"And so you do."
There was a moment of silence during which they listened, thoughtfully, to "The Star-Spangled Banner" playing softly in the other room behind them.
"It was said of Carmen Lambrosa that had she just lived a little longer, and not died from alcohol, she would have been the top box office money-maker in the British Cameroons. Where such as she and me are appreciated."
"Then!" she said.
"In what way?"
"Such as Kleenex that had been used by the star, for instance, with lipstick on it, or fingernail clippings, or a stocking, or a hair from the stars horses tail or mane. . ."
"Do you think you ought to stand around and look at girls?" she asked.
"Which?" Bloomsbury asked with interest. "Which aspects?"
Having acquired in exchange for an old house that had been theirs, his and hers, a radio or more properly radio station, Bloomsbury could now play "The Star-Spangled Banner," which he had always admired immoderately, on account of its finality, as often as he liked. It meant, to him, that everything was finished. Therefore he played it daily, 60 times between 6 and 10 a.m., 120 times between 12 noon and 7 p.m., and the whole night long except when, as was sometimes the case, he was talking.
"I then said into your ear, Im watching the picture.
"It was love but it was only temporary."
"The year is not important," she said. "What is important is the appreciation."
"Coo," he said. "What kind of an expression is that?"
"Well," he said, "I suppose."
"They say Im sexy," she noted.
This remark however seemed to offend her, she turned on her heel and left the room. Bloomsbury himself felt moved by this meeting, which was in fact the first contact he had enjoyed with a human being, of any description, since the beginning of the period of his proprietorship of the radio, and even before. He immediately returned to the control room and introduced a new commercial announcement.
"Was it love?"
After this announcement was broadcast Bloomsbury himself felt called upon to weep a little, and did, but not "on the air."
"You then said into my ear, get on with it, cant you?
"I heard it in a movie," she said. "A Conrad Veidt movie."
"None," he said. "That I know of."
"Milieu," she said.
"Dudley who in fact broke up our ménage," she said, looking at him expectantly.
"To begin with I was president of the Conrad Veidt fan club," she began. "That was in, oh, I dont remember the year. His magnetism and personality got me. His voice and gestures fascinated me. I hated him, feared him, loved him. When he died it seemed to me a vital part of my imagination died too."
"But perhaps, I said, a little toffee? Ruin your teeth then for all I care, you said, and put some pieces of toffee in my bed. And thus we went happily to sleep. Man and wife! Was there ever anything, old skin, like the old days?"
"Coo!" she said. "It doesnt sound very American to me."
"Well, old girl" (he began), "here we are, me speaking into the tube, you lying on your back most likely, giving an ear, I dont doubt. Swell of you to tune me in. I remember the time you went walking without your shoes, what an evening! You were wearing, I recall, your dove-gray silk, with a flower hat, and you picked your way down the boulevard as daintily as a real lady. There were chestnuts on the ground, I believe; you complained that they felt like rocks under your feet. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled in front of you, sweeping the chestnuts into the gutter with my hand. What an evening! You said I looked absurd, and a gentleman who was passing in the other direction, I remember he wore yellow spats with yellow shoes, smiled. The lady accompanying him reached out to pat me on my head, but he grasped her arm and prevented her, and the knees of my trousers tore on a broken place in the pavement.
Immediately following this commercial announcement, or an announcement much like this, Bloomsbury would play "The Star-Spangled Banner" 80 or 100 times, for the finality of it.
After completing this announcement and placing "The Star-Spangled Banner" on the turntable, and a cup of soup on the hotplate, Bloomsbury observed that the girl in the reception room was making motions with her hands, the burden of which was, that she wanted to speak to him.
"Probably I would not enjoy it," he said, "now."
"As a possible partner? Sexually I mean?"
"The star naturally, noblesse oblige, forwarded that object to them."
"At length the door opened, your mother emerged, looking as they say put out. But she had always taken your part as opposed to my part, therefore she said only that I was a common sneak. But, I said, what of those who even now sit in the bed? laughing and joking? Dont try to teach thy grandmother to chew coal, she said. I then became, if you can believe it, melancholy. Could not we two skins, you and me, climb and cling for all the days that were left? Which were not, after all, so very many days? Without the interpolation of such as Jack? And, no doubt, others yet to come?"
