William Gaddis - The Recognitions

— Have you got some money? Anselm asked. — If you do I'd rather eat. And he called a waiter.

— Yes, as a matter of fact I, yes I just sold my play, Otto said to them. He looked quickly from Anselm's shrug to the first sign of Stanley's approving pleasure but could not stop his eyes, and turned to Max for confirmation.

— Eggplant Parmigiana, Anselm ordered beside him, and Otto caught the waiter's arm as he departed, to order another whisky, and coffee for Stanley who looked up at that moment to ask, — Didn't you go to see Esme earlier?

— Well yes, earlier, I saw her earlier. . The confusion in Otto's voice was reflected in his eyes. Escaping Stanley's simple question, he looked round at hazard for a new topic and unfortunately found it immediately. — There's Hannah, he said. — I just saw Hannah, she… I… The waiter appeared with their orders.

Anselm was laughing. — But I don't see why someone said what they said about me, about Hannah and me, Stanley brought out. And Otto, fleeing the appeal on this side, and the laughter on the other, looked to Max, whose smile was the conspiracy of an instant, an embrace confirmed in Stanley's discerning, and quickly lowered eyes.

— Stanley, you don't think… I didn't mean. . Otto commenced, the lines of his face rising toward his brow in anxious entreaty, when Anselm interrupted, growling, with his mouth full, and Otto turned to him for deliverance.

Anselm ate rapidly, jamming pieces of bread into his mouth between forkfuls of the eggplant, as though he expected it all to be taken away at any moment. Still he managed to growl at Stanley, and crumbs flew from his mouth across the table. — The beast, Anselm gurgled, chewing, — the beast in the jungle. The beast with two backs, he growled and snarled and laughed at once. — Stalking, crouching, ready to spring, that's the number of the beast that's stalking you, the beast that's waiting to devour you, the beast with two backs, waiting to sspring!. . and he lunged, blowing bread crumbs.

— Look, Anselm. . Otto's voice quavered toward firmness.

But Anselm already appeared to have relented. He sat chuckling over his almost empty plate, looking down as though some imminent satisfaction filled his mind; while under the table out of their sight, his hands opened a small flat tin, took out an envelope, and unrolled its contents.

Meanwhile the waiter stood there with the bill, and Otto seized the interruption, taking a roll of money from his pocket. — Here, I'll get this, he said, as though it were necessary to forestall them, though neither moved until Anselm shot an arm forth unseen and dropped something into Stanley's coffee. And as Otto sat back, folding his money, Anselm asked him agreeably, — Could you lend me something?

— Why, why yes, sure, Otto said. — How much?

— Whatever you can.

— Yes, Otto repeated, hesitated, and turned to Stanley. — Do you need any right now, Stanley? Any money? because I'd be glad to, to lend you some?

— Maybe, five dollars? Stanley said. — I might need it, if I go to the dentist, I have a tooth. .

— Here, take this, Otto said unfolding the bills again, and he held out a twenty. — Go ahead, you might need it.

— No, just five, that's all I'd need, just five.

— Give him five, I'll take the twenty, Anselm said quickly, putting 3 hand out. — You know the kind of a lousy life I have, I need it. . But he watched Otto hand the clean twenty-dollar bill to Stanley, over another faint gasp of protest, and accepted himself a worn five, murmuring, — Thanks, I… thanks. And, have you got a cigarette? having trouble even then getting one from the pack with his blunt bitten finger-ends.

— I didn't know you smoked, Otto said to him.

— I do sometimes, Anselm said holding the cigarette unfamiliarly, and then he folded the five-dollar bill smaller and smaller, until it was a wad scarcely the width of his tortured thumbnail. He puffed the cigarette once or twice, then dropped it on the floor and stepped on it; and in that minute all of the sullenness of a little while before had returned, and he stared at the table as though he were sitting there alone.

Max had turned away to talk with a small elderly man dressed in black, with black rubbers and a black hat, carrying a black umbrella. He appeared to say nothing, nodded his head occasionally, and accepted the drink Max brought him, while Max talked. Max returned to identify the black figure as the art critic for Old Masses, said he had a very incisive wit, and had given his pictures very good notices, — which is what makes all the difference, Max added smiling.

— It's strange having the use of this left arm again, Otto said finally.

— Oh yes, you were wearing a sling, weren't you, Stanley said, looking up quickly at the hand motionless on the table. — It looks very white, he commented. — Did it leave a bad scar?

— Why don't you ask him to show you the scar? Anselm demanded. — I'll bet it was a nice hole. You envy him, for Christ sake.

— It isn't the wound that matters so much, getting it, Stanley said as Otto sat back and lowered the pale hand to his lap. — But the scar, the scar is a witness for all the wounds we get… all the wounds, all kinds of wounds. I heard about somebody once who had a scar and he bandaged it, every once in a while, to renew the wound.

— Scars, all Stanley wants is scars, to show people. Scars! Hey Stanley, did you hear about the reliquary they opened that was supposed to have Ignatius Loyola's left arm in it? They brought it-over on a boat, when they opened it they found an arm with a heart tattooed on it, with a bleeding dagger and the word Mother, ha, haha. .

— That's not true, Stanley said promptly. — And it's not wanting to suffer, just for that, just to suffer, it's more. . proving the right to it, to suffering.

— Come off it, man, said a haggard face rising over the back of a booth. — You're dragging us. — He's right, for Christ sake, everybody suffers, the crime is in this world you suffer and it doesn't mean a God-damned thing, it doesn't fit anywhere. You can stand any suffering if it means something, Anselm went on rapidly, but still as though suppressing some specific thing which filled his mind. — The only time suffering's unbearable is when it's meaningless, he finished, muttering.

At that Otto raised an eyebrow and licked his lip, preparing to quote the lines with which Gordon reduced Priscilla toward the close of Act II, the scene in the doorway of the summer cottage which glittered before him even now, as though in production. gordon: Suffering, my dear Priscilla, is a petty luxury of mediocre people. You will find happiness a far more noble, and infinitely more refined. .

— You remember what Montherlant has to say, Max interrupted them. — Le bonheur est un état bien plus noble et bien plus raffiné que la souffrance. . His French was unprofessional and surprisingly clear. Otto muttered impatiently at being interrupted the moment he had started to speak, and turned to ask Stanley if he had ever read any of Vainiger, as Max finished, — le petit luxe des per-sonnes de mediocre qualité.

— That's a lot of crap, Anselm said without looking up.

— When he says that life must be led in the dark, Otto pursued, — and that we must assume postulates to be true which, if they were true, would justify. .

— Hey Stanley, I've got a song for you.

— Leave him alone.

— Hannah, sit down, sit down in Otto's place, he's delivering a lecture on Die Philosophic des Als Ob, Anselm advised her.

— On what? Otto demanded curtly.

— The buttons say U.S., So they just mean us I guess, Anselm sang, tearing something from his magazine which he handed to Hannah. — So they must just stand for me. . and Mo-therrr. .