“I have to do something. Stay here as long as you like. You know how to get back.” He winked at me and walked up the steps out of the restaurant. I tipped my glass to him and called out a lazy goodbye.
I don’t know how much longer I was there, but the sound of the ringing phone woke me. Opening my eyes to a pitch-black room, I looked at the green glow of my watch and slowly understood it was three A.M. Jesse Chapman was calling, his voice very high and fast with fear. Ian McGann had died half an hour before. His girlfriend, Miep, had gone to the bathroom. When she got back into bed, she leaned over to kiss him. His arm was thrown across his forehead; his eyes were open, staring at nothing. At first she thought he was joking. Before notifying the police, she called Jesse. She didn’t want to talk about it, only wanted him to know. When he asked what she was going to do, she said she’d lie in bed with Ian and tell him goodbye. Then she hung up.
Jesse was calling from his living room, his hand cupped above his mouth so that he wouldn’t wake his wife. He said, three times, “You said it was all right! You said he told you everything was okay for us!”
“What difference does it make what he said? All bets are off now. You were the one who told me not to trust him in the first place, Jesse! Why are you surprised?”
“I’m not surprised. I just don’t want to die, asshole!”
“Asshole doesn’t want to die either.”
“Then what are we going to do? Can you find Strayhorn? Talk to him?”
“I think so. No. I don’t know. This may change everything. Why did he do it? What was the point?”
“Point? For God’s sake, he doesn’t have a fucking point, Wyatt. He’s Death! Death comes and kills you. Period. I told you that.”
In the background I heard a woman’s voice. Jesse’s dropped to tenderness as he told his wife not to worry, everything was okay. I waited while they spoke, then he said he’d have to call me back and abruptly hung up. I put down the phone and lay down. Closing my eyes, I fell instantly asleep.
Immediately I recognized where I was, though I’d not been in the room for almost thirty years. It was the basement of my hometown church where, at Mother’s insistence, I had spent years going to Sunday school. I was sitting at that familiar little round table along with the other kids who had been in my classes there. However, the teacher was not bad-tempered Mr. Crown or nice Miss Turton; it was Woody Woodpecker.
In that famously crazy high-pitched voice, he said to me, “ ‘I desire to be present with you now, and to change my voice; for I stand in doubt of you.
‘Tell me, ye that desire to be under the law, do ye not hear the law?’ ”
I said nothing, though I remembered the words exactly. Galatians 4:20 and 21. I had been made to memorize them for this class, though the teacher at that time was Miss Turton, not a cartoon bird. He gave that annoying laugh again and continued.
“ ‘I am the light that shines over everything. I am the All. From me the All came forth, and to me the All has returned.’ Finish the passage please, Wyatt Leonard.” His voice changed to a perfect imitation of Miss Turton’s.
Without a moment’s hesitation I said, “ ‘Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Pick up a stone, and you will find me there.’ ”
“Very good, Wyatt!”
“Why are you here like this?”
“I told you, ‘I desire to be present with you now, and to change my voice—’ ”
“Phil, why did you kill McGann? You said it wouldn’t happen as long as I understood your answers!”
“Don’t be naïve, baby; I have a job to do. Sometimes I can put it off for a while, and that’s what I did with him. He got to live a little longer and had a lot of joy. That’s good, isn’t it? Would you rather he be hit by a truck? The man was supposed to die a long time ago, but I let him see Venice with the woman he loved. It was the best time of his life. He even died with a hard-on!” Winking at me, he pushed back from the table and ran a hand over the bright red comb on his head.
“Phil, tell me what’s going on. How does this thing really work?”
“Formal question?”
“Yes, damn it, just answer!”
“All right. It’s simple—I have a job and have to do it to everyone sooner or later. It’s my decision how. Naturally, I like some of the people; others I don’t. The ones I like, I try to do it to as easily and comfortably as possible: let them die in their sleep at eighty, or have a stroke on the tennis court so they’re dead before they know what hits them. That sort of thing. The people I don’t like, suffer. Too bad for them.
“I like you. I liked McGann because the man showed real courage. Even Jesse’s okay when he’s not being a pompous ass. He’ll be all right for a while longer.”
“You said that before, but now McGann’s dead!”
“But weren’t you all happier with that lie? Are you sure you really want the truth? I doubt it.”
“That’s all? It only comes down to that? Children fall out windows or starve in Somalia only because you don’t like them? I don’t believe it! What have they ever done? They didn’t get a chance to live! How can you do that to kids?”
“Because I do. It’s not hard.”
“And good people die in misery and pain and confusion because you don’t like them? What about all the good they do in their lives?”
“You and I have different reasons for liking and disliking people, Wyatt. And be careful of the tone of your voice; I don’t like being lectured.”
“Who are you? You look like Strayhorn just because it’s easier for me to understand, right?”
“Right! In my time I’ve been… let’s see”—crossing his arms, he tapped a finger against his beak and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling—“Humbaba, Grendel, Old Toast, Cold Storage, the Cop in the mask store… whatever you want. Whatever you understand.”
“Are you the Devil?”
