William Gaddis - J R

— Man I have to answer it maybe it’s…

— Don’t move…! he was gone between 24–10 Pad Pkgs and 48 № 1 Cans Beef Gravy — there!

— Look I’m answering it man maybe it’s my…

— Bastards!

— selection from Bruckner’s eighth symphony brought to you by…

— Bastards you ow…! he caught his head, came down pounding Trade Extra 1909 slipped against 2 Dozen 57 The World’s Largest Selling Ketchup and kicked, got the mop handle — bastards!

— wedding of the grand alliance of education and technology forging the two edge…

The mop handle flailed, he plunged it down, pounded — can’t play the whole symphony can’t even play the whole God damned scherzo bastards…! Musical Courier 1911 skidded offside, he twisted, pounded, kicked against 24–10 Pad Pkgs forced a knee against it, forced the other against 48 № 1 Cans Beef Gravy and sank further, tried a shoulder against the abrupt decline of 2 Dozen 57 The World’s Largest Selling Ketchup, fought a hand out — ooph! Trade Extra broke against a rib — bastards…!

— pedia, bringing the American family its full share of the world’s knowledge. Look for it in your local supermar…

— Man like what’s happening in here are you up there? I mean it sounds like the whole fucking place is going through to the cellar what happened.

— Shot the pianist.

— Like it’s his boss on the phone I mean Bast’s, like I mean he’s really strung out man you coming down?

— Can’t.

— Look he said he heard this Mister Grynszpan’s here he wants to talk to him man I mean he wants to talk to anybody… she got over the collision of Tonic Water Twist Cap, brought moccasins up on it settling back — like go talk to him man I mean you know what’s with Grynszpan… she tapped the paper crease, held it up — I mean he’s really strung out in there like he’s yelling like you don’t know if he’s laughing or crying kitty kitty kitty? I mean he must be some creep, kitty kitty? Is he up there man? Chairman Meow is he up there…? her free hand scratched where it fell — like he’s probably so scared we won’t see him for a month, man? I mean what are you doing up there.

— Peruse this fine volume… Trade Extra’s cracked leather spine sailed over NO DEPOSIT to hit the clock, the second hand fled into NO RETURN — armchair traveler God damned exciting journey no obligation… paper tore. — The music of the world is free to all. How’s that.

— Like I mean I could really tell them man, you know? I mean like why should I have to be this fucking model just because this spaced out ten year old said I will, I mean I’m the one that ought to write this book you know?

— For those whom classic pieces interest, Scarlatti, Bach, Haydn and old Handel have written oratorios and fugues how’s that.

— Like I tell all my friends and I really break my ass when I get out of school like I take this charm course and how to do makeup and all and I mean then they’re all getting pissed off buying Vogue when I’m like never in it and I’m like nothing you know?

— Unhappy Schubert speaks to them in the sweet tones of Rosamunde. Beethoven, master of masters, thrills alike the listeners and the performer of his Appassionata or beautiful Fifth Symphony…

— And then I mean I finally figure out like all this time I’m trying to be it I really hate this fucking model I always said I’ll be, you know?

— Chopin bemoans the fate of Poland in his nocturnes or breathes the fiery valor of his countrymen in Polonaise…

— Like I mean you forget how you know? I mean like hating all these wise-ass generals and fucked up presidents we get and like these banks and faceless reverend garbage peels and asshole politicians I mean it’s just this big drag and like you forget, you know? I mean like really how to hate?

— For other tastes great Wagner comes and, lifting them aloft above the clouds, transports them to the mighty Halls of old Walhalla, in Ride of Walküres, or takes them to the cool, green depths of classic Rhine in Nibelungen Ring…

— I mean like when I finally find out I’m fine like just who I am, and I mean this model I always said I’ll be like I find out all this time I really hate her you know? I mean I’m breaking my ass and she’s like making me hate who I really am, you know?

— The Pianola is the universal means of playing the piano.

— I mean I could write this book people would read, you know?

— Universal, because there is no one in all the world, having the use of hands and feet, who could not leam to use it with but little effort.

— Like I mean I’d communicate, you know?

— The striking of the notes of the selection, in proper time and place, is no concern of the player. This is correctly done by perforated rolls of paper…

— Man you glued that quarter out there, I mean didn’t you…? She creased the paper closed coming forward — I mean this fucking lamp… she yanked it, hand fallen fumbling arm’s length in the dark where she stretched back. — Like listen to the water in there I mean I’m like I’m floating, man? you’re still up there…?

— homes in America, many were treas…

— I mean listen it’s getting closer listen. Man? Like I mean we could all drownd and nobody would even know it listen! I mean it’s getting closer man I can’t see are you up there? Man like my feet are caught in, help! Man like we’re tipping over help! Where’s, here kitty kitty it’s this big fucking storm Bast are you up there help! my feet are caught help! I can’t, man I mean it’s so deep I can’t, man it’s so warm I mean it’s running all down, oh wow, oh wow… and the torrents at sink and tub seemed to rise in the dark swollen by the sound of rain driven against the glass, where light came finally graying a sunless day. — Man like I’m having this nosebleed can you bring me something…? she waited up on an elbow, hand to her face — I mean are you still up there…? and she kicked free the knotted blanket, each step a bright splash on the fall of envelopes and pasted notes and letterheads, Modern Packaging, Financial World, over the collision of Tonic Water Twist Cap past 200 2-Ply where she caught up a damp wad of shirt to her nose — wow who dumped all the, man are you under there…? her free hand swiped through the billow of suds, rose pulling off her shirt and dropped to scratch her leg spread poised at the tub’s edge to kick off a moccasin — who’s, man is that you…?

The door shuddered. — Got a delivery…

— Like who’s stopping you…

It sagged in — look I been here before I’m trying to deliver a truckload of where are you anyways…

— Where does it look like… she batted the rise of suds from a shoulder, — I mean what are you staring at, deliver your delivery…

— Thousand gross plastic flowers down there look, how you expect me to get a thousand gross plastic flowers in here you…

— Man like who said I expect you to do anything? Like I mean that’s your problem, I mean you’re supposed to be this big delivering man do it how they told you in delivering man school, okay…? The shirt wad came up wet abruptly jostling pebbled pinks from the suds — I mean look man at least can you quit standing there pulling your pork and like answer the telephone? No I mean look it’s like right up there behind you…

— The, oh… hello…? want the, who…?

— Like who is it I mean if it’s for me I’m expecting this imp…