking of? To make mock of this fine girl! Rot me if I will permit it! Are we gentlemen? Is this lady our colleague? Or are we rather beasts of the field? This Ramona, this trull . . . No, that’s not what I mean. I mean that we should think not upon her peculations but on our own peculations. For, as Augustine tells us, if for some error or sin of our own, sadness seizes us, let us not only bear in mind that an afflicted spirit is a sacrifice to God but also the words: for as water quencheth a flaming fire, so almsgiving quencheth sin; and for I desire, He says, mercy rather than sacrifice. As, therefore, if we were in danger from fire, we should, of course, run for water with which to extinguish it, and should be thankful if someone showed us water nearby, so if some flame of sin has arisen from the hay of our passions, we should take delight in this, that the ground for a work of great mercy is given to us. Therefore—

  Harold collapsed, from the heat of his imagination.

  A student in a neighboring seat looked deeply into Sam’s eyes.

  —They’re brown.

     16.

  Moonbelly was fingering his axe.

  —A birth hymn? Do I really want to write a birth hymn?

  —What do I really think about this damn birth?

  —Of course it’s within the tradition.

  —Is this the real purpose of cities? Is this why all these units have been brought together, under the red, white and blue?

  —Cities are erotic, in a depressing way. Should that be my line?

  —Of course I usually do best with something in the rage line. However—

  —C . . . F . . . C . . . F . . . C . . . F . . . G7 . . .

  Moonbelly wrote “Cities Are Centers of Copulation.”

  The recording company official handed Moonbelly a gold record marking the sale of a million copies of “Cities Are Centers of Copulation.”

     17.

  Charles and Jacques were still talking to Hector Guimard, the former trombone player.

  —Yours is not a modern problem, Jacques said. The problem today is not angst but lack of angst.

  —Wait a minute, Jacques. Although I myself believe that there is nothing wrong with being a trombone player, I can understand Hector’s feeling. I know a painter who feels the same way about being a painter. Every morning he gets up, brushes his teeth, and stands before the empty canvas. A terrible feeling of being de trop comes over him. So he goes to the corner and buys the Times, at the corner newsstand. He comes back home and reads the Times. During the period in which he’s coupled with the Times he is all right. But soon the Times is exhausted. The empty canvas remains. So (usually) he makes a mark on it, some kind of mark that is not what he means. That is, any old mark, just to have something on the canvas. Then he is profoundly depressed because what is there is not what he meant. And it’s time for lunch. He goes out and buys a pastrami sandwich at the deli. He comes back and eats the sandwich meanwhile regarding the canvas with the wrong mark on it out of the corner of his eye. During the afternoon, he paints out the mark of the morning. This affords him a measure of satisfaction. The balance of the afternoon is spent in deciding whether or not to venture another mark. The new mark, if one is ventured, will also, inevitably, be misconceived. He ventures it. It is misconceived. It is, in fact, the worst kind of vulgarity. He paints out the second mark. Anxiety accumulates. However, the canvas is now, in and of itself, because of the wrong moves and the painting out, becoming rather ­interesting-looking. He goes to the A. & P. and buys a TV Mexican dinner and many bottles of Carta Blanca. He comes back to his loft and eats the Mexican dinner and drinks a couple of Carta Blancas, sitting in front of his canvas. The canvas is, for one thing, no longer empty. Friends drop in and congratulate him on having a not-empty canvas. He begins feeling better. A something has been wrested from the nothing. The quality of the something is still at issue—he is by no means home free. And of course all of painting—the whole art—has moved on somewhere else, it’s not where his head is, and he knows that, but nevertheless he—