JR (68 page)

the day's practically over… and the briefcase came up for papers squared smartly on the desk, —I could wait for you if you…

—No you go ahead, he said without looking up from the pad on the desk before him as though reading something in the heavy shadings of pencil for the first time, tore off the page and crumpled it as he sat down again, —I wanted to try to get a word with Terry later anyhow, don't want to bother her now but I thought I'd get her aside after we close up shop here, just something I want to clear up … he reached for the blunt pencil and sat back picking it clean with a thumbnail. —That's her plant over there, she was helping out on the decorating, I thought she might have some ideas for bringing it back to life a little.

—Oh yes, well we've given up on them in our offices, all bamboo now, a Japanese miniature bamboo, of course the initial outlay for these plastic varieties runs somewhat high but eventually… the briefcase snapped closed and then paused in its swing toward the door.

—I'm just leaving this to be typed out and, Mister Angel if you don't mind my, if you just got your mind off all this for a little while and did something to, went somewhere and had a good time…

—That's funny you'd say that right now Coen, you know when I was a boy we were brought up pretty strict, I had a kind of asthma problem that made it kind of rough sometimes. You see we grew apples up there and my brother and I had to work packing crates, and we'd get a chance to read the funnies down there in the papers we used packing apples because funny papers just weren't allowed in our house. We weren't real close at all but in a way you look back maybe we were, we used to hunt rabbit together with twenty-twos and I still have that old octagonal barrel Winchester in a closet somewhere. I remember it seemed strange to me then, before he got killed in the war what he always wanted to be was a geologist.

—I, I see yes, well I've left those papers there to be typed and as soon as you…

—I'll get Myrna to knock them right out… he leaned forward, hand searching the button under the desk, and reached the unemptied paper cup. —Anyhow every year in the spring the circus would show up, but with the animals and all the hay they'd have around I never could go to it with that asthma I had, I couldn't even go near the parade. So the night it would come to town, there was a hill right up outside the town you could look down from and my father would take me up there in the old open Reo we had, and we'd sit up there and watch the whole thing, just the two of us up there. You couldn't see everything too clear because it wasn't all that close and the evening was coming on, but you could see the wagons and horses and the elephants and hear the band playing, you'd get a sudden little breeze that was almost warm and bring the music right up with it, and the

lights coming on all along the way, I don't think we hardly talked at all, and you know? he said, chair tilting back and the jacket gone to the floor again. —Maybe those were the best times I ever had…

—Excuse me Mister Angel did, did you buzz? She paused there behind the figure backed to the door, briefcase shifting from hand to hand.

—I think he just wants you to type up that material there Myrna, and send me a copy?

—Sure okay Mister Coen… she came across for the papers neatly squared on the desk. —Is it okay if I type these out front Mister Angel? where we just got coffee… ? pausing, for what might have been a permissive shrug under the clinging shirt, before she retreated to the door and down the cement block green where her discrete walk rose and fell to the eyes fixed discreetly upon it as far as a rail of golden oak, flattened there with no intent apparent but to let him pass, pursued with a wave and —Goodbye Mister Coen, come see us again now…

—I just broke a nail.

—I got this Nu-Nail back in my desk but I don't want to go back in and get it, you know?

—I know, did he say anything?

—I don't mean that, he just seems sort of far out, you know?

—I know see what I meant? like you have this feeling he's looking up you only you look up and he's looking off someplace like he's not even there.

—I know, anyway I have to type this up before we go, wait for me?

—I want to go to this sale on sweaters maybe, okay? and the emery board took up briskly, —what, you meeting somebody? and the emery board stopped as she looked up with no answer. —I still didn't get used to your hair black, she said pushing back red, —he still like it?

Paper rolled into the typewriter. —Are you kidding?

—He sounds like a real character… and typewriter and emery board paced time unbroken by looks to the clock where a good portion had fallen away when they stopped, paper pulled from the typewriter carried down the empty hall to the empty office, left on the empty desk.

—He's not even in there Terry, did you see him go out?

