Donald Barthelme

by Donald Barthelme

  —But even a poor rebellion has its glorious moments. Let me list some of them. When the flag fell over, and Clem picked it up. When the high priest smeared himself all over with bacon fat and was attacked by red dogs, and Clem scared them off with her bomb. When it was discovered that all of the drumsticks had been left back at the base, and Clem fashioned new ones from ordinary dowels, bought at the hardware store. When gluttons made the line break and waver, and Clem stopped it by stamping her foot, again and again and again.

  —When she gets back from the hills, I intend to call her up. It’s worth a try.

  —Distant fingers from the rebel forces are raised in fond salute.

  —The rebel brigades are reading Leskov’s Why Are Books Expensive in Kiev?

  —Three rebellions ago, the air was fresher. The soft pasting noises of the rebel billposters remind us of Oklahoma, where everything is still the same.

  The Apology

  —SITTING ON the floor by the window with only part of my face in the window. He’ll never come back.

  —Of course he will. He’ll return, open the gate with one hand, look up and see your face in the window.

  —He’ll never come back. Not now.

  —He’ll come back. New lines on his meager face. Yet with head held high.

  —I was unforgivable.

  —I would not argue otherwise.

  —The black iron gate, difficult to open. Takes two hands. I can see it. It’s closed.

  —I’ve had hell with that gate. In winter, without gloves, yanking, late at night, turning my head to see who might be behind me—

  —That time that guy was after you—

  —The creep—

  —With the chain—

  —Naw he wasn’t the one with the chain he was the other one. With the cudgel.

  —Yes they do seem to be carrying cudgels now, I’ve noticed that. Big knobby cudgels.

  —It’s a style, makes a statement, something to do with their pricks I imagine.

  —Sitting on the floor by the window with only part of my face in the window, the upper part, face truncated under the eyes by the what do you call it, sill.

  —But bathed nevertheless by the heat of the fire, which spreads a pleasing warming tickle across your bare back—

  —I was unforgivable.

  —I don’t disagree.

  —He’ll never come back.

  —Say you’re sorry.

  —I’m not sorry.

  —Genuine sorrow is gold. If you can’t do it, fake it.

  —I’m not sorry.

  —Well screw it. It’s six of one and half dozen of the other to me. I don’t care.

  —What?

  —Forgive me I didn’t mean that.

  —What?

  —I just meant you could throw him a bone is all I meant. A note written on pale-blue notepaper, in an unsteady hand. “Dear William, it is one of the greatest regrets of my poor life that—”

  —Never.

  —He may. He might. It’s possible. Your position, there in the window, strongly suggests that the affair has yet some energy unexpended. That the magnetic north of your brain may attract his wavering needle still.

  —That’s kind of you. Kind.

  —Your wan, white back. Your green, bifurcated French jeans. Red lines on your back. Cat hair on your jeans.

  —Wait. What is it that makes you spring up so, my heart?

  —The gate.

  —The sound of the gate. The gate opening.

  —Is it he?

  —It is not. It is someone.

  —Let me look.

  —He’s standing there.

  —I know him. Andy deGroot. Looking up at our windows.

  —Who’s Andy deGroot?

  —Guy I know. Melville Fisher Kirkland Leland & deGroot.

  —What’s he want?

  —My devotion. I’ve disabused him a hundred times, to little avail. If he rings, don’t answer. Of course he’s more into standing outside and gazing up.

  —He looks all right.

  —Yes he is all right. That’s Andy.

  —Powerful forehead on him.

  —Yes it is impressive. Stuffed with banana paste.

  —Good arms.

  —Yes, quite good.

  —Looks like he might fly into a rage if crossed.

  —He rages constantly.

  —We could go out in the street and hit on him, drive him away with blows and imprecations.

  —Probably have little or no effect.

  —Stick him with the spines of sea urchins.

  —Doubt you could penetrate.

  —But he’s a friend of yours so you say.

  —I got no friends babe, no friends, no friends. When you get down to the nut-cutting.

  —Go take a poke.

  —I don’t want to be the first you do it.

  —Ah the hell with it. Sitting here with my head hanging in the window, what a way for a grown woman to spend her time.

  —Many ways a grown woman can spend her time. Many ways. Lace-making. Feeding the golden carp. Fibonacci numbers.

  —Perhaps a new gown, in fawn or taupe. That might be a giggle. Meanwhile, I am planted on this floor. Sitting on the floor by the window with only my great dark eyes visible. My great dark eyes and, in moments of agitation, my great dark nose. Ogled by myriads of citizens bopping down these Chuck’s Pizza-plated streets.

  —How pale the brow! How pallid the cheek! How chalk the neck! How floury the shoulders! And so on. Say you’re sorry.

  —I cannot. What’s next? Can’t sit here all night. I’m nervous. Look on the bright side, maybe he’ll go away. He’s got a gun stuck in his belt, a belly gun, I saw it. I scraped the oatmeal out of the pot you’ll be glad to know. Used the mitt, the black mitt. Throw something at him, a spear or a rock. Open the window first. Spear’s in the closet. I can lend you a rock if you don’t have a rock. Hurt him. Make him go away. Make the other return. Stir up the fire. Put on some music. Have you no magic? Why do I know you? What are you good for? Why are you here? Fetch me some chocolate? Massage?

