Donald Barthelme Read online

  Howard to Hilda: If you don’t understand me, that’s okay, but I am afraid you do understand me. In that case, I think I will have dreams.

  Where are you going Eric with that shotgun? Hubert asked.

  It is virtually impossible to read one of Joel S. Goldsmith’s books on the oneness of life without becoming a better person Eric, Rosemarie said.

  Eric, take that shotgun out of your mouth! Irene shouted.

  Eric!

  4

  Oh Hubert, why did you give me that damn baby? Paul I mean? Didn’t you know he was going to grow?

  The French countryside (the countryside of France) was covered with golden grass. I’m looking for a bar, they said, called the Cow on the Roof or something like that.

  Inge stretched her right and left arms luxuriously. You have brought me so much marvelous happiness Paul that although I know you will go away soon to consort once more with Hilda, that all-time all-timer girl, it still pleases me to be here in this good Dansk bed with you. Do you want to talk about phenomenological reduction now? or do you want a muffin?

  Edward counted his Pard.

  From the bank? Rosemarie asked herself.

  I have decided Charles to go to the Virgin Islands with Hubert. Do you mind? Since Hubert’s position in the market has improved radically I feel he is entitled to a little relaxation in the golden sun. Okay?

  The Black Sea patrol boat captain said: Hyacinths?

  The new black pear tree reached sturdily for the sky on the grave, the very place, of the old black pear tree.

  He wondered whether to wrap it as a gift, or simply take it over to Charles and Irene’s in the box. He couldn’t decide. He decided to have a drink. While Hubert was drinking his vodka martini it started to cry. I wonder if I’m making these drinks too strong?

  The snow of Montreal banked itself against the red Rambler. Paul and Hilda embraced. What is wonderful? they thought. They thought the answer might be in their eyes, or in their mingled breath, but they couldn’t be sure. It might be illusory.

  I wonder how I might become slightly more pleasing to the eye? Rosemarie asked. Perhaps I should tattoo myself attractively?

  —Hilda I do think it’s possible now for us to be together, to stay together even, even to live together if that is your wish. I feel that we have come to the end of a very trying time, a time in which we were tried see? and that from this day forward everything will be fine. We will have a house and so on, et cetera et cetera, and even children of our own perhaps. I’ll get a job.

  —That sounds wonderful, Aaron.

  Eric?

  For I’m the Boy Whose Only Joy Is Loving You

  ON THE trip back from the aerodrome Huber who was driving said: Still I don’t see why we were required. You weren’t required Bloomsbury said explicitly, you were invited. Invited then Huber said, I don’t see what we were invited for. As friends of the family Bloomsbury said. You are both friends of the family. A tissue of truths he thought, delicate as the negotiations leading to the surrender. It was not enough Bloomsbury felt, to say that his friends Huber and Whittle were as men not what he wished them to be. For it was very possible he was aware, that he was not what they wished him to be. Nevertheless there were times when he felt like crying aloud, that it was not right!

  She was I thought quite calm Bloomsbury said. You also Huber said turning his head almost completely around. Of course she has been trained to weep in private Bloomsbury said looking out of the window. Training he thought, that’s the great thing. Behind them aircraft rose and fell at intervals, he wondered if they should have waited for “the take-off,” if it would have been more respectful, or on the other hand less respectful, to have done so. Still I thought there’d certainly be weeping Whittle said from the front seat. I have observed that in situations involving birth, bereavement or parting forever there is usually some quantity of weeping. But he provided a crowd Huber said, precluding privacy. And thus weeping Whittle agreed. Yes Bloomsbury said.

  Ah Pelly where do you be goin’? T’ grandmather’s, bein’ it please yer lardship. An’ what a fine young soft young warm young thing ya have there Pelly on yer bicycle seat. Ooo yer lardship ye’ve an evil head on yer, I’ll bet yer sez that t’all us guls. Naw Pelly an’ the truth of the matter is, there’s nivver a gul come down my street wi’ such a fine one as yers. Yer a bold one yer worship if ye doon cock a minnow. Lemme just feel of her a trifle Pelly, there’s a good gul. Ooo Mishtar Bloomsbury I likes a bit o’ fun as good as the next ’un but me husbing’s watchin’ from the porch wi’ ’is field telescope. Pother Pelly it won’t be leavin’ any marks, we’ll just slither behind this tree. Ring me bicycle bell yer lardship he’ll think yer after sellin’ the Eskimo Pies. That I will Pelly I’ll give ’er a ring like she nivver had before. Ooo yer grace be keerful of me abdominal belt what’s holdin’ up me pedal pushers. Never fear Pelly I dealt wi’ worse than that in my time I have.

