Joseph McElroy - Women and Men

— then we have to weigh the meaning even of some presumptuous Indian’s rumored prophecy that a friend of Mayn’s, possibly young, possibly gifted, will die for discovering a non-lethal radioactivity that enables one to be two people at the same time and in two different places and then apparently the two can become one just like that, because with the educational system here in the United States, such future-madness may just be possible.

If Mayga’s death is related to the Masons, said Spence against the rise of the passionate piano, it could be related to you, Talca, as easily as to Mayn, because there’s plenty of Masons down in your corner of the hemisphere. Yes, the more I think of it. . yes.

What do you mean "yes"? It is obvious from the letter and evidently from other "effluent" documents that certain Masonic order secrets connected with an engraved pistol Mayn’s grandfather and others before him kept safe from Indians who needed it for something and sought it may explain not only the origin of their family newspaper designed to promote Andrew Jackson but the death of the woman Mayga—

— I was there when he heard, said Spence—

— in ‘63, I believe—

— she went off a cliff near Valparaiso harbor—

— while walking with a well-known German-American printing magnate named Morgen connected on his mother’s side to an Alsatian mathematician whose solutions yielded designs instrumental in the development of Chilean railroads but also formulae bearing on other matters and connected on his father’s side to a Communist printer protected by Marion Hugo Mayne after he ran off with Masonic secrets and threatened to expose them.

The Anglo-Indian blood rite in northwest New York State was not ridiculous, said Spence.

The Masons interest us only insofar as—

Your family had some Masons in it, said Spence. Like Luisa’s.

The piano had stopped, the tiny woman Lincoln was onstage with an electric drill, the singers had been shouting at each other and now Luisa called to the rear of the orchestra, "Will you please be here or not be here, I am doing this, this, Opera perdida chilena because you urged me—"

‘ 7," said Ford North with a deep frown that projected far beyond the house lights, ‘7 urged you, my princess, my priestess, my—"

"— please to discuss your business outside the theater."

De Talca raised a hand and tilted his head in humoring apology and turned to Spence, who had stepped back as if to go, as another hassle ensued onstage with words uttered so richly they sounded sung, and at this, other lyrics came back to mind that had been actually sung during the interchange between Spence and his client, but whether Spanish or other, Spence, flickeringly alone, could not tell, while the bright sword of the big man came out again and he made a pass at the curtain and the pianist became engaged in a three-way argument repeating what sounded like desde Menal (the pianist saying it; Luisa saying it perhaps first; North saying it) — while through all this Talca turned and turned a bit too slowly to Spence and—

Do not speak of my family, Spence.

I don’t spend my time in wastebaskets, Talca.

Which reminds me of one last thing: what do you know about these crossed initials?

I’m a free-lance photo-journalist.

Did you photograph the prison break? You know the man Foley or he knows you, and he predicted the break.

He dreamt it probably, said Spence.

He said he was in touch with the Nos Otros (is it two words?) and that’s how he knew. Is it true the child is being hidden in Mayn’s building?

You know more than I know, Talca. I don’t know any Nosotros.

You came up with very little information altogether, Spence.

I’m waiting for something to happen.

Will it be here? said Talca. What has it to do with these… are they people, these initials?—S.R.s up-and-down and across, and O.G., L.S., P.M. (maybe afternoon?), and other abbreviations or initials. Who is O.G., who is D.M.? if they go backward, too, it is a whole new ballgame. M.R.M. may be M. H. Mayne. And S.R. abuts upon O. at one point.

I don’t know any S.R.O., said Spence. What did they mean by desde Mena?

Oh Spence, you don’t know Fedora on a bike from Louise with a pot au feu on the stove and her father dying. S.R.O. is Standing Room Only.

Talca turned contemptuously toward the aisle to return to his seat and Spence said, And is it the pot you’re waiting for or is Luisa’s Masonic father dead already?

Talca paused a split second and showed his profile, and Spence heard the word insect and said, The Cuban who escaped, does Luisa know who’s got the missing kid?

Again Talca paused to show his profile and the turn carried Spence away on the sounds of lyrics he had partly heard while not paying attention; and again, after another call from Luisa to her lover, the words Spence had understood before but now in another voice harder to understand not because of accent or lower register but because of some meaning given to them by the strung-out composer-boyfriend of North’s took a moment all to themselves, Este opera perdida chilena! and, looking back once more, Spence caught Talca’s angry eye; and a red-haired, red-bearded man was suddenly standing near the piano, and North at the back of the stage by a black curtain ran his sword back into the scabbard only to haul it out again like doubling its shape and stab the curtain, stab it again, half singing, half saying as he stabbed it yet again and again, "For a ducat, for a ducat, for a ducat, dear ducat, dear ducat, dear ducat," but Spence was through the door into the corridor choking on the word insect while hearing fall away from him his own familyless name.

An accelerating sanitation truck ran a light with a racing yellow cab on either side, as Spence and a good-looking woman in a fur coat were about to step off the curb, and the phone started ringing in the booth at t)iis corner and they turned to look and watch. After several rings Spence smiled and slid back the door and picked up. He shrugged and the woman turned away and stepped off the curb. "Drew a blank," he called out through the glass, and she turned to frown and smile with an intensity that seemed to surprise them both.

"He’s supposed to be here," the older woman’s voice said from the foundation office; "he has an appointment."

"Oh my God of course!" said Spence expressing cheerful surprise. "He’s meeting an old friend of mine. It’s a small world. It slipped my mind completely. An old old friend. Have you tried his apartment?"

"If he’s there he’s not answering," said the woman uncertainly.

"Well, it’s urgent," said Spence, "maybe I can track him down. Thank you so much for the information — oh, and give her my best."

In the pause, during which the woman did not ask who Spence meant, Spence said (and sounded it), "I’m breathless and I don’t have another nickel, my number here is. ." (he read it off fast as if the dial were an interruption)" — oh you don’t need to know that. ." (he laughed genuinely).

"You don’t want to speak to Mrs. Myles?"

Spence said, "It must be not having any more change. I’m saying things, you know what I mean? I mean I’m looking out the glass into the street, and there’s nothing much there and I’m saying things I didn’t really think of so there’s something there by the time you get to it, do you know what I mean? I’m sorry."

The woman said, "Strangely I think I do."

"You’re a pearl," said Spence, laughing excitedly.

The woman laughed back with affection as if it were her name instead of the person waiting to see the Chilean economist.