J R

by William Gaddis

  —Well I really don’t think . . .

  —No of course not Mother feels understatement is always best and I think she’s less than enraptured with your J R person’s notion of little booths set up in the nursing home lobbies to sell the entire package, prostheses the nursing care funeral plot and stone it sounds rather like a midway and of course the organized funeral directors are quite gaga over the whole thing rustling up preneed laws and being most unfriendly but if the darkies have been getting away with their little burial societies for ages certainly anyone has the right to plan those delicious last moments at leisure with none of that frantic last minute embarrassment over bills have you worked out the package cost?

  —No and I don’t . . .

  —Know how many packages you’ll offer no but there must be a mad variety or it could all turn into the sort of mass burial I suppose they have in Russia Mother says your J R person wants to approach the young married market but projecting costs so far in the future when the average nine hundred seventy-five dollars now doesn’t even include vault memorial stone cemetery plot flowers burial clothing even the minister of course having the use of all that money for what might be simply ages before that last surprise party when the package is opened and with people rushing about so even that might happen in some utterly inaccessible place he almost seems to be counting on quite an eventual number of no-shows at your vast cemetery somewhere called Union forgive me was that your foot?

  —No it’s, it’s just my case let me move it I . . .

  —Oh I hope I didn’t scratch it my new heels are so dreadfully sharp here let me help you, your cabs here are so thrillingly efficient but there’s simply no place in them to sit down and my hat is getting careful, your important papers are spilling . . .

  —Yes it’s, Mister Crawley broke the catch opening it and it’s . . .

  —He does sound like an absolute bear Mother said he oh! It’s all music it’s simply filled with music oh I must see! You didn’t write it?

  —Well yes but it’s . . .

  —Oh let me see let me see this passage right here how simply delicious what part is it.

  —That’s the, the harpsichord part it . . .

  —Mmmmmmmm! delicious, yes there’s a little Rameau there isn’t there mmmmmmmmmm . . .

  —Well his, his piece The Gnat I just wanted the feeling of . . .

  —And you certainly caught it didn’t you I feel prickly all over now what’s this oh how ominous . . .!

  —Yes well that’s, that’s the string bass but about the cemetery I think you’d better talk to Mister Hop . . .

  —Yes Mother said it was simply vast thousands of acres somewhere nearby called Union Falls? that you’ve taken over an entire right of way for it? Mmmmmm mmm mmmm hmmm . . .

  —Well it’s no not exactly nearby, this cemetery is in the middle of a right of way up near our . . .

  —Mmmmmm hmmmm hmmmm, hmm hmm delicious yes three thousand acres your J R person told Mother and imagine he’s concerned about unprofitable plots of course burying the welfare poor has always been a losing proposition simply noblesse oblige the agencies pay such a pittance but his proposal to make it pay by placing them six and eight deep to a plot when he was describing the entire package idea on the telephone as vertical integration Mother was simply aghast she thought he meant darkies and whites stacked in layers like a giant Dubos torta don’t you just crave one right now? We could slip over to . . .

  —No, no I . . .

  —The Hungarians are so clever with pastries but no all he meant was getting into the monument trade he’d just learned it runs over a third of a billion annually but you must tell him those monstrous granite memorials are quite quite passé the maintenance is simply prohibitive, you’ll want stones flush with the ground so your lawnmowers can simply whirr past overhead oh how brilliant, mmm mmmm mmmmm mmmmm mm mm m how simply brilliant and with your handicap Mister Bast oh forgive me, forgive me for mentioning it but I can only think of those cruel people telling Beethoven they heard shepherds’ pipes where he heard absolutely nothing and that heartrending will he wrote at the time of his exquisite Second Symphony you mustn’t think of taking your life Mister Bast you simply must not . . .

  —No well I, I hadn’t no I, driver . . .?

  —To think of leaving the world before you’ve brought out all you have within you no, no you must promise . . .

