Henry Miller - NEXUS

No, not at all—unless it's something very confidential you have to tell him. Even if he were here you would have to deal first with me. Mr. Higginbotham has many irons in the fire; this is only one of his interests. Let me assure you that anything you wish conveyed to him will receive my earnest attention and consideration.

He stopped short. It was my move.

Well sir, I began hesitatingly, but breathing a little more freely, it's not altogether easy to explain the purpose of my visit.

Excuse me, he put in, but may I ask what firm it is you represent?

He leaned forward as if expecting me to drop a card in his hand.

I'm representing myself ... Mr. Larrabee, was it? I'm a writer ... a free lance writer. I hope that doesn't put you off?

Not at all, not at all! he replied.

(Think fast now! Something original!)

You didn't have in mind an advertising campaign, did you? We really...

Oh no! I replied. Not that! I know you have plenty of capable men for that. I smiled weakly. No, it was something more general ... more experimental, shall I say?

I lingered a moment, like a bird in flight hovering over a dubious perch. Mr. Larrabee leaned forward, ears cocked to catch this something of moment.

It's like this, I said, wondering what the hell I would say next. In the course of my career I've come in contact with all manner of men, all manner of ideas. Now and then, as I move about, an idea seizes me ... I don't need to tell you that writers sometimes get ideas which practical minded individuals regards as chimerical. That is, they seem chimerical, until they have been tested.

Quite true, said Mr. Larrabee, his bland countenance open to receive the impress of my idea, whether chimerical or practicable.

It was impossible to continue the delaying tactics any longer. Out with it! I commanded myself. But out with what?

At this point, most fortunately, a man appeared from an adjoining office, holding a batch of letters in his hand. I beg pardon, he said, abut I'm afraid you'll have to stop a moment and sign these. Quite important.

Mr. Larrabee took the letters, then presented me to the man. Mr. Miller is a writer. He has a plan to present to Mr. Higginbotham.

We shook hands while Mr. Larrabee proceeded to bury his nose in the file of correspondence.

Well, said the man—his name was McAuliffe, I believe—well, sir, I must say we don't see many writers round these parts. He pulled out a cigarette case and offered me a Benson and Hedges. Thank you, I said, permitting him to light the cigarette for me. Sit down, won't you? he said. You don't mind if I chat with you a moment, I hope? One doesn't get a chance to meet a writer every day.

A few more polite parries and then he asked: Do you write books or are you a newspaper correspondent by chance?

I pretended to have done a little of everything. I put it that way as if modesty compelled it.

I see, I see, said he. How about novels?

Pause. I could see he wanted more.

I nodded. Even detective stories occasionally.

My specialty, I added, is travel and research.

His spine suddenly straightened up. Travel! Ah, I'd give my right arm to have a year off, a year to go places. Tahiti! That's the place I want to see! Ever been there?

As a matter of fact, yes, I replied. Though not for long. A few weeks, that's all. I was on my way back from the Carolines.

The Carolines? He seemed electrified now. What were you doing there, may I ask?

A rather fruitless mission, I'm afraid. I went on to explain how I had been cajoled into joining an anthropological expedition. Not that I was in any way qualified. But it was an old friend of mine—an old class-mate—who was in charge of the expedition and he had persuaded me to go along. I was to do as I pleased. If there was a book in it, fine. If not ... and so on.

Yes, yes! And what happened?

In a few weeks we were all taken violently ill. I spent the rest of my time in the hospital.

The phone on Mr. Larrabee's desk rang imperiously. Excuse me, said Mr. Larrabee, picking up the receiver. We waited in silence while he carried on a lengthly conversation about imported teas. The conversation finished, he jumped to his feet, handed Mr. McAuliffe the signed correspondence and, as if charged with an injection, said:

Now then, Mr. Miller, about your plan...

I rose to shake hands with the departing Mr. McAuliffe, sat down again, and without more ado launched into one of my extravaganzas. Only this time I was bent on telling the truth. I would tell the truth, nothing but the truth, then good-bye.

Rapid and condensed as was this narrative of my earthly adventures and tribulations, I realized nevertheless that I was genuinely imposing on Mr. Larrabee's time, not to mention his patience. It was the way he listened, all agog, like a frog peering at you from the mossy edge of a pond, that urged me on. All about us the clerks had vanished; it was well into the lunch hour. I halted a moment to inquire if I wasn't preventing him from lunching. He waved the question aside. Go on, he begged, I'm completely yours.

And so, after I had brought him up to date, I proceeded to make confession. Not even if Mr. Higginbotham had suddenly and unexpectedly come back from Africa could I stop now.

There's absolutely no excuse for having wasted your time, I began. I really have no plan, no project to propose. However, it wasn't to make a fool of myself that I barged in here. There come times when you simply must obey your impulses. Even if it sounds strange to you ... after all I've told you about my life ... I nevertheless believe that there must be a place for one like me in this world of industry. The usual procedure, when one tries to break down the barrier, is to ask for a place at the bottom. It's my thought, however, to begin near the top. I've explored the bottom—it leads nowhere. I'm talking to you, Mr. Larrabee, as if I were talking to Mr. Higginbotham himself. I'm certain I could be of genuine service to this organization, but in what capacity I can't say. All I have to offer, I suppose, is my imagination—and my energy, which is inexhaustible. It's not a matter of a job altogether, it's an opportunity to solve my immediate problem, a problem which is purely personal, I grant you, but of desperate importance to me. I could throw myself into anything, particularly if it made demands on my ingenuity. This checkered career, which I've briefly outlined, I feel it must have been to some purpose. I'm not an aimless individual, nor am I unstable. Quixotic perhaps, and rash at times, but a born worker. And I work best when in harness. What I'm trying to convey to you, Mr. Larrabee, is that whoever created a place for me would never regret it. This is a tremendous organization, with wheels within wheels. As a cog in a machine I'd be worthless. But why make me part of a machine? Why not let me inspire the machine? Even if I have no plan to submit, as I fully admit, that is not to say that tomorrow I might not come up with one. Believe me, it's of the utmost importance that at this juncture some one should put a show of confidence in me. I've never betrayed a trust, take my word for it. I don't ask you to hire me on the spot, I merely suggest that you hold out a little hope, that you promise to give me a chance, if it is at all possible, to prove to you that all I say is not mere words.

I had said all I wanted to say. Rising to my feet, I extended my hand. It was most kind of you, I said.

Hold on, said Mr. Larrabee. Let me catch up with you.

He gazed out the window a good full moment, then turned to me.

You know, he said, not one man in ten thousand would have had the courage, or the effrontery, to engage me in such a proposition. I don't know whether to admire you or—. Look here, vague as it all is, I promise you I will give thought to your request. Naturally, I can't do a thing until Mr. Higginbotham returns. Only he could create a place for you...