William Gaddis - Carpenter's Gothic

She half rose, snapping the sheet square, pulling up the cover. — You'll have to remember to leave me thirty dollars for her next week.

— Most of the time didn't make any God damn difference… he turned, taking blanket and sheet with him. — Casualties coming in from the combat zones, they were mainly spades anyhow.

— And a dollar carfare… she snapped back a share of the cover. — It's fifty cents each way.

Lids closed against the streetlight's gleams scattered on the wall, the empty mirror, it scarcely mattered: the chase continued on what passed for sleep taking with it what passed for time till finally, eyes fallen wide again crowded with movement still as the breathing beside her, she came off the edge of the bed and brought the room and her own face back to ashen life down a winding walk, bordered with laurels and terminating in a giant horse chestnut, circled at the base by a seat, leading down to the fence. She drew the blanket close against a sudden burst of rain at the window spattering the streetlight out there over its panes and her eyes dimmed, to come wide again with the lashing rain: what had befallen the night? Everything was in shadow; and what ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned, while wind roared in the laurel walk, near and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed striking the great horse chestnut at the bottom of the garden and splitting half of it away.

The river lay obscured by mist that had hung heavy since morning, casting the slow climb of the mailman up the black tributary of the road as the drift of a figure being poled on water, drawn on a steady current along the leaf sodden bank toward the step standing forth there like a landing where she'd burst out earlier, as though by chance, to intercept him before he reached the box; where now, back to working the damp wads of paper towel on the glass in the alcove, her frown reduced to a distant shade the halt measure of the old man out there on the corner with his flattened dustpan. Rain, two days of it, had brought leaves down everywhere, even a torn branch afloat on the dark current rising under the window where her motions abruptly stopped, her frown broken wide on the raincoat wilted figure looming so close he was looking right up into her face. She caught breath and her balance, barely down from the stool when the knock came at the door. Opened to a hand's breadth, she saw the frayed cuffs of the raincoat, stayed the door with her foot. — Yes? what…

— Mrs Booth?

— Is, are you Mister Stumpp?

He just looked at her. His face appeared drained, so did the hand he held out to her, drained of colour that might once have been a heavy tan. — My name is McCandless, he said, his tone dull as his eyes on her, — you're Mrs Booth?

— Oh! Oh yes come in… but her foot held the door till it pushed gently against her, — I didn't…

— I won't disturb you, he came in looking past her, looking over the room and the things in the room the way he'd just looked at her, looked her over getting her in place, getting things located. — I just came for some papers, I won't disturb you.

— No I'm glad you, to finally meet you, we've wondered…

— Came up last week I couldn't get in there, he was past her for the kitchen, — new lock on the door I couldn't get in.

— Yes I know it yes, we had to have the plumber in to…

— I heard about it.

— I mean if we'd known where to reach you, if you'd just called before you…

— Never mind, just a damned nuisance.

— Yes well it's, I mean it's been rather a nuisance for us too Mister McCandless, if you'd left an address, a phone number some way to reach you, she came on behind him. — That card you sent about the furnace we didn't even know what country you were in, how could we send you a new key. I can't even let you in now, the plumber…

— I've got one… had it out in fact, rattling the padlock.

— Yes well, well good you must have called the agent, if we'd known where to reach you, things like this happen people call you we don't know where to…

— Who.

— Called you? I don't know. The IRS. I don't know who else. People call and hang up. I start to say they can leave a message if we hear from you and they hang up. You have some awfully rude friends.

— They may not all be friends, Mrs Booth… he'd slid the door open, paused there looking in. — You're welcome to have the phone taken out you know, came over his shoulder, — the agent said you wanted it left in till you could make your own arrangements, it hardly matters to me. I can call now and have it discon…

— Oh no that's not what I, I mean you're welcome to leave it yes I really don't mind answering it at all, if we just knew where to reach you, where to tell them to reach you these rude calls and people coming to the door just so rude I couldn't… she broke off, talking to his back hunched there in the doorway lighting a cigarette cupped as though in a wind, as though ducked away from some bleak promontory, from the deck of a ship. What people at the door, he wanted to know.

— Just, well there was just one but he wasn't nice at all, he wouldn't even tell me his whole name I mean, just his first one I can't remember it. Just these hard little round eyes he had on a speckled jacket and kind of yellow…

— What did he want? came back through the open door.

— To talk to you, he just said he wanted to talk to you, she said into the room where books rose from the floor heaped against a fluted column to a whorl of walnut, the leg of something, a buffet, a sideboard, she stood still looking round her as though for something to do, to explain her presence here in the kitchen, her own kitchen, her own house, stood there emptyhanded looking at the telephone until it rang. — Yes? Yes it is… Oh… her voice fell, she turned her back on the empty doorway, — for an appointment with Doctor Terranova, yes… No it's in connection with, with my… she got by the end of the table, got as far as the cord would reach — with the plane crash yes but not, I mean not my lawsuit my husband's… her voice gone still lower, — his companion suit for loss of, of my services due to my injur… what? No, no of my, of marital services due to my… What, now? or when it happened… and near a whisper — my age now is, I'm thirty three, I… no I said thir… No I can't now, I can't give you a whole history now you'll have to… no you'll have to call later.

Smoke settling in still layers barred the doorway. A light had gone on in there, and the sound of movement, a chair, or a drawer pulled open. She found her morning's coffee cup and rinsed it at the sink. Out over the terrace the mist lay featureless as the day itself come into being and left adrift with no better than the clock to dispense its passage, to turn her abrupt as her glance to it back for the front door streaking the glass panels with her damp towel wads against the shade out there poling along with his broom paused every third step, every second one, gazing ahead, getting his bearings.

When finally she heard it again she started at the loudness of her own voice, — Hello…? rising with conviction at each word, — no I'm terribly sorry Senator, Paul's not here… talking at the phone, past it to the open doorway — I think he plans to be in Washington very soon, he's had to make a trip south something suddenly came up in connection with, pardon…? gathering aplomb and even cordial condescension, — that's terribly kind but I honestly can't say, we do want to get down to Montego Bay for a few days with friends if Paul can possibly take the time but you know how busy he's been with the… and abruptly the open doorway was gone, the door pushed closed, slammed in fact, — it's nothing no, I can't talk to you now, I'll be… her voice fallen, — well call later then, call later…