“Nope. He doesn’t exist. Just Life and Death. It’s so simple, no one’s ever wanted to believe it.”
“But there’s a God! Don’t say there isn’t!”
He started to speak but stopped and smiled instead. “That’s one answer I guarantee you wouldn’t understand, so I’ll spare you a scar. Believe what you want.”
ARLEN
I love doing this taping, Rose. I hope it’s not boring you. I’d give so much to be able to tell you these things face to face, but since there’s no way that’s possible now, this is a pretty good second best.
So I spent the next three days taking care of Leland—or as much as he would allow it—and showing him the Vienna I love. Unlike Paris or Venice, this is not a city for lovers. It’s too sedate, too formal; it has no passion or spontaneity. None whatsoever. To me its greatness is its dignity and beauty. Like an illustrious old statesman who’s lived a long and worthwhile life, its history is its identity. Like the old gent, it sits in its perfectly tended gardens, content to live in memories for the rest of its days.
We went to museums and some touristy things, but spent most of our time taking long walks on the Ringstrasse and Prater Alice or deep in the Wienerwald. I was amazed at how much Leland knew about Vienna—a hell of a lot more than I do. At Freud’s house he got into a long discussion with one of the curators about Anna Freud and Ernest Jones. Then only a few blocks away from there he stopped and pointed to a church where Beethoven’s funeral was held. Standing in front of the building, he described the funeral so fully that I was totally engrossed. It was like being with a Beethoven scholar and social historian in one. I don’t know about you, girl, but to me one of the sexiest things in the world is a man who knows things but makes no big deal about it. Leland’s knowledge always came out as sheer enthusiasm—wow! Look at that! Guess what happened here? Can you believe we’re actually here to see it? I tagged along with my mouth open, feeling so lucky to be along for the ride.
Once in a while we’d stop because he was tired or uncomfortable, but even then it was a treat because he’d go on with stories about his life. I
couldn’t get enough of them. Did you know the Chinese eat more watermelon than any other nation? They love it so much they actually have a watermelon museum? Or that Ceausescu had a limousine only for his dog? I was completely captivated and didn’t want the meals or the walks or the days to end.
And as you can guess, my feelings toward him got warmer and warmer. Even his nice plain face gradually started looking like Gary Cooper’s. I wanted him and wanted to tell him that. No ties were necessary, no commitment—just I’d like this day to go on into the night and see what you’re like there too. Because if it’s anything like now, then I’m yours, brother. But he didn’t make a move, not one, not even for a shivery second. Didn’t accidentally touch my arm or brush my hand when he was making a point in conversation. God knows I wanted him to, and started feeling that maybe I had cooties or something, because there wasn’t even the slightest anything to show interest on his part. No quick look at my chest, or bumps-into when there were plenty of good chances for them. I even tried bumping into him once when we were on an escalator, but when I moved, he moved faster. It got so frustrating that I even caught myself thinking, Hey, I’m Arlen Ford the glamorous movie star; don’t I interest you at all? Or maybe he was gay? Uh-oh. That thought loomed gloomily over me for a whole day until he made some reference to a woman he’d had an affair with a year ago. Luckily he was looking away, because my face lit up like a sparkler when I heard that, and I almost started whistling. Since he’d put the subject on the table, I breezily asked if he was involved with anyone now. He said only that he was, but it was over.
We went to the casino on Kartnerstrasse and he won a thousand schillings. When we were walking down the street later, a really good South American band was playing. We stood and listened a while. Then Leland went over and put all of the money he’d won into the guitar case the players had open for donations. When the guys saw that, they started playing so fast that they sounded as if they’d overdosed on Dexedrine.
Wherever we went, he took pictures. Many of them were of Vienna, bat most were of me. I didn’t mind. This time he was my friend and I looked forward to seeing them when they were developed. When he was walking around, he carried two little cameras in his front pockets—one loaded with black-and-white film, the other with color.
After the casino we went to the Café Hawelka to watch the late night scene there. After we’d settled in with our coffee and cigarettes, he asked me why I had really stopped making movies and left L.A. He said he’d read the stories and interviews, but not many people just stop in the middle of their lives like that, especially when they’re successful, and run away.
I said I’d quit for two reasons. The first was that I woke up one morning with a bad taste in my mouth and a bad guy in the bed next to me. If the acting had been going better, that would have been basically bearable: I’d have thought, Oh, this is just a rotten time and things’ll get better. But the other reason for quitting blended in with that in the worst possible way. I’ve tried to describe this to you, Rose, but never had a good way of putting it till now. It came to me when I was talking with Leland.
I’ve finally realized I’m one of those people who peak early in life and then go down just as fast. Or part of us does.
You know how awful and confused and strung-out I was before I left? I believe it’s because I unconsciously realized I no longer had the ability to be a good actress. I’d done all of my best work, and from there on out, if I had continued, it would have been impossible to do anything well.
Leland said he read a review of a famous dramatist’s newest play. The critic said the play was terrible and what the writer should have done was stopped writing twenty years before—after having had a couple of flops—because by then he must have known somewhere in his soul that he no longer had the magic to do great work. If he’d stopped, then we’d know him for his masterpieces, and not the embarrassing shit that came afterward. He should have just stopped.