  —Yes well I, excuse me yes I think we’re at Ninety-fifth Street, driver . . .?

  —Oh and you must tell your J R person caskets are not worth getting into the profit lag is simply deadly . . .

  —Yes driver? Will you stop at this corner?

  —Now when am I to hear you play.

  —I don’t know Mister Brisboy I have to go away for . . .

  —Yes we’re quite near your headquarters right now aren’t we, you don’t have a piano hidden there? I know Mother wrote down the address for me I might pop in later and surprise you!

  —No that wouldn’t no the piano is hidden yes it’s not can’t be played no, no I’ll see you at the hotel Mister Bris . . .

  —What fun yes I’m right there in the Towers you know there’s none in my suite but I’ll have them rush one in instantly goodbye, auf Wiedersehen Mister Bast au voir it’s such a joy to be included in the family oh! I’d meant to pay our cabby but Mother sent me off with nothing but fifties . . .

  —No that’s, that’s all right good wait your hat be careful it’s, yes goodbye . . . driver? Around on Ninety-sixth Street please, over between Third and Second . . .

  —Never saw a real life cowboy where he come from.

  —I think he’s, he’s from Florida yes he . . .

  —He from Florida?

  —From Florida yes . . . yes down in the middle of that next block, behind that big limousine that last brick front . . .

  —Where’s all the garbage cans at?

  —Yes just pull around and, wait be careful!

  —Push that wreck up car right in front of me oweeeee!

  —Yes I’d better get out right here, yes and, here thank you, can you push out the box to me, the wind . . .

  —Limousine smash right in the trunk oweeeeee!

  —Coño!

  —Ya mira que haces coño!

  —Coño tienes el freno tu, aye madre . . .

  —Excuse me . . . he stepped over the glass splintered from framing Z S on the plate, reaching the doorway box and case held high against the wind to pause there for the chauffeur’s uniform in full emergency, in to where that bulb seemed to glow with no more purpose than to keep itself warm.

  —Say wait could you help me with an address here?

  —What . . .?

  —Got this address supposed to be some God damn corporation offices nothing here but Spies and garbage cans, ever hear of a J R Corporation?

  —No but, who told you the . . .

  —Financial page editor told me supposed to interview a Mister Bast, ever heard of him? Almost looks like some wise guy wrote J R Corp in pencil on this mailbox but . . .

  —Oh yes that’s, that must be it yes I didn’t make the connection that must be Mister Rodriguez up on the fifth floor Julio Rodriguez, that must be what he calls his business he . . .

  —Look friend I’m talking about a five hundred million dol, no never mind . . .

  —He makes sandals I think yes in fact if you want to talk to him I think he’s right outside with his friends, their car out there just had an accident . . .

  —Forget it!

  —The one with the portable radio . . . and he made the dim reach of the stairs, down the torn linoleum to add case and box to the heap at the door and lift it on its hinges to the splash and fall of waters, down on one knee sweeping footmarked mail from the doormat’s monogram in over the sill where it was caught in an abrupt splash of suds.

  —Bast? is that you man?

  —Yes what in . . .

  —I mean look at this, came from the billow rising over the tub where only
her face and knees protruded,—like I mean real sudsing power look . . .

  —Yes well be careful it’s getting on the mail what, where did it come from . . .

  —Like all these plastic cups Al found them hanging on the doork-nobs but with these sample boxes attached so he had to bring them in too look out man . . .! A head emerged from the billow between her knees,—like it’s splashing out . . .

  —But you mean you, he just went around and took them off all the other apartment doors?

  —Why not I mean we really need cups but like I dump a box in the tub to throw it away and this happens I mean real sudsing power like the box says man, like I mean do you want to get in?

  —Not, not right now . . . he got his box in safe atop 500 Novelty Rolls 1-Ply White, dragged two more packages under the gushing sink and lifted the door closed, in past the tub with his case to find the sofa’s length occupied by one the shape of a guitar and, on the floor beyond,—what’s this pile of mail back here?