"Dudley who was my possible lover," she said.
"It was all of that," he said gallantly, "then."
"Are you with me, old bush?
"Goodbye," Bloomsbury said, and returned to the control room, locking the door behind him.
"A man came, in a hat. In the hat was a little feather, and in addition to the hat and the feather there was a satchel. Jack, this is my husband, you said. And took him into the bedroom, and turned the key in the lock. What are you doing in there? I said, the door being locked, you and he together on the inside, me alone on the outside. Go away and mind your own silly business, you said, from behind the door. Yes, Jack said (from behind the door), go away and dont be bothering people with things on their minds. Insensitive brute! you said, and Jack said, filthy cad! Some people, you said, and Jack said, the cheek of the thing. I watched at the door until nightfall, but could hear no more words, only sounds of a curious nature, such as grunts and moans, and sighs. Upon hearing these (through the door which was, as I say, locked), I immediately rushed to the attic to obtain our copy of Ideal Marriage, by Th. H. Van De Velde, M.D., to determine whether this situation was treated of therein. But it was not. I therefore abandoned the book and returned to my station outside the door, which remained (and indeed why not?) shut.
"Dudley?"
"But you have a grand behind," he said.
"Oh, yes," Bloomsbury said. "I think its indicated."
"For less than a decade. As a matter of fact."
"In the sense that I married," he said.
"Do you look at a lot of girls?"
"Because youre not very good-looking," Bloomsbury said.
The Bloomsbury announcements were perhaps not too similar to other announcements broadcast during this period by other broadcasters. They were dissimilar chiefly in that they were addressed not to the mass of men but of course to her, she with whom he had lived in the house that was gone (traded for the radio). Frequently he would begin somewhat in this vein:
"It didnt go on forever?"
"Especially harlequin glasses."
"I didnt mean necessarily in such detail," he said.
"It was kind of you to try it," he said. "Thoughtful. As a matter of fact, you were most appealing. Tempting, even. I was fooled for whole moments at a time. You look well in bullfighter pants."
"Glasses are discouraging," he said.
"I am yours," she said, "if you want me."
"Tell me about your early life," she said.
"Martha," he said, "old skin, why cant you let the old days die? That were then days of anger, passion, and dignity, but are now, in the light of present standards, practices, and attitudes, days that are done?"
"I was, in a sense, an All-American boy," Bloomsbury replied.
"Not fun," he said, "but better than nothing."
But he could not continue this announcement, from a surfeit of emotion.
"Do you have affairs?"
"Thank you," she said. "You said I had a grand behind. You said that at least."
"Youre looking at me!" she said.
"Its not that," he said. "That has nothing to do with it."
The second kind of radio talk which Bloomsbury provided was the commercial announcement.
"Youve found somebody you like better?"
"Well," he said, "its distracting."
"There has, I dont doubt, never been anything like it. The bed, your mothers bed, brought to our union with your mother in it, she lay like a sword between us. I had the gall to ask what you were thinking. It was one of those wonderful days of impenetrable silence. Well, I said, and the child? Up the child, you said, twasnt what I wanted anyway. What then did you want? I asked, and the child cried, its worst forebodings confirmed. Pish, you said, nothing you could supply. Maybe, I said. Not bloody likely, you said. And where is it (the child) now? Gone, I dont doubt, away.
Bloomsburys radio talks were of two kinds, called the first kind and the second kind. The first consisted of singling out, for special notice, from among all the others, some particular word in the English language, and repeating it in a monotonous voice for as much as fifteen minutes, or a quarter-hour. The word thus singled out might be any word, the word nevertheless for example. "Nevertheless," Bloomsbury said into the microphone, "nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless, nevertheless." After this exposure to the glare of public inspection the word would frequently disclose new properties, unsuspected qualities, although that was far from Bloomsburys intention. His intention, insofar as he may be said to have had one, was simply to put something "on the air."