I said exactly! That’s exactly what happened to me but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. Down deep I knew I’d reached my peak and it was over. Maybe I had enough to… maybe I’d end up in some cheesy TV series making lots of Joan Collins faces and saying godawful lines. But I didn’t want to end like that. The last film made me reach down too deep into myself to find a good performance… It was brutal, Rose, harder than anything I’ve done. Weber helped a lot with his direction, but every day after work I was totally exhausted, because I was squeezing out whatever last drops were still there. Talent drops. When the movie was finished, there wasn’t one left in my tank. Like it or not, I was done as an actress. End of a career, crummy men, a house I never wanted to go home to because there was nothing there… That’s why I came here. Because Vienna was one of the few things I really did love.
Right in the middle of that conversation, a hundred-megaton brunette swept up to our table as only an egregiously gorgeous woman can—head thrown back, tits pushed forward, a smile that says of course everyone in the room is watching me, but don’t they always? I saw her before he did and watched as she tacked through the tightly bunched tables over to ours.
Her face got happier and happier the closer she came. And it was real happiness—nothing fake or put-on about it.
“Leland!” she shouted. He looked at her, but instead of being thrilled and leaping to his feet because Miss Lalapalooza was trilling his name, he only smiled and stayed where he was. He didn’t even attempt to get out of his seat when she was standing on the other side of the table, obviously dying to get her mitts on him.
“Hi, Emmy. Emmy Marhoun, this is Arlen Ford.” That stopped her. She looked at me for really the first time and there was a glumph of recognition in her eyes. Also, the courteous coolness of Leland’s voice said a lot. Her reaction was very strange—she shrank down into herself. But she was valiant and tried again. “Oh, Leland, it’s been so long! What have you been doing?”
She wanted to talk but he didn’t. He was very pleasant and polite, but gave her nothing to grab on to. It was as if he were a sheer mountain face of glass she desperately wanted to climb but couldn’t get a handhold on. When I realized what was happening, I sat back to enjoy the show. Her eyes jumped between Leland and me. After a few embarrassing minutes of getting no further with him, she began speaking directly to me, as if I would understand and be able to translate her better to him. Fat chance, Emmy.
She was in Vienna on business. How long would he be staying? Could they meet for a drink… it’d been such a long time. It was so wonderful to see him again… but nothing doing. The pleasanter he was, the more desperate she became.
At last she understood this meeting was all she was going to get, and even Miss Self-Adoring realized there was no way she was going to get what she wanted from him. So she tried to back away gracefully and wave beautifully and be gone in another romantic ssssswirl. But there was a pathetic falseness in her gestures and the kind of hurt in her voice and around her eyes that said she’d been snapped in half.
I asked who she was, and he said a woman he was crazy for a few years ago. He thought she loved him too but she didn’t. Seems she had her own heartbeat to attend to. He said the ironic part was that a week after they broke up, he saved her life and she never forgave him for it, but he wouldn’t explain that.
I shook my head and said, “You know, Leland, after hanging around with you these days, I’m beginning to feel that, in comparison to your life, I’ve lived mine on a microscope slide. What haven’t you done?”
His answer came very quickly. “I’ve never had a child. Never written a book. Never really got lost in sex. I’ve never learned how to sit still. I’m scared I’ll end up being one of those old men who’ll need a garden or a dog to boss around because there’ll be nothing else left at the end of my life.
“That’s why I’m envious of you, Arlen, and the way you’ve chosen to live now. Your life used to be the way mine is now. All crazy running around, no real substance. But you stopped and got out. You’ve got s
o many things, qualities, I wish I had.”
I couldn’t believe he was saying that after I told him what a screwed-up mess I was. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life these days. It’s like an instrument I used to play pretty well but don’t know how to even hold anymore, much less play.
He said, “Many have life left over when luck runs out. They waste their happy moments and farther down the road would like to turn around and return to them. There are more days than luck.” That’s a line from the writer Gracian, and right after saying it, he quoted another: “Two kinds of people are good at foreseeing danger: those who have learned at their own expense and the clever people who learn a great deal at the expense of others.”
All the bustle and noise of the café fell away. We looked at each other so sadly. He was lost in his chaos; I was afraid mine would return the moment he left town. So I took a deep breath and just said it. “You know what I’d like to do more than anything else in the world right now? Go home and make love with you.”
He looked away and my heart fell. Then he looked back and said, “I can’t do that. I’m HIV positive.”
I grabbed his hand and squeezed it as hard as I could. He squeezed back. It was the first time we had ever touched.
“They discovered it when I was here last time. That’s really why I came to Vienna. I had this cough that wouldn’t go away and was losing weight… Can we leave now?”
Oh, Christ! Jesus, you can’t imagine how I felt. I put money on the table and we left. I walked in front of him, paying no attention to anything but the door. I went through it and held it for him. When we were outside, we stood there staring at each other.
He touched my shoulder. “Three people said your name as we were leaving.”
I shook my head and began to cry. I put my arms around him and wept. He patted my back but then stopped, and he wept too.
From the Teeth of Angels Page 17