Stanley Elkin - The MacGuffin

“That’s silly,” Dan said. “You said it yourself, he’s a trained politician. You heard him carry on about the rabbi. Shock a with-it guy like the commish? There’s just no way. You think he was born yesterday? This old man? He’s got bodies stashed in high places. He knows where the bimbos are buried.”

“New terms?” Druff said, who, to be frank, had only an unclear memory of the old ones. Not, as you may imagine, because — this he did recall — nothing had been in it for him — he really was a civil servant and executed, within the decent parameters of sanity, all the functions of his office without thought to private gain or personal favor — but because he hadn’t been able to make much sense of what he remembered of Ham ‘n’ Eggs’ earlier proposition. Druff’s impression, post-M. Glorio and all the knockdown, drag-out of a MacGuffin with which he’d lived on and off (counting from lunchtime to lunchtime) going on two days now, was that the university had made rather a point of its indifference to matching the expensive, distinctive campus limestone in the covered walkway Druff’s department was to build (this rather a point, too) above Kersh Boulevard. The poor old city’s point was that while it would pay its share of the costs, it refused to pay for anything put up on university property.

“Anything we can do,” Dan said, “to give the Su’ad kid’s soul some peace, a little belated quality time.”

“Dan!” Ham ‘n’ Eggs scolded.

“Steady there, Dan,” even Jerry Rector put in, “steady as she goes.”

Now he was alert. Perhaps he’d given Dan the wrong impression, shooting off his mouth, sending his with-it type signals, merely extending a tongue, which Dan, at least, had mistaken for a hand. Showing off for him, for all of them, not out of hubris — hubris? him? what did he have to be hubrid about? — but from mood and nervousness. But how were they to know? He’d been led by his doubts to meander along the margins of entrapment. It was good strategy.

“Funny your talking new terms,” said the City Commissioner of Streets. “Mr. Edgar practically blamed us for the accident. He said the city’s pedestrian-activated signal was an attractive nuisance.”

“Darned attractive,” said Jerry Rector, wriggling his eyebrows and pretending to tip an ash off an imaginary cigar.

“I guess I can only hope,” said Druff, “that you folks aren’t wired and that this ain’t some kind of sting operation. New terms?” he repeated.

“Well, he’s right,” Ham ‘n’ Eggs said. “We would like to clear things up.”

“I’m all ears,” the commissioner said. “Where’s the TV cameras? Is my hair all combed, is my tie straight? What do I look into?”

“You think we need cameras?” Dan demanded angrily. “You think we keep our goodies in a safe-deposit box? Live it up for once. Throw caution to the winds. Political scientist! Big public man! Go public, why don’t you?”

“Sight unseen?” Druff inquired coolly.

“What’s he mean now, I wonder,” the one playing Jerry remarked to the others.

“Quid pro quo, I guess.”

“The terms of the terms.”

“If he’d get out from behind that desk for a minute he’d practically be standing on them. Jeesh!”

“Dan?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, he’s the one suggested there should be something personal, that something’s missing from your average evil.”

“You argue like a child! I suppose if he told you to jump off the roof you’d go out and do it.”

“Of course not. I’m only pointing out.”

“Well, just be careful where you point,” Ham said.

“I am,” Dan said. “I am careful. Hey, if he thinks this is about devil worship or anything like that, he’s got another think coming. Profits, incentive. It’s still America, what do you think?”

“That’s what I say.”

“Right on.”

“Don’t he know that blood’s been spilled, don’t he understand there’s a girl dead out of this? Ain’t that good enough for him?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what I say.”

“Gents,” offered Druff, who knew when he was being triple-teamed, “I’m elsewhere expected.” And, rising, came out from behind the desk.

“He’s warm.

“He’s very warm.”

“Very warm? He’s very hot!”

“You’ve got to give him credit,” said Ham ‘n’ Eggs.

“Credit, hell,” Jerry Rector said, “you’ve got to bribe him outright.”

“See,” said Dan, “what did he tell you? Downtown isn’t just fixing tickets, moving the dates around on your court calendar like three-card monte, or getting the man from the Health Department to look in the sink but not under the stove. It ain’t only always money changing hands.”

“Of course not.”

“No way,” said Rector.

Druff walked over the Oriental rugs scattered through the rabbi’s study, moving across one and onto the next as though they were beautiful stepping stones in a gorgeous river.

“The U pays the costs on its own property. What the hell, it picks up the tab at the city’s end, too.”

“To get the unpleasantness over with.”

“To put the nastiness behind.”

“To sweep,” said Dan in a low, meaningful, carefully inflected voice which stopped Druff cold, “it under the rug.”

“Come on, boys,” Jerry Rector said, “let’s leave the commissioner alone a few minutes. Let’s give him a little time to consider the bank’s latest proposition.”

They filed past him and were heading out the door before Druff knew what was happening. Hamilton Edgar paused and turned in the doorway. “I’ll shut this for you,” he said. “Don’t worry. I won’t lock it. We’ll be just down the hall if you need us.”

“Ham?” Druff said.

“Yes, Commissioner?”

“Is there a washroom? I have to pee.”

“Just in there,” Ham ‘n’ Eggs said. “Behind that door. It’s the rabbi’s. Help yourself,” he said, and walked out with the others.

Druff sat on the toilet (because peeing was the least of it) and thought: Now isn’t this just what I’ve been telling myself? And wondered he hadn’t, at the time hadn’t, understood the implications of what was now so apparent. All this pursuant (grunt, squeeze, release) to his observation the evening previous that life goes on even in the chase scenes. Even character did, its old autonomics. Wasn’t his lie to Hamilton Edgar about needing to pee a testament to his system’s urgent modesty? The body had its own agenda and would not be caught up in the desiderata of even an engaged will. Hell, it couldn’t even be bothered. Brushing and flossing and following — he recalled, among his other meds, the stool softener he’d taken between the time he’d committed adultery and the time he’d gone to bed — doctor’s orders. Even as you, even as me. Your Juicy Fruit in one pocket, your stamps for your letters in the other. He recalled thinking that no matter how hot the pursuit, people with MacGuffins would still need batteries for their transistor radios, and suddenly remembered the zinc batteries for Rose Helen’s hearing aid, making a mental note to pop into a store, if he got the chance, to see if he could pick some up. Life goes on. Speaking of which, hadn’t he told Margaret he’d call? He’d do so now, as soon as he finished his business. While he still had the chance. Amazing, thought Druff, his notions borne out. And the upshot (what he hadn’t realized) was this: that if something as fragile as one’s life could go on, if one, even under duress, could continue to count calories, why then how much more procedural were the general comings-and-goings and business-as- usuals of the universe, all its tidals and opportunities, all its knockabout upheavals and the explosive, piecemeal degradation of the earth and subordinate stars?