A Singular Man (21 page)

Smith looking down upon his cool beer. Foam gently climbing the edge of the glass. A thick slab of onion. Deeply worn smooth grain of the table. The light eyes of Bonniface. Whose earthly wish he once said was to be taken back into history and there be assigned four porters to fetch him to various breweries on a throne.

"George listen to me. Never let your capability get confounded. I know you've found the mammoth nipple. Have it hidden somewhere in this town. Look out the window and watch the cars. When they stop flowing that's the time to worry. You rich. Me banjaxed. Wait, don't go."

"Bonniface, I'm going. You and Mr. Mystery stay. But I must go. Urgently."

Bonniface rising, bowing. Mr. Mystery flapping his tail on the floor.

"George I will tell you the whereabouts of Her Majesty when you come back."

Smith entering a delicatessen across the street. After much heated and hilarious argument he bought a paper bag from the proprietor who said they were for customers to carry a purchase. Smith reaching a fast settlement, buying the air rights within the said container. Stepping outside, late lunch stampede on the pavements. Smith into a cab. At a traffic light, driver shouting epithets out the window at another taxi. Why don't you smoke a bomb. Why don't you dig a grave and drop dead. Lights go green. To sadness and deals. And every man's hope.

To get

In her

Without

A wedding.

17

I
N
front of a tall marble building. Gigantic bronze doors. Smith entering this emporium of finance with his paper bag. Late noonday sun beaming from high barred windows and warming Smith's dark shoulders as he wrote on a little piece of paper. Standing in a line of fidgeting depositors. A breast distinctly shoving him in the back. The mammoth nipple Bonnif ace mentioned.

Smith's turn. Pushing across his little piece of paper. To a Mister Cheer it said on a little sign, whose face blossomed and nearly flew with friendship. Wide bow tie for a propeller. Who thought for one amazed second it was a stickup.

"One moment, Sir."

"I can't spare it."

"O."

"In rather a hurry."

"Well you see, I'll have to clarify the situation Mr. Smith. I mean is it for the payoff."

"I beg your pardon. Do I have to sue you and this bank for aspersion."

"But a cheque this size for cash, well I'm supposed to clarify."

"How dare you."

"I could lose my job. This is an awful lot of money."

"You suggesting that I am attempting to commit fraud."

"No sir."

"Then instantly fulfil the sum of that cheque, in brand new notes."

"Mr. Smith I know you must be nervous over being sued. I mean supposing there was some miscalculation in your account, sir."

"Are you suggesting errors, that the balance forward is a wrong number. And what do you mean by sued and payoff/* "You're putting words into my mouth. Only want to verify the clarification of balance for your convenience."

"My convenience is that you answer this cheque in cash instantly or I shall take steps to deal with your first aspersions. Cast irresponsibly on my character."

"I'll do just as you say. I'm new at this branch. I mean anyone can lose control and attack."

Mr. Cheer like employees everywhere is uttering irrelevancies. Perspiration on his brow now dripping on the banknotes. Fingers peeling up their edges, knuckles banging the marble, making one little neat pile next to another.

"You want to count this yourself, Mr. Smith."

"I measure by eye. Put one more on that pile you'll be right."

"Better count this again."

Smith pressed from behind by the mammoth aggressive breasts. Life is too fast to bother to turn and say madam please don't splash those on me. Close this account down with a shattering clang. Nervous being sued. Of course I'm nervous being sued. My mind is hair raising.

"Mr. Smith, youVe got some eye, you're right, a note short."

"Just slide diem in this bag. Must rush."

Making sure glass was not in front of his forward motion, George Smith left the bank and turned down the elegant street recently planted with baby trees. Suddenly finding his position blocked by a fat lady, he lowered his head and ran. At the corner hailing a taxi. Giving the driver a designation to go round and round the park. Between my feet a bag of money. For some it grows on trees. Glad I've got such a big forest.

George Smith sat back on the leather, heartily sorry for various sins. One's life now mercantile might suddenly become marine. My sad unfinished tomb. With winter on the way. Still hoisting up the great blocks of marble. They lock together like a puzzle.

Yellow taxi carrying George Smith on its humming rires through the park. By bridle paths under bridges. Four young men in lipstick on top of a rock smiling. Little kids rolling a watermelon down a hill. Rowboats and water birds on the sunny lake. Lurking bodies in the bushes. Showing only a sign of a hand, a face and sometimes a more naughty thing. Each elegant back I see strolling, I think of Her Majesty. And it's just another empty face. While my hip bones ache with fear.

"Mister I'm getting nervous driving around this park. You got to give me a destination. I got to go somewhere. Too much responsibility going nowhere."