  Of course it’s inaccurate to say that we are friends of the family Huber said. There no longer being any family. The family exists still I believe Whittle said, as a legal entity. Were you married? it would affect the legal question, whether or not the family qua family endures beyond the physical separation of the partners, which we have just witnessed. Bloomsbury understood that Whittle did not wish to be thought prying and understood also, or recalled rather, that Whittle’s wife or former wife had flown away in an aircraft very similar to if not identical with the one in which Martha his own wife had elected to fly away. But as he considered the question a tiresome one, holding little interest in view of the physical separation already alluded to, which now claimed his attention to the exclusion of all other claims, he decided not to answer. Instead he said: She looked I thought quite pretty. Lovely Whittle acknowledged and Huber said: Stunning in fact.

  Ah Martha coom now to bed there’s a darlin’ gul. Hump off blatherer I’ve no yet read me Mallarmé for this evenin’. Ooo Martha dear canna we noo let the dear lad rest this night? when th’ telly’s already shut doon an’ th’ man o’ the hoose ’as a ’ard on? Don’t be comin’ round wit yer lewd proposals on a Tuesday night when ye know better. But Martha dear where is yer love for me that we talked about in 19 and 38? in the cemetary by the sea? Pish Mishtar Hard On ye’d better be lookin’ after the Disposall what’s got itself plogged up. Ding the Disposall! Martha me gul it’s yer sweet hide I’m after havin’. Get yer hands from out of me Playtex viper, I’m dreadful bored wit’ yer silly old tool. But Marthy dear what of th’ poetry we read i’ the’ book, aboot th’ curlew’s cry an’ th’ white giant’s thigh, in 19 and 38? that we consecrated our union wit’? That was then an’ this is now, ye can be runnin’ after that bicycle gul wi’ th’ tight pants if yer wants a bit o’ the auld shiver n’ shake. Ah Marthy it’s no bicycle gul that’s brakin’ me heart but yer sweet self. Keep yer paws off me derriere dear yer makin’ me lose me page i’ th’ book.

  Rich girls always look pretty Whittle said factually and Huber said: I’ve heard that. Did she take the money with her? Whittle asked. Oh yes Bloomsbury said modestly (for had he not after all relinquished, at the same time he had relinquished Martha, a not inconsiderable fortune, amounting to thousands, if not more?). You could hardly have done otherwise I suppose Huber said. His eyes which fortunately remained on the road during this passage were “steely-bright.” And yet . . . Whittle began. Something for your trouble Huber suggested, a tidy bit, to put in the Postal Savings. It would have gone against the grain no doubt Whittle said. But there was trouble was there not? for which little or no compensation has been offered? Outrage Bloomsbury noted stiffened Whittle’s neck which had always been inordinately long and thin, and stiff. The money he thought, there had been in truth a great deal. More than one person could easily dispose of. But just right as fate would have it for two.

  A BEER WINE LIQUOR ICE sign appeared by the roadside. Huber stopped the car which w
as a Pontiac Chieftain and entering the store purchased, for $27.00, a bottle of 98-year-old brandy sealed on the top with a wax seal. The bottle was old and dirty but the brandy when Huber returned with it was tasty in the extreme. For the celebration Huber said generously offering the bottle first to Bloomsbury who had in their view recently suffered pain and thus deserved every courtesy, insofar as possible. Bloomsbury did not overlook this great-hearted attitude on the part of his friend. Although he has many faults Bloomsbury reflected, he has many virtues also. But the faults engaged his attention and sipping the old brandy he began to review them seriously, and those of Whittle also. One fault of Huber’s which Bloomsbury considered and reconsidered was that of not keeping his eye on the ball. In the matter of the road for instance Bloomsbury said to himself, any Texaco Gasoline sign is enough to distract him from his clear duty, that of operating the vehicle. And there were other faults both mortal and venial which Bloomsbury thought about just as seriously as this. Eventually his thinking was interrupted by these words of Whittle’s: Good old money!

