Stanley Elkin - A Bad Man

“You should know that you’re not allowed to receive letters while you’re in solitary confinement,” the guard said.

Feldman nodded.

“They hold them for you, of course,” the guard went on. He was looking at Feldman intently.

Feldman nodded.

“They keep them in the census office, where my friend works ,” the guard said. He was staring at Feldman now.

“Say,” Feldman said doubtfully, “would it be too much trouble for you to find out if any are being held for me?”

“I could find out if any are being held for you,” the guard said. “Would you like that?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Feldman said.

‘If you like, I might even be able to tell you who they’re from,” the guard said.

“Would you do that?” Feldman asked.

“No trouble,” the guard said.

“Do you think you could check the postmarks?” Feldman said. “I’d like to have an idea when they were mailed.”

“Sure.”

“And if you could make a notation of the station they were sent from,” Feldman said. “Sometimes a person drops off a letter downtown, or on the way to the movie in the shopping center.”

“Certainly,” the guard said. “The rule states only that mail may not be received by a prisoner in solitary or opened for him.”

“I see. Then could you check the color of the envelope and the kind of stamp that’s been put on it?”

“The stamp?”

“Well, these things could reveal the sender’s mood.”

“Say, that’s right. I’ll check the color of the envelope and the kind of stamp.”

“Could you smell the letter for perfume?”

“Well, I’ll try,” the guard said, “but I have a cold.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Feldman said.

“Thank you, I’ll be all right.”

“Thank God for that,” Feldman said.

“Would you like me to look for little instructions on the front?” the guard asked. “Sometimes it says ‘Personal’ or ‘Please Forward.’”

“I’d be grateful,” Feldman said. “Could you look at the back too? Often the flaps are scalloped.”

“No trouble at all.”

“I miss my people very much,” Feldman said. “I see that,” the guard said.

The guard brought his lunch. “There weren’t any letters for you,” he said.

“Then how we doing in the cold war?” Feldman asked.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said. “You haven’t any newspaper, TV or radio privileges in here. It would be a violation of the spirit of the rules for me to tell you.”

“I see,” Feldman said.

The guard winked broadly. “I don’t suppose my cousin Dorothy will be taking that trip to Berlin this week,” he said in a voice somewhat louder than the one in which he normally spoke.

“That’s too bad,” Feldman said, winking back and raising his voice too. “I can imagine how disappointed she’ll be. But maybe she can go someplace else. They say the Far East is nice this time of year.”

“Well, they say most of the Far East is nice, but they don’t say it about Thailand ,” the guard said. He was practically shouting.

“Don’t they?” Feldman yelled.

“No, they don’t,” the guard yelled back. “ And they don’t say it about Formosa or the offshore islands either .”

“I see,” Feldman said. “Is your brother Walter still doing the shopping for the family?” He held a wink for five seconds.

“I beg your pardon?”

“ Wal ter. Has Wal ter been going down the street to the market recently?”

“Oh, Wal ter, the market . Yes, indeed. Wal ter’s been going to the market . He sure has.” The guard winked, touched his temple, clicked his tongue and nudged Feldman with his elbow.

“Yes? What has he been bringing back with him?”

“Missiles, chemicals, utilities,” the guard said.

Feldman nodded. “How’s your friend Virginia?” he asked after a moment.

“Virginia?”

“You know, Carolina’s sister. The sports fan. The one that’s so interested in races .”

“Races?”

“ Virginia , Caro lina ’s sister, Georgia’s roommate.”

“Oh, Virginia . The one that was a riot last summer?”

“That’s the one.”

“Very quiet,” the guard said, roaring.

Feldman suddenly began to whistle a popular song of a few weeks before. The guard stared at him as Feldman whistled it all the way through. The guard shook his head, and Feldman whistled another song from the same period. He winked one eye, then the other, and began a third song. Before he could finish, the guard brightened and began to hum a tune Feldman had never heard. When he finished that he hummed another song to which he performed in accompaniment a strange shuffling dance Feldman had never seen. Feldman leaned his head against the bars and listened and watched raptly.

“How are the rest of the fellers?” Feldman asked the guard when he brought his breakfast the next morning.

At lunch the warden was with the guard. The guard handed Feldman his tray without a word and stepped outside the cell to stand beside the warden. Feldman placed the tray on his lap primly and began to eat his lunch. He took a bite from his sandwich and looked out at the warden. “How did the men enjoy the movie this week?” he asked. The warden didn’t answer, and Feldman ate his pear. He wiped his lips with his napkin. The guard and the warden continued to stare at him. “Have they completed the construction of the new wing in the infirmary?” Feldman asked. “Have the boys at the foundry met their quota this month?” The warden frowned and turned to go. As the warden started off, the guard shook his head sadly and shrugged. “Is Bisch all right? How’s Slipper? What’s going on at the canteen?” Feldman called. The warden looked back over his shoulder for a moment and glared at Feldman. “I’ll never forget,” Feldman said, “one time — it was on a Sunday afternoon — I had just awakened from a nap and my son Billy was in the room.” The warden turned around, looked at him for a moment and came back toward the cell.

“Yes?” he said.

“It was on a Sunday afternoon,” Feldman said. “I’ll never forget this. Billy was about six or seven. Six, he was six. I had been sleeping, and when I woke up, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was my son.”

“Go on.”

“He was beautiful. I had never seen how beautiful he was. He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged. You know? He had on these short pants, his back was to me. He had come in to be with me in the room while I slept. He pulled some toy cars along in wide arcs beside him and made the noises in his throat, the low rough truck noises, and the sounds of family cars like the singing master’s hum that gives the pitch. He had fire trucks and he did their sirens, and farm machinery that moved by slowly, going chug chug chug .”

“Is this true?” the warden asked.

“Yes,” Feldman said.

“What did you do?” the guard asked. “Did you kiss him?”

“No. I was afraid he’d stop.”

“How long did your mood last?”

“Something happened,” Feldman said.

“Yes?”

“I started to cry. It frightened him.”

“Did you tell him why you were crying?” The warden had come into the cell. He was searching Feldman’s face. Eternity was on the line. What did he have to come into the cell for? “Did you tell him why you were crying?” the warden asked again.

“Yes,” Feldman said. “I told him it was because he woke me up.”

“I see,” the warden said.

“You want the truth, don’t you, Warden?”