Letters (145 page)

Now all three take cover again—no, all four: there’s Drew with them—as an unmarked VW Beetle drives slowly up and parks behind the platform. Intelligence Types? Undergraduate lovers or other Innocent Bystanders? Complications.

6:35:
The driver has left that parked VW and moved out of my sight toward the base of the tower. Male; couldn’t recognize. Drew & Co. have reemerged, conferred—a touch anxiously, I daresay—and perhaps agreed to disagree concerning the slaughter of the innocent. The Associate Indian now withdraws to a safe remove with the cameramen, and Drew hurries into the building: risking his life, it appears, either to save an Innocent Bystander’s or to prevent a
very
daring I.T. from saving Schott’s Tower.

6:45:
I (and perhaps some others) have 15 minutes or less to live, in which interval I must close this Codicil, attempt to go down & pop it into the cornerstone, and hurry back inside, not necessarily to here.

Hold on: there goes Drew, alone & at a trot, over towards the others. Well, now. Don’t be distressed, lad; you did your best.

6:50:
Someone is barreling up from belowstairs. It almost sounds as if he’s got the stuck elevator working: there’s an electrical hum or buzz. All I can hope, sir, is that you’re a culpable I.T. and not an I.E., for you’re about to die. No chance now to deposit this as planned.
Improvise,
old attorney! Can I make, um, a thick paper airplane of it & sail it out from here at the last possible minute, towards my young friend?

Such a racket outside my door! Somebody really wants into this belfry.

6:53: Good-bye, Polly; good-bye, Jane; good-bye, Drew. Hello, Author; hello, Dad. Here comes the sun. Lights! Cameras! Action!

IN TESTIMONY WHEREOF (& of the Intrinsic Value of Everything, even of Nothingness) I hereunto set my hand & seal this 26th day of September, 1969.

Thursday, September 4, 1969

Mr. Todd Andrews
Andrews, Bishop, & Andrews, Attorneys
Court Lane
Cambridge, Maryland 21613 U.S.A.

Dear Mr. Andrews:

Search for Bishop Pike abandoned. U.S. Ambassador to Brazil kidnapped. Viet Peace Talks suspended until after Ho Chi Minh funeral. Birthday of Anton Bruckner, Chateaubriand, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Darius Milhaud. Anniversary of Battle of Antietam, of Franco’s capture of Irun, of Geronimo’s second surrender, of Lafitte’s offer to Governor Claiborne to defend Louisiana from the British, of Napoleon III’s surrender to Bismarck at Sedan, of Harry Truman’s inauguration of transcontinental television with address to San Francisco Peace Conference.

Of nothing, however, in
Der Wiedertraum,
of which I Apprised You Briefly in our Conversation this morning. Today in 1953 was Day 48 of the 100 Days between my Arrival at Wicomico, Maryland, where I First Met and Was Befriended By the late Joseph and Rennie Morgan, and my Departure Thence, after Mrs. Morgan’s funeral, for Pennsylvania, with the late Doctor and other patients of the Remobilization Farm. September 4, 1953, was a weatherless day in the eventless interim between 9/2, when Mrs. Morgan and I Committed our First Adultery, and 9/7, when classes commenced at Wicomico Teachers College, now Wicomico State College of the University of Maryland.

