William Gass - Omensetter’s Luck

Look Jethro — please — we're both tired and it's the end of the—

Yes, yes. Agreed. The—

Look — it's a difficult time. It's been a long day. I'm tired. Done in.

A tired body makes a ready mind.

Mat began to protest but Furber cut him off. He had thrust both palms forward, and Mat's veiled eyes had seen them. If one person is the grave of another, he wondered, what part is in the arm, for instance? There could be a correspondence, I suppose, of arm to arm and nose to nose, but what if the deceased is a much larger fellow? And justice would be better served in many cases, I should think, if the head of the dead one were hung down in the buttocks of the other, or if the heart of the corpse could be seen through the eyes — that would tell you something. Camel. Hump where the head is. That's why. Two humps: two heads. The heads of infants — several. Or embracing lovers. A camel's good dry ground and thus to be preferred for lying at any length in. Creatures of that kind will come high, likely, once it's known. On such a chance, though, it would be wise to reserve one now. Of course cash in hand in a case like this is certainly essential. Also you could specify the place the camel, when it dies, should be laid to rest. It's the sort of transmigration which might have pleased Pythagoras had anyone had the wit within his time to think of it.

Clodhopper. Pee bottle.

My name is Philly Kinsman.

I am a famous bandsman.

My fife's my wife,

but on my life,

when I unease my trumpet,

all the ladies…

(in these parts)

all the ladies. .

(bless their hearts)

all the ladies hump it.

Hell you say — What was wavering? Darkness spinning like the seed of a maple.

My name is Philly Kinsman.

I am a famous bandsman.

Though my trombone

gives quite a tone

whene'er the ladies pump it,

it's very sore

from playing more

music than

it bargained for,

and still the ladies pump it.

Mat sniffed, lifting his arm to his face. Light spread over the floor.

You spent the day hunting Henry, I suppose, Furber said, his voice light and quiet, calm and low, scarcely in motion while he searched Mat's face, alert as an animal for any change. How'd it go? a day of stubby fields, eh? They twist your ankles. I know how that is. It's wearing when it's all for nothing. Weeds and burrs — they're everywhere this time of year and very trying too, as sighting endlessly down rows of corn is, and poking in the little caves along the river — you looked there? — depressing when it's all for nothing; and along the fences, the shocks and hayhills-you investigated them? for nothing? Well your clothes look picked and there's a mean scratch on your chin — has it been stinging? Hawthorn thickets would account for it, I'll bet, and berry tangles — damnable things — and that marsh ground, too; did it wet through your shoes and wash your ankles? a bit chilling, eh? Well a nasty business all around — so very tiring when it's all for nothing. Sure. It makes a long day.

Gay songs and vulgar catches… death…

You don't think that he's run off then? You're not of that opinion? He was an unraveled man, a doll's sort, thoroughly unticked, unstrung, with no heart for flight, thrown by disease-is that your theory? and his wife all the while a flail, a handful of stones — oh I know; I know, he's a friend still, though he's wrapped himself in fronds to winter over like an ambitious hopeful worm, to see the spring, eh? but as a man he was sunken in spirit like those rowboats you see rotting by the shore, aslope with river water, or like that house he rented Omensetter, gone to moss and weeds and soft besotted boards. that's the view you're taking? I know— I know your feeling. Hoh. I'm a man of feeling too. Yet what was he but some vegetable that hadn't reached her canning, some parsnip or potato? Oh, and his wife's a friend, I know — I know. It's distressing. And you're opposed to everything I'm saying. Trust me, Matthew. Goodness. So am I. But people have their fears… and Matthew — these fears must be put by.

Mat was speaking. His collar had chafed his neck. His tongue appeared. The lord kinkle it.

You can help me, Mat.

At the friendly note, Mat's right eye rose, his hispidulous cheeks bulged with air: puff pop, he spoke.

You are — I confess it, observe that, I confess it — you are essential to me. I have to have you, Mat.

My frankness has dispossessed him. I'm faced by puzzlement — oh hoo ha — perhaps by fear? Bug beneath the rug. Mat rubs his ear. Tick talk.

Don't mock me, Matthew.

That threw him off. His eyes slid. What to make of it. He'd give anything to get away. Well that's my price. I'm two hours late for the Nones myself. Little doth he realize I' am the pope's panjandrum in disguise. His mass is shifting. Watch his feet, oh Furb the foxer, he may be big, but he's no boxer.

Don't you trust me, Matthew?

It's not — it's not a matter of trust.

Ah, isn't it?

Furber threw up his arms and darted toward the rear of the shop.

Darkness seeped from Matthew's mouth and spilled like smoke on either side of Furber. A dream. An idol breathing steam. He was running blind and struck something. Consequently.

Just that, said Furber, dwindling. Fears of Heaven.

Lord love us. Everything above us. Love us.

Furber returned to the forge and flung his arms over it. Heaven forsaking fears.

Oh all right, all right, what else?

Else? Else? What do you take me for? Isn't that enough?

Oh well now nonsense, Jethro.

Yes indeed, you're quite right, certainly, nonsense.

Furber snapped his fingers sharply.

Nonsense… but?

He opened out his hands. He slumped.

The pope's chief panjandrum. A genii. Look at the lion. I… I… shaken to the roots. Towns begining in C: Columbus, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chillicothe… Come and confess? What was he daring? all this god a'mighty amounting? to my making them up? Jesus. Look at my coat's color — is it not honest?

Ah.

Furber placed his palms against his cheeks. I get no trust.

Oh look here, don't be silly, I don't distrust you.

Under menacing eyebrows, pebble-smooth nose, over sharpening fingers, Matthew's speech stream burbled.

Just the same, you know you tend to… well, you're, always sort of making mountains, you know, making mysteries out of molehills, always warning and willying the way you do and carrying on…

Towns beginning — towns beginning in — god I can't think of any.

Of course I'm not against that. I'm not objecting. Maybe that's your business and you know your business and you're doing what you're supposed to, but… well, after all, what are they anyway?

Towns — towns… Where have I nestled that dagger? I shall kiss him now and eat him later. Left or right, it does not matter if I contaminate my sacred hand with this pig's blood.

Who has them — these fears, I mean? You have them, is all, Jethro. That's all. You. You have them.

In his face a handful of coals — could he manage? Scoop them quickly — there!

No place for that here, Matthew. No place and time for that now. But we must bruise the serpent, eh?

He peered queerly past his shoulder.

There aren't any children about. That accounts for it. That's strange. Where are they? They play around here, don't they? every day.

Mat nodded. The door was forcing itself into his back.

Roll hoops?

On one foot, Furber began jumping.

Hopscotch — remember?

Warily, Mat moved in from the door as Furber leaped past.

Ever skip rope? kick the can? how about hide and seek?

He stopped, noisily huff-puffing his cheeks. He had never uttered an untruth in his life. All his lies had been… necessary.