William Gaddis - The Recognitions

— Well damn it, there it is, his wife. That woman! do you know her? Did you hear her?… As Don says in his piece in the religious symposium, he has a religion too though maybe you wouldn't suspect it because he's so philosophical…

— All right, let's forget about it.

— Forget about it? forget about her? peering out through her granulated eyelids. Esther tells us you're so original, you must tell me more about your work, you must know all the tricks. The tricks!

— Well she tries, Wyatt, you mustn't be unkind, and she tries to paint herself.

— She can paint herself red and hang on the wall and whistle, I don't care, but not here. Esther tells us… Esther says. good God! what have you told them?

— What's the matter? I've never seen you like this, Wyatt, she said sinking into a chair.

— Well what have you told them? About me, that I need psychoanalysis?

— I've had to talk to someone.

— Well. you. listen, he stood before her with his hands quivering in the air. — Damn it, if you think I need a psychoanalyst.

— Please don't swear at me.

— Listen, did you see her. reading my hands?. My, they're strong aren't they, but you must give me the left one too, I hope it does something to justify this. Did you see her, dragging her grubby little fingers over my palm?. There, the left one is so much better, but I've never seen such a complete dichotomy, she said, that's one of Don's words, it means two things that describe each other like black and not black, and your right hand is so rough. Even when I got away from her she went on, did you hear her?. Your left hand is so gentle, so soft, it understands, and your right hand is so rough, that means your judgment is much better than your will, why do you try to follow your will as though it ran your life? Your left hand does, but you work against yourself, don't you, so stubborn, not happy, not happy, your left hand has love, what a lonely person you are, good God!

— Wyatt.

— And then… is it possible? can a man be jealous of himself? Damn it, listen Esther, did you see what she tried to do? she almost kissed me goodbye? Why, she's insane. But she goes out on the street and nobody's surprised to see her, she talks and nobody's surprised to hear her. It's suffocating. Right this minute, she's talking. They're down there right this minute and that woman with the granulated eyelids is talking. You look up and there she is, people. the instant you look at them they begin to talk, automatically, they take it for granted you understand them, that you recognize them, that they have something to say to you, and you have to wait, you have to pretend to listen, pretend you don't know what's coming next while they go right on talking with no idea what they're talking about, they don't even know but they go right on, trying to explain who they are because they take it for granted you want to know, not that they have the damnedest idea as far as that goes, they just want to know what kind of a receptacle you'll be for their confidences. How do they know I'm the same person that. Who are they, to presume such intimacy, to… go right on talking. And they really believe that they're talking to me!

— Darling you shouldn't have let her upset you so, Esther said to him.

— Upset rne! Did you hear her talking about her analysis with her husband? Her lay analysis?. Don's being analyzed, but we can't afford it for both of us, so he analyzes me. My paintings help, they're really pure symbols in the process of individuation Don says. Lay analysis! and she titters, one of those. little minds where naughtiness breeds intimacy, when she said to you, I've been trying to make your husband come out of his shell but he just won't come, and she titters. She was sitting there.

— That's enough, Wyatt, really.

— No listen, she was sitting there watching the two of you, you and Don, sitting here with her knees hanging apart and Otto staring up her garter straps, He should have an affair now, she said. Don, he needs one now.

— Wyatt, please…

— He knew Esther before she was married, she said to me. Don knew Esther before she was married.

— Where are you going? Esther asked when he turned away. He did not answer but walked toward the studio door. — Wyatt, she said, getting up to follow, — please.

— It's all right, he said, going on through the doorway, and the bright light came on overhead.

A few minutes later Esther appeared in the door, her make-up freshened, her hair pushed up to where she thought it belonged. A drying lamp had been turned on the portrait, and she looked at it. He had done an excellent job and she, fresh from her mirror, stared at the flesh of the face on the easel as clear as her own. — I'll miss it, she said. — I'll be glad to see it gone but. but I'll miss it. Something moved. She turned, but it was not he. In the mirror ("to correct bad drawing. ") she caught his reflection, and realized he was behind the table. — I'm sorry, these things happen, but now, you're not upset are you? now?

— No, no, it's just that. the rest of us… He drank down some brandy, and sat staring at some papers on the table before him. — I don't know, there are things we have to do, so we do them together. We have to eat, so we eat together. We have to sleep and we sleep together but… all that? does it bring us any closer together?

— But you. can't. not.

— But they're gone, he went on more calmly, looking back at the papers. — Thank God you thought of something, that excuse about our going somewhere else together, to get rid of them.

— But I… I really wanted to go.

— Esther. He got up quickly and came over to her. — Don't, don't, I'm sorry. Of course we'll go, if you want to, I didn't understand, Esther, but don't cry.

(For the first time in months) he put his arm around her, but his hand, reaching her shoulder, did not close upon it, only rested there. They swayed a little, standing in the doorway, still holding each other together in a way of holding each other back: they still waited, being moved over the surface of time like two swells upon the sea, one so close upon the other that neither can reach a peak and break, until both, unrealized, come in to shatter coincidentally upon the shore.

It was colder, outside where the deer still hung by their heels, and the rosettes still bloomed where they'd been planted. A small army of men moved through the streets, collecting twenty-five thousand tons of boxes and colored paper, beribboned refuse from Christmas.

Esther started.

— What is it?

— Just a chill, down my back. It's chilly here. She stared up at the pressed tin ceiling. — It's not the kind of place I expected.

— What, what did you expect?

— You said gypsy.

— Some greasy Hungarian dipping his violin bow in your soup?

— I didn't mean. please. I didn't mean I don't like it, I like it. When were you in Spain?

— Spain? He looked up surprised. — I've never been in Spain.

— But you've told me.

— My father, my father.

— And your mother. To think you never told me.

— What?

— Your mother, buried in Spain. Why are you smiling?

— The music.

— It's exciting, isn't it. Exciting music. I wonder why the place is almost empty. No., she stayed his hand tipping the bottle over her glass, — I can't drink any more of it, what is it? She tipped her head to read the label, — La Guíta?

— Manzanilla.

— I don't feel very well, I shouldn't have had as much to drink earlier, martinis, and now this wine. I'm not used to just sitting and drinking so much wine. Wyatt? — Eh?

— You've almost finished this bottle yourself.

— Yes, we'll order another.