William Gaddis - The Recognitions

— It's very kind of you, Esme said smiling to him.

— I'll come see you Friday, huh?

— Who was that? Otto asked when the man left.

— He's a nice man who is going to act in movies, Esme said.

— What did he want from you?

— I think he wanted me to act in the mo-vies.

They had both smiled, and for a moment they were together. Then Otto said, — I just called at your apartment, and he withdrew his hand.

— And did you see Mister Sinis-ter-ra? she asked, still with her smile.

— Yes. What's he doing up there?

— He came to see me.

— So I gather. When, last night?

— Otto, that isn't nice, she said, sobered, disappointed.

— I'm sorry. Otto, suddenly, could not afford to be left so: he had withdrawn as a woman withdraws, to be followed. There was no pursuit in Esme's eyes, as she turned them from him. — Esme, I'm sorry.

— You're not sorry, Otto. You only say that. It is a habit. There was no admonition and no feeling of hurt in Esme's voice, she spoke to him simply.

— Esme. . Oh look, that isn't what I meant…

— Why do you say he slept with me?

— That isn't what I meant at all, said Otto (and in that instant almost retorted, — Well did he?). Then Esme was smiling happily again. She was smiling at someone behind him.

— Hello Stanley, she said gently. — And do you know Otto?

Stanley nodded and said, — Hello, putting the book he carried from his right to his left hand, so that he could shake hands; but he got no further. His right hand dropped empty to his side.

— Poor Stanley. Why are you so dole-ful?

— I'm all right, Stanley said. He stood there, his only motion a slight weaving toward them, as though his mustache weighed him in their direction. Finally he said, — Did you hear about Charles?

— No, what?

— He's in Bellevue. They took him there last night.

Max came in. He was smiling. He greeted them, and ordered coffee. — How's your play, Otto? he said.

— Well as a matter of fact I'm sort of upset, Otto said. — I misplaced a copy or two of it. In a dispatch case. A pigskin dispatch case. You haven't heard anything?. .

— No, I haven't heard a thing, Max said agreeably,

— I heard about your play, Stanley said. — You found it?

— No, I mean I just heard about it.

— What did you hear, that it's plagiarized?

— No, I didn't mean that. I'd like to read it.

Otto murmured, — You would, would you. . Esme said, — Otto has a guilty conscience, and Max raised his coffee cup and said nothing.

— I think I'd better get back uptown, Otto said in a strained tone, casual with great effort.

— Really, Otto? Esme said, surprised, as he took her breakfast check. — Then thank you for my breakfast.

— Did you have bacon and eggs and fruit and pastry?

— No, that was the gentleman from the movies, said Esme.

— All right, he said, crumpling the check in his hand.

— Thank you, Otto.

— Do you want me to go?

— But Otto why should I want you to go?

He lit a fresh cigarette and ordered another cup of coffee. They looked up and Stanley was gone. Esme turned to see him standing undecided outside, on the street corner. — Poor Stanley, she said gently, and smiled.

— He just needs a woman, Max said.

— He needs money, said Esme.

— Money is simply a substitute for the mother in Stanley's case. He has guilt feelings about her being in the hospital, and anyone who gave him money would be filling the mother's place, the nourishment substitute.

— I guess Hannah gives him what he needs, Otto said in morose confidence.

— She'd like to.

— Well she was sleeping with him a couple of nights ago.

— Where'd you hear that?

— She was there undressed at five in the morning. I don't know what else she was doing.

— Was Stanley there?

— Sure he was there, Otto said defiantly.

— Well, so she finally made him, said Max. He smiled and finished his coffee. — You haven't seen my pictures yet, have you Otto. The show opened two days ago. I'm going up to the gallery later, come along?

— Not now, Max. Otto looked at Esme.

— They've sold seven of them, Max said as he left.

— I hate him, Otto said when he was out the door.

— Otto, what a silly thing to say.

— I do, I… I just mistrust him so much. When he's around I'd like to have a gun in my pocket. Not to do anything with, just to have it there, he added, and brandished the sling.

— Yes, Esme said, suddenly putting her forehead in her hand and running her fingers into her hair. — Because he will survive.

— Esme, I want to talk to you. Esme. . She looked up, surprised, and she looked frightened. — I want to talk to you.

— Talk to me, she said, and smiled.

— But not here, not in this place, I… We're liable to be… Someone's liable to… Will you go for a walk with me.

Otto paid for five breakfasts, and they went out. They walked toward Washington Square.

— What, Otto? she asked him, seated on a bench.

— I don't know. I mean, look.

— What did you do to yourself? she asked, pointing to his cheek.

— I cut myself with a lousy razor blade. Look, Esme. I mean, are you really with me? I mean, are you and I, well, together? I mean I always feel like I'm sharing you with everyone in sight.

— Otto, you make everything so difficult for yourself.

— I do?

— Yes, Otto. You push something and push it until it breaks.

— I don't want to do that, Esme. I don't mean to.

— And then you do all the more, Otto,

— I love you, Esme. I've kept telling you that. I love you.

— No you don't, Otto.

— I do. I love you.

— No you don't, Otto. You don't even know who I am.

Esme spoke to him calmly, explaining, as though to a child, an adult truth.

— But I do. And even if I don't, is that my fault?

— You had me all filled in before you met me, Otto. There was no room for me at all.

— Esme, don't be ridiculous.

— It is not ridic-ulous, Otto. It is only true, you do not know who I am.

— But I've. . you've. . and I don't even know if you've been faithful to me, he burst out.

— You can only be faithful to people one at a time, Otto.

He sat staring at her face turned half from him. Then he reached up and turned it to him with one hand. Esme looked frightened. — Why are you beautiful? he demanded. Her eyes opened more widely, and she tried to lower her face. — Why are you? he repeated, looking at her. She did pull her chin back, and lower her face, silent. — Because you… I look at your face, this flesh and bone so many inches high and wide, and the nose sticking out and the. . the punctures of nostrils, and your lips and I… and those two things that are eyes, and I… why should that be beautiful, anyhow. What is it?… and Otto's voice was suddenly constricted, — What is beauty. . He cleared his throat, — that your face should be beautiful?. .

— If it is not beautiful for someone, it does not exist, she said.

— Yes, well. . well… he muttered, lowering his eyes. — Look, he said when he raised them again. — Is it my fault if you haven't even let me know who you are?

— But you never tried, Otto. No part of you ever tried.

— Look, I've done everything I ever could for you, haven't I? I. . I'm sick and tired of all this foolishness, this… I apologize for behaving the way I have with some of your friends but. .

— You are the only one you make unhappy when you behave badly, Otto. You become the victim of your own observations.

— Do you love me?

— It is not so simple, Otto.