HANDS OVER THE GREEN-AND-GOLD
WELL Paul is back and he has decided to stop fleeing his destiny and he has given himself up at the Nevada monastery and drawn his robes from the supply room and now he is home on leave in his robes. Paul came to the party in his robes. He wasnt allowed to eat or drink anything, or say anything. That was the Rule. We went to the howling party sitting primly along the side of the room in a row, the seven of us and Snow White. Our social intercourse for the quarter. We discussed the bat theory of child-raising with the mothers there meanwhile paying attention to a vat of rum under the harpsichord. Edward didnt want to discuss the bat theory of child-raising (delicate memories) so he discussed Harald Bluetooth, king of Scandinavia during a certain period, the Blue-tooth period. But the mothers wanted to talk. "Spare the bat and the child rots," said the mothers. "Rots inside." "But how do you know when to employ it? The magic moment?" "We have a book which tells us such things," the mothers said. "We look it up in the book. On page 331 begins a twelve-page discussion of batting the baby. A well-worn page." We got away from those mothers as fast as we could. There were a lot of other people talking there, political talk and other kinds of talk. A certain contempt for the institutions of society was exhibited. Clem thrust his arm into the bag of consciousness-expanding drugs. His consciousness expanded. He concentrated his consciousness upon a thumbtip. "Is this the upper extent of knowing, this dermis that I perceive here?" Then he became melancholy, melancholy as a gib cat, melancholy as a jugged hare. "The content of the giraffe is giraffe meat. Giraffes have high blood pressure because the blood must plod to the brain up ten feet of neck." There were more perceptions and blague. Edgar and Charles wanted some too. But they were not allowed to have any. All they were allowed to do was hold Pauls robes, when he walked around. "Take me home," Snow White said. "Take me home instantly. If there is anything worse than being home, it is being out."
SNOW WHITE hung her hair again out of the window. It was longer now. It was about four feet long. She had just washed it too with golden Prell. She was experiencing a degree of anger at male domination of the physical world. "Oh if I could just get my hands on the man who dubbed those electrical connections male and female! He thought he was so worldly. And if I could just get my hands on the man who called that piece of pipe a nipple! He thought he was so urbane. But that didnt prevent them from making a hash of the buffalo problem youll notice. Where have the buffalo gone? You can go for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and hundreds of miles without seeing a single one! And that didnt prevent them from letting the railroads grab all the best land! And that didnt prevent them from letting alienation seep in everywhere and cover everything like a big gray electric blanket that doesnt work, after you have pushed the off-on switch to the on position! So dont come around and accuse me of not being serious. Women may not be serious, but at least theyre not a damned fool!" Snow White took her head out of the window, and pulled in her long black hair which had been dangling down. "No one has come to climb up. That says it all. This time is the wrong time for me. I am in the wrong time. There is something wrong with all those people standing there, gaping and gawking. And with all those who did not come and at least try to climb up. To fill the role. And with the very world itself, for not being able to supply a prince. For not being able to at least be civilized enough to supply the correct ending to the story."
ROME. ANOTHER DEFEAT. PAUL
HUBERT complains that the electric wastebasket has been overheating. I havent noticed it but thats what Hubert says and Hubert is rarely wrong about things that dont matter. The electric wastebasket is a security item. Papers dropped into it are destroyed instantly. How the electric wastebasket accomplishes this is not known. An intimidation followed by a demoralization eventuating in a disintegration, one assumes. It is not emptied. There are not even ashes. It functions with a quiet hum digesting whatever we do not wish to fall into the hands of the enemi. The record of Bills trial when he is tried will go into the electric wastebasket. When we considered the destruction of the esthetician we had in mind the electric wastebasket. First dismemberment, then the electric wastebasket. That there are in the world electric wastebaskets is encouraging. Kevin spoke to Hubert. "There is not enough seriousness in what we do," Kevin said. "Everyone wanders around having his own individual perceptions. These, like balls of different colors and shapes and sizes, roll around on the green billiard table of consciousness. . ." Kevin stopped and began again. "Where is the figure in the carpet? Or is it just. . . carpet?" he asked. "Where is --" "Youre talking a lot of buffalo hump, you know that," Hubert said. Hubert walked away. Kevin stood there. "That encounter did not go well. Perhaps I said the wrong thing?" Kevin blushed furiously at the thought that he might have said the wrong thing. Red blushes sat upon his neck. "What could I have done, to make it go? What is this gift that others have, that I do not have, that chokes The Other with love, at the very sight of one?" Kevins pre-encounter happiness leaked away. He had been happy before the encounter, but after it, he was not. "My God but we are fragile."
