William Gaddis - The Recognitions

— Of course, not being Catholic ourselves, the tall woman said to her, — my husband and I don't always appreciate these things, you know. I'm sure he thought he was going to get a free drink in church.

— Well we're converts ourselves. You catch onto things after awhile. She lowered her voice and looked vacantly past the ceramics on the wall. — The spiritual meaning of the Mass, the elevation of the Host, and the when they break the bread. .

— Well of course in our church we had the Lord's Supper. .

— And everybody got a drink, the tall woman's husband came in. He'd recovered the decanter. — This morning the old man in the middle up there got three drinks, he mumbled, — and nobody else. . could you understand him?

— Well, they do it in Latin, the woman with the ring said soberly.

— It sounded to me like he was singing, I can play dominos better than you can. .

The tall woman rescued the decanter and started to pass it back up the table, but put it down because it was empty. — To tell the truth, she said to the woman with the ring, — my father was born one, but of course he never told anybody at home that, you have to be so careful in a small town. He had an awful time, he even had extreme unction.

— When he died?

— Oh God no, he's still alive. That was before my brother was born.

— But once you have extreme unction administered to you, then if you recover you have to eat fish and. . renounce matrimonial relations.

— Then it must have been something else he had. — I can play dominos better than uoo cannn. . came in a cooing chant beside her.

— Frankly, she said in a low tone to the woman with the ring, — I don't want to see him getting mixed up with any of this. He's already got two analysts waiting tor him when he gets home.

— better than y ou°° cann. .

— You can see what I mean.

The figure at the head of the table rose, and the woman with the ring, brandishing it like a weapon as she undid her napkin and crossed herself, turned to him and said with oppressive clarity, — La comedia está muy bien. And the Franciscan, who had not been to the theater since he took orders, inclined his head to acknowledge her kind manner, though she could not see if he wore his kind smile because he held a napkin over his mouth with one hand, picking his teeth behind it with the other.

When they got outside, Fr. Eulalio, who had been confined somewhere in the depths of the great fortress this past hour or two for reasons best known to his superior, joined them again, and hoped they could find room to take him to Madrid. It was something urgent. If he went now, he believed he could get a ride back somehow that night, or early next morning (he was going to see about flour on the black market). The distinguished novelist excused himself, looking haggard and unsteady despite the bracing stripes of the H.A.C. He tripped on the stairs.

— My, he is odd, isn't he. One almost wonders. . The tall woman's voice tailed off, as she looked abstractedly up at the walls, and murmured, — My God, you'd think they were expecting the Russians. Then she recovered, adjusting her hair with her scarlet nails. — You know frankly, I haven't seen a soul around here who looked frightfully holy. They all look quite easy-going.

— They've got the life of Reilly, her husband said, licking his lips.

— Here, we ought to leave them something, an alms or whatever you call it, to pay for the lunch. Have you got some of those big brown bills? And there's the old porter out on the front porch, should we give him something? They always show up like this at the last minute. .

She came back looking quite confused. — He wouldn't take a penny!

— They're very proud, said the woman with the ring, — even the poor ones.

— Well he has so few teeth he certainly can't eat much, but I thought he might buy himself a drink, he probably drinks, and from those marks on his face you can see he probably has something. . she went on, closing her pocketbook, turning toward the soiled limousine where Fr. Eulalio was already climbing in. — And that one asked me what Huki-lau's belt was, my God! What could I tell him? Nevertheless, she added as she watched the brown robe disappear inside the car, — I am glad she's wearing it.

— Goodbye…

— We may get down to Holy Week in Seville ourselves, it sounds a riot.

— Or if you're still here, or maybe next year, Valencia. .

— Next year we are going to Hawaii for the Narcissus Festival.

— For the Fallas.

— Goodbye. . Isn't it a God-awful day. . The soiled limousine rolled, choked on the hill, barely missed a mule approaching the fountain with solitary dignity, and a child squatted in the gutter, and turned from sight.

— Look! Bernie, look! said the woman with the ring, waving it toward the porch on the gothic facade, — that man, that funny man talking to the janitor, don't you see him? Haven't we seen him before? on the train? at gun-point on the train! Wasn't it? Look, or. . wasn't it?

Her husband was turned in that direction, but he was busy. The yellow necktie, which appeared to have pictures of brown sailboats on it, kept blowing in his face, and he was trying to adjust a light meter to the bleak even color of the day.

"The world is too muhvh with us, late ans soon, gettijg and spendinf we lay wasre. ." The distinguished novelist glanced up to read what he had written. The ribbon was sticking. He pulled it. Something snapped. He sniffed. A soft scent of perfume reached him. He raised his hand, and sniffed. It was the tall woman's perfume.

He did not leap to his feet, but sat there at the writing table a minute longer, gazing at the machine, the papers, the spines of the books, and the sign. He sagged, and the bold strokes of the Honourable Artillery Company appeared to support him. There, at his elbow, were the notes he had made toward a touching and inspiring novel about the Children's Crusade, that deeply moving episode out of religious history which served incidentally to disembarrass the South of France of the remnants of the Albigensian purges. There was also the list of those concepts he tried to keep before him while he worked, and pass on to his fellow man. The separate words were in capital letters, and included: FAITH HOPE CHARITY CONSCIENCE FAIR PLAY COURAGE and HUMBLE.

Both hands braced on the table, he rose, poured cold water into the basin, washed his hands, and pulled out the stopper. The water fell loudly into the pail below. Then he lay down on the bed and pulled the soft cover over him, noting it had begun to rain lightly outside. His foot twitched once or twice, and then nothing moved in the room for some time.

Dull patches of the olive trees tempered the deep green mountainsides. Columns of smoke rose straight up. And everywhere were those blue tones which Leonardo observed in nature, and warned the painter against as an optical illusion.

The muddy plaza was as busy as any local at the end of a work day. Mules and burros arrived, singly and in pairs, horses appeared at a trot, shied, threw up their heads, illustriously horned cattle sauntered up, some for a quick drink at the fountain and they were off home, some hung around for another. A sow and three pigs went up the street and in at a doorway. Goats climbed to the porch of the church, butted each other through the balustrade, and left pebble-droppings on the steps. Smoke from the pitch-top chimneys of the village carried the kindred discord of their bells over the tiled roofs. For a minute or so, there was not a human being in sight.

The distinguished novelist waked with a start, as though someone had yanked his foot. The room was dark. He huddled there for a minute with his eyes wide open, and pulled the soft wool blanket over his shoulder protectively. Then he turned his head slowly, to see who had roused him. There was no one there. He sat up, sniffed, licked his lips, and then threw off the blanket and hurried across the uneven floor to the windows, which he pulled open. At first all he saw was the moon, a sharp shape in the clear sky waiting in continent ambush. Then he made out the jagged black rim of the mountains, and he smelled the smoke loitering in the valley. From somewhere, he thought he heard music. And then, from the very doors beneath him, figures appeared, to form a procession. Led off by a boy in white, two lines of women in black came adjusting their veils. Between them, two boys with candles enclosed the tall white-figured priest. He watched them down the steps, past the dark fountain, singing softly into a narrow street where lights appeared at windows on their way. He watched them out of sight, and then hurriedly closed the windows, pulled on the light, sat down at the writing table and cleared his throat, trying to clear his head of all he had seen and heard during the day, from the worldly pastimes to those which he could, at this distance, be assured had never happened.