William Gaddis - The Recognitions

— Anyway so he told me all about the cures she effected, by her intervention, you know, like there was this one old guy who's deaf for six years, and so he prays to her for intervention and he gets over it just like that, what it was, it was an earwig that was in his ear all that time, you know?. . and when it comes out all of a sudden then he could hear again. And then about this old guy who raped this girl, or he tried to rape her, see?. . when he was young, he's real old now, he gets out of prison and he goes to this monastery where he's some kind of a penitent, you know? He's sort of like a janitor there. .

Mr. Yak finally silenced, mainly for the exertion this walk was costing him. It was dark now, as they reached the hill and started up it. Then Mr. Yak heard something behind them, and stopped. He looked back. — What the. . well I'll. . that barrel organ, they been following us. A square shape, with two shapeless conductors, had stopped at the last corner behind them, and reluctantly turned back into the streets of the town. — See? See? Mr. Yak shook his companion as they climbed. — I told you not to go giving them money like that, they'll follow you around the world now.

About halfway up, as he stepped out of a soft mound in the middle of the rough road, Mr. Yak stopped. — Listen, why don't you just wait for me here? You don't have to come up, you just sit down here a minute and wait, I'll be back in a minute, see?

At that, the man he was supporting suddenly came to life, and stepped back, almost falling over. — No, no, no, he said clearly. — I'm coming. I'm coming now.

— Listen there's no reason you should bother to come, see? And what I said before, I was just kidding, you don't want to go prying around up here, you just sit and wait here for me a minute, you. . wait. .

But the figure was already steps ahead up the hill in the dark, and Mr. Yak hurried to overtake him.

A light shone at the gate, piloting an unseen figure. It was the sacristan, and he groaned. — Quién es? he asked the specters, though he knew well enough, and turning without an answer, led them in. They passed through the inside gate, and the light from his lantern glanced away from the white bóvedas and here and there caught a beaded wreath, the Virgin stark in an icon looking like a playing-card queen, the Infant with a hand out as though hailing a passing cab.

The sacristan was pausing, helplessly, waiting for word from Mr. Yak, who was bending down along the way to look at ages and dates on the vaults, when they both realized that the man with them had gone on ahead. They found him, there where they had all met in the sunlight.

— Look, you don't want to go prying in there. . Mr. Yak commenced, but too late, he'd already started to pull the unmarked vault down himself, when the light showed him where it was. Mr. Yak was trembling too, turning his face as though he did not want to look when they lifted it down; and they were all surprised at the lightness of it as they lowered it to the ground. Of the three, the sacristan appeared most distracted now, trying to loose the top with one hand, holding the light up with the other, and he kept looking up as though in fear someone, or something, might appear. When it came open, not with a wrench, but breakage of the wooden top, it was he who was first to shatter the pattern of shock which gripped them together, staring in at the dark, withered, and childish-figured contents.

— Coñol. . Dios! válgame Dios! He banged the broken cover down and stayed, quaking on his knees beside the little girl who had been left behind. He raised his eyes slowly, beyond them to where their shadows were sundered over the sills of the empty compartments next to one another high in the bóveda. And Mr. Yak, still motionless, felt a shudder beside him, one which persisted in the shadow thrown flickering past the broken broom, back into the hollow depth bereft of the alien presence who had waited so long unchallenged by earth, through war, and profane seizure, and the destruction of names more ornate than her own, among decayed floral tributes and wreaths made of beads, to be removed at last from this domain of broken glass facades and rickety icons, and enshrined, to work miracles.

The sacristan crossed himself: and the leaping shadow was caught and reflected, twice, in the arms of the men standing above him. Mr. Yak turned, startled at that motion beside him. The hand he put on his companion's shoulder was not rejected, and he whispered — There Stephan. I told you, you weren't a bum.

The sacristan was struggling to his feet. Suddenly Mr. Yak's eyes were glittering again. — Now, see? back to the work. She. . this, he motioned at the box without noticing the paper torn in trembling hands seeking a cigarette beside him. — This is just what we want. See? Stephan? You all right? Mr. Yak looked at him.

There in the broken moving light from the match and the lantern, his face appeared darker, and everything seemed to move in it though nothing moved there at all, lines drawn down from the nose holding the jaw up rigid, lines which broke the flat cheeks sinking away from the high-boned lines of the face. Then the sacristan was assailing them for help, to get the thing back up where it belonged before they were discovered, and Mr. Yak got hold of one side, but the third of them simply stood staring into the empty space where there was nothing but the wet end of a broken broom. When they got it back in place, he was gone. They found him a few minutes later, sitting outside the front gate on a stone, eating an orange in the dark, and looking af the moon which had just come into view beyond the mountains.

— Come on, Stephan. It's cold, Mr. Yak said taking his arm down the hill. — We want to make that train. His voice sounded loud on the night air, and he lowered it as though talking to himself to add, — We'll see about this thing tomorrow, when we get the old párroco in line, eh? He felt the figure beside him shrug, and said no more, busily planning in his head the immediate future. Neither of them spoke all the way through the town, where single lights cast clear separate shadows, stood doorways up vertically, none of the lights close enough to one another to confuse the night with multiple and exaggerated shades, or the shadows of these two moving figures behind with those before them.

They reached the railway station without speaking. On the empty platform, Mr. Yak shivered looking at the sky. — Look at that, that moon, he said, hunched up with his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

— Yes. .

— What? After a pause, Mr. Yak muttered, — It looks so close there, don't it… Then he shivered again, and looked back over his shoulder to where a dull glow hung over the sign Urinarios. —Hey, Stephan? I got to go over here a minute, he said. — Stephan?

— Oh yes, do you know?. . charms can even bring it down'. .

— What?

— Down from heaven?

Mr. Yak waited, half turned, and then his shoulders relaxed a little and he said, — I forgot to tell you, hey?… I had a Mass said for your mother, up there at the church today. He waited another moment, swaying with his knees together. — See? he added. But from where he stood, it looked to him like the lonely figure there, drawn back from the empty platform, was trying to brush a streak of moonlight from his sleeve, and Mr. Yak turned and went on in the direction he'd started. When he arrived and stood, occupied, staring above him at the sky, the silence of the country, that silence which keeps city ears awake, alert, provoked him to speak aloud, as though to hear what he said confirmed. — This poor guy, he's as crazy as an eagle. . Then he sniffed, cocked his head, and seemed to hear the rush of the barrel organ pounding inside it. But everywhere was silence, and as a matter of fact, La Tani has not been heard through those streets since that sunny day.