Humboldt's Gift (39 page)

  “I don’t think Langobardi would let him join. He doesn’t suffer minor hoodlums gladly.”

  “Is that what Cantabile is?”

  “I don’t know exactly what he is. He carries on like a Mafia Don. He’s some sort of silly-billy. He has a wife who’s getting a PhD.”

  “You mean that smashing redhead with the platform shoes?”

  “She’s not the one.”

  “Wasn’t it grand how he gave that code knock on the door? And the pretty receptionist opened? Notice these glass cases with the pre-Columbian art and the collection of Japanese fans. I tell you, Charles, nobody actually knows this country. This is some country. The leading interpreters of America stink. They do nothing but swap educated formulas about it.
You
, yes
you
! Charles, should write about it, describe your life day by day and apply some of your ideas to it.”

  “Thaxter, I told you how I took my little girls to see the beavers out in Colorado. All around the lake the Forestry Service posted natural-history placards about the beaver’s life cycle. The beavers didn’t know a damn thing about this. They just went on chewing and swimming and being beavers. But we human beavers are all shook up by descriptions of ourselves. It affects us to hear what we hear. From Kinsey or Masters or Eriksen. We read about identity crisis, alienation, etcetera, and it all affects us.”

  “And you don’t want to contribute to the deformation of your fellow man with new inputs?—God, how I loathe the word “input.” But you yourself continually make high-level analyses. What about the piece for
The Ark
you sent me—I think it’s right here in my attaché case—in which you offer an economic interpretation of personal eccentricities. Let’s see, I’m sure I’ve got it here. You argue that there may be a connection at this particular stage of capitalism between the shrinking of investment opportunities and the quest for new roles or personality investments. You even quoted Schumpeter, Charlie. Yes, here it is: ‘These dramas may appear purely internal but they are perhaps economically determined . . . when people think they are being so subtly inventive or creative they merely reflect society’s general need for economic growth.’ “

  “Put away that paper,” I said. “For God’s sake, don’t quote my big ideas at me. If there’s one thing I can’t take today, it’s that.”

  It was really very easy for me to generate great thoughts of this sort. Instead of regretting this glib weakness with me, Thaxter envied it. He longed to be a member of the intelligentsia, to stand in the pantheon and to make a Major Statement like Albert Schweitzer or Arthur Koestler or Sartre or Wittgenstein. He didn’t see why I distrusted this. I was too grand; too snobbish, even, he said, sharply resentful. But there it was, I simply did not wish to be a leader of the world intelligentsia. Humboldt had pursued it with all his might. He believed in victorious analysis, he preferred “ideas” to poetry, he was prepared to give up the universe itself for the subworld of higher cultural values.

  “Anyway,” said Thaxter, “you should go around Chicago like Restif de la Bretonne in the streets of Paris and write a chronicle. It would be sensational.”

  “Thaxter, I want to talk to you about
The Ark
. You and I were going to give a new impulse to the mental life of the country and outdo the
American Mercury
and
The Dial
, or the
Revista de Occidente
, and so on. We discussed and planned it for years. I’ve spent a pot of money on it. I’ve paid all the bills for two and a half years. Now where is
The Ark
? I think you’re a great editor, a born editor, and I believe in you. We announced our magazine and people sent in material. We’ve been sitting on their manuscripts for ages, I’ve gotten bitter letters and even threats. You’ve made me the fall guy. They all blame me, and they all quote you. You’ve set yourself up as a Citrine expert and interpret me all over the place—how I function, how little I understand women, all the weaknesses of my character. I don’t take that too hard. I’d be glad though, if you didn’t interpret me quite so much. And the words you put into my mouth—that X is a moron, or Y is an imbecile.
I
have no prejudices against X or Y. The one who’s out to get ‘em is you.”

  “Frankly, Charles, the reason why our first number isn’t out is that you sent me so much anthroposophical material. You’re no fool so there must be something to anthroposophy. But for God’s sake, we can’t come out with all this stuff about the soul.”

  “Why not? People talk about the psyche, why not the soul?”

  “Psyche is scientific,” said Thaxter. “You have to accustom people gradually to these terms of yours.”