  —He’ll never come back. Until you say it.

  —Be damned if I will. Damned a thousand times.

  —Then you forfeit the sunshine of his poor blasted face forever. You are dumb, if I may say so, dumb, dumb. It’s easy. It’s like saying thank you. Myself, I shower thanks everywhere. Thank people for their kindness, thank them for their courtesy. Thank them for their thoughtfulness. Thank them for little things they do if they do little things that are kind, courteous, or thoughtful. Thank them for coming to my house and thank them for leaving. Thank them for what they are about to do as well as thank them for what they have already done, thank them in public and then take them aside privately and thank them again. Thank the thankless and thank the already adequately thanked. In fine, let no occasion pass to slip the chill blade of my thanks between the ribs of every human ear.

  —Well. I see what you mean.

  —Act.

  —Andy has bestirred himself.

  —What’s he doing?

  —Sitting. On a garbage can.

  —I knew him long ago, and far away.

  —Cincinnati.

  —Yes. Engaged then in the manufacture of gearshafts. Had quite a nice wife at that period, name of Caledonia. She split. Then another wife, Cecile as I recall, ran away with a gibbon. Then another wife whose name tax my memory as I may cannot be brought to consciousness, think I spilled something on her once, something that stained. She too evaporated. He came here and joined Melville Fisher etc. Fell in love with a secretary. Polly. She had a beaded curtain in front of her office door and burnt incense. Quite exotic, for Melville Fisher. She ended up in the harem of one of those mystics, a maharooni. Met the old
boy once, he grasped my nose and pulled, I felt a great surge of something. Like I was having my nose pulled.

  —So that’s Andy.

  —Yes. What’s that sucker doing now?

  —He’s combing his head. Got him a steel comb, maybe aluminum.

  —What’s to comb? What’s he doing now?

  —Adjusting his pants. He’s zipping.

  —You are aware dear colleague are you not that I cannot abide, cannot abide, even the least wrinkle of vulgarity in social discourse? And that this “zipping” as you call it—

  —You are censorious, madame.

  —A mere scant shallow preludium, madame, to the remarks I shall bend in your direction should you persist.

  —Shall we call the cops?

  —And say what?

  —Someone’s sitting on our garbage can?

  —Maybe that’s not illegal?

  —Oh my God he’s got it out in his hands. Oh my God he’s pointing his gun at it.

  —Oh my God. Shall we call the cops?

  —Open the window.

  —Open the window?

  —Yes open the window.

  —Okay the window’s open.

  —William! William, wherever you are!

  —You’re going to say you’re sorry!

  —William! I’m sorry!

  —Andy’s put everything away!

  —William I’m sorry I let my brother hoist you up the mast in that crappy jury-rigged bosun’s chair while everybody laughed! William I’m sorry I could build better fires than you could! I’m sorry my stack of Christmas cards was always bigger than yours!

  —Andy quails. That’s good.

  —William I’m sorry you don’t ski and I’m sorry about your back and I’m sorry I invented bop jogging which you couldn’t do! I’m sorry I loved Antigua! I’m sorry my mind wandered when you talked about the army! I’m sorry I was superior in argument! I’m sorry you slit open my bicycle tires looking for incriminating letters that you didn’t find! You’ll never find them!

  —Wow babe that’s terrific babe. Very terrific.

  —William! I’m sorry I looked at Sam but he was so handsome, so handsome, who could not! I’m sorry I slept with Sam! I’m sorry about the library books! I’m sorry about Pete! I’m sorry I never played the guitar you gave me! William! I’m sorry I married you and I’ll never do it again!

  —Wow.

  —Was I sorry enough?

  —Well Andy’s run away howling.

  —Was I sorry enough?

  —Terrific. Very terrific.

  —Yes I feel much better.

  —Didn’t I tell you?

  —You told me.

  —Are you okay?

  —Yes I’m fine. Just a little out of breath.

  —Well. What’s next? Do a little honky-tonking maybe, hit a few bars?

  —We could. If you feel like it. Was I sorry enough?

  —No.

  The New Music

  —WHAT DID you do today?

  —Went to the grocery store and Xeroxed a box of English muffins, two pounds of ground veal and an apple. In flagrant violation of the Copyright Act.

  —You had your nap, I remember that—

  —I had my nap.

  —Lunch, I remember that, there was lunch, slept with Susie after lunch, then your nap, woke up, right?, went Xeroxing, right?, read a book not a whole book but part of a book—

  —Talked to Happy on the telephone saw the seven o’clock news did not wash the dishes want to clean up some of this mess?

  —If one does nothing but listen to the new music, everything else drifts, goes away, frays. Did Odysseus feel this way when he and Diomedes decided to steal Athene’s statue from the Trojans, so that they would become dejected and lose the war? I don’t think so, but who is to know what effect the new music of that remote time had on its hearers?

  —Or how it compares to the new music of this time?

