Nelson Algren - The New Black Mask Quarterly (№ 1)

I don’t think I ever finished off the tale about the Rev. Gent my father. Through a foul trick he published all those confidential chats with Strad and Rimsky on his own!! This meant the loss of ten years’ work! After a lot of wrangling father gave us a signed contract that we should receive 50 % of the profits. And a signed confession of his own free will. Strad said that compromise was the only way and I thought we should listen to the wise old fiddle-maker. So, all serene. Then — what do you think? Father decamped, a moonlit flit no less, with that precious contract and confession. Now you may have some inkling of what Mother went through at that precious Vicarage! We of course wrote to the publishers insisting that a clause should be put in the contract to allow us a percentage. Result? — no reply.

What a nice new black dress! And I was glad to see the way you ignored that crude oaf who wanted to maul you in getting off the bus this morning. Don’t think that we are all like that (SEX mad).

Yours sincerely

Laszlo

Dear Barbara Benyon,

May a comparative stranger give you a word of advice? Fairly blunt but with the very best of intentions withal. Don’t encourage strange men by smiling at them. Now you see how closely I have you under observation.

Yours sincerely

Laszlo

Dear Barbara Benyon,

Did I ever tell you about Mrs. Fitz? Not her real name of course, I’m rather careful about such things. She definitely “took a shine” to me. Of course I could see some of her faults, at least some of the physical ones, from the start. Those great thick legs with ankles that bulged over her size 9 plates of meat — it amused her to contrast them with my own very neat size fives. That none-too-clean neck and oh those hairy moles! But something about her manner, at first she feigned a quiet modesty, reminded me of Mother. Later on I found out her true nature — how greedy she was — and other things!

Mrs. Fitz lived all alone like a hermit in a great big dark house, but pigged it in only two rooms, never cleaning anything and hardly ever washing her crocks. It was a very gloomy house with big trees that shut out the light and the garden was all overgrown with weeds. Every single room in the house was full of junk. She never threw anything away and there were hundreds of empty bottles and piles of tins and bags in the kitchen. Another pile of unread newspapers and unopened letters in the hall. There was so much stuff in some rooms that you couldn’t get into them. I only hung around there as she promised to set me up in my career.

In a hurry so I must close.

By the way am I mistaken or is someone following you? I mean someone apart from me of course.

Sincerely yours

Laszlo

Dear Barbara Benyon,

“Suffocated with a pillow!” I hear you exclaim your doubt and derision at the very suggestion. Yes, indeed, how could they be sure? Who is to say that the Rev. Gent did not suffocate himself? One thing is certain — Mother was quite innocent! But you see Strad says there is no justice in this world. He says that on The Other Side all is different. Sometimes, I must admit, I do rather long to be there.

Ever sincerely

Laszlo

Dear Miss Benyon,

Just to say that I am definitely on to the blonde beast who is now your constant companion and his Jewboy friend. Are the police really recruiting Yids now? Well they must be hard up if they stoop to having Kikes working for them! The police would be well advised to keep out of my affairs. Where do they all skulk when they are really needed?

One tries hard only to think of pleasanter subjects but under pressure it is difficult. Oh yes I was telling you about Mrs. Fitz (not her real name so no investigations about that by request please). Would you believe she had kept all her old toys and those of her long-dead brother? On the sideboard in the diningroom there were long lines of toy soldiers smothered in dust. One afternoon she fell asleep, looking a disgusting sight with her large mouth wide open and showing her denture plate. I explored the whole place and decided on a plan.

Feeling rather down and “put upon.” However Strad says “Not to worry.”

Faithfully yours

Laszlo

Dear Miss Benyon,

Today when you stopped to buy your Standard you were carrying a small parcel. Blonde beast was wearing a shoddy blue suit while Jewboy skulked along behind, looking furtive and ashamed of himself. Now you can see you are all closely observed.

At no time did dear old Strad speak to my father!

Shall I give you a clue as to my present whereabouts? A café in the Strand not a million miles from Barclays Bank & Barbara Benyon. I can say that as I shall not come here again. A giant of a pimply waitress flicked some crumbs on me.

Strad has just come through loud and clear. Danger ahead! So I’m off. Your bullies are even worrying Strad now but I don’t suppose that bothers you.

Faithfully yours

Laszlo

Dear Miss Benyon,

We wrote to the publishers on countless occasions in re the Rev. Gent and his claims that Strad had first manifested to him.

Had to move in a rush as you undoubtedly gleefully heard and lost all my notes regarding the trial. Also various files of useful information, OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS and other valuable possessions. A savage blow but I keep trying to look on the bright side.

Did I ever tell you about that terrible woman Mrs. Fitz? That’s what I called her as she thought she was “out of the top drawer” all right. Lording it like Lady Muck. Behaved as if she was made of money but had hardly anything apart from that old house which she could not sell as it was riddled with dry rot. She didn’t wash but smothered herself in cheap scent. And the house stank because all the windows were closed and nailed up fast. She was scared stiff of burglars!

Father said that he would have to take legal proceedings. That he was determined to stop us “making his life a misery.” We soon settled his hash!

Faithfully

Laszlo

Miss Benyon,

Not to mince matters your louts are making my life a misery! In a second rush move I lost Mother’s precious case! I am definitely being hounded. Not a nice feeling. I have written to the Papers and the Authorities about this sort of thing before but nothing is ever published as they are all in cahoots.

I stake my reputation on the authenticity of Strad’s messages. But for say £100 I would have been willing to relinquish all rights. This letter is a jumble because of your loathsome bullies.

Faithfully

Laszlo

Benyon,

Mrs. Fitz was disgusting. I stuck it out there even when she tried to make a fool of me by sitting me on her lap — just like a ventriloquist’s dummy. She said she was sincerely interested in The Other Side and promised to help me with my career. She even wanted to act as my medium — as if I would ever use anyone apart from Mother! Finally I realised that all she was interested in was SEX. So I tied her up when she was sleeping and forced her head down the lavatory pan to stop her snoring. Then I smashed everything in the house and emptied every tin and jar in the kitchen. Then I left all the taps running. That showed her, eh!

Of course the police lied when they said Mrs. Fitz was dead. They were just trying to frighten me, to hound me like they did my sainted Mother, “a woman of most unusual qualities” as that Fiend/Judge was forced to admit.

Strad insists that I “go underground” for a while. All this anxiety on top of losing the case containing Mother’s “Boots” is just too much to bear. I sincerely advise you to call off your hounds. Anyway they are sure to lose interest if I lie doggo for a while. Then I shall return. Remember Mrs. Fitz!