  I said, “Why did you buy such a huge supply of paper?”

  “I wanted to be ready to publish five issues in succession without worrying about supplies. Besides, we got a good buy.”

  “Where are all these tons of paper now?”

  “In the warehouse. But I don’t think that it’s
The Ark
that bothers you. It’s really Denise that’s eating at you, the courts and the dollars and all that grief and harassment.”

  “No, that’s not what it is,” I said. “Sometimes I’m grateful to Denise. You think I should be like Restif de la Bretonne, in the streets? Well, if Denise weren’t suing me, I’d never get out of the house. Because of her I have to go downtown. It keeps me in touch with the facts of life. It’s been positively enlightening.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I realize how universal the desire to injure your fellow man is. I guess it’s the same in the democracies as in dictatorships. Only here the government of laws and lawyers puts a palisade up. They can injure you a lot, make your life hideous, but they can’t actually do you in.”

  “Your love of education really does you credit, Charles. No kidding. I can tell you after a friendship of twenty years,” said Thaxter. “Your character is a very peculiar one but there is a certain—I don’t know what to call it—dignity that you do have. If you say soul and I say psyche, you have your reason for it, probably. You probably do have a soul, Charles. And it’s a pretty startling fact about anyone.”

  “You have one yourself. Anyway, I think we had better give up our plan to publish
The Ark
and liquidate our assets remaining if any.”

  “Now, Charles, don’t be hasty. We can straighten this business out very easily. We’re almost there.”

  “I can’t put any more money into it. I’m not doing well, financially.”

  “You can’t compare your situation to mine,” said Thaxter. “I’ve been wiped out in California.”

  “How bad is it there?”

  “Well, I’ve kept your obligations down to a minimum. You promised to pay Blossom her salary. Don’t you remember Blossom, the secretary? You met her in September?”

  “My obligations? In September we agreed to lay Blossom off.”

  “Ah, but she was the only one who really knew how to operate all the IBM machinery.”

  “But the machinery was never operated.”

  “That wasn’t her fault. We were prepared. I was ready to go at any time.”

  “What you mean, really, is that you’re too grand a personage to do without a staff.”

  “Have a heart, Charles. Just after you left, her husband was killed in a car crash. You wouldn’t want me to fire her at such a time. I know your heart, whatever else, Charles. So I took it on myself to interpret your attitude. It’s only fifteen hundred bucks. There is actually another thing I must mention, the lumber bill for the wing we started.”

  “I didn’t tell you to build the wing. I was dead against it.”

  “Why, we agreed there was to be a separate office. You didn’t expect me to bring all of that editorial confusion into my house.”

  “I definitely said I’d have no part of it. I warned you even, that if you dug that big hole next to your house you’d undermine the foundations.”

  “Well, it isn’t very serious,” said Thaxter. “The lumber company can damn well dismantle it all and take back their wood. Now, as for the slip-up between banks—I’m damn sorry about that, but it was not my fault. The payment from the Banco Am-brosiano di Milano was delayed. It’s these damn bureaucracies! Besides, it’s just anarchy and chaos now in Italy. Anyway, you have my check. ...”

  “I have not.”

  “You haven’t? It’s got to be in the mail. Postal service is outrageous. It was my last installment of twelve hundred dollars to the Palo Alto Trust. They had already closed me out. They owe you twelve hundred.”

  “Is it possible that they never received it? Maybe it was sent out from Italy by dolphin.”

  He did not smile. The moment was solemn. We were speaking, after all, of his money. “Those California crumbs were supposed to reissue it and send you their cashier’s check.”

  “Maybe the Banco Ambrosiano’s check hasn’t cleared yet,” I said.

  “Now, then,” he took a legal pad from his attaché case. “I’ve worked out a schedule to repay the money you lost. You must have the original cost of the stock. I absolutely insist. I believe you bought it at four hundred. You overpaid, you know, it’s way down now. However, that’s not your fault. Let’s say that when you posted it for me it was worth eighteen thousand. Nor will I forget the dividends.”

  “You don’t have to do dividends, Thaxter.”

