William Gaddis - The Recognitions

— Hullo, Stanley said in a dull voice behind them.

— Stanley! said Esme turning; and she had that tone of having waited for him for weeks.

— You seem happy, said Stanley, accusingly.

— Oh Stanley! I am. Has something else happened?

Stanley held out a paper. It was a letter, from an eye bank. Esme read it. — It's scandal-ous, Stanley, she said. She laughed. — Do they want you to deposit your eyes?

— I don't really understand what they want, Stanley said. — I think it's that if I die, they want my eyes sent to them immediately. There's a little coupon at the bottom you fill out.

— Well that's all right, isn't it? said Esme. — Then will they come and get your eye while it's still warm?

— Don't talk like that, Esme, it's.

— Why not?

— It's frightening, the thought of these complete strangers coming to get my eyes …

— But you won't need them…

— But I will. I might… Otto leaned toward Esme. — Look, will you be home this afternoon? he said. — Alone? he added, as Chaby reached for a toothpick.

— Unless someone comes.

— Who?

— I don't know. People.

— They have bone banks too, Stanley said.

— I'll see you this afternoon, Otto said. — Alone. He took out a five-dollar bill, and carefully tore a corner off of it. Chaby watched, frowning. — Whatayadoin? he said.

Otto raised an eyebrow, took a step away, and paid for their breakfasts. — If she'd said I only gave her a dollar, I'd tell her to go through her money there until she found a five with this corner missing, he said, dropping the shred of evidence under the counter, and pocketing his change. Stanley looked troubled.

— Esme, Otto said, — I…

— In Russia I read that they even graft on… well, you know. onto soldiers who get wounded there.

— Stanley!

— Esme. Otto rested a delicate hand on the counter for a moment more. Chaby was showing Esme a picture from his wallet, a tattered thing which at a glimpse showed only limbs indecently intertwined. Otto looked, as casually as he could; and as casually, the thing was turned from his gaze. Stanley looked away. — I don't want to see it, he said. Esme was laughing. Otto turned and left like an angry steam engine.

As he reached the door Esme called, — Goodbye, Otto. but he did not stop. Chaby did not even look around. — They spoiled a good whore when they hung a pair of nuts on him, he said. — Maybe they could help him out in Russia.

— Chaby Sin-is-ter-ra! Stanley, isn't he being bad? She was laughing.

Meanwhile, the winter sky had darkened. The blazing eye of the sun was gone, and the sky lowered upon the city with the weight of a featureless being smothering it against the earth. The peaks of its buildings reared against the sky seemed to hold that portentous weight at bay, in the great conspiracy of mother and son, the earth and the city, against the father threatening overhead; for it was Cronus the mother conspired with, to free the children suffocated between the intimately united bodies of their parents, where they could not see light.

Years had passed over the Titanic capital, as it grew to its full stature, and over the continent spread at its feet where a year's relief from love cost eighty-five million dollars in headache remedies; and for faith: 15,670,944,200 aspirin tablets, carried like phylacteries. The state, this Titan's namesake, breathed the smoke of forty billion cigarettes that year. Descending into the lungs of this reinforced concrete incarnation, the smoke circulated through steel lobules cushioned in pleural cavities of granite (though unlike the lungs of a good giant no concave inner surface was necessary for the heart), and from there it was exhaled through chromium-cartileged larynges to diffuse into the spew of grime with which the ungrateful child affronted his father above. Fly-ash, cinders and sand, tar, soot, and sulfuric acid: six tons a day settled on this neighborhood where Otto stepped forth, his faculties so highly civilized that he seemed not to notice the billions of particles swirling round him, seemed not to notice the flashing of lights, the clangor of steel in conflict, the shouts, and the words spoken, timorous, temerarious, eructations of slate-colored lungs, seemed to acknowledge nothing but his own purpose, which led him east.

The sky refused the encounter it threatened. The storm refused to break; but the dark being continued in menacing movement above, content to unnerve its arrogant antagonist, to inspire foreboding, but declining the skirmish which would witness the spilling of its own blood in streaks of lightning. The inhabitants moved agitated, apprehensive, intent on immediacies. For the rest of the morning, Otto behaved impatiently in the streets, ruthlessly in the subway, merciless in revolving doors. Left arm tense, and occasionally combative in the sling, his right arm pressed against the presence of his wallet, he moved between immediate destinations, every address a destination until it was reached, when it offered simply a pause where the next step could be planned, time unbroken by leisure but instead brief spasmodic stretches of emptiness between activities, minutes parceled together by cigarettes. Leaving a glass of beer on the bar, Otto went back to the telephone booth. He dialed Max's number. It was busy. He sat staring through the dirty glass panel, where someone had drawn the letters of an obscene syllable on the glass with a diamond. He dialed again; got only brrk, brrk, brrk. He dialed two other numbers, hoping to find someone free for lunch. No one was. He dialed Max again: brrk, brrk, brrk. Then he thought of a number which came to him almost out of habit, he had dialed it automatically that many times. What would he say? And if a man answered? But by this time he was unsettled enough to call that number without giving himself time to think of consequence. He could ask Esther to meet him now, for lunch. He dialed. The telephone at the other end was picked up. He said, — Hello? There was silence. -Hello? Hello? Silence. -Hello? Is Esther there? — No, said a voice in weak decision, as though re- lieved. — Hello. Who is this? — Rose. — Rose? Rose, are you the maid? Hello? — Rose, said the voice. — Hello? Then their humming silent contact was dead. Otto shook the hook up and down. — Hello, hello, say… The bartender was looking in at him. He hung up. He sat for another moment, staring at the word written on the glass. Then he dialed Max. He could hear the brrr which indicated that Max's telephone was ringing. There was no answer. He hung up. He dialed again, another number, this time found Maude Munk at home sounding as though she did not want to talk, not for a minute stopping. — Did you get it, Maude? — Get what? — I mean did you get to the adoption center? — Oh no, silly, we were both so hung over… I don't know which one of us really wants it anyhow. We decided it wasn't such a good idea; for today anyhow. What about your party, I hear it was quite hideous. — Say, do you know someone at Esther's house named Rose? She answered the phone. — Oh Rose, Rose, of course, silly, everyone Jcnows about Rose. look would you mind calling me later, I've got to do something now. — But who's Rose? — Around five? Could you call around five.?

Otto returned to the bar. He remembered that his watch was fourteen minutes slow. He started to pull out the stem to reset it, looked up at the clock over the bar. That clock told the same time his watch did. — Is that the right time? he asked the bartender. — Yuh. Maybe it's a little fast. Another beer? Otto started to decline, then noticed the mirror behind the bar, and watched himself accept.

— It's funny, said a man beside him. Otto turned, to see a striped tie. Unsure what club it represented, he said, — What?