  It would have been wrong Bloomsbury said austerely, to have kept it. Cows flew by the windows in both directions. That during the years of our cohabitation it had been our money to cultivate and be proud of does not alter the fact that originally it was her money rather than my money he finished. You could have bought a boat Whittle said, or a horse or a house. Presents for your friends who have sustained you in the accomplishment of this difficult and if I may say so rather unpleasant task Huber added pushing the accelerator pedal to the floor so that the vehicle “leaped ahead.” While these things were being said Bloomsbury occupied himself by thinking of one of his favorite expressions, which was: Everything will be revealed at the proper time. He remembered too the several occasions on which Huber and Whittle had dined at his house. They had admired he recalled not only the tuck but also the wife of the house whose aspect both frontside and backside was scrutinized and commented upon by them. To the point that the whole enterprise (friendship) had become, for him, quite insupportable, and defeating. Huber had in one instance even reached out his hand to touch it, when it was near, and bent over, and sticking out, and Bloomsbury as host had been forced, by the logic of the situation, to rap his wrist with a soup spoon. Golden days Bloomsbury thought, in the sunshine of our happy youth.

  It’s idiotic Huber said, that we know nothing more of the circumstances surrounding the extinguishment of your union than you have chosen to tell us. What do you want to know? Bloomsbury asked, aware however that they would want everything. It would be interesting I think as well as instructive Whittle said casually, to know for instance at what point the situation of living together became untenable, whether she wept when you told her, whether you wept when she told you, whether you were the instigator or she was the instigator, whether there were physical fights involving bodily blows or merely objects thrown on your part and on her part, if there were mental cruelties, cruelties of what order and on whose part, whether she had a lover or did not have a lover, whether you did or did not, whether you kept the television or she kept the television, the disposition of the balance of the furnishings including tableware, linens, light bulbs, beds and baskets, who got the baby if there was a baby, what food remains in the pantry at this time, what happened to the medicine bottles including Mercurochrome, rubbing alcohol, aspirin, celery tonic, milk of magnesia, No-Doze and Nembutal, was it a fun divorce or not a fun divorce, whether she paid the lawyers or you paid the lawyers, what the judge said if there was a judge, whether you asked her for a “date” after the granting of the decree or did not so ask, whether she was touched or not touched by this gesture if there was such a gesture, whether the date if there was such a date was a fun thing or not a fun thing—in short we’d like to get the feel of the event he said. We’d be pepped to know, Huber said. I remember how it was when my old wife Eleanor flew away Whittle said, but only dimly because of the years. Bloomsbury however was thinking.

  Have ye heard the news Pelly, that Martha me wife has left me in a yareplane? on th’ bloody Champagne Flight? O yer wonderfulness, wot a cheeky lot to be pullin’ the plog on a lovely man like yerself. Well that’s how the cock curls Pelly, there’s naught left of ’er but a bottle of Drene Shampoo in th’ boodwar. She was a bitch that she was to commit this act of lese majesty against th’ sovereign person of yer mightiness. She locked ’erself i’ th’ john Pelly toward th’ last an’ wouldn’t come out not even for Flag Day. Incredible Mishtar Bloomsbury to think that such as that coexist wi’ us good guls side by side in the twentieth century. An’ no more lovey-kindness than a stick, an’ no more gratitude than a glass o’ milk of magnesia. What bought her clothes at the Salvation Army by th’ look of her, on the Revolving Credit Plan. I fingerprinted her fingerpaintings she said and wallowed in sex what is more. Coo, Mishtar Bloomsbury me husbing Jack brings th’ telly right into th’ bed wi’ ’im, it’s bumpin’ me back all night long. I’ th’ bed? I’ th’ bed. It’s been a weary long time Pelly since love ’as touched my hart. Ooo your elegance, there’s not a young gul in the Western Hemisphere as could withstand the grandeur of such a swell person as you. It’s marriage Pelly what has ruined me for love. It’s a hard notion me Bloomie boy but tragically true nonetheless. I don’t want pity Pelly there’s little enough rapport between adults wi’out clouding th’ issue wi’ sentiment. I couldn’t agree more yer gorgeousness damme if I haven’t told Jack a thousand times, that rapport is the only thing.