  —One can only conjecture.

  —Ah well. I was talking to a girl, talking to her mother actually but the daughter was very much present, on the street. The daughter was absolutely someone you’d like to take to bed and hug and kiss, if you weren’t too old. If she weren’t too young. She was a wonderful-looking young woman and she was looking at me quite seductively, very seductively, smoldering a bit, and I was thinking quite well of myself, very well indeed, thinking myself quite the—Until I realized she was just practicing.

  —Yes, I still think of myself as a young man.

  —Yes.

  —A slightly old young man.

  —That’s not unusual.

  —A slightly old young man still advertising in the trees and rivers for a mate.

  —Yes.

  —Being clean.

  —You’re very clean.

  —Cleaner than most.

  —It’s not escaped me. Your cleanness.

  —Some of these people aren’t clean. People you meet.

  —What can you do?

  —Set an example. Be clean.

  —Dig it, dig it.

  —I got three different shower heads. Different degrees of sting.

  —Dynamite.

  —I got one of these Finnish pads that slip over the hand.

  —Numero uno.

  —Pedicare. That’s another thing.

  —Think you’re the mule’s eyebrows don’t you?

  —No. I feel like Insufficient Funds.

  —Feel like a busted-up car by the side of the road stripped of value.

  —Feel like I don’t like this!

  —You’re just a little down, man, down, that’s what they call it, down.

  —Well how come they didn’t bring us no ring of roses with a purple silk sash with gold lettering on that mother? How come that?

  —Dunno baby. Maybe we lost?

  —How could we lose? How could we? We!

  —We were standing tall. Ready to hand them their asses, clean their clocks. Yet maybe—

  —I remember the old days when we almost automatically—

  —Yes. Almost without effort—

  —Right. Come in, Commander. Put it right there, anywhere will do, let me move that for you. Just put that sucker down right there. An eleven-foot-high silver cup!

  —Beautifully engraved, with dates.

  —Beautifully engraved, with dates. That was then.

  —Well. Is there help coming?

  —I called the number for help and they said there was no more help.

  —I’m taking you to Pool.

  —I’ve been there.

  —I’m taking you to Pool, city of new life.

  —Maybe tomorrow or another day.

  —Pool, the revivifier.

  —Oh man I’m not up for it.

  —Where one can taste the essences, get swindled into health.

  —I got things to do.

  —That lonesome road. It ends in Pool.

  —Got to chop a little cotton, go by the drugstore.

  —Ever been to Pool?

  —Yes I’ve been there.

  —Pool, city of new hope.

  —Get my ocarina tuned, sew a button on my shirt.

  —Have you traveled much? Have you traveled enough?

  —I’ve traveled a bit.

  —Got to go away ’fore you can get back, that’s fundamental.

  —The joy of return is my joy. Satisfied by a walk around the block.

  —Pool. Have you seen the new barracks? For the State Police? They used that red rock they have around there, quite a handsome structure, dim and red.

  —Do the cops like it?

  —No one has asked them. But they could hardly . . . I mean it’s new.

  �
�Got to air my sleeping bag, scrub up my canteen.

  —Have you seen the new amphitheater? Made out of red rock. They play all the tragedies.

  —Yeah I’ve seen it that’s over by the train station right?

  —No it’s closer to the Great Lyceum. The Great Lyceum glowing like an ember against the hubris of the city.

  —I could certainly use some home fries ’long about now. Home fries and ketchup.

  —Pool. The idea was that it be one of those new towns. Where everyone would be happier. The regulations are quite strict. They don’t let people have cars.

  —Yes, I was in on the beginning. I remember the charette, I was asked to prepare a paper. But I couldn’t think of anything. I stood there wearing this blue smock stenciled with the Pool emblem, looked rather like a maternity gown. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally I said I would go along with the group.

  —The only thing old there is the monastery, dates from 1720 or thereabouts. Has the Dark Virgin, the Virgin is black, as is the Child. Dates from 1720 or around in there.

  —I’ve seen it. Rich fare, extraordinarily rich, makes you want to cry.

  —And in the fall the circus comes. Plays the red rock gardens where the carved red asters, carved red phlox, are set off by borders of yellow beryl.

  —I’ve seen it. Extraordinarily rich.

  —So it’s settled, we’ll go to Pool, there’ll be routs and revels, maybe a sock hop, maybe a nuzzle or two on the terrace with one of the dazzling Pool beauties—

  —Not much for nuzzling, now. I mostly kneel at their feet, knit for them or parse for them—

  —And the Pool buffalo herd. Six thousand beasts. All still alive.

  —Each house has its grand lawns and grounds, brass candlesticks, thrice-daily mail delivery. Elegant widowed women living alone in large houses, watering lawns with whirling yellow sprinklers, studying the patterns of the grass, searching out brown patches to be sprinkled. Sometimes there is a grown child in the house, or an almost-grown one, working for a school or hospital in a teaching or counseling position. Frequently there are family photographs on the walls of the house, about which you are encouraged to ask questions. At dusk medals are awarded those who have made it through the day, the Cross of St. Jaime, the Cross of St. Em.