Gordon Lish - Collected Fictions

I'm sorry, sweetheart, but J.D. I couldn't go along with, even if they came in here with their badges and handcuffs and shot me down like a dog. Because by me, darling, because by your father, darling, the name you were born with, the name God gave you, you could go ahead and ask anyone, they will tell you it is like a symphony by Shakespeare to the most discriminating of ears. I promise you, sonny boy, you could go to the ends of the earth and you could still not improve upon it even if you went and begged on bended knee!

Just to listen to it!

So are you listening?

Jerome David.

Jerome David.

Now tell me, I ask you, is this not the last word when it comes to the name of a human being?

But a thing like J.D., Jerome, since when is a thing like J.D. even a figment of a name?

Cutie guy, you want to kill your father with this thing of J.D., then go ahead and kill me with it. But meanwhile do not ask me to write it on the envelope. Because if this is what you are asking of me, darling, then let me be the first one to tell you, sweetheart, you are asking your father for what your father will not give!

STOP TO THINK, pussycat. Promise me you will not excite yourself and that you will stop to think for all of two seconds. So first of all, answer me the following question. There is or there isn't a thoroughfare in the Bronx called Jerome? As thoroughfares go, tell me, babydoll, it is not one which down through the ages is a thoroughfare which is famous throughout the world and respected? So is this a simple question or is this a simple question? And does a person have to be a genius for them to think of a simple answer? Sonny boy, please take my word for it, when the city fathers sat themselves down to pick a name, they did not sit there and say to themselves, "So let's pick a shtunky name for this famous and respected throughfare." Okay, so I admit it to you, so maybe it was the borough fathers which sat themselves down. It's still the same principle! Believe me, darling, right here in the Sunshine State, where I your father bring you High Holy Day greetings from, on Lincoln Avenue they got right here, I promise you, a Jerome Florists. On Lincoln Avenue, darling. So am I talking about a first-class thoroughfare? Come look for yourself, as big as life, a top throughfare and a corner location, Jerome Florists, as I live and breathe!

But listen, cutie creature, a father does not know a son? I need all of a sudden a mind reader for them to tell me what is in my sonny boy's thoughts? So drag me out into the streets because I as your father happen to know the thinking of my own child. Tell them to come put your father on bread and water on death row because he happens to be an expert on the question of his sonny boy's brain. Meanwhile, you still cannot change the rule which says it takes a father to know a son. Jerome, darling, they could come cut off both my arms. They could come chop me up in little pieces. But I as your father am here to tell you, cutie guy, a father knows a son!

Guess what, darling.

Are you listening to me, Jerome?

Because to the fathers of this world, a son is what is eating your heart out! But don't think I don't know I should learn to keep my mouth shut. Believe me, boychik, they should come cut your father's throat from ear to ear until the man learns to bite his tongue. So tell your father if he could not quote you the exact phraseology of his sonny boy's thinking word for bitter word. Boychik, tell the truth, would it be verbatim or would it be verbatim? Listen, cutie guy, don't tell me the answer because I know the answer. And you know why, Jerome? Because a father knows a son, Jerome! And you know what else, darling? Let your father tell you what else, darling. The more brilliant the brain of the child, the more you cannot please this child — this is what your father knows!

Oh, but you really got a lot to complain about, Jerome — a father which gave you such a gorgeous name for yourself and then had the gall to write it down on an envelope instead of write on something which it would make him heartsick to even whisper in a closet to himself. Believe me, your father never saw a sonny boy with more to complain about. But don't kid yourself, darling, it's no picnic for me neither, this subject, but so long as it just so happens to be the topic at the moment on the table at the moment, pardon me if your father goes ahead and mentions a few comparisons. Like take, for instance, a certain Mrs. Roth who lives in the building. So tell me, darling, does this particular Mrs. Roth have a relative who is a Philip or is a P.? Or look instead at the Mailer people who got such a nice oceanview on 12. Ask yourself, Jerome, does this family have a second cousin named N. or a second cousin named Norman? The Malamuds on 6, a one-bedroom facing front? So are we talking in this case about a Bernard, are you telling me, or a B.?

Please God, darling, you stopped and took a good look at these questions I just asked you, and answered each and every one of them from the bottom of your heart of hearts. But now we come to your father, Jerome. Do you appreciate what I am saying to you, Jerome, that now we come to your own flesh and blood? Who happens also to be a resident in this building! Who happens also to be a person who has to live with these people! Who happens also to be a human being who has to answer to these animals! And what, pray tell, is the question?

Jerome, the question is, "J.D., Mr. Ess — what, please be so kind as to elucidate, is a J.D.?"

Cutie guy, pay attention — down here in 305 a Saul they heard of, a Philip they heard of, a Norman they heard of, plus ditto, a Bernard! But since when did somebody anywhere in 305 ever hear of a J.D., pray tell? Stop to think, boychik, and tell me when they did. Because in this building this is the question which I your father have to answer to these animals morning, noon, and night! And you know for how many years now? Day in and day out, darling, are you or are you not counting for how many years?

THIS IS WHY I say to you, Jerome, thank God for Gert Pinkowitz. This is why I your father have to say to you thank God for the heartache this woman has got for herself with her own child. Because for your father it is a lesson to see that there are those in the world that got worse than even your father got — even if I wouldn't wish it on my own worst enemy. Because twenty-four hours, Jerome, the woman is in the building only twenty-four hours, and already the gang of them — animals, animals — found better to talk about than morning, noon, and night what is it, what is it, the name of J.D.? But believe me, Jerome, I your father do not wish the woman ill. For Gert Pinkowitz, your father has got nothing in his heart but hearts and flowers. It's just that as a human being I couldn't take it no more — J.D. this and J.D. that, the whole building could not leave your father for one instant in an instant's peace not once! And besides, darling, svelte as Gert Pinkowitz is, the woman, let me tell you, the woman is made of iron.

Of iron, boychik, of iron!

Listen, Jerome, forget Gert Pinkowitz for all of two seconds. Because your father now requires of you, please God, your utmost attention. Cutie fellow, can you give your father please your very utmost? Because it is time for I your father to go down on my hands and knees to you again for me to beg you for you to please reconsider. So are you listening as regards to the subject, Jerome, concerning the question again of reconsideration again?

Jerome, listen to me, where does your father live, which building? Since years and years ago when your father first picked up and moved down here, has he ever for one instant ever resided in a different residential? All right, so tell me, sweetheart, so what would you call this place — a residential like any other residential?