William Gaddis - J R

When he waked it was empty, he’d sat up and looked over in shadow spread from the drawn shade and said — Amy…? but it was only a swirl of blankets, and he sank back hands drawn heavily down his face to leave his stare fixed on the ceiling. And then he was up all at once, pulled the closed door open half out in the hall listening, looked both ways before he reached the bathroom with long steps, found only shirt and shorts wilting from the shower rod and tore the seat in the haste of getting them on, coming out that way to find a silent kitchen, open the refrigerator on a jar of honey and opened can of tomato juice rusting at the puncture, a drawer on two lightbulbs, each step slower back up the hall to stop in the doorway and call — Amy…? He cleared his throat, crossed to open a closet door on an empty camera case, another on one patent leather evening pump, back to the closet in the bedroom where he found a soiled raincoat torn pocket to hem pulling it on coming up with a crushed Gitanes box from one pocket, matches from Sardi’s and two weightless five lira pieces from the other, out again down the hall to take the white telephone the length of its cord behind the white sofa where he sat on the floor and dialed. — Mister Eigen please, in… Can’t remember his extension he’s in public re… the Gitane he lit blazed up with dryness, — hello? Mister Eigen there…? Still out to what? Wait what do you mean he might be gone for the day for what day… But what time is it? Wait never mind listen this is sort of a, not really an emergency but… personal call yes it’s Butterfield eight, one wait… his voice dropped near a whisper, — I’ll call him later… he put down the phone and hunched there, blew to disperse the signal column of smoke rising over him.

A door closed. — Jack…? He was up from his elbows. — Oh you frightened me! what are you doing there…

— I was just, just making a call I…

— But why are you making it hiding back there? and what, what on earth are you wearing…

— I just woke up didn’t know what time it was look I don’t even know where I am, how the hell did I know who might walk in the door there and I couldn’t find my…

— I had to go downtown, Jack I’m sorry it took me so long, she came on to drop all she’d been standing there holding to the sofa. — I was just so afraid you’d be gone…

— Gone where! Where could I go like this! Couldn’t find my clothes I found this thing in a closet where’s my…

— Not that suit you had on Jack I took it to be cleaned but it’s quite hopeless, and you really don’t…

— Look I want to get out there and clear things up, tell Whiteback I’m wait where’s my money where’s my money!

— It’s all in a drawer in the dressing table, Jack I called the school this morning and told them not to expect you and it’s too late to go out there now, I’m going in to fix some coffee please just sit down, I brought you the paper…

— No but I, I can’t stay here… he turned, — Amy…? stood there for a moment and then sat down to reach for the paper. When she came in with a tray he was holding up the dry cleaner’s bag he’d found under it.

— I’m afraid it will be quite tight on you, she said putting the tray down, sitting beside him — but I thought it might do to…

— But whose where did it come from, whose…

— They’ve had it since we took it in last summer and when I took yours in to be cleaned they…

— But who’s, who took it in who’s we? Whose is it?

— No one’s really now, it…

— It can’t be no one’s how can it be no one’s?

— It was just a suit of my husband’s, I’m afraid it’s just a poplin, for summer…

— Fine and he’s going to walk in and join us for breakfast?

— Don’t be silly he’s abroad, Jack you don’t have to drink all this juice I just brought it so you could…

— He just cleaned the place out and left?

— We’re not married anymore if that’s what you mean, there was nothing of mine here, I brought this juice so you could take these.

He sank back, pulled the ripped skirt of the raincoat over a knee and muttered — what are they, testosterone?

— Are they what? penicillin, I happened to find that prescription in a pocket of that awful suit you had on Jack I’ve honestly never, why do you carry so much trash around with you.

— Not trash it’s, where is it you throw it out too?

— No it’s all right here… he watched her back arch bending for the shelf under the coffee table, — honestly look at it, is this anything but trash? and this? and old newspaper clippings this one’s so smudged you can hardly read it.

— Yes that’s, that’s nothing yes, this behaviorist B F Skinner just intrigued the way he’s parlayed all his infantile ideas into such a successful…

She crumpled it, — and this one? about nature’s symmetry?

— Yes well that’s… he came forward, — this report on the decay process of this eta particle’s challenged the whole idea of the, you see the…

— And you want to keep it?

— This whole question of, have you got a pencil? Never mind, you see it’s both a particle and an antiparticle, it has no electric charge nothing to distinguish it as matter or antimatter, for every class of particle there should be its kind of mirror image antiparticle same mass and spin and an equal but opposite charge and this reaction they’re talking about should produce fragments of equal energy but the positive ones are coming out more energetic than the negative ones, brings up the whole question of a basic lack of symmetry in our part of the univ…

— And could you get your foot off the table Jack it hardly…

— Only find one shoe yes but you see there might even be galaxies made of antimatter to balance ones like ours that are made of matter I meant to get a copy of this report, published in the Physical Review Letters wasn’t it? I meant to…

— But Jack the date on this clipping is, it’s almost four years old it’s no use to you now is it… and it joined the crumpled heap with B F Skinner and Clocker Lawton’s Selections, — and what’s this…?

— More trash, he muttered sinking away from her on the sofa, knee still against hers where he’d crossed his shoeless foot.

— But it’s not your hand is it?

— No.

— Well who wrote it it’s quite marvelous, whose…

— It’s trash isn’t it? Will you throw it out do we have to go over every God damned…

— Oh honestly…! she stood, still looking at it.

— All right it was mine, one of mine when I still…

— I like hatless disheveled and gay it’s just sweet, and the bat, she said standing over him, — you’ve got Pascal twice here did you know? And this Taine, surely it can’t be the same one? the critic?

Close as though to look, his knee rested against hers where his hand brushed inside, rising. — Why not…? his thumb brushed sudden warmth.

— It’s certainly nothing we had in French Civiliza, Jack please don’t do that… she’d stepped abruptly away, — do you want to keep this then?

— Thought I’d start a little anthology or… he sank back, — what are there about a dozen? Write a book with twelve chapters have the epigraphs ready how’s that.

— You did tell me once about a book you…

— Write twelve books have one ready for…

— Jack please! don’t, start behaving the way you did on the train it’s just, it just isn’t…

— Isn’t what! Told you on the train all I’ve ever done my whole God damned life spent it preparing, time comes all I’ve got is seven kinds of fine God damned handwriting only God damned thing they’re good for is misquoting other people’s…