William Gaddis - The Recognitions

Herschel was still propped against the bookcase, where he had left himself a while before. Hannah's approach woke him to a look of fear and no understanding. — By now you probably don't even know what your name is, she said, her tone merciless sobriety.

— Hannah.

— No. I'm Hannah, and who are you? He stumbled past her to the other side of the room and interrupted Ed Feasley, who was telling Adeline that the literal translation of the German word for surrender, niederlage, is to lie under.

— Adeline, said Herschel. — Baby, drawing his breath through his open mouth, liquidly audible. — Is your name really Adeline? I had a nurse once named Adeline, a west black woman Adeline. One day I bit her right square under the apple tree. What do you think of that?

The white Adeline thought enough of it to stand away from him. Herschel swung before her, like a man whose feet were grounded on springs. — Is your name really Adeline? he pled, now with such insistence that if she would answer, or even allow the affirmative by silence, it would legitimize anything to follow. But the door opened upon them, and four late arrivals appeared, hazy-eyed, with willowy movements, the three boys unshaven arid the girl unclean, smelling like lives from the swamp. — We've been having a ball, man, one of them said. — Have you got any tea?

A policeman, his tunic unbuttoned, appeared in the doorway to announce loudly that he had had a call from headquarters to answer a complaint at this address… a party. too much noise. have to quiet down. and could somebody get me another drink?

Otto took Esme's arm and helped her up, almost using that arm which lay helpless in the sling. He recovered enough of his wit to say, — May I take you home? Now you're supposed to say, Sure, where do you live? Esme looked up, smiled pleasantly, blankly. She did not understand; and sophistry, confronted by simplicity, was lost. — It seems like we've always been just here, she said.

Someone appeared before Otto with a manila envelope. — Here's the story, the one you said you'd send to your friend on a magazine for me, he said, and disappeared.

Herschel stood mumbling to himself. All sense of humor was gone, all sense of anything. His eyes, looking and finding nothing, had stopped seeking and lay open and empty. Only when Hannah reappeared, reflected in their glassy surface, they clouded. — Now I suppose you want to get your tattoo? she said. He nodded helplessly. — Herschel, don't be such a fool. Go back to analysis. Do you think a tattoo will solve everything?

— Hannah. baby.

— What are you going to have tattooed on you, anyhow? Names? Pictures?

— Leave me alone, he whispered.

A discussion of fierce intellectual intensity continued in one corner. Someone had said that everyone knew that Tennyson was a Jew. In the middle of the room two young men met. — I thought you'd gone home, one said, The other embraced him. — I was waiting for someone to ask me. The Swede sat on the windowsill, head in his hands. — Those horrid horrid vulgar labels, all over my bags, he sobbed. — But I could hear them laughing behind the door, behind the locked door, I could hear them laughing. The flat girl said, — Aren't you going to say good night to our host? And her escort, a full-blown woman, said, — God no, I never speak to him.

Agnes Deigh returned, straightening her skirt and loocening her waist. Then there was Stanley's voice saying, — No, I promised I'd go home with Hannah, the tone of the seven-year-old's loyalty to the squat and eternal mother. A boy in a bow tie thanked Agnes Deigh for the party, and she cried, — Darling it wasn't my party, I'm leaving too. Will you take me home? As she went out she stopped with Max, who stood smiling under the forgotten scars of the Workman's Soul. — There's somebody in the can darling, she said, — somebody passed out in the tub, somebody I've never seen before. You'd better go in and look at him, there's blood all over the place.

At their feet squatted the late guests, smoking something the size of a thumbnail which they passed among them, like a pitiful encampment of outcast Indians satisfying the wrong hunger. — This stuff doesn't really affect me, one said, — but don't you notice that the ceiling is getting closer?

The policeman who had been making faces put down an empty glass, and woke up his buddy. They left.

Otto felt strange, holding her thin wrist: that Esme could give all and lose nothing, for the taker would find she had given nothing; plundering her, the plunderer would turn to find himself empty, and she still silently offering. When she looked up, he was lost to himself as though the woman in that painting had turned her unchanging eyes on his helplessness, and he looked away from her eyes, at the straight darkness of her hair, and cowardly, down at her ringless fingers. Her eyes embarrassed him with their beauty, all at once as she showed them.

— Whore! said a voice at their feet, throaty, breathing heavily, as if there were indeed a load of stones on his back. Then in a clear hard voice Anselm called Esme a name which fell from his mouth like a round stone, and seemed to strike the floor and remain. She looked down at him. — Come on. Look out, Otto said, pulling her away. But she stood, for all her delicacy, firm, and smiling. — Anselm, she said, her voice gentle and quenching as she repeated the name. — Anselm.

— Succubus, said Anselm, his voice deep in his throat again.

— Sswccubus, he hissed. — Devil in a woman's body, to lead a man in vile sin, abominable lusts, carnal pleasures, blasphemy, the filthy delights of copulation. Do you think I don't know? Do you think no one knows? Not for your own delectation, you get no pleasure from it, only to corrupt and pollute the soul and body of a mortal man. Succubus to a man, incubus to a woman. He reared his acned chin.

— Come on, Esme, said Otto. — Let's get out of here. But she stood, charmed, still gently smiling.

— Go home and read Saint Augustine. On the Trinity, said Anselm, turning his thin face up to Otto. — There you'll find that devils do indeed collect human seed. Not for delectation. Succubus to a man, incubus to a woman. Damn you, damn you, damn you. If devils fell from every rank, those who fell from the lowest choir are deputed to perform these abominations, these filthy delights. Not for delectation. Do you know about the monk Helias, and how the angels answered his prayers by castrating him? Do you know about Saint Victor?

Otto had moved Esme toward the door, where the Swede stood sobbing — Behind the locked door, I could hear them laughing.

Then Otto turned, feeling something spray on him. Anselm had flung up a hand wet with beer, and was shuddering, — I exorcise thee, unclean spirit, in the name of Jesus Christ; tremble, O Satan, thou enemy of the faith, thou foe of mankind, who hast brought death into the world. He gasped; and in that moment Otto heard clearly from across the room, in Max's voice:

— I'd say he was a latent heterosexual, and looked up to find Max's eyes upon him. He stood trapped for an instant in Max's smiling eyes, then sought others, saw Stanley sunk against a chair watching Anselm.

— Thou seducer of mankind, thou root of evil, thou source of avarice, discord, and envy.

— Esme, come on. He pulled her arm.

— Hey Stanley, Anselm called suddenly over his shoulder, — who's this coon with your girl? Hey Stanley, I am one, sir, that comes to tell you.

— Esme…

— Your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

— Damn it…

— Now be nice. the Swede whispered through his tears.

— For Christ sake Anselm.

— Go home and fornicate, came from the floor. — Only know that God for His own glory permits devils to work against His will. For His own glory.