Robert Coover - Public Burning

The lights dipped. “Oh my God! What—!?”

“They’re testing the dynamos!” she cried. She spun me around, threw her arms about me, held me tight. “Don’t…don’t forget me, Richard!” she gasped.

“Ethel! I don’t know what to…” I could hardly think, the noises had got louder and I could hear footsteps now, marching up toward the far door. “You’ve been…it’s been great — meeting you, I mean!”

She took my face in her hands, kissed it. I was trying not to panic. “You will be a great man,” she said softly, speaking as though she had all the time in the world. “I have faith in you. You will unite the nation and bring peace to mankind. But above all they shall say of you: Richard Nixon was a great lover!” She kissed me again, long and passionately. “You need a shave,” she said with a shy smile, and tweaked my peter gently. There was a tear in her eye.

“Ethel!” I was afraid I was going to start crying again. I was trying to remember the lines of that play she was in. “Ethel, remember, the valiant die many — I mean, the valiant, uh, taste of death — damn it, I’ve forgotten it!” I could hear keys being shoved into the locks of the door at the other end of the corridor. The autopsy room, I thought! I can hide in there!

“Cowards die many times before their deaths,” she said, “the valiant never taste of death but once.” Was there something caustic in her tone? It came to me as though through an echo chamber. I felt terrible that I’d muffed the line.

“Ethel, forgive me!” I pleaded, backing away. I was cold and hot all at once and there was a roaring in my ears. I had the strange sensation of a body lying on the floor of the execution chamber, but I couldn’t bring myself to look. Behind Ethel, the door was opening!

I was afraid she might reach out, pull me back, try to kiss me again — she just couldn’t seem to get enough! But instead she only grinned sheepishly and winked. “I’ll be thinking of you, Richard,” she said. They were coming in behind her. I ducked back out of sight, reflecting that a man who has never lost himself in a cause bigger than himself has missed one of life’s mountaintop experiences: only in losing himself does he find himself.

JACK: Now let’s see, there

must be something here in these letters I can use for the contest…

( Welcoming applause. )

JACK: A thousand dollars for first prize! I’ve got to choose something that — ah! here’s what I’m looking for: “An eternity of time is crawling along and it seems we’re in a bottomless pit with no connection to reality…” Hmmm…

DENNIS: Hello, Mr. Benny! Did you get stuck down in your vault again?

JACK: Oh, hello, Dennis…

( Laughter and welcoming applause. )

JACK: No, I did not get stuck in my vault, I was just practicing my lines for — Dennis! Why on earth are you dressed up like a cowboy? And what are you doing with that silly hat on your head?

DENNIS: Hat?

JACK: Yes, with that…that cherry on top!

( Laughter. )

DENNIS: Oh, that’s not a hat, Mr. Benny, that’s a pie crust! I’m going to enter a contest!

JACK: What contest?

DENNIS: A Tom Mix Pie contest!

( Laughter. )

JACK: A Tom Mix Pie contest! Well, I never—!

DENNIS: Bang, bang, yummy, yummy, Mr. Benny!

( Laughter, whistles, enthusiastic applause. )

DENNIS: Are you going to the contest, Mr. Benny?

JACK: Well, yes…yes, I am, Dennis. But I’m going to do a more dramatic reading, something on the order of John Barrymore…

DENNIS: Playing it for laughs, hunh?

( Laughter and applause. )

JACK: Now, stop that, Dennis, that’s quite enough—!

DENNIS: Well, I gotta go now, Mr. Benny! Betty Crocker’s waiting for me…

JACK: Betty Crocker—!

DENNIS: Yes, she’s gonna help me with my crusts, Mr. Benny. My top crust’s light and flaky, but my bottom’s a bit soggy—

JACK: Dennis—!

( Laughter, whistles, prolonged applause .)

DENNIS: So long, Mr. Benny! I’ll see you at the contest!

( Farewell applause. )

JACK: That boy! A Tom Mix Pie — that’s the silliest thing I ever heard of! It was a cute costume though…

( Light laughter. )

Probably I ought to have something…hmmm…what do spies wear, I wonder…? Oh, Rochester! Where is that— ? Rochester!

ROCHESTER: Heah, boss!

( Welcoming applause. )

JACK: Rochester… Rochester, go get me those old wire-rimmed glasses, and my black gloves and…let’s see…a black eyepatch, and my old trench coat!

ROCHESTER: Trench coat? You ain’t got no trench coat, boss!

JACK: Of course I have! The one I wore in the war!

ROCHESTER: They didn’t have no trench coats in the Spanish-American War, boss!

( Laughter. )

JACK: NOW cut that out, Rochester, and go get my trench coat! The Spanish-American War—!

MARY: What coat is that, Jack?

JACK: Oh, hello, Mary…

( Welcoming applause. )

You know, Mary, the one I wore in the war…

MARY: With the gold buttons and fancy shoulder boards?

JACK: That’s right. You see, Rochester? Mary remembers the coat! Now, you—

MARY: The one that had ‘Remember the Maine!’ stitched on the collar…

( Laughter. )

JACK: Yes, it — what?

MARY: Oh, Jack, I gave that coat away to a poor old man during the last Depression!

JACK: You… gave it away?

( Laughter. )

MARY: Yes — in fact, look out there: isn’t that your coat that old panhandler is wearing?

JACK: Hmmm…yes. Well, it does look like my coat at that…

( Laughter. )

Oh, Rochester!

ROCHESTER: Yeah, boss?

JACK: Rochester, go give that man a dime and make him give you my coat back!

ROCHESTER: A whole dime, boss? Ain’t you gittin’ a little loose wit’ your change?

( Laughter. )

JACK: It’s worth it, Rochester — if I wear that coat, I’m sure to win the thousand dollars!

ROCHESTER: Well, okay, boss…

JACK: And Rochester… Rochester, tell the man that if I win the prize I’ll give him…well, I’ll… I’ll let him have the coat back!

( Laughter. )

ROCHESTER: Yassuh, boss!

JACK: Providing…

ROCHESTER: Yeah, boss?

JACK: Providing he gives me my dime back!

Out front, a hundred million mouths open wide, a hundred million sets of teeth spring apart like dental exhibits, a hundred million bellies quake, and a hundred million throats constrict and spasm, gasp and wheeze, as America laughs. At much the same things everybody laughs at everywhere: sex, death, danger, the enemy, the inevitable, all the things that hurt about growing up, something that Americans especially, suddenly caught with the whole world in their hands, are loath to do. What makes them laugh hardest, though, are jokes about sexual inadequacy — a failure of power — and the cruder the better, for crudity recalls their childhood for them: the Golden Age. Grandpa Jones delivering lines to Cousin Minnie Pearl about dammed-up passions cracks them up. So does Stan Laurel telling Oliver Hardy (sitting deadly serious in the electric chair with his suit and derby on and one of Ethel’s skirts stretched around his fat belly, split ludicrously down one side) in his soft singsong voice: “Your smile, Bunny, your warm kiss, your sweet voice and your understanding mind are my greatest treasure and pleasure!” (Oliver winces and glances irritably at Stan on hearing this last phrase, cocks his head thoughtfully, repeating the words under his breath, then resumes his pose…) Or the brash little puppet Charlie McCarthy, nothing but a small polished knurl between his wooden legs, fantasizing doing a Rosenbergs sketch with Marilyn Monroe, in which he slips into her cell at night disguised as the prison chaplain (Mortimer Snerd, the sucker, plays the husband, of course)…