"I'll give you an address."

"Thanks a lot."

Smith taking a little black book. Peel back the pages, torn, worn and dirty. Decipher a scribble near this great letter T. For Tomson. She reared up in the dark. Shouted, you don't even know where I live. I took the address down. And since. Have been too terrified to go. Pull up my socks now. Steam south and west.

"Driver go to this address."

"On the paper."

"Yes."

"Glad to."

Down a hill under shady trees. Up to traffic lights and across the avenue. Past entrances that lead to the rapid transit. Something is wrong. I twitch and fear. Would like to have a friend. Just now and have none. At best, Bonniface is a crazy companion. The rest of my life I would stay with Miss Tomson. Near all her chill blue beauty. Threading our way through the throng of opportunists. And hand in hand take one gigantic leap together and wake up in the next world. Wearing red underwear.

"Driver stop."

At a street corner. Smith reaching through the window for an afternoon newspaper. Slipping out a coin.

"O.K. Driver, on, please."

Folding open the paper. A glance across the front page. At the bottom a picture and a headline.

ENGINEER SUES TOMB BUILDING FINANCIER OVER SOCK IN SUBWAY.

A summons was issued today against Mr. George Smith formerly of 33 Golf Street and removed to Dynamo House, Owl Street where he was traced. The victim Mr. H. Halitoid of Fartbrook claims he was the innocent recipient of a right hook to the jaw in the rapid transit while his attention was distracted with other passengers watching a rat gambol down the tracks. As he and other spectators on the Battery platform (uptown side) waited for the rodent to be electrocuted, Mr. Halitoid alleged a fist encased in a knuckle duster thundered out of space and (according to his doctors) landed on his lower mandible scattering biscuspids everywhere.

Interviewed at his bedside this morning, Mr. Halitoid declared that terror Avas rampant in this city and asked this reporter, "Are our rights to be protected or must we walk in fear outside our homes."

Mr. George Smith whose name at times has vaguely been connected with dealings in the financial district was not available at his business address nor at Merry Mansions where he resides with many other prominent citizens, and show business personalities.

The picture taken by our photographer by telephoto lens (white structure at right centre in trees) is believed to be the only picture in existence of Mr. Smith's tomb, still abuilding in Renown Cemetery. The mausoleum when finished will, it is rumoured, be the largest of its kind anywhere and will contain every modern innovation including plumbing.

At the gates of Renown Cemetery, this reporter asked Mr. Browning architect in charge of building, "If he considered Mr. Smith's tomb a new note in graveyard antics consistent with the attack asserted by Mr. Halitoid." And he replied to this reporter, "According to my experience, Mr. Smith is a rare gentleman of the old school."

"Hey mister you all right back there."

'Tes."

"Look as if you seen a ghost. You weren't that color when you got in my cab."

"It's nothing. An old characteristic of amphibians. Turn color when they get nervous for camouflage."

"You don't say. Hey just like that animal maybe they got in the museum right there we're passing, called the Thunder Reptile, brought my kid to see it. Hey that's better, the blue sunglasses give nice contrast to the green."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Cab heading west, fagade of piers in the distance. Windows full of furs. Miss Tomson lives in a rather mixed district. Perhaps she goes to that little diner for coffee and that station for gasoline for her car. What can I say if she sees me. What are you doing in my district Smith. Who told you you could come around here. Just because I let you in bed with me, don't think you got some right to snoop around my life. Miss Tomson you said I mustn't ever leave you or let you go. You poor joker Smith, don't you see I was just making like it was a romantic night. Big deep experience. Don't take words seriously, those things were for the background atmosphere, like a soft piano on a date.

Cab slowing and stopping in front of a tall yellow building. Shooting up out of the tenements. Wrack the mind for opening statements. Miss Tomson I just happened to be passing in a cab when your address fell out of my wallet and blew up into my hand and I looked out the window and found I was there. Pardon my green color. Don't hesitate to tell me if you're busy. I'm busy. Miss Tomson after all these empty weeks let me kiss your feet. They're clean. Or even if there's a slight odoriferousness.

At the end of a long narrow lobby. An elevator. Lit-de iron chairs, with lion paws for feet. Hanging with red tassels. Smith taking off his sunglasses. No names no signs. Pressing a button to ring. Out of a door. Man buttoning up the front of a blue uniform, scratching the sweat from his brow with a white glove.

"Yeah."

"I'm enquiring after a Miss Tomson, please. I don't know the number of her apartment."

"Nobody here called Tomson."

"But this is her address. Sally Tomson."

"Ain't no Tomson."

"Are you sure"

"Look you want me to take an oath."

"She's a tall girl with gold hair.''

