William Gass - Omensetter’s Luck

Though the watched pot wouldn't — now there was a bubble — something stirring, the woolly mammoth moving, his face eclipsing queerly.

You follow me?

Nudgewinkbump, as crude as, nearly. Bim. Am I making myself out? The christmas cookie. Making it clearly? Soon I shall. Have patience though patience is painful. Bam. Winken and Blinken and Nod one night crawled under their underclothes. Bum. Please have patience. Wrathfully bitten christmas cookie, curving according to the mouth. And he bulks bigly still. Ape. Like what did he say I talk? like what? Cock-a-doodle-do? An owl, a cat, a kangaroo? He doesn't understand my anger, my exasperation.

Such phrases as: bottled body fluids — they mean nothing to you? Ah well, you're hard.

My dame has lost her shoes. I see a balloon in the day sky — God's plae face. Smiling. Which comes from going about unlaced. Cinderella's was of glass, a glass slipper. None of them was nicely fitted. Glass lets you know.

Shall I explicate the figure for you, Matthew, as I might a holy parable?

My master's lost his fiddling stick and what's my dame to do? Pour the pebbles out. Face of truth. On fatty Ruth. No withy smithy, not he. A gloomy Goliath. Let's go out Daviding. Whom can we dap into dim death, do you think, with our stoning?

Well. As I say-his-wait-Henry's pulsing stalk — hold up now — Monday through Sunday-contain yourself, let me explain — she — Lucy — snipped as often as it showed itself— as often, as often —no, no, easy, wait, d it, wait I say, be easy! — then she boiled the snippings, when she had enough, bound in upright bunches — wait a moment please, one more moment… like asparagus in their canning glasses — you're making me shout! — to cool and shelve and count them later, contemplate and ponder — you wouldn't wouldn't jostle—

Shoved, pushed, well-touched. . jesus. . bumped, banged, bimmied by god, brushed… christ… so, struck, struck… you don't touch the minister…

Your action's clear enough. You don't relish the explanation though it was important to me to complete it. There's no anger in you, Matthew, except your anger against me. Hardly fair, if fair's up.

I shall pee you like rain on a window. I shall dissolve, disperse…The Lord shall bless my labor. I shall shit you like shavings… I shall spread, disperse… The Lord shall bless my labor.

Here are all the jars for June. His favorite time. Wonderful crop. We had a lot of rain. How thick and straight they are; how sweetly shaped; put up so well, if I may praise myself as openly as bees do, their bravery still swells in them — oh I know — christ — all right. For you I shall desist. I'm done. Still I make a splendid— all right! Disgusting if you think so. Unjust if you like. But intolerabilius nihil est quam femina dives… Not so near! I have a horror… ah, god. I'm cold… Well then what's strange about him, Matthew? I come back to our sheep; that should please you. What is it? Mind, it's not for me to say…

Thank god he's turning away. Thank god.

It's not for either one of us to judge its meaning.

Owl am I? no, kangaroo he said. Well. Did he? He's still stuttering… Through his back now I can hardly hear the grunting. Not fox. Not likely. Py-thon. Squeeeeeze. Speech? Eh? What?

Then Furber feared he might dissolve in giggles. Mat was folding up, his pleats were touching: kiss me on the eyes before they close, good-bye, sweet love, I had my hand at hunting in my time and read the dung of moose — pathfinder, man of double-barreled gun. Furber touched Mat's arm.

There, there, he said soothingly, just let me be the judge.

Thunder under the mountain… Owl ox.

Hush.

Furber put his hands over his ears. He rocked back on his heels. Quick quick quick the sand the softening sand the bursting board the bog of dreams.

He knows the future, Matthew, admit that.

Fanfaronade… goose coot.

Hush.

Furber shook his head.

It's plain and clear, he said. Omensetter's knowledge, not Omensetter's luck.

Listen for a minute just this once—

gibbon hare!

I am listening, Matthew.

Look — if you, Chamlay, or Olus Knox, or I, or anyone like that — someone, say, with kids, all girls maybe like Olus has, and like Olus wanting a boy to bear his name on—

Vanity.

Well anyway suppose Knox was expecting another—

His wife's past that.

drill bull

gull snipe

It doesn't matter, does it? Just suppose, can't you?

Sup-po-sit-ion. . mule, rail.

He's waiting for the kid to come, thinking this time it must be a boy, it just must be a boy, and then he talks and talks and talks about it, he talks to each of us about it, all the time talking and talking to us, and to himself, too, of course, and lie listens to the women going on about those signs the way they do sometimes, and to the men, too, who are interested in calves, the way Knox is himself, in colts and calves, and then he starts looking for them because he's so concerned, like I said, so full of the desire to see them, and because he wants to see them, why — he does; and then he thinks, it's true, a boy is coming down to me, a boy is coming out of her, and this goes on, you know, like people do go on, and soon he's just as sure as if he'd crawled inside like Edna Hoxie said she could and looked.

So Edna Hoxie said that.

If Knox went on that way—

Disagreeable woman.

We — we wouldn't think twice about it, I mean if his luck held out and he got the boy he wanted.

Laughter carried Furber off, flushing his cheeks and bringing tears to his eyes. He drew a handkerchief from his coat and covered his face.

No, he said in a muffled voice, because it's — because it's Olus Knox we — wouldn't — but…

Furber threw up a supplicating hand and withdrew the handkerchief momentarily from his face.

Be — because it's that fellow O-O-ah…

The handkerchief flew back and Furber folded sharply over, shuddering.

Because it's that — that fellow — oh — we do — and — that's the hoe — whole of it, Matthew — you couldn't have put it better.

Unclasped and straight again, he filled his lungs and dabbed at his eyes. Watson's body settled slowly. Hadn't it moved? Blinking, he restored the face and its embarrassment — or was it bewilderment? or anger? or surprise? Who knew? A little simple annoyance? no more? Mat was drifting toward the back of the shop out of sight.

Well I'm warm now, Furber said, still gasping a bit. If I laughed like that — if — as often as Omensetter does, why — hoo — it would kill me, like as not. He's sick, you say?

… his daw said.

Which?

Whaa?

Which daughter?

…ohlderan.

Who?

… older…

Yes, What's her name?

Name?

Yes. Did you ever hear him say?

The baby's name is Amos.

I know. Amos. Interesting. But the others? The girls'?

No. I don't know the girls'.

It isn't that you've forgotten?

No. I don't believe I ever knew.

Matthew.

What's—

They don't have any. They haven't any names. They are without names. Doesn't that strike you as strange?

Oh I guess they have names.

What names?

Well I don't know what names.

They haven't any names. Ask him.

I'll ask him.

When will you see him?

When he's feeling better. When he's well.

You won't go out to see him?

He'll be back when he's better.

You won't go out to see him?

I might. I don't know.

Have you ever been out to see him?

No, not yet.

Not yet? The dog has a name, had you noticed?

The dog does?

Arthur.

Oh. Yes. I guess I knew that.

When you go, ask him.

I will. I'll ask him. It doesn't matter.