—Maybe he went out by the shop, come on …

—Did you see my comb … ? Drawers slammed, coathangers rattled on the rack, they came out arm in arm, down one curb and up another, rounding a corner in step past brick and fieldstone sham, down that curb and —Terry look!

—What's the …

—Didn't you see him? The Boss, didn't you see him up there running? chasing somebody?

—Are you crazy? What would he …

—No I swear it, right around that corner up there… and they moved on again, past fence penning aprons of dead grass and on around that corner up there toward the elevated limb of subway, rummaging in purses as they reached its steps, looking behind them and both ways on

the elevated platform waiting pressed against a telescoping loaf of bread surcharged Astoria Gents Suck until the train came. —Don't look now, he just got in the next car…

—Did he see us?

The seats filled, so did the aisle, feet kicking aside torn newspaper, flattening candy wrappers and they sat closer, faces lowered from that hung over them agape through rimless glasses down into their tops, knees nuzzling theirs confining a briefcase of Gladstone bag design upright on the filthy floor. Lights dimmed, came up, and they roared underground.

—He's up the other end now, right past that woman with the green, it's like he's following us you know?

—Why should he do that, wait, wait I'm getting off here with you and change for the express…

—Don't look back, is he getting off too… ?

Elbows found ribs, heels unprotected ankles, —Ay coño… where strange hand cupped briefly strange skirt, —hold the door… and the lady in the green raincoat dug an elbow hard. —Sorry … he got by her to the platform, the flaunt of red hair gone that moment behind a post, newspapers streaming Mata a sus niños, shopping bags and wives' umbrellas clutched like staves in a relay race with no course and no finish as the scream of steel wheels on steel rails left the teeming

concrete shore opposite where suddenly he stared arrested, waved and shouted —Edward… ? Bast! Edward …! off balance as the flaunt of red reappeared alone from behind stairs, sheltering to draw breath for the cry —Ed …! smashed on the roar of a train from the other direction leaving Bast halted there on the far platform hit before and behind like an invalid in a hotel fire, looking, one way, the other, finally dropping his shoulders and his eyes to dead rivulets leading toward stairs, up them catching breath at the top against uneaten frankfurters turning with venemous patience on a counter grill, more stairs and the street, where the sole of his shoe took up its flapping cadence windblown past ranked garbage cans capped at merry angles down the hill to a doorway lighted, like the rest, by a bulb so dim he cast no shadow as

he entered, pursuing a broken refrain up the stairs and down linoleum worn through by fatigue, pausing to move mail with his foot before fitting the long iron key and lifting the door on the sound of running water.

—Hi.

—What… ? he held the door, turning to the shadows in the stairs rising behind him. —You, you startled me I didn't see you there.

—You live here?

—Yes I, well I mean I've been staying…

—Like what's going on with that back apartment.

—I don't know it's, no one lives there right now but…

—Look man I know nobody lives there right now, there's some stuff of mine in there I want to get out, okay?

—Oh, yes, yes but I don't have a key…

—I mean I've been sitting up here in the dark just waiting for somebody to show up, you know?

—Yes well I, I'm sorry I can't help you, I don't have a key but … he lifted his door open and held it balanced there, —if you want to come in here and wait for, for whoever you're waiting for …

—Look man I just told you I'm not waiting for anybody, okay? Like I just want to get my stuff out of that back apartment. What's all this, mail?

—Yes that's all right, I'll get it as soon as I lean this door…

—What were you like away for a month? You want me to bring it all in?

—It's just today's I'm afraid, if you would yes…

—Except the package, I mean you don't expect me to lift that.

—No no I'll get it, if you can get the door here, it just hangs on one hinge and…

—I mean like somebody sent you a box of bricks, like man I mean you really get mail.

—Yes if… you can just… he got the box in over the sill, —put it in there on that sofa…

—You left the water on.

—Yes I can't turn it off, he said fitting the door back into place behind her, —something's wrong with the…

—Man I never saw such a, like I mean what's in all the boxes, mail?