"Before or after Jack?"
"Very affecting," Bloomsbury said.
"How I enjoyed, although I concealed it from you, the counting! You were, as they say, magisterial. There were I observed twelve rows of three, or three of twelve, in each of four trays. But this way of counting was not your way of counting. You chose, and I admired your choice, the explicitness and implicitness of it, to run water over the trays so that the cubes, loosened, fell into the salad bowl, having previously turned the trays, and thus the cubes, bottoms up, so that the latter would fall, when water was run upon the former, in the proper direction. That these matters were so commendably arranged I took to be, and even now take to be, a demonstration of your fundamental decency, and good sense.
"Afterwards you treated me to a raspberry ice, calling for a saucer, which you placed, daintily, at your feet. I still recall the coolness, after the hot work on the boulevard, and the way the raspberry stained my muzzle. I put my face in your hand, and your little glove came away pink and sticky, sticky and pink. We were comfortable there, in the ice cream parlor, we were pretty as a picture! Man and wife!
"There was some joy," Bloomsbury said. "I cant deny it."
"Fan club prexies are invariably homely," Bloomsbury said.
"Tell me about the joy again."
"The details of our housekeeping, yours and mine. The scuff under the bed, the fug in the corners. I would, if I could, sigh to remember them. You planted prickly pear in the parlor floor, and when guests came. . . Oh, you were a one! You veiled yourself from me, there were parts I could have and parts I couldnt have. And the rules would change, I remember, in the middle of the game, I could never be sure which parts were allowed and which not. Some days I couldnt have anything at all. Is it remarkable, then, that there has never been another? Except for a few? Who dont count?
"Is it fun?"
Upon these words from him, she began to weep. "You looked interested at first," she said (through her tears).
"What a defeat for you! What a victory for me! It was my first victory, I fear I went quite out of my head. I dragged you to the floor, among the ice cubes, which you had flung there in pique and chagrin, and forced you, with results that I considered then, and consider now, to have been first rate. I thought I detected in you. . ."
"A remembrance?"
He then resumed broadcasting, with perhaps a tremor but no slackening in his resolve not to flog, as the expression runs, a dead horse. However the electric company, which had not been paid from the first to the last, refused at length to supply further current for the radio, in consequence of which the broadcasts, both words and music, ceased. That was the end of this period of Bloomsburys, as they say, life.
"I would be greatly interested," Bloomsbury said (although this was not the truth).
"The top box office money-maker for what year?"
"I never actually met Mr. Veidt," the girl (or woman) said. "It wasnt that sort of club. I mean we werent in actual communication with the star. There was a Joan Crawford fan club, and those people now, they were in actual communication. When they wanted a remembrance. . ."
"I remember" (he enunciated), "the quarrel about the ice cubes, that was a beauty! That was one worth. . . remembering. You had posted on the notice board the subject Refrigeration, and I worried about it all daylong, and wondered. Clever minx! I recalled at length that I had complained, once, because the ice cubes were not frozen. But were in fact unfrozen! watery! useless! I had said that there werent enough ice cubes, whereas you had said there were more than enough.
"Do I impress you?"
"Tail or mane?"
This conversation was felt by Bloomsbury to be not very satisfactory, however he bided his time, having if the truth were known no alternative. The word matriculate had engaged his attention, he pronounced it into the microphone for what seemed to him a period longer than normal, that is to say, in excess of a quarter-hour. He wondered whether or not to regard this as significant.
"Yes," he said, "theres the difficulty, making up my mind."
"Are you tuned in?
"It filled me with a somber and paradoxical joy."
"I dont doubt it," he said. "I mean its plausible."
"But while it did go on. . ."
"I would say you favored her," Bloomsbury observed, "had I some knowledge of her peculiarities."
"Oh I say."
"We were there you and I because we hadnt rooms and there were no parks and we hadnt automobiles and there were no beaches, for making love or anything else. Ergo, if you will condone the anachronism, we were forced into the balcony, to the topmost row, from which we had a tilty view of the silver screen. Or would have had had we not you and I been engaged in pawing and pushing, pushing and pawing. On my part at least, if not on yours.
