Dana Spiotta: Eat the Document

“I just check out the indexes to see what the reference points are and sometimes the bibliographies. I like to see what they are stringing together, where they came from. I don’t need some academic hack’s introduction to contextualize it for me.”

Nash nodded.

“Sometimes I only read the index.”

“That’s very modern, isn’t it?” Nash said. Now he remembered what a narc vibe this kid gave off. “Some books of philosophy and social theory from independent small presses didn’t have indexes until someone, perhaps an academic hack, added them later.”

“I don’t necessarily want to read the essays as organized. I like to skip around and hunt out specific subjects of interest. I like things chaptered and sectioned. I like headings and subdivisions.”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“Fifty cents.”

Josh smiled at that and took a calfskin billfold out of the inside chest pocket of his raincoat. He pulled a dollar out and put it down on the table in front of Nash.

“You shouldn’t charge less than a dollar. It devalues things,” he said, not looking at Nash and sniffing the surface of the book. “People won’t respect things if they think you are giving them away.”

“That is totally wrongheaded. You don’t know what you are talking about,” Nash said. Josh looked at him, his mouth now slightly open. He still held the book. “I mean,” Nash said, softening his tone a bit, “I refuse to accept that.”

Josh leaned down to the table so his face was close to Nash.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” he said in a low tone. “I’m sure you saw what he did.” Nash scrutinized the next book in his pile.

“That kid lifted a magazine. Why didn’t you stop him?”

Nash marked a price on the inside cover of the book and then recorded it on his clipboard list.

“By the way, that’s a very mildewed book, you know,” he said, pointing with his pencil at the book Josh still held.

“You saw him. Stealing. I know you did.”

Nash pushed the dollar back at him. “Thing is, I can’t sell you a mildewed book. It wouldn’t be right. You can have it.”

Josh didn’t move.

“Just take the book. It’s yours.”

HENRY QUINN wore his mechanic coveralls. At 1:45 a.m. he moved quickly across a parking lot on Third Avenue. The streets were quiet but not at all dark. This didn’t concern him. After several nights in this street at this time, he knew that very few people passed by. Very few cars passed by. The only time he had ever seen a police car in the area was at 2:30, and then only in pursuit of someone at some other place.

It was a cool early summer night, but Henry was already sweating in his coveralls. He pulled a black watch cap off his head and put it in his side pocket. He kept his head shaved, and when he looked up at the side wall of the building, deep furrows formed in the skin where the back of his head pushed into his neck. A pain shot down into his shoulder. He couldn’t remember when his neck and back didn’t hurt. He wanted a drink and to lie on his bed with the odd-shaped neck pillow and the heating pad. He walked onto the side street perpendicular to the avenue. The street banked steeply to a series of alleys leading to Elliott Bay, and he could smell the ancient midnight damp from the Sound behind the buildings at the bottom of the hill. Most of the street light came from the illuminated billboard attached to the brick side of the building that faced the side street. The vinyl face of the billboard had enormous sans serif letters that spelled Endurit and Abiden . The legend underneath read:

Cutting-edge psychopharmacology in the new

Nepenthex Pairing System:

what gets you through the longest nights

and the hardest days

He couldn’t help hearing the liquid-toned voices of the television ads for the two drugs, the man’s voice saying “longest nights,” the woman’s voice, barely overlapping the man’s, saying “hardest days.” Underneath the letters there was a picture of two curved and interlocking pills in a pink, luminous chiaroscuro that glowed in virtual three dimensions in the spotlights. Under that, in smaller letters, it said:

Ask your doctor if the Nepenthex System of

Endurit and Abiden is right for you

Henry stared for a moment, unable to stop himself from either reading the board or hearing the mellifluous voice of the woman from the TV ad. He stood and waited, sweating. At precisely 2:00, the lights on the board timed out. Henry tried to take another deep breath, but already it was difficult, and he walked away from the board to a fire escape that led to the roof. He tied a rope to one of the metal bars holding the board to the building. The board didn’t have a ladder attached like most billboards. He hooked himself to the rope with a carabiner and attached it to a thick nylon belt around his legs and waist. He pulled at it and then walked to the edge of the building. He dangled the rope down the front of the board. Up close he could see it was thick vinyl sheeting. He took out a large retractable-blade knife. He lay on his stomach and slammed the knife into the corner, pushing it until it punctured the surface. He struggled to pull rightward, cutting the vinyl across the top. White, powdery dust that smelled of new plastic puffed out from the cut vinyl and filled the air by his head. He felt his lungs close as he inhaled. Fumbling with the zipper on his coveralls, Henry fished out his inhaler just as he was about to pass out. He sucked on the inhaler, lying on the roof and staring at the night sky. He felt the cold, wet spray of the Sound blowing faintly on him. He could see the blue-black of the water from up here. He wanted to go back to his house and take a pill and fall asleep. But he reached again into his coveralls and pulled out a bandanna and covered his mouth and nostrils. He very slowly resumed his cutting of the vinyl board.

He had considered every possibility — and certainly the idea that he shouldn’t remove the vinyl from the wall but add to it instead. Some smart riposte to the ad. He’d seen others do it. The Gap Kids board by the freeway. The picture was of some beautiful Asian toddler in a pink corduroy hat. It just said “Gap Kids.” But someone, or some group, pasted under it, in exactly the same font,

made for kids, by kids

He admitted it was clever. Smart-aleck clever. But to Henry that kind of addition made it all just a joke, a way of showing off that you had the technology to match the font. And the wit to torque their intentions. That you could hijack their ad through your own savvy mastery of ad language and technology. Leave that to these ad-addicted kids. Didn’t it just pile onto the general noise and garbage? Besides, was that even true about the child labor? Well, probably it was.

After he finished cutting the top, Henry used the rope to slowly rappel down the front of the billboard, cutting the vinyl as he lowered himself.

The vinyl sheeting came down over him as he cut. At the very last cut he pulled himself off to the side and watched the whole sheet bend forward until the picture faced the building and the wall was clear. Henry was exhausted, his arms were shaking. There was no way he was climbing back up. He looked down at the vinyl sheet hanging below him. Its bottom edge was maybe five feet from the street. He loosened the hook from the rope and climbed down the vinyl. At the bottom he jumped the last five feet. He landed fine, actually, no pain at all. He stepped back from the building and looked at the gray brick.

At last, he didn’t have to look at it. Henry pulled off his face scarf and breathed in the night air. He started to shiver. He pulled his fingers out of the finger holes of his gloves and balled them together for warmth. He stared at the brick face one more time. It was only after he started to walk to his car that he realized his face was wet. Salty drops streamed down the creases by the corners of his eyes and into his mouth and dangled from his chin. His vision blurred. Henry sighed. Christ.