HENRY had unlocked the locks on the bar and we were all drinking. It was time for a situation report, we felt. "She still sits there in the window, dangling down her long black hair black as ebony. The crowds have thinned somewhat. Our letters have been returned unopened. The shower-curtain initiative has not produced notable results. She is, I would say, aware of it, but has not reacted either positively or negatively. We have asked an expert in to assess it as to timbre, pitch, mood and key. He should be here tomorrow. To make sure we have got the right sort of shower curtain. We have returned the red towels to Bloomingdales." At this point everybody looked at Dan, who vomited. "Bills yellow crepe-paper pajamas have been taken away from him and burned. He ruined that night for all of us, you know that." At this point everybody looked at Bill, who was absent. He was tending the vats. "Bills new brown monkscloth pajamas, made for him by Paul, should be here next month. The grade of pork ears we are using in the Baby Ding Sam Dew is not capable of meeting U.S. Govt. standards, or indeed, any standards. Our man in Hong Kong assures us however that the next shipment will be superior. Sales nationwide are brisk, brisk, brisk. Texas Instruments is down four points. Control Data is up four points. The pound is weakening. The cow is calving. The cactus wants watering. The new building is abuilding with leases covering 45 percent of the rentable space already in hand. The weather tomorrow, fair and warmer."
"YOU shouldnt drop your garbage out of windows Hogo," Jane said. I understood what she was saying. But Hogo is a cruel parody of ultimate concern. His garbage falls on Northerners and Southerners and Westerners alike. "I had a dream," Jane said. "In the dream we were drinking a yellow wine. Then the winemaker came in. He said the wine was made of old copies of the National Geographic. I had thought it tasted musty. Then he said no, that was just a joke. The wine was really made of grapes, like every wine. But these were grapes to which the sun had not been kind, he said. They had shriveled for lack of the suns love. That was why the wine was like that. Then he talked about lovers and husbands. He said the lover eats his meat with his eyes not on the meat but on the eyes of the beloved. The husband watches the meat. The husband knows that the meat will fly away if not watched. The winemaker thought this was really a funny story. He laughed and laughed." Hogo got ready to say something despicable. But it was too late. "Thats pretty careless," Hubert said, and we all agreed that if you were going to have a girl tied to a bed, then at least the knots should be secure. I had already gotten the flashlight from its place under the sink, and was working on the brilliant yellow and scarlet and blue bandages. We had hoped to slip into the hospital without being challenged, but the doctor recognized us right away.
STANDING in the rotten bathroom, we regarded the new shower curtain. It had two colors, a red and a yellow. The red the red of red cabbage, the yellow the yellow of yellow beans. It had two figures, a kind of schematic peahen, a kind of schematic vase. These repeated, in the manner of wallpaper. There were eight of us standing there in the rotten bathroom, including the visitor. The visitor who had said that it was the best-looking shower curtain in town. Ho ho. That was a chiller. We had known that it was adequate. We had known that it was nice. We had even known that it was "splendid" more or less. That was the idea, that it be "splendid." But we had not known that it was the best-looking shower curtain in town. That we had not known. We looked at the shower curtain with new eyes, or rather, saw it in a new light, the light of the estheticians remark. The visitor was an esthetician, a professor of esthetics. Even those of us by no means a minority who considered esthetics the least ballsy of the several areas of inquiry subsumed under the term, philosophical thought, were affected by the estheticians remark. First because it had as subject something that was ours, there in the rotten bathroom, on little silver rings, and second because the speaker was a professor of esthetics, even if there is nothing in it, esthetics, as is likely. As we stood there shoulder to shoulder in the rotten bathroom, the eight of us, a sort of hunger arose, to know if it was true, what he had said. Felt I daresay by all of us, including the esthetician. He must be curious sometimes to know if it is true, what he is saying. We swayed, momentarily, there in the rotten bathroom, in the grip of the hunger. A thousand problemsflashed through our mind. How could we determine if it was true, what he had said? Our city, the arena of the proposition, is not large but on the other hand not small, in excess of a hundred thousand souls swelter here awaiting the Last Day and Gods mercy. A census of shower curtains was possible but to conduct it we would be forced to neglect the vats and that is something we have sworn never to do, neglect the vats. And to conduct it we would be forced to leave the buildings unwashed, and that is something else we have sworn never to do, leave the buildings unwashed. And granting we managed to gain access to the rotten bathrooms of all hundred thousand souls who swelter here, by what standards were the hundred thousand shower curtains hanging there, on little silver rings, to be assessed? A shower-curtain scale could be constructed with the aid of the professor of esthetics, or with the aid of shower-curtain critics recruited from the curtaining journals, if there are such critics and such journals, I do not doubt it. But even with these preliminary accomplishments, empanelment of shower-curtain critics, from far and near, census of shower-curtain-hanging homes, the quarter-finals, the semi-finals, the finals, we would not be out of the woods yet. For would the decision, broadcast over all media, published throughout the land, not be taken as diddled, in view of the fact that the Olympiad was staged by us, backers of the no doubt winning shower curtain? There was another solution: destruction of the esthetician, who had made the original remark. This thought sighed amongst us, seven heads turned as one to regard the eighth, that of the esthetician, sweating in his velvet collar, there in the rotten bathroom. But destruction of the esthetician, however attractive from a human point of view, would not also ensure destruction of his detritus, his remark. The remark would remain in memory, in our memories. We would then be forced to wipe ourselves out also, a step which we would hesitate to take waiting as we are for the Last Day and Gods mercy. And how could we be sure after all that he had not made the same remark to someone else, someone not of our circle, some stranger unknown to us? Known to him but unknown to us? And that the remark would not remain unwiped in the brain of this stranger? And how could we be sure that this stranger was not, even as we were standing there, in the rotten bathroom, relaying the remark to some other, even less reputable stranger? And that this second stranger did not have friends, all of an even filthier repute than himself, to whom he intended babbling the remark, at the first opportunity? And that we might not expect a quorum of undesirables, sitting in the cathouse square, to be rubbing and smearing this piece of intelligence with their ruin before six p.m. by the cathouse clock, this very day? We trembled, there in the rotten bathroom, thinking these thoughts.