"Oh! how you boggled at that word perhaps. How you sweated, old girl, and cursed. Your chest heaved, if I may say so, and your eyes (your eyes!) flashed. You said we would, by damn, count the by damn ice cubes. As we, subsequently, did.
"Balls," she said. "I know you and your letchy ways."
"Lively," he said. "Whatever possessed you to use that word?"
"I think its very possible," he said. "A great big girl like you."
"Also a lively sense of humor," she said.
One of these was:
When he interrogated himself about the matter, about how it felt to operate a radio of his own, Bloomsbury told himself the absolute truth, that it felt fine. He broadcast during this period not only some of his favorite words, such as the words assimilate, alleviate, authenticate, ameliorate, and quantities of his favorite music (he was particularly fond of that part, toward the end, that went: da-da, da da da da da da da-a), but also a series of commercial announcements of great power and poignancy, and persuasiveness. Nevertheless he felt, although he managed to conceal it from himself for a space, somewhat futile. For there had been no response from her (she who figured, as both subject and object, in the commercial announcements, and had once, before it had been traded for the radio, lived in the house).
It was a fact that Bloomsbury, who had thought himself dispassionate (thus the words, the music, the slow turning over in his brain of events in the lives of him and her), was beginning to feel, at this time, disturbed. This was attributable perhaps to the effect, on him, of his radio talks, and also perhaps to the presence of the "fan," or listener, in the reception room. Or possibly it was something else entirely. In any case this disturbance was reflected, beyond a doubt, in the announcements made by him in the days that, inevitably, followed.
A commercial announcement of the period of this feeling was:
"I see," Bloomsbury said.
"You said that I was a fool, an idiot, an imbecile, a stupid!, that the machine in your kitchen which you had procured and caused to be placed there was without doubt and on immaculate authority the most accomplished machine of its kind known to those who knew about machines of its kind, that among its attributes was the attribute of conceiving containing and at the moment of need whelping a fine number of ice cubes so that no matter how grave the demand, how vast the occasion, how indifferent or even hostile the climate, how inept or even treacherous the operator, how brief or even nonexistent the lapse between genesis and parturition, between the wish and the fact, ice cubes in multiples of sufficient would present themselves. Well, I said, perhaps.
"Then we are, as they say, through?" she asked. "There is no hope for us?"
A typical conversation of the period when the girl (or woman) was sleeping in the foyer was this:
"Indicated," she cried. "What do you mean, indicated?"
"And then, when it was dark, we had our evening quarrel. A very ordinary one, I believe. The subject, which had been announced by you at breakfast and posted on the notice board, was Smallness in the Human Male. You argued that it was willfulness on my part, whereas I argued that it was lack of proper nourishment during my young years. I lost, as was right of course, and you said I couldnt have any supper. I had, you said, already gorged myself on raspberry ice. I had, you said, ruined a good glove with my ardor, and a decent pair of trousers too. And I said, but it was for the love of you! and you said, hush! or therell be no breakfast either. And I said, but love makes the world go! and you said, or lunch tomorrow either. And I said, but we were everything to each other once! and you said, or supper tomorrow night.
"Not affairs," he said, "but sometimes a little flutter."
"Oh," she said.
"At this speech of mine you were moved to withdraw it from my hand, I understood, it was a punishment. Having withdrawn it you began, for lack of anything better, to watch the picture also. We watched the picture together, and although this was a kind of intimacy, the other kind had been lost. Nevertheless it had been there once, I consoled myself with that. But I felt, I felt, I felt (I think) that you were, as they say, angry. And to that row of the balcony we, you and I, never returned."
"But you reckoned wrong, when it came to that. You were never a reckoner. You reckoned that there were in the bowl one hundred forty-four cubes, taking each cube, individually, from the bowl and placing it, individually, in the sink, bearing in mind meanwhile the total that could be obtained by simple multiplication of the spaces in the trays. Thus having it, in this as in other matters, both ways! However you failed on this as on other occasions to consider the imponderables, in this instance the fact that I, unobserved by you, had put three of the cubes into my drink! Which I then drank! And that one had missed the bowl entirely and fallen into the sink! And melted once and for all! These events precluded sadly enough the number of cubes in the bowl adding up to a number corresponding to the number of spaces in the trays, proving also that there is no justice!
