William Gaddis - The Recognitions

— That's why 1 came back! I…

— Back? Valentine straightened up. — You went home, did you? he said, and seemed to appreciate the confusion this remark brought to the downcast face beside him as they walked on: it was at moments like this, absorbed in satisfaction, gleaned surreptitiously in a steady look from the corner of narrowed eyes, that Basil Valentine added ten, or even twice that many years to the face he showed to others. Even so, his silence evoked nothing as they walked toward the lion house, no response but an uneven cadence in the footsteps beside him, and he finally questioned, — That cut on your cheek? what is it?

— I fell in the snow, killing wrens. There. But this. .

— You're done with that drunken inspiration for the priesthood, at any rate?. . Eh? Tell me, what happened.

— What happened! What happened to Huss? John Huss, enticed by a salvoconducto up to Constance, where three bishops sat on his case, and he was burned. .

— Anyone who hints that the Antichrist is to be found in Rome, my dear fellow, Valentine interrupted patiently, — and denies Peter as head of the Church. .

— Burned and his ashes thrown into the Rhine, fishing for men, O sancta simplicitas!. . yes, I've been off to see good old King Wenceslaus, there, and. . my sainted mother! the women's voices. . do you remember the Boyg? Why, I was almost pulled into the priesthood.

— And wasn't that why you went?

— And if it was! if it was! My sainted mother?. . it's as though I'd left before she named me. Do you remember that story the poet tells? "I lay this destiny upon him, that he shall never have a name until he receives one from me". . never mind. The women's voices, and even that one, I left with her kiss on my cheek, see the scar?. . there without so much as a talitha cumi I left that wise virgin.

— And now? The look from the corners of Valentine's eyes was the same concentrated appraisal of a few steps before. — The last time we talked. .

— Yes, we talked about Shabbetai Zebi, didn't we. It's a way of getting acquainted, discussing the failings of mutual friends. A mes-siah? At Smyrna a letter from God falls out of heaven to confirm him. He's flogged and imprisoned. He denies he's the messiah, while the Jews outside are breaking their neck to free him, fasting, jump- ing naked into rivers, remember? They say he's never slept with a woman, though God knows he's been married for years. Before the Sultan, he denies it again, he's given the choice of death or Islam. Damnation! Sirius the Dog Star, the bright star of Yemen, Al-Shira. . what was it? a sun itself where it rises with the color o£ ruby, then sapphire, emerald, amethyst, and then the most brilliant diamond. . damn it, listen. In that immaculate place of yours, you. . yes, immaculate, a thing like that would show up. It would show up immediately, a package like that wrapped up in old newspaper.

— You're still bent on this. . suicide? Valentine asked, drawing on his cigarette, lowering his hand to take it from his lips. It stuck to his lips, and the coal burned his fingers as they slipped over it. The cigarette dropped to the ground, his lower lip trembled for that instant at losing control of it, his right hand came up clenched and behind him his left hand dropped a glove. — But here, he snapped, — will you walk up beside me where I can talk to you, instead of…

— Suicide!

They were approaching the steps to the lion house, passing a fat woman on a bench with two books in her lap, one gaudy but closed, A Day with the Pope, the other opened, First Lessons in Italian. With a hand mounting two mean pearls on a thin line of gold almost absorbed in the flesh, she drew an enameled nail down the page, and then wiped her nose, each time folding the piece of disposable tissue in half until she clutched only a wet wad, forming the words behind it, mi place, with her lips, — mee piachay, mee piachay. .

Three little girls had just deferred to the clamorous wishes of the smallest of them, and bought a balloon.

— It's been noted, of course, that the thought of suicide has got many a man through a bad night. Nietzsche, I believe. .

— Suicide? this? Do you think there's only one self, then? that this isn't homicide? closer to homicide? that, listen. .

Approaching the door, the lines on and around Basil Valentine's eyelids became apparent as he looked at the anxious face turned up to him; and, brought out of profile into the smiling duplicity of the full face, the strength seemed to drain out through the narrow chin. — It mayn't be so simple, you know. This so-called homicide of yours, he said. — This putting off the old man?

A child posted by the door pointed to a remarkably symmetrical dog spiral on the walk. — Look at that dog-do! the child said with intense admiration.

— Get out of the way, Valentine snapped, and pushed the child aside with a firm narrow foot. — Shall we go in? he asked, still smiling, with a step back to hold the door open.

The place was filled with noise coming from the opposite end, moaning which broke into a stifled scream, relapsed in a heaving sob, repeated, and repeated, interrupted by a hiss and spitting. The animals moved about their cages in the restless patterns of their lives, to turn their heads in that direction as they passed, across the front of the cage, round to the back, emerging again; and the tigers coming forth approached the bars as though they were coming straight through. Some of the animals did not move. A black panther, caged down across the way, stood watching, motionless but for the black tail whose weaving tip just cleared the floor. Other leopards sat waiting, and watched; an albino with pink eyes. The lion lay still, archetype of the calm of enduring vigilance, fore-paws extended. The racket went on, leaving only two apes, caged halfway down one side, generically unconcerned.

— And you don't hate Brown, do you? Basil Valentine asked abruptly. — For what he's done to you.

— Brown? hate him? for what he's done to me?

— There's a favor I have to ask of you, Valentine went on, as though he considered his question answered.

— That Patinir? I remember. You think I don't, but I remember.

— No. Something else, Valentine commenced, his tone both fresh and casual. — The Stabat Mater? What do you plan doing. .

— She?. . bury her and marry her, after all, she. .

— No, no. That painting, the last one you were working on.

— Why?

— Well, if you are as you say, through with all this, I… thought I'd rather like to have it. What's the matter?

— You? Yes, I told you, how fragile situations are! Every moment reshaping the past. You? you want it?

— If you'd give it to me, as a… to a friend, a favor to an old friend? Valentine put a hand out to his shoulder, but he turned away.

— Everything down there's destroyed. I burned everything, I put everything into the fireplace and set fire to it.

— But not that? not that picture too?

— Why not? he demanded, turning.

— If it was, as you said, becoming. . not van Eyck, but what you want?

— What I want? he whispered, and shuddered. Moans from the other end rose above the broken echoes of human voices.

— The face, Valentine said. — The. . reproach in that face, it was very beautiful, I thought. Then Valentine felt his wrist gripped tightly.

— Yes, the reproach! That's it, you understand?

They were halfway down the tiers of cages.

— Gee lookit how he does it, said a boy before the apes' cage.

— That's a her. . and lookit her eat it, she's stoopin over and eatin it.

The caterwauling rose. The two pumas, as they would prove to be, were in the last cage to the right. Next to them, and separated by a metal wall, a white African lioness brushed the bars of her cage, stalked to the back, and came forth round a tree trunk in the center, its length torn by her claws and teeth. Her tail wove to one side and the other, and she twisted to bare her teeth and snap at it, making no pause when the cries in the next cage broke. — Weh weh weh it's all right beautiful lady, yes, come on, you gonna eat it all up today? you gonna eat your tail all up? Yes. . weh weh weh. . said a woman before the cage, sharp-nosed, with too much make-up, she held out a skinny hand with a ring mounting a miserable stone, to the lioness.