  —Like Al just got this postman job for like before the holidays man, I mean he just dumped it there when he came up to sleep off this high.

  —Well look it can’t stay here and, and this big yellow box where did . . .

  —Like that’s your golf practice set man, I mean they just delivered it.

  —What golf practice I didn’t order any golf prac . . .

  —Man like how does anybody know who orders what here, I mean these presents you get from these businesses like this lamp made of this old parking meter and these deluxe barbeque tools man I never know what’s coming through the door, like right in the middle of I’m getting stoned with this spade cat that comes in to tap your phone and they come to install this Telecopier and like there’s the telephone again, I mean all it does is rings . . .

  He got back past 36 Boxes 200 2-Ply,—wait Al I’ll get it . . . and he braced a foot, reached up to Round Pkgs QUICK QUAKER to bring the phone down to his unencumbered ear,—hello . . .? No this is Mister Bast, who . . . B S who . . .? Yes well J R himself isn’t here right now no, who . . .

  —Quit splashing man like are you getting in or out.

  —Oh B F? Leva? Yes I’m sorry Mister Leva what . . . what? No I’m sorry I don’t recognize your name Mister Leva what . . . Erebus Productions? No, what . . .

  —Wait hold still man like I never saw this little wart under here before, does that hurt?

  —Yes well I don’t go to the movies very much so . . .

  —Like this little vein looks like it’s going to pop man.

  —Oh, oh yes well . . . yes I heard you yes selling at one sixty-eight but he hasn’t said anything to me ab . . . that you might be interested in making a deal I’ll tell him Mister . . . what? Girl? no where . . .

  —Man like how come you never got circumcised?

  —Oh you, oh you mean you have a picturephone too . . .? No no I, I see you up there now yes well goodbye Mister Leva thank . . .

  —Oh wow . . . a splat of suds ran down 24-One Pint Mazola New Improved.

  —Probably yes probably a crossed cable somewhere yes goodbye I’ll tell him to call you goodbye Mis . . . I don’t know if they can trace crossed cables no, good . . . No goodbye Mister Leva I can’t hold on another minute no . . .

  —Wait like I need that shirt man what are you hanging it on there for, I mean like that won’t stop it ringing . . .

  —Because the man who just, because other people have picture-phones too and no wait Al look would you mind just not standing on that mail to dry yourself?

  —Floor’s like real dirty man.

  —I know it but, well look spread out a newspaper or, here . . . he got across to lift the door open and drag in the monogrammed doormat,—there . . .

  —Like Al brought up his guitar, man.

  —Yes I saw it . . . he got past her for the refrigerator,—wait who put this in here what, stuffed breasts of Cornish hens à la Kiev . . .

  —Like somebody sent it to you man but like it says oven ready your oven’s full of mail so like it says keep refrigerated I mean where do you expect me to put it.

  —Yes but right on these stock certificates it’s melting all over them and this look this is the only place I can keep this manuscript paper clean . . . He crumpled the top sheet and took some from the stack in to open his case on Hoppin’ With Flavor! pausing to take out the list of titles and add scribbled notes from an inside pocket before he spread a fresh manuscript sheet on the top volume of Standard and Poor’s Corporation Records,—damn it! crumpling that abruptly—look these are brand new, look there’s oil all over it . . .

  —Like those little mushrooms man they’re packed in all this oil.

  —I know it that’s what we’re using Moody’s for that red book now where the, where are all my pencils . . . he came up from the floor with a battered nub—damn it, what . . .

  —Like Al was just helping you out trying to sharpen them for you man, came from the doorway where she tugged at a sleeve—I mean that electric coffee grinder somebody sent you like he thought it was this electric pencil sharpener I mean he was just helping you out . . .