ARMBAND. THE ITALIAN POSTAL
ITS RANKS.
"I ADMIRE you, Hogo. I admire the way you are what you are, rocklike in your immutability. I also admire the way you use these Pontiac convertible seats for chairs in your house. But mine is uncomfortable. Only because I am glued into it with several pounds of epoxy glue. Oh I know I laughed when you brushed it onto my hips on Wednesday, saying it was honey and I was honey-hipped. I laughed then. But I am not laughing now. Now it has hardened, like your heart toward me, Hogo." "It was honey-colored I said. No more than that. It is because I want you near me Jane for some strange reason I dont even understand myself. It must be atavistic. It must be some dark reason of the blood which the conscious mind does not understand. That is the stinking truth, Gods Body but I wish it were not." "Stop it Hogo stop it lest I forget who is the glued party here. Stop it and get me some hot water." The ape-fingers of Janes familiars penetrated the chain-link-fence walls of Hogos house. Looking through the walls, past the apes, one could see Jane and Hogo, having a talk. "Hogo this house is an architectural masterpiece in a certain sense." "What sense is that." "In the sense that you get a sense of chain from these chain-like-fence walls that is entirely appropriate to your enterprise. I mean the enterprise of being a bad fellow. And to make the ceiling of General Motors advertising was a brilliant stroke. When one bears in mind that General Motors is Pontiac, and Pontiac is your middle name." "He was an Indian chief Jane, hero of a famous conspiracy, the conspiracy that bears his name in fact." "I know that Hogo. Every schoolboy knows that, and many schoolgirls too, thanks to the democratization of education in our country. How fitting that your ceiling should be named for a. . ." "I thought it fitting." "What is to become of us, Hogo. Of you and me." "Nothing is to become of us Jane. Our becoming is done. We are what we are. Now it is just a question of rocking along with things as they are until we are dead." "You dont paint a very bright picture Hogo." "Its not my picture Jane. I didnt think up this picture that we are confronted with. The original brushwork was not mine. I absolutely separate myself from this picture. I operate within the frame it is true, but the picture --" "How old are you Hogo." "Thirty-five Jane. A not unpleasant age to be." "You dont mind then. That you are not young." "It has its buggy aspects as what does not?" "You dont mind then that you are sagging in the direction of death." "No, Jane."
"HELLO? Is this Hogo de Bergerac?" "Yes this isHogo de Bergerac." "Well this is the Internal Revenue Service, Baltimore Office, Broat. We have your letter here in which you offer to inform on Bill, Kevin, Edward, Hubert, Henry, Clem and Dan for 17 percent of the monies collected. We deeply appreciate your getting in touch with us but I must tell you that we pay only eight percent." "Eight percent?" "Yes Im sorry I know thats low as these things go around the world and in previous years we have paid more, but its standard now and if we paid you 17 percent all the other informers would demand the same. You can imagine." "Eight percent!" "Yes, well, but of course theres patriotism involved too isnt there." "Eight percent! Thats damned little for doing such a vile and dishonorable thing, damned little." "Yes I know but what is the nature of your information? Youre aware of course that its not enough just to allege. You have to be able to provide supportive evidence or at least sufficient material to lead to a strong case and ultimately conviction and/or collection." "Eight percent!" "I might also point out that it is your duty as an American citizen to come forward with this information if you have it." "Eight percent, eight percent." "Did you hear me? I said it was your duty as an American --" "I am not an American citizen. I am under Panamanian registry. So just forget my duty as an American citizen. Eight percent. No, I dont think Im talking to you any more. There would be some pleasure in doing the thing just for the pure vileness of it, but there is more pleasure in spitting on your eight percent. Goodbye, Baltimore. Eight percent. Goodnight, Baltimore, and bad cess to you."
SERVICE ABIDES NO RINGERS IN
