Philip Roth - Letting Go

“Oh screw that,” said Bigoness. “You ain’t sticking me. See,” he said, his mouth narrowing to a point, “I know what you guys are up to. I know what kind of business you guys are in.”

“I’m not in any kind of business.”

“Tessie told me, don’t worry about that. I ain’t signing any papers, so why don’t you think twice and leave me alone.”

“Why don’t you let me talk to your wife?”

“Look, why don’t you leave us both alone! I’m not signing any papers, don’t you understand me? I’ve been signing papers all my life. Five papers to get this here sofa carried up those stairs, you understand that? I signed a paper for my car. I signed a paper for my Hollywood bed that’s right there in the bedroom — where it’s going to stay! I signed for plenty, and I paid for plenty and nobody’s going to stick me. We got a lawyer in the union, Mister. I can get advice whenever I need it, don’t kid yourself about that.”

“Any lawyer will tell you that if you want to be sure that nobody does stick you where this baby is concerned—”

“Look,” he said, standing, “the only way you don’t get stuck is you don’t sign.”

“What I’m trying to explain—”

“I understand what you’re trying to explain.”

“You don’t seem to.”

“You think you’re so smart and I’m so stupid?”

“Why don’t you just listen to me?”

“I listened plenty. I listen to what Tessie tells me you guys—”

“I want to speak with Theresa myself.”

“You can’t speak to her! Why don’t you leave us alone? I got a lot of bills, Mr. Wallace. Maybe you don’t know what that is. I’ve been out of work for five months. I’ve been taking care of this house here for five rotten months, and now my wife’s home with me and she’s out working, and that’s that. You got a paper,” he said, “well, you leave it here. I’ll take a look at it for you, okay? We got nothing else to talk about.”

“You’ll have to sign in court, however.”

“Oh sure.” He dropped his lids again, moved his shoulders, shifted on his heavy shoes. His entire body said, Listen to this guy, will you?

“A judge has to witness the adoption. That protects you as well as the people who are adopting the baby.”

“I told you, didn’t I, that I got a lot of bills — don’t you listen? I’m going to pay them, you hear, don’t you worry about that either. But I just ain’t stepping up to some judge, see, and saying, here I am, your honor, go ahead and stick my ass in the workhouse.”

“This has nothing to do with any work or workhouse, or with any bills you may have.”

“I’ve been married already before this, buddy. I’ve been married, I’ve been divorced. I’ve been around. I’ve lived in six different states in my life, you understand? I’ve been involved with your kinds of lawyers, believe me.”

“What kind is that?”

“I ain’t got no prejudice. I just been involved, so I know what I’m talking about. You guys got some kind of deal going, that’s all right with me. Tessie got confused, made a little mi—”

“Daddy—” His little girl had stepped back into the living room.

“Get out of here, you. Go play, go color. Take him with you.” He pointed to the small boy who had been sitting in the center of the rug all the while they had been talking.

The little girl said, “Walter’s still making a tinkle.”

It took a moment for the words to register on Bigoness. “Oh Jesus!” Again he fled.

A second later a door opened; a child cried; the toilet flushed; Bigoness moaned. He came back to the living room with still another child in his arms.

“C’mon, cut it out, boy,” Bigoness was saying, as he paced the rug; the diaperless child in his arms rolled back his head and howled. The little girl followed her father as he walked. “C’mon, Walter boy, you’re all right. Ah come on now, stop crying, will you? You going to be a big man or you going to be a little sissy boy?” The little boy continued to weep. “Oh man,” groaned Bigoness, “look, why don’t you leave me alone?” At that moment he did not appear to be anything but pitiful. “This little kid’s been strapped to that toilet seat for about a hour — and it’s on account of you butting in around here. You come in here and you dis-repp everything, and I forget all about him. Why don’t you go away and stop breaking up my house? I don’t know whether you trying to stick me, or you in the black market — you guys that sell babies, I don’t know which — but why don’t you just get out?”

“I’ve explained to you who I am.”

“Tessie told me about you, Wallace—”

“Well, I don’t know what she could have said.”

“You guys care about one thing, and that’s the buck.”

“ What guys?”

“You got the baby, why don’t you just leave us alone?”

“Because you’re responsible for that baby — until you sign that paper—”

“The hell I am! What do you want from me, Mister!”

“I want you to come into court with your wife, and sign”—his weariness almost overwhelmed him—“a little paper. Mr. Jaffe’s office will pay your travel expenses, we’ll get you a baby-sitter—”

“Where is this court, Africa? Man, I’ve had a rough time — I’m waiting on a phone call for a job—”

“The court is in Chicago.”

“I don’t live in Chicago.”

“I said we’ll pay your expenses; it’ll take a couple of hours. You’re not working anyway—”

“My wife is.”

“We’ll pay her a day’s salary! Stop being contrary!”

“I’m not getting mixed up in no black market.”

“This isn’t the black market!”

“Don’t you raise your voice in my house, hear? This is my house! ”

“I won’t raise my voice — I’ll get you hauled into court if you keep this up!”

“Yeah? For what?”

“You’re going to have more trouble than you bargained for, Mr. Bigoness!”

“You go ahead, you tell me what for, huh?”

“You want to support a fourth child?” He had spoken desperately — had he gone too far? Either too far or not far enough … Suppose Bigoness said yes.

“It’s not my kid—”

“It’s your wife’s!”

“It ain’t hers either. You want to stick somebody, you go stick old Dewey, he’s the son of a bitch knocked her up. He’s the son of a bitch took her away from here. When she married me, Mister, she married my three kids too. She ain’t running out again, you understand that? I had one old lady run away already. She thought life was a bowl of cherries, see. One day she just takes our little portable phonograph and all her Ricky Nelson records and so long, honey. I was left with them three kids — and I didn’t run out on them neither. Her son-of-a-bitchin’ family wouldn’t take them — okay, I didn’t run out on them. I went and found them another mama. Don’t tell me what I’m going to support! I got three kids, and I didn’t set them out in the street, neither. I’m a nursemaid around here, and scrub lady, but pretty soon they’re going to open that mill up and then old Tessie’s going to get her ass back in this kitchen, and this here family’s going to get shaped up around here. You just leave us alone, Wallace, and I’ll work everything out all right. Don’t you worry about me!”

“What does Theresa make in a day?”

“What she makes is my business.”

“You tell me what she makes, and we’ll make good her salary for the morning she has to be up in Chicago. We’ll cover both your travel expenses.”