"Shall I take off my clothes?" she asked, making motions as if to do so.
"Even harlequin glasses?"
"Tell me about your early life," Bloomsbury said.
"The first thing I knew I was inside your shirt with my hand and I found there something very lovely and, as they say, desirable. It belonged to you. I did not know, then, what to do with it, therefore I simply (simply!) held it in my hand, it was, as the saying goes, soft and warm. If you can believe it. Meanwhile down below in the pit events were taking place, whether these were such as the people in the pit had paid for, I did not and do not know. Nor did or do, wherever you are, you. After a time I was in fact distracted, I still held it in my hand but I was looking elsewhere.
"In what sense?"
"My world of dreams was bare!"
"I havent considered it," he said, "heretofore."
The girl or woman, who had become a sort of camp follower of the radio, made a practice during this period of sleeping in the former reception room underneath the piano, which being a grand provided ample shelter. When she wished to traffic with Bloomsbury she would tap on the glass separating them with one finger, at other times she would, with her hands, make motions.
"Next to Mr. Veidt my favorite star was Carmen Lambrosa," she said. "What is more, I am said to resemble her in some aspects."
"Not a lot," he said, "but quite a number."
"Well," she said, "I have feelings too."
The girl or woman removed her duster, underneath she was wearing black toreador pants, an orange sweater, and harlequin glasses. Bloomsbury immediately stepped out into the reception room or foyer in order to view her more closely, he regarded her, she regarded him, after a time there was a conversation.
"Its something I do," he said. "Its my you might say métier."
"Oh, yes," he said. "Right. I certainly am."
He was in fact weeping quietly in the control room, where were kept the microphone, the console, the turntables and the hotplate, with "The Star-Spangled Banner" playing bravely and a piece of buttered toast in his hand, when he saw in the glass that connected the control room with the other room, which had been a reception room or foyer, a girl or woman of indeterminate age dressed in a long bright red linen duster.
"I dont often get looked at as a matter of fact."
"When we got home, that evening, the street lights were just coming on, the insects were just coming out. And you said that next time, if there were a next time, you would wear your shoes. Even if it killed you, you said. And I said I would always be there to sweep away the chestnuts, whatever happened, even if nothing happened. And you said most likely that was right. I always had been there, you said. Swell of you to notice that. I thought at the time that there was probably no one more swell than you in the whole world, anywhere. And I wanted to tell you, but did not.
"Plain," she suggested. "I prefer the word plain. Do you want to see a picture of Conrad Veidt?"
The girl or woman then retrieved from her purse, where it had apparently remained for some time, perhaps even years, a page from a magazine. It bore a photograph of Conrad Veidt who looked at one and the same instant handsome and sinister. There was moreover printing on the photograph which said: If CONRAD VEIDT offered you a cigarette, it would be a DE REZKE -- of course!
"Métier," Bloomsbury said. "If you dont mind."
"No," he said. "Definitely not."
"You cant forget," she asked, "about Dudley?"
"I thought you might like it," she said.
"Was it really like you said? Somber and paradoxical?"
"On that remarkable day, that day unlike any other, that day, if you will pardon me, of days, on that old day from the old days when we were, as they say, young, we walked if you will forgive the extravagance hand in hand into a theater where there was a film playing. Do you remember? We sat in the upper balcony and smoke from below, where there were people smoking, rose and we, if you will excuse the digression, smelled of it. It smelled, and I or we thought it remarkable at the time, like the twentieth century. Which was after all our century, none other.
With a single stride, such as he had often seen practiced in the films, Bloomsbury was "at her side."
"Why?"
"You have only," she said, "to make the slightest gesture of acquiescence, such as a nod, a word, a cough, a cry, a kick, a crook, a giggle, a grin."
