Сол Беллоу - Dangling Man

But for all that, Joseph suffers from a feeling of strangeness, of not quite belonging to the world, of lying under a cloud and looking up at it. Now, he says, all human beings share this to some extent. The child feels that his parents are pretenders; his real father is elsewhere and will some day come to claim him. And for others the real world is not here at all and what is at hand is spurious and copied. Joseph's feeling of strangeness sometimes takes the form almost of a conspiracy: not a conspiracy of evil, but one which contains the diversified splendors, the shifts, excitements, and also the common, neutral matter of an existence. Living from day to day under the shadow of such a conspiracy is trying. If it makes for wonder, it makes even more for uneasiness, and one dings to the nearest passers-by, to brothers, parents, friends, and wives.

PREPATIONS for the holiday. I went out yesterday to do some shopping for Iva. Downtown there were bell ringers on every corner, in beards of soiled cotton and red Santa Claus costumes. For love of the poor, for dear charity, dang-clanging away in the din. Immense wreaths were mounted on buildings in the green, menacing air; the thousands upon thousands of shoppers ground through the stores and the streets under the smoky red facades and in the amplified roar of carols. The holly berries flashed on the tarred poles in thick drops. The jukeboxes in the taverns were playing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas." Everyone prays for snow, and the thought of rainor sleet brings panic. vanaker is restless these days. He keeps moving the i@cci. furniture around his room. Marie complains more thanever. By changing the position of the bed he makes ithard for her to clean the room. The door is blocked. Shedoesn't like to go in anyway. He doesn't keep himselfclean, she claims.

Instead of sending his linen to the laundry, he airs it at the window. He hangs up his underwearat night and forgets to take it down in the morning. Mrs. briggs tells me that he is engaged to marry a lady of sixtywho insists that he be converted to the Catholic faith andthat he goes every evening to the church of St.

Thomas theApostle for indoctrination. At the same time, I notice thathe receives large quantities of mail from the MasonicScottish Rite. It may be this conflict of principle thatdrives him to get up at two in the morning to change theposition of his bed. we have two invitations to Christmas dinner, one fromthe Almstadts and another from my brother Amos. I amfor refusing both.

Ar trationrStrL explosion of temper this afternoon, when I was with Myron Adler. I behaved unaccountably, greatly surprising myself and, of course, bewildering Myron alt. he had phoned me about a temporary job which would consist of asking people questions for a poll he is conducting. I hurried down to meet him at the Arrow for lunch. I arrived first, took a table toward the back, and immediately fell victim to depression. I had not visited the Arrow for a number of years. It was at one time a hangout for earnest eccentrics where, at almost any hour of the afternoon or evening, you could hear discussions of socialism, psychopathology, or the fate of European Man. It was I who had suggested that we eat there; for some reason it had been the first place that came to my mind. blow it depressed me. Then, as I looked around at the steam tables and the posters of foundering ships and faces of Japanese, I suddenly saw Jimmy Burns sitting at a table with a man I did not know. Since the days when we had been Comrade Joe and Comrade Jim, we had seen each other no more than two, perhaps three, times. He looked changed; his forehead had grown higher and his expression more severe. I nodded to him, but got no recognition for my pains; he looked through me in the way which is, I suppose, officially prescribed for "renegades."

When Myron came in a few minutes later and started at once to talk about the job, I said impatiently, "Wait a second, now. Just hold on."

"What's the matter?"

"Something very special," I said. "Wait till I tell you. You see that man in the brown suit over there? That's Jimmy Burns. Ten years ago I was privileged to call him Comrade Jimmy."

"Well?" said Myron.

"I said hello to him, and he acted as if I simply wasn't there.")

"What of it?" said Myron.

"Does that seem natural? I was once a close friend."

"Well?" said Myron.

"Stop saying that, will you!" I said in exasperation.

"I mean, do you want him to throw his arms around you?" asked Myron.

"You don't get the point. I despise him."

"Then I don't get the point. I confess I don't get it."

"1o. Listen. He has no business ignoring me. This is always happening to me.

You don't understand it because you're a person of no political experience. But I know what this means, and I'm going to go up to him and say hello whether he likes it or not."

"Don't be a fool. What do you want to make trouble for?" said Myron.

"Because I feel like making trouble. Does he know me or doesn't he? He knows me perfectly well." I was growingangrier by the minute. "I'm surprised that you shouldn't be able to see it."

"I came here to talk to you about a job, not to see you throw a fit," he said.

"Oh, a fit.1ggo you think I care about him? It's the prin. ciple of the thing. It seems to escape you. Simply because I am no longer a ember of their party they have instructed him and boobs like him not to talk to me.13on't you see what's involved?"

"No," Myron said carelessly.

"I'll tell you what's involved. I have a right to be spoken to. It's the most elementary thing in the world. Simply that. I insist on it."

"Oh, Joseph," said Myron.

"go, really, listen to me. Forbid one man to talk to anotherForbid him to communicate with someone else, and you've forbidden him to think, because, as a great many writers will tell you, thought is a kind of communication.

And his party doesn't want him to think, but to follow its discipline. So there you are. Because it's supposed to be a revolutionary party. That's what's offending me. When a man obeys an order like that he's helping to abolish freedom and begin tyranny."

"Come, come," said Myron. "You're making too much. fuss over it."

"I should be making twice as much fuss," I said. "It's very important."

"But you've been through with them for years, haven't you?" Myron asked. "Do you mean to say you've just discovered this now?"

"I haven't forgotten, that's all. You see, I thought those people were different. I haven't forgotten that I believed they were devoted to the service of some grand flapdoodle, the Race, le genre huraain.

Oh, yes, they were! By the time I got out, I realized that any hospital nurse did more with one bedpan for le genre humain than they did with their entire organization. It's odd to think that there was a time when to hear that would have filled me with horror.

What? Reformism?"

"I've heard of that," said Myron.

"I should think so. Reformism! A terrible thing.

About a month after we parted company, I sat down and wrote Jane Addams a letter of apology. She was still alive."

"Did you?" he said, looking at me curiously.

"I never mailed it," I said. "Maybe I should have.

Don't you believe me?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I changed my mind about redoing the world from top to bottom t la Karl Marx and decided in favor of bandag- ing a few sores at a time. Of course, that was temporary, too '@.

"Was it?" he said.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! You know that, Mike,"

I said loudly.

The man who was sitting with Burns turned around, but the latter still pretended not to see me. "That's right," I said. "Look the other way. Go on. That boy is mad, Myron. He's never been sane.