—No just, I don't know just papers, books and papers I think, he said following her in past 24-One Pint Mazola New Improved, 36 Boxes 200 2-Ply as she dumped the mail on the armless sofa and stood to pull off the long raincoat.

—Hyman Grynszpan, that's you? she said sitting beside the heap, picking up the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists.

—No I'm, my name is Bast, Edward Bast. Are you, I mean…

—Am I what.

—No your name, I just meant your name…

—Rhoda, okay?

—Oh yes you were Mister Schramm's, a friend of Mister Schramm's weren't you, the night he …

—Look, I mean let's just cool it with the Mister Schramm okay? She got a denimed leg up to rest a foot on Wise Potato Chips Hoppin' With Flavor! —like I mean what do you expect me to owww… !

—Oh I'm sorry that's one of my…

—Wait here's another one and, look at them … she'd come forward to pull the pencil from the stretch of denim —I mean I never saw so many fucking sharp pencils.

—Yes well I was working there and I …

—What, like you write?

—Music yes I, I write music…

—Like you just come here to work? I mean why don't you sit down,

you're standing there holding that little suitcase like you're selling something, like I mean you don't really live here, right?

—Well I've been staying here while I worked on, something I've been working on, he said cornering on Hoppin' With Flavor! beside her moccasin, —just to be alone so I could work on …

—What, you sit up here with all these boxes and write this music? Like I mean where do you sleep.

—Well right there where I, where you're sitting, I …

—With all these fucking pencils sticking in you like some Indian faker man, I mean you must be stoned before you dare to lie down on it.

—Well, no, no I usually…

—I mean like those footprints going right up the shade back there man.

—Yes I've, I've wondered how those…

—Man like right up the wall really stoned … she came down to one elbow on the sofa, gaping her denim front between the white buttons.

—You eat out?

—No here I, I usually eat here, I …

—Where. I mean the kitchen in there is so full of boxes and lampshades and everything you can't even find the stove.

—No it's right under there but there's no gas, so I just use the oven to …

—Like I didn't even eat lunch.

—Oh, oh well I could make you a cup of tea if you…

—No I mean eat man, like that's all you've got a cup of tea?

—Right now yes but I thought I'd go out and get some cup…

—Have you got any bread?

—No but I thought I'd go out and get some cupca…

—Like even two dollars… she came upright, —there's that A and P up at the corner like we could get a pizza.

—Well, two dollars, he said standing, digging into a pocket, —here's one and I …

—Like I mean just to get me through the checkout, okay? She stood to pull on the long raincoat. —What do you carry money in your sock?

—No it's, I have a hole in my pocket and the coins drop down my trouser leg…

—Man, I mean…

He fitted the door back into place behind her and stood, swallowed, went over and tried the hot water tap till his hand went white against it, finally stood back from the rush of water to look into the rusting cookie tin propped above it for a moment, swallowed and cleared his throat past 24-One Pint Mazola New Improved to pull the aging blanket loose and gather pencils, thrust points up in the tomato soup can, before he smoothed it carefully and sat to comb the mail heaping Grynszpan separate, stood to straighten the askew blind, to turn on the light in the punctured lampshade and try to round its creases, stare

at the Baldung and finally stand it atop 2-Ply Facial Tissue Yellow with a

deep swallow. When the door shuddered again he was by it tearing open the package from the hall. —Rhoda? is, wait…

She stepped in over it. —Like what did you get for Christmas.

—Oh it's just ah … he squared round the green volumes, —it's Thomas Register of American Manufacturers, I …

—Of what? She put a bag on the floor, balanced the flat box from under her arm on a pile of film cans, —I mean you must be kidding.

—No it's really just, I think they were just sent to me by someone I've been doing some work for for, for reference…

—I thought you said you write music, she said holding the raincoat wide to come up with small tins and jars from depths of pockets.

—Yes I do yes, yes this business is, this business work is just something I've been doing to help pay…

—Hey the sink, quick!

—What…

—I mean its coming over the side quick… The raincoat dropped to the floor, —like we both could drownd in here man…