David Wallace - Broom of the System

“….”

“….”

“Now, Weight Watchers perceives the problem as one involving the need to have as much Other around as possible, so that the relation is one of minimum Self to maximum Other. This is a valid though, as I’ve seen this afternoon, by no means exclusive way to attack the problem. Are you getting my drift, Vigorous?”

“Well, a drift is such a—”

“It occurs to me that I couldn’t care less. A full universe, Vigorous, Ms. Beadsman. We each need a full universe. Weight Watchers and their allies would have us systematically decrease the Self-component of the universe, so that the great Other-set will be physically attracted to the now more physically attractive Self, and rush in to fill the void caused by that diminution of Self. Certainly not incorrect, but just as certainly only half of the range of valid solutions to the full-universe problem. Is my drift getting palpable? Just as in genetic engineering, Vigorous. There is always more than one solution.”

“I think I—”

“An autonomously full universe, Vigorous. An autonomously full universe, Ms. Beadsman.”

“What should I do with these mints, here?”

“I’ll just take the bowl, thank you. Rather than diminishing Self to entice Other to fill our universe, we may also of course obviously choose to fill the universe with Self.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes. I plan to grow to infinite size.”

“Do I recall saying big mistake? Did I mention decks not being completely full?”

“Lenore, please. Norman, friend, really. A universe-view is one thing. No one can grow to infinite size.”

“Has anyone ever tried?”

“Not to my knowledge, no, but…”

“Then do me the kindness not to shrilly monger finite failure until I’ve tried. No one had ever been able to give butter life, either, but…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. To be ignored. A slip of the tongue.” “….”

“Yes and tonight Project Total Yang begins. I am going to grow and grow and grow. There will of course eventually cease to be room for anyone else in the universe at all, which I’m afraid will also mean the two of you, for which I apologize, but say also tough titty.”

“Really, enjoyed it a lot, we’ll have to do it again. We better go, my salad is attracting a fly, over there, I can see.”

“Looks yummy.”

“Unfortunately it’s mine and not yet part of your universe, at least temporarily. Rick, should we just wade on back over… ?”

“Norman, I simply would not be honest if I didn’t say right up front that I’m worried about you, about your emotional outlook, given what you’ve told me of your day today, with its attendant strains.”

“Won’t be an outlook, eventually. Only an inlook. I just hope I can financially crush that yogurt distributor before there ceases to be any meaningful difference between him and me. The light green mints are particularly good here, I think. You may if you wish each have one.”

“…. ”

“…. ”

“Really quite good. Of course one other advantage of my approach to the Yin/Yang problem is that dieting becomes the worst possible thing to do. I find dieting makes me insanely angry at everything. Dieting makes me want to murder everyone around me.”

“Instead of merely appropriating their space.”

“You are not un-sharp, are you? Rather like your father. Your father whips a mean carrot. I could, of course, leave selected small comers of the universe unfilled for those who might arouse in me feelings of affection and attachment.”

“I’ll get back to you, probably, if things begin to crowd.”

“Norman, friend, simply know that I am around and available should you ever wish to talk, I’ll not say chew the fat, or perhaps should you simply wish to pal around. I am around for you, Norman.”

“Your crowning virtue, Vigorous. Your best feature. You are always around.”

“At least temporarily.”

“Lenore, please.”

“Ms. Beadsman, I am coming to like you, unless it’s simply the inevitably favorable comparison of anyone with Vigorous here. Have you ever had intercourse with someone soon to be of infinite size?”

“On that note, I think, I’ll just be going…. Rick?”

“Right. Norman?”

“Goodbye, Vigorous. Enjoy that Self while you can.”

“I think the same route back would be…”

“No problem.”

“Should we finish? Are you hungry?”

“Are you kidding? Let’s just go. Drop me off, and I’ll take a quick shower and grab some things and try to get Candy to drop me, and you can drive me back in the morning. I don’t feel like squeezing into my car tonight.”

“Right. There is of course still the issue of your not telling me an important thing.”

“Tell tell tell.”

“I could call Vern Raring at the switchboard and see if he knows.”

“Good luck getting him instead of like Enrique the cheesemaker.” “

“Lines. I forgot. Walinda was livid. I’m sure all that made for quite a day, what with you being worried about untellable matters, et cetera.”

“The badness of this day has been enormous.”

“As it were.”

“Not funny at all. That man has waddled around the bend.”

“Well, look, he’s trying to leave.”

“Don’t envy that busboy one bit.”

“Hell of a check, I’ll bet.”

“I’ll sure never park in his space.”

“Here, allow me.”

“…. ”

/a/

Lenore Beadsman was in possession of the following items. One of two square bedrooms with polished wood floors and inoperative fireplaces on the third floor of an enormous gray house belonging to a Cleveland oral surgeon, in East Corinth. Three large windows, two facing west, all so clean they squeaked, only one open, because only one had a screen. From the windows a view of the outside at the right-hand edge of which the tight seam of geometric suburban ground and dim sky was punctured by the far thin teeth of Cleveland. Windows through which late in the day came a sustained blast of pumpkin-colored Cleveland sunset. Windowsills that were really window shelves, and jutted out so far from the low window-bottoms they could be sat on, and were, although there were nails and sharp perpendicular paint chips, which problem was solved by the placement of black corduroy cushions, which Lenore also owned, on the sills.

A chest of drawers from Mooradian’s.in which were clothes and on top of which, leaning on a triangular cardboard support that folded out of its back, was a photo of Lenore, her sister, her two brothers, her great-grandmother, Lenore Beadsman, and her great-grandfather, Stonecipher Beadsman, grouped around a deep wooden globe of the earth in a pretend den in a photographer’s concrete studio. Taken in 1977, when Lenore was eleven and temporarily minus front teeth. There was also, leaning back against that picture, an unframed picture of Lenore’s mother, in her frilly white wedding dress, linen, next to a large window filled with filmy spring light, looking down and arranging some wedding-related items in her hands. The picture resting on a spread-out cotton handkerchief with “Midwestern Contract Bridge Championships, Des Moines, Iowa, 1971” embroidered onto one comer.

Three drawers of socks and panties and so on, and one drawer of soap. A bed, unfortunately at the moment unmade, with a shiny old heavy maple frame and a pillow with a pillowcase with a lion on it that Lenore had had for a very long time. A shelf in the refrigerator in the kitchen downstairs on which were crowded bottles of seltzer water and ginger ale, some dark old carrots with limp tops, some limes. An area of the freezer crammed full of plastic bags of frozen vegetables, frozen mixed vegetables, on which Lenore largely lived.