  “No, I insist. It’s easy enough to find out what sort of dividend IBM is paying. You send me the figure and I’ll send you the check.”

  “In five years you paid off less than one thousand dollars on this loan. You kept up the interest payments and little else.”

  “The interest rate was out of sight.”

  “In five years you reduced the amount of the principal by two hundred dollars a year.”

  “The exact figures don’t come to me now,” said Thaxter. “But I know that the bank will owe you something after it sells the stock.”

  “IBM is now under two hundred a share. The bank gets hurt, too. Not that I care what happens to banks.”

  But Thaxter was now busy explaining how he would return the money, dividends and all, over a five-year period. The split black pupils of his long grape-green eyes moved over the figures. He was going to do the whole thing handsomely, with dignity, aristocratically, fully sincere, shirking no part of his obligation to a friend. I could see that he entirely meant what he said. But I also knew that this elaborate plan to do right by me would be, in his mind, tantamount to doing right. These long yellow sheets from the legal pad filled with figures, these generous terms of repayment, the care for detail, the expressions of friendship, settled our business fully and forever. This was magically it.

  “It’s a good idea to be scrupulously precise with you in these petty deals. To you the small sums are more important than big ones. What sometimes surprises me is that you and I should be fooling around with trifles. You could make any amount of money. You don’t know your own resources. Odd, isn’t it? You could turn a crank and money would fall into your lap.”

  “What crank?” I said.

  “You could go to a publisher with a project and name your own advance.”

  “I’ve already taken big advances.”

  “Peanuts. You could get lots more. I’ve come up with some ideas myself. For starters you and I could do that cultural Baedeker I’m always after you about, a guide for educated Americans who go to Europe and get tired of shopping for Florentine leather and Irish linen. They’re fed up with the thundering herd of common rubbernecks. Are these cultivated Americans in Vienna, for instance? In our guide they can find lists of research institutes to visit, small libraries, private collections, chamber-music groups, the names of cafés and restaurants where one can meet mathematicians or fiddlers, and there would be listings of the addresses of poets, painters, psychologists, and so on. Visit their studios and labs. Have conversations with them.”

  “You might as well bring over a firing squad and shoot all these poets dead as put such information into the hands of culture-vulture tourists.”

  “There isn’t a ministry of tourism in Europe that wouldn’t get excited by this. They’d all cooperate fully. They might even kick in some money. Charlie, we could do this for every country in Europe, for all major cities as well as the capitals. This idea is worth a million dollars to you and me. I would take charge of the organization and research. I’d do most of the work. You’d cover atmospheric stuff and ideas. We’ll need a staff for the details. We could start in London and move on to Paris and Vienna and Rome. Say the word and I’ll go to one of the big houses. Your name will pull down an advance of two hundred and fifty thousand. We split it two ways and your worries are over.”

  “Paris and Vienna! Why not Montevideo and Bogota? There’s just as much culture there. Why are you sailing and not flying to Europe?”

  “It’s my favorite way to travel, deeply restful One of my old mother’s remaining pleasures in life is to arrange these trips for her only child. She’s done more, this time. The Brazilian football champions are touring Europe, and she knows I love football. I mean superb football. So she’s wangled me tickets for four matches. Besides, I have business reasons for going. And I want to see some of my children.”

  I refrained from asking how he could travel first class on the
France
when he was dead broke. Asking got me nowhere. I never succeeded in assimilating his explanations. I did remember being told, however, that the velvet suit with a blue silk scarf knotted in the Ronald Colman manner made perfectly acceptable evening wear. In fact the black-tie millionaires looked tacky by comparison. And women adored Thaxter. One evening during his last crossing an old Texas lady, if you could believe him, dropped a chamois sack full of gems into his lap, under the tablecloth. He discreetly passed them back to her. He would not service rich old Texas frumps, he told me. Not even those who were magnanimous in Oriental or Renaissance style. Because after all, he continued, this was a big gesture suitable to a big ocean and a big character. But he was remarkably dignified, virtuous, and faithful to his wife—to all his wives. He was warmly devoted to his extended family, the many children he had had by several women. If he didn’t make a Major Statement he would at least leave his genetic stamp upon the world.