  —Yes well listen will you tell him to just, I just want to finish this while it’s still in my head, just to get this last horn part written out would you hand me that ink? And he turned with it from her reach that gaped the open shirt to find a pen and spread a scribbled sheet of score, settled on Hoppin’ With Flavor! licking the pen nib bent over the empty staves where his pen came down pausing, arching, blacking in, pausing as his face drew closer down lips parted, meeting, parting on bleats of sound gone in mere breath and the pen stopped as toes approached the score along the spine of Thomas Register of Manufacturers and clung with a prehensile twinge at plunk . . . plunka plunk . . . —Look Al I’m sorry but I’m trying to . . .

  —Man like don’t be sorry I mean go ahead . . .

  —Yes but your guit . . .

  —No like go ahead I mean I’m for like everybody doing what they want to man, plunka plunka plunk . . .

  —Look you don’t understand I’m . . .

  —Like why not man I mean that’s how it ought to be like everybody doing what they want to do man, like I mean I’m for everybody doing what they want to do, plunk plunk plunka . . .—like I mean what’s that.

  —What.

  —Like that arrow you just made.

  —What this? It’s a diminuendo don’t you, you read music don’t you?

  Plunk—like why do I want to read music man I mean I play music, like that’s what music is isn’t it man? I mean I play my own music what do I want to like read it for.

  —Oh.

  —Man like I play what I feel I mean not what some other cat writes for me to feel . . . plunk plunk plunka—like I mean I’m not one of your cats that has to sit down and play what some other cat hears I mean I make my own sound man . . . plunk.

  —Yes well, fine but look I’m trying to . . .

  —And like Al says he might bring the Gravestone up here to practice like only they can’t get a booking because they don’t know anybody like you just have to know somebody, I mean like maybe you could help them out man you know? Like I mean anything you want you always can get it because like you know everybody but like anything they get they have to like get it by theirself you know?

  —Yes but, no but even if that were true I don’t think any connections I might have in music would . . .

  —What because their name’s the Gravestone? I mean like you ought to change that anyway man like you can’t just keep going around being this Gravestone that doesn’t know anybody you know?

  —Then like come up with one . . .

  —Man like there’s four of you I mean you’re this whole cemetery like if you can’t come up with one how can he get you this booking man, like time is money I mean what about Chairman Meow like I mean did you go to Jersey?

  —Like, what day is it.

  —Man like how do I know what day is it I mean if you went to Jersey it’s like Thursday ri
ght? She stooped back to the tub, came up tossing sandals—I mean like hurry man, like tell him I mean don’t offices close like?

  —Yes well, what time is it they usually . . .

  —It’s like five of.

  —Five of what.

  —Man like how do I know five of what, I mean it’s like five minutes of something but you hang this big office wall clock from your business over there with like all those boxes stacked up I mean after three o’clock nobody knows what time it is till like nine I mean come on man every day this vietrinary keeps him there it’s like four dollars I mean hurry up wait leave me some reds . . . They paused past 24–12 Oz Btls Fragile!—man like what’s this, coke? I mean wow . . . she came on, shuddering the door back into place on the flap of sandals down the dark, returning slowly past the rush of waters pulling the shirt closed far enough to thrust the envelope into its pocket and let it fall free again pushing the guitar off on the pile of mail and sitting, feet up toes snubbed on H-O—I mean they give Al this real hard time at Jersey and Connecticut man, like they make him go over there and sign all the time like they won’t even mail him his checks you know? Like here at New York they mail him it only then he has to like spend all this New York welfare just to like go get this welfare off Jersey and Connecticut I mean just like you man.

  —Like what do you mean me just like me what . . .

  —Man like this business job you’ve got only you’re going around with that radio thing stuck in your ear all the time for this other job listening to these songs like you think you have to write down every song they play I mean just make up a list man, like I mean I’ll make up a list for you.

  —Look I’m just doing it became I’m trying to get something else done here and why you think Al is, I mean if he worked like other people and . . .