  Although customarily of a lively and even ribald disposition the friends of the family nevertheless maintained during these thoughts of Bloomsbury’s attitudes of the most rigorous and complete solemnity, as were of course appropriate. However Whittle at length said: I remember from my own experience that the pain of parting was shall I say exquisite? Exquisite Huber said, what a stupid word. How would you know? Whittle asked, you’ve never been married. I may not know about marriage Huber said stoutly, but I know about words. Exquisite he pronounced giggling. You have no delicacy Whittle said, that is clear. Delicacy Huber said, you get better and better. He began weaving the car left and right on the highway, in delight. The brandy Whittle said, has been too much for you. Crud Huber said assuming a reliable look. You’ve suffered an insult to the brain Whittle said, better let me drive. You drive! Huber exclaimed, your ugly old wife Eleanor left you precisely because you were a mechanical idiot, she confided in me on the day of the hearing. A mechanical idiot! Whittle said in surprise, I wonder what she meant by that? Huber and Whittle then struggled for the wheel for a brief space but in a friendly way. The Pontiac Chieftain behaved very poorly during this struggle, zigging and zagging, but Bloomsbury who was preoccupied did not notice. It was interesting he thought that after so many years one could still be surprised by a flyaway wife. Surprise he thought, that’s the great thing, it keeps the old tissues tense.

  Well Whittle said how does it feel? It? Bloomsbury said, what is it?

  The physical separation mentioned earlier Whittle said. We want to know how it feels. The question is not what is the feeling but what is the meaning? Bloomsbury said reasonably. Christ Huber said, I’ll tell you about my affair. What about it? Bloomsbury asked. It was a Red Cross girl Huber said, named Buck Rogers. Of what did it consist? Whittle asked. It consisted Huber said, of going to the top of the Chrysler Building and looking out over the city. Not much meat there Whittle said disparagingly, how did it end? Badly Huber said. Did she jump? Whittle asked. I jumped Huber said. You were always a jumper Whittle said. Yes Huber said angrily, I had taken precautions. Did your chute open? Whittle asked. With a sound like timber falling Huber said, but she never knew. The end of the affair Whittle said sadly. But what a wonderful view of the city Huber commented. So now, Whittle said to Bloomsbury, give us the feeling.

  We can discuss Bloomsbury said, the meaning but not the feeling. If there is emotion it is only just that you share it with your friends Whittle said. Who are no doubt all you have left in
the world said Huber. Whittle had placed upon Huber’s brow, which was large and red, handkerchiefs dampened in brandy, with a view toward calming him. But Huber would not be calmed. Possibly there are relatives Whittle pointed out, of one kind or another. Hardly likely Huber said, considering his circumstances, now that there is no more money I would hazard that there are no more relatives either. Emotion! Whittle exclaimed, when was the last time we had any? The war I expect Huber replied, all those chaps going West. I’ll give you a hundred dollars Whittle said, for the feeling. No Bloomsbury said, I have decided not. We are fine enough to be a crowd at the airport so that your wife will not weep but not fine enough to be taken into your confidence I suppose Huber said “bitterly.” Not a matter of fine enough Bloomsbury said reflecting meanwhile upon the proposition that the friends of the family were all he had left, which was he felt quite a disagreeable notion. But probably true. Good what manner of man is this! Whittle exclaimed and Huber said: Prick!

  Once in a movie house Bloomsbury recalled Tuesday Weld had suddenly turned on the screen, looked him full in the face, and said: You are a good man. You are good, good, good. He had immediately gotten up and walked out of the theater, gratification singing in his heart. But that situation dear to him as it was helped him not a bit in this situation. And that memory memorable as it was did not prevent the friends of the family from stopping the car under a tree, and beating Bloomsbury in the face first with the brandy bottle, then with the tire iron, until at length the hidden feeling emerged, in the form of salt from his eyes and black blood from his ears, and from his mouth, all sorts of words.

  The Big Broadcast of 1938

  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.