David Wallace - The Pale King - An Unfinished Novel

‘You know what doctors do, don’t you? When you’re asleep. From the top down, like you’re a soft old grape in the back of the fridge that someone’s forgot to throw out. DeWitt, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times.’

‘I’m noting that, Sir, as well as Inspections’ appreciation for your cooperation under the circumstances.’

‘Well don’t just lie there say something. Tell them what they want or they’ll cut it off. They’ve as much as said so. Are you a fool?’

‘And I know they’ll be back in, and doing everything possible for your comfort until it comes off, Sir. I mean wears off. The blood level.’

‘I’m naked, you know. Under all this.’

‘We may or may not be needing to interview you again, Sir. When the effects are less noticeable if you understand.’

‘As a jaybird. Buck-naked. Birthday suit.’

‘Tell them, hurry. It’s German. ’

‘Yes and I do, I have a penis. Penis.’

‘Hate that word, Clothier.’

‘Dreadful word, eh? Penis? Like something you’d touch with a thick rubber glove if at all.’

‘Why DeWitt you old scalawiggle! I’m still a woman, you know!’

‘Say it with me, boys. Penis penis penis penis penis.’

‘You didn’t forget, oh DeWitt, it’s lovely.’

‘You just get some rest, Sir.’

‘Its name is — I won’t tell you. How do you like that? I won’t!’

‘I remember when you looked at me that way.’

‘It’s got a name. Its name is — I won’t tell you. It’s mine. It’s my third leg, Miriam calls it. But never from the forehead. It’s not a mask. They start with the chin. Upsy daisy. In comes the needle on wings!’

‘Allweshay, Aylortay?’

‘My proboscis itches so I sink it deep before vomiting.’

‘Not in me, DeWitt. It’s like you’re vomiting inside me. Even your expression is as if you’re taken ill. If you could ever see it you’d—’

‘Miriam’s frigid you know.’

‘I’ll be locking this behind me, Sir, but it’s just procedural.’

‘Since our third. A terrible labor. Stillborn. Blue and cold. You know what we named it?’

‘Taylor?’

‘That’s right. Taylor. Fine little Clothier just like his gumpappy.’

‘I just don’t want it. Don’t torture me for not, I beg you.’

‘Shall we… there you are, Sir.’

‘No interest since. Frigid. Dry as a fine martini, Bernie Cheadle’d say.’

‘So then toodleoo, Sir.’

‘Thank God we have our work, boys, eh? And our hobbies. Our home workshops, yes? Fashioning needles and wings for the commonweal? Yes, Aylor?’

‘I’ll be back with more of these if you don’t lie still like a good boy though, Sir, and wait for them to come for it, Sir, so you can look like: THIS! Just one firm tug and off she comes.’

‘She’ll say Give it a tug yourself, you old degenerate. ’

‘Barely feel a thing. This’ll get ’em cracking at their desks, Sir, eh what?’

‘I can inhale, but I can’t seem to exhale.’

[Voices in hall.]

‘My workshop is organized, it is, you should see it.’

[Voices in hall.]

‘I can find anything in there.’

[Voices in hall.]

‘You’ll see.’

[Voices in hall.]

Fogle sat waiting in the small reception area of the Director’s office. No one knew what it meant that Merrill Errol Lehrl was using Mr. Glendenning’s office. Mr. Glendenning and his senior staff were up at Region; it might just be a cordial professional-courtesy thing that Lehrl was using Mr. Glendenning’s office. Mrs. Oooley wasn’t at her desk in the reception area; instead at the desk was one of Lehrl’s aides, whose either first or last name was Reynolds. He’d moved a certain amount of Caroline’s stuff around, you could see. The area had a large rug whose geometric patterns, which were intricate, made the carpet look Turkish or Byzantine. The overheads were off; someone had placed several lamps around the little room, creating attractive oases in a general atmosphere of gloom. Fogle found low light gloomy. Dr. Lehrl’s other aide, Sylvanshine, was in a chair just off to Fogle’s right, so that the two aides were just outside the peripheries of Fogle’s vision and could not both be seen at the same time, and he had to turn his head slightly to look at either directly. Which he was forced to do, rather a lot, because they appeared to be prebriefing him for some reason. Doing so in tandem. But also, in a way, to be talking across Fogle to each other. When they addressed Chris Fogle directly, they tended to wax a bit didactic, but at the same time it was not totally uninteresting. Both Reynolds and Sylvanshine were knowledgeable about various powerful administrators’ career trajectories and résumés. It was the sort of thing that aides at National could be expected to know a lot about; they were a little like royal courtiers. Most of the names of the people they spoke of were people at Nation; only a few were known to Fogle. As was customary in the Service, the aides spoke in a rapid, excited way without either’s face showing any excitement or even interest in the subject at hand, which started out with a small lecture on the two basic different ways that a person could rise to prominence and large responsibility within the bureaucracy of the IRS. Bureaucratic aerodynamics and modes of advancement were very common topics of interest among examiners; it was unclear whether Reynolds and Sylvanshine didn’t know that much of this was familiar ground to Fogle or didn’t care. Fogle imagined that at whatever Post these two were normally at, they were legendary dickheads.

According to the two aides, one way to advance to managerial levels beyond GS-17 was through slow, steady demonstrations of competence, loyalty, reasonable initiative, interhuman skills with the people above and below you, etc., moving slowly up through the promotional ranks.

‘The other, lesser known, is the éclat.’

‘The éclat means the sudden, extraordinary idea or innovation that brings you to the notice of those at high levels. Even national levels.’ One got the sense they were parroting others.

‘Dr. Lehrl is the latter kind. The éclat kind.’

‘Allow us to give you some background.’

‘It’s some time ago. Should I specify the year?’

The rhythms of Reynolds and Sylvanshine’s back and forth were quite precise. There was no wasted time. Questions had a vaguely staged quality. If Dr. Lehrl himself was back behind that frosted door, it wasn’t clear whether Reynolds and Sylvanshine thought that he could hear what they were saying.

‘The details are unimportant. He was just one of a low-level audit group in a backwater district somewhere, and he got an idea.’

‘He’s not even on 1040s within the group, mind you. He’s small business and S.’

‘The idea, however, concerns 1040s.’

‘Specifically exemptions.’

‘An area not unfamiliar to you, I assume.’ Neither had any accent at all.

‘You may, for example, know or not know that up until 1979, filers could declare dependents just by name.’

‘On the 1040 of the time.’

‘Dependents. Children, elderly in the filer’s care.’

‘I think we can assume he knows what dependents are, Claude.’

‘But do you know the 1040 of that period? What the filer had to do was put the dependent children’s first names on Line 5c, others’ names and relations on 5d.’

‘Now, of course, it’s all 6c and 6d. We’re talking about 1977.’

‘But the point is just the name and relation. Which you can see the problem.’

‘There’s no way to check,’ Sylvanshine said.