William Gaddis - J R

— Excuse me Mister Angel did, did you buzz? She paused there behind the figure backed to the door, briefcase shifting from hand to hand.

— I think he just wants you to type up that material there Myrna, and send me a copy?

— Sure okay Mister Coen… she came across for the papers neatly squared on the desk. — Is it okay if I type these out front Mister Angel? where we just got coffee…? pausing, for what might have been a permissive shrug under the clinging shirt, before she retreated to the door and down the cement block green where her discrete walk rose and fell to the eyes fixed discreetly upon it as far as a rail of golden oak, flattened there with no intent apparent but to let him pass, pursued with a wave and — Goodbye Mister Coen, come see us again now…

— I just broke a nail.

— I got this Nu-Nail back in my desk but I don’t want to go back in and get it, you know?

— I know, did he say anything?

— I don’t mean that, he just seems sort of far out, you know?

— I know see what I meant? like you have this feeling he’s looking up you only you look up and he’s looking off someplace like he’s not even there.

— I know, anyway I have to type this up before we go, wait for me?

— I want to go to this sale on sweaters maybe, okay? and the emery board took up briskly, — what, you meeting somebody? and the emery board stopped as she looked up with no answer. — I still didn’t get used to your hair black, she said pushing back red, — he still like it?

Paper rolled into the typewriter. — Are you kidding?

— He sounds like a real character… and typewriter and emery board paced time unbroken by looks to the clock where a good portion had fallen away when they stopped, paper pulled from the typewriter carried down the empty hall to the empty office, left on the empty desk.

— He’s not even in there Terry, did you see him go out?

— Maybe he went out by the shop, come on…

— Did you see my comb…? Drawers slammed, coathangers rattled on the rack, they came out arm in arm, down one curb and up another, rounding a corner in step past brick and fieldstone sham, down that curb and — Terry look!

— What’s the…

— Didn’t you see him? The Boss, didn’t you see him up there running? chasing somebody?

— Are you crazy? What would he…

— No I swear it, right around that corner up there… and they moved on again, past fence penning aprons of dead grass and on around that corner up there toward the elevated limb of subway, rummaging in purses as they reached its steps, looking behind them and both ways on the elevated platform waiting pressed against a telescoping loaf of bread surcharged Astoria Gents Suck until the train came. — Don’t look now, he just got in the next car…

— Did he see us?

The seats filled, so did the aisle, feet kicking aside torn newspaper, flattening candy wrappers and they sat closer, faces lowered from that hung over them agape through rimless glasses down into their tops, knees nuzzling theirs confining a briefcase of Gladstone bag design upright on the filthy floor. Lights dimmed, came up, and they roared underground.

— He’s up the other end now, right past that woman with the green, it’s like he’s following us you know?

— Why should he do that, wait, wait I’m getting off here with you and change for the express…

— Don’t look back, is he getting off too…?

Elbows found ribs, heels unprotected ankles, — ay coño… where strange hand cupped briefly strange skirt, — hold the door… and the lady in the green raincoat dug an elbow hard. — Sorry… he got by her to the platform, the flaunt of red hair gone that moment behind a post, newspapers streaming Mata a sus niños, shopping bags and wives’ umbrellas clutched like staves in a relay race with no course and no finish as the scream of steel wheels on steel rails left the teeming concrete shore opposite where suddenly he stared arrested, waved and shouted — Edward…? Bast! Edward…! off balance as the flaunt of red reappeared alone from behind stairs, sheltering to draw breath for the cry — Ed…! smashed on the roar of a train from the other direction leaving Bast halted there on the far platform hit before and behind like an invalid in a hotel fire, looking, one way, the other, finally dropping his shoulders and his eyes to dead rivulets leading toward stairs, up them catching breath at the top against uneaten frankfurters turning with venemous patience on a counter grill, more stairs and the street, where the sole of his shoe took up its flapping cadence windblown past ranked garbage cans capped at merry angles down the hill to a doorway lighted, like the rest, by a bulb so dim he cast no shadow as he entered, pursuing a broken refrain up the stairs and down linoleum worn through by fatigue, pausing to move mail with his foot before fitting the long iron key and lifting the door on the sound of running water.

— Hi.

— What…? he held the door, turning to the shadows in the stairs rising behind him. — You, you startled me I didn’t see you there.

— You live here?

— Yes I, well I mean I’ve been staying…

— Like what’s going on with that back apartment.

— I don’t know it’s, no one lives there right now but…

— Look man I know nobody lives there right now, there’s some stuff of mine in there I want to get out, okay?

— Oh, yes, yes but I don’t have a key…

— I mean I’ve been sitting up here in the dark just waiting for somebody to show up, you know?

— Yes well I, I’m sorry I can’t help you, I don’t have a key but… he lifted his door open and held it balanced there, — if you want to come in here and wait for, for whoever you’re waiting for…

— Look man I just told you I’m not waiting for anybody, okay? Like I just want to get my stuff out of that back apartment. What’s all this, mail?

— Yes that’s all right, I’ll get it as soon as I lean this door…

— What were you like away for a month? You want me to bring it all in?

— It’s just today’s I’m afraid, if you would yes…

— Except the package, I mean you don’t expect me to lift that.

— No no I’ll get it, if you can get the door here, it just hangs on one hinge and…

— I mean like somebody sent you a box of bricks, like man I mean you really get mail.

— Yes if… you can just… he got the box in over the sill, — put it in there on that sofa…

— You left the water on.

— Yes I can’t turn it off, he said fittifig the door back into place behind her, — something’s wrong with the…

— Man I never saw such a, like I mean what’s in all the boxes, mail?

— No just, I don’t know just papers, books and papers I think, he said following her in past 24-One Pint Mazola New Improved, 36 Boxes 200 2-Ply as she dumped the mail on the armless sofa and stood to pull off the long raincoat.

— Hyman Grynszpan, that’s you? she said sitting beside the heap, picking up the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists.

— No I’m, my name is Bast, Edward Bast. Are you, I mean…

— Am I what.

— No your name, I just meant your name…

— Rhoda, okay?

— Oh yes you were Mister Schramm’s, a friend of Mister Schramm’s weren’t you, the night he…

— Look, I mean let’s just cool it with the Mister Schramm okay? She got a denimed leg up to rest a foot on Wise Potato Chips Hoppin’ With Flavor! — like I mean what do you expect me to owww…!

— Oh I’m sorry that’s one of my…

— Wait here’s another one and, look at them… she’d come forward to pull the pencil from the stretch of denim — I mean I never saw so many fucking sharp pencils.