William Gaddis - Carpenter's Gothic

The front door hadn't closed, and through its glass panels the bare shadows of branches in the streetlight rose and fell on the black road out there in a wind scarce as the gentle rise and fall of breathing in exhausted sleep. For a moment longer she held tight to the newel as though secured against the faint dappled movement of the light coming right into the room here and then suddenly she turned back for the kitchen where she rushed into the darkness as though she'd forgotten something, a hand out for the corner of the table caught in a glance at her temple as she went down.

Some time later, and well up beyond reach where she lay with her head fallen on her shoulder, the telephone rang and a choked bleat of sound came lost from her throat in a great sigh as her knees drew up sharply turning her on her side, an arm flung out and her thumbs still crushed into the palms of her hands, the uneven trembling of her lip abruptly stilled spilling the tip of her tongue, and it rang again and was silent, and then it rang again, and it kept ringing until it stopped.

The red glare in the alcove windows spread through the cold living room setting the walls ablaze with the sun's rise red on the river below, gleaming in the emptied bottle and glass beside the wing chair where the hand stirred seizing its arm with the sudden blare of the Star Spangled Banner from the kitchen heralding another broadcast day. He opened his eyes and closed them immediately, and the blaze of the room fell away to a pink, to rose, till by the time the phone's ring brought him up in a stumble banging his shin on the coffee table it was all simply daylight. — Hello? He sat rubbing his shin, staring at the broken trace of the line drawn in chalk on the floor there, — well what about the phone bill, I don't… No this is not Mister McCandless, I don't know where the hell Mister McCandless is look I've never even met him, I'm just… Look, I just told you I've never met him, how can I tell you whether he's sent you a check for the God damn phone bill, I don't even… Good I'll tell him, if I see him I'll tell him, if you don't receive payment by five p m today you'll discontinue service, that's the… no goodbye, there's somebody at the door…

Somebody hunched down, peering in, snapping open a wallet on an ID card bearihg a photograph similar in all undistinguished respects to the man standing there when the door came open. — God damn early aren't you? He tucked down a tail of his shirt and fastened his trousers, — told you everything I know on the phone yesterday didn't I? same statement I signed for the police? All right here in the God damn newspaper isn't it? He'd led through to the kitchen where he brought up a headline from the heap on the table, HEIRESS SLAIN IN SWANK SUBURB — House ransacked? Apparently interrupting a robbery in progress at her fashionable Hudson river residence, the daughter of late mineral tycoon F R Vorakers was found dead this morning by a childhood friend FBI doesn't read the God damn newspapers? Mrs Jheejheeboy where they got hold of that, must still be her married name that Indian in the dirty diapers look, whole God damn story's right here isn't it? Police said the victim, a stunning redhaired former debutante from the exclusive Grosse Pointe area in Michigan, had suffered a single blow from a blunt don't step on that! He'd seized the man's arm with an intensity locking them in an embrace of violence so pure that his hand came down trembling the whole length of his arm.

— Don't ever do that again.

— I, God damn it I, I don't… and the hand that had caught his wrist eased away to his elbow where they'd broken back from that line chalked on the floor — think I'm crazy don't you, probably read that in the paper too, look. Look, you said you just wanted to come in and look around what's the, whole story's in my statement to the police isn't it? you people don't talk to the police? Time I got here that morning the whole God damn place was a media circus out there, Edie, that's her friend Edie showed up here early front door standing wide open, I always told her to keep the God damn doors locked, lying right here on the floor drawers dumped out napkins, placemats, spoons all over the place God damn woman out front there pushing a microphone in my face. Can you describe your feelings when you arrived home to discover your wife's body on the, God damn lucky it wasn't hers look. Tell me why the FBI's suddenly so God damn interested? you think I, look I can prove I was on that noon shuttle from Washington, airport limousine they call it that it's a God damn bus by the time I got here the whole place was a, get the phone here… He went down in the chair, — who? Look I can't… Look Sheila what in the hell are you talking about! It's God damn well not going to be a Buddhist service for him no, and don't… Look I'm telling you Sheila, send one of your God damn skinhead rimpijays out there in his little red mantra ringing bells chanting umm umm and I'll serve you up a good monk barbecue, that's the… God damn it Sheila listen nobody gives one good God damn about his karma getting him off the wheel whether his next incarnation is a look, look there's a God damn fly just landed on the table here you think that's him? just went up to the ceiling doesn't know where the hell he's going you think that's him? Crazy as he was coming in here pissing on the floor he God damn near killed me once, you know that? Down under the car out there jacked up on a stick of wood he gave it a kick the whole God damn thing came down I could have been, could have, I, I… the phone shook in his hand, holding it further from him, holding it away, hanging it up and staring at his hand until it came up wiping the perspiration down his face. — What? Suddenly he was up, — said you wanted to come in and look around what the hell do you think you're going to find in there, never been in there it's been locked up since we moved in, you looking for clues? What they pay you for isn't it? look for clues? Clues to what… he stepped aside, — don't ask me that's all, what the hell's in there don't ask me… coming on behind him for the front door where the man stopped, looking the room over, looking him over.

— You'd better shave.

— Always told her keep the God damn doors locked, I could have hired somebody to do it for me is that what you think? Read the God damn papers how much money she had is that what you think? And he stood there filling the doorway until the undistinguished grey car turned down the hill, knocking over a broom leaning there against the staircase and picking it up, standing there looking up the stairs and finally dropping the broom back to the floor and climbing them, down the hall where scarves, sweaters, papers, the chest's drawers themselves still lay flung out on the bed, on the floor as he'd found them, and the manila folder where he'd found it spread open on the bed to pages in a hand he knew spelling little more than bread, onions, milk, chicken? here drawn out in whole paragraphs and crossings out, marginal exclamations, meticulous inserts, her tongue tracing the delicate vein engorged up the stiffening rise to the head squeezed livid in her hand, drawing the beading off in a fine thread before she brought him in, surging to meet him for as long as it lasted, standing there numbed and then replacing it carefully in the folder, and then he stooped to pick up his shoes and hurried from the room, down the hall where his same numbed look met him now in the mirror over the basin, the white wisps he'd found there dangling from his hand as though he didn't know what to do with them before he turned on the water full and held his head under the tap, finally coming out shaved, scarred and shirtless where a movement no more than the flutter of a wing caught his eye through the glass at the foot of the stairs, someone on tiptoe, peering in, and he came down them.