"This is no missing person's bureau."

"She swings her hips when she walks."

"What are you, desperate mister."

"Yes."

"Well there's nobody here by the name of Tomsoiu Or I would know."

"She's beautiful."

"Don't think I don't sympathise. I see lots of girls, beautiful ones with gold hair. After they're twenty five they're all blond or red or something."

"She used to go barefoot in the lobby here."

"Look I don't know what's bothering you mister. But this could be anybody on a health diet. Everybody's doing it. I'd be doing it, if some of the people in this building didn't think they was big shots and I was reducing the tone."

"O God."

"Look, don't be upset. Be the same if I wore sandals. I got ingrown toenails. There are two hundred people in this building. Racketeers, widows, moguls, tarzans, dentists and hat check girls who date customers on the side."

"Obviously I'm at the wrong address."

"I mean you want to look for yourself. Here's the whole renting list. Right here."

"No thanks."

"O.K."

Smith turning, tucking the string handle of his paper parcel up on his elbow. In distress open your pockets wide and spend. No reason left for the world to go on. With me in it. Go back and find Bonniface. Find Her Majesty. She had sugar cane hair falling on her shoulders in a cascade. And a snuff box cover with a little boy peeing on a rose.

A chandelier the shape of an anchor, hanging over Smith's head as he passed out through this vestibule. Walls curlicued with comb marks of some fancy plasterer. And between the two inches left between the door and a clang. A shout from the keeper inside.

"Hey mister, wait a second. Come back."

Smith peering down the lobby. Keeper pushing his cap back further on his head. Holding a pencil to his renting list.

"Does she have a dog."

"Yes."

"Was he a giant."

"Yes."

"Goliath his name."

"Yes."

"Well you want Dizzy Darling. The model. But if she's who you're looking for she still aint here."

"She said yes, yesh."

"That's her. Lived in the pent house. Sure, that's Dizzy Darling. She roller skated out this lobby one day, but never saw her with her shoes off. Always having to carry presents up, used to get flowers so you'd think there was a funeral. You never saw so many important guys after one girl. I mean excuse me. Are you her father."

"No."

"Well she's nearly gone two months. I was just thinking about Goliath a minute ago helping the janitor to put out the ashes. Used to take him for walks down there near the river for Miss Darling. You're a new friend or something. Gave you a bum steer on her name."

"Yes."

"That's her all right Guess it's the only way she can deal with guys. Least she gave you the right address. I was saying to Jake the janitor. Some guy try something with Goliath around. You read this afternoon's paper, that one you got there. Millionaires are on the rampage now slugging innocent people in the subway. Imagine a guy building a place to bury himself and he's trying to kill somebody in the tracks. It don't add up."

"No."

"You mind your own business and that isn't even enough these days. We should all have man eating dogs. Just a minute I'll look here and see if I can find a forwarding address. That was the funny thing. She comes back here one afternoon, I remember it plain. I parks her car for her, all smashed up in front and there on the back seat is Goliath's collar. I knew the collar it had gems. But no Goliath. I was going to ask her what happened only I'm not on duty next day and Sam the other doorman tells me a moving van comes and collects and that's it, mister. Nope. Don't see a forwarding address. Wait. Nope. Just to hold stuff. It's all been collected. Hey what's the matter."

"Hayfever."

"O."

"Thank you."

"Sorry you come on a wild goose chase. Can't help you further than that. Gee she was parading under another name somewhere. But that name Sally Tomson is familiar, now I think of it, anyway it's always been Dizzy Darling to me. Her rent was paid up. Here, have a piece of chewing gum."

"Thank you."

"People come and people go but the graft goes on forever. You like that. I entered it for a song contest. It lost. Used to get a big laugh out of Miss Darling. Said I had a good sense of humour. Why not, life's humourous. What do you say."

"Beep."

"Ha ha. That's some remark. See that's what I'm saying. Anytime you happen to be passing come in and have a talk."

"Thank you."

Warm debris of the street. Smith looking up into the sky at the keeling yellow structure. Right at the top is where she lived. And said cooling in my arms, a Monday two months ago that she was a weak character and didn't want to live in a dump. Look for the highest tower and maybe I'll find her. In high winds and danger. And two little shrubberies in barrels in front of her address. Run screaming away through a downpour of lavish toilet waters. Would have asked her to play tennis. Even though my first service sends up a smell of burning rubber, immediately requiring a new ball. And Dizzy Darling would stand there dumbfounded with her racket hanging out, a neat hole through the centre. Then she'd serve mine. My God, the pain. Under the hot sun on mossy green. I was just some man to come to her bed. To drive away the dolour after her dog was dead.