Before that, on 9/1/53 (You advised me today to Draft a Detailed Statement for use by the lawyer you advised me to Retain, as did the Ontario Provincial Police, in the event of a formal inquest into Joseph Morgan’s death by gunshot wound on Monday 9/1/69. But it is many years since I Wrote Anything to anyone except myself. This was not Easy to Begin; the 1st-person singular, especially, comes hard; now I Should Like to Rebegin, but Dare Not Stop; you agreed I Might Send you a copy of my Statement, to help you explain things to Morgan’s sons; hence this and the 7 enclosed letters to myself, covering the period 3/6/69-8/28/69 inclusive; I Must Add that my Wife and I are Grateful Indeed to you for arranging the return of Joe Morgan’s body to Maryland and the funeral and memorial services for him there, which we Plan to Try to Attend. There is another reason, too, why Writing It All Down is difficult. Do be patient), I visited the Doctor for my quarterly Mobility Check: in those days I Experienced Occasional Paralysis; was indeed Seized by Same in the Progress & Advice Room that day, when the Doctor discovered I was Unconsciously Imitating my New Friend Joseph Morgan; had to be Remobilized by Pugilistic Therapy; all this is important. And the day before
that,
8/31/53, was Eavesdropping & Espial Day, when Rennie Morgan and I Returned at Dusk to the Morgan’s rented house in Wicomico from Horseback-Riding and Conversation about their marriage relationship, Peeked (at my Suggestion & to her Fascinated Disgust) through the window blinds of their house, and Saw that paragon of hardheaded rationalism simultaneously masturbating, picking his nose, and leaping gibbonlike about the study, whereat Mrs. M. was shocked to the center of her soul, and I Comforted Her and the next day Consummated Her Seduction, which I had Not Particularly Known was in process. Subsequent pregnancy, illegal abortion by Doctor, death of Rennie by aspiration of vomitus under anesthesia, cashiering of Morgan by Dr. John Schott of W.T.C., Departure and later Voluntary Sterilization of me, Scriptotherapeutic account of all the foregoing at Doctor’s Rx, chance recovery and novelization of said account by outside party, sudden reappearance at Farm last March of much-changed Joseph Morgan, and ultimatum from him to me to Redream our story and Present him by 9/1/69 with Rennie Alive and Unadulterated.

So. But the Doctor drowned; “Monsieur Casteene” disappeared with his people; “Bibi” likewise (our name for Ms. Golden, whom you sought, whom we have heard nothing from since 8/15, when my Wife left her at Comalot Farm, Lily Dale, N.Y. 14752, with Mr. Jerome Bray), who had been playing Mrs. Morgan in
Der Wiedertraum;
“Pocahontas” (Marsha Mensch,
née
Blank) and I Became a Couple, and on Sunday last (8/31, 14th Sunday after Pentecost) Husband and Wife; nothing was working; Morgan was out of patience; that night was to be Espial Night and next day Confrontation Day in the P & A Room, his deadline. I was to Bring His Wife (see above) and my Hornbook (see below); “St. Joe” his Colt .45 for Day 45 (see enclosed), his expression and reckoning. When he would discover to me, he declared, the Real Bone he’d had to pick with me all these years.

I was Afraid.

But to go back a bit. On Th 8/28 my Now Wife, who was then but my Woman, delivered herself of a Bombshell Letter, her term, to her former husband, Ambrose Mensch of your city. Though she did not elect to share its contents with me, she gave me to understand that it would “knock the bastard [Mr. M.] flat.” I Seized the Occasion of her glee to Propose to her what I had Long (since July) Been Contemplating: Wedlock. I had Just Left the P & A Room, a distressing session (ultimatum, deadline, Colt .45, etc.). Marsha was, I Ought to Add, and is, Pregnant. She laughed, I Cannot in truth Say warmly, and replied Why not? I here Confess that in all this I Had a Plan, but Declare & Protest it to have been my Wish, over & above & regardless of that plan, to Marry Marsha Mensch, for whom I Cared & Care.

Sunday last, 8/31, Eavesdropping & Espial Day, we Tied the Knot. It was my Hope, and part of my Plan, to Remobilize and Conclude
Der Wiedertraum:
to that end we were Wed exercycling, in late afternoon, upon the Exercycles central to much therapy here at the Farm, and which I had Requisitioned through August for our Reenactment of the Horseback-Riding Lessons Rennie Morgan kindly gave me 16 years before, while her husband labored at his (never completed) doctoral dissertation:
Innocence & Energy,
etc., I Forget. Witnesses were Joe himself, whose expression plainly suggested that he sensed What Was Up, and our Chief of Therapy, Tombo X, who let us know again, as he had done daily for some days already, that he had an Ace Up His Sleeve, which he would any day now play. One of our elder patients, a minister of the Universal Life Church who when mobile is the best in the 65-and-Over Class of the Farm’s Exercycle Tournament, mounted his machine to do the honors. Several rockers wept openly. My own eyes Watered when I Said I Do, to the point where I was Unable to Observe whether Marsha’s did likewise. She did, however, unambiguously say she Did, on the clear condition (to which I Assent) that her legal name remain, rather revert to, her maiden one,
i.e.,
Blank. You can perhaps advise us on that. It was all nice.

We were Left Alone then to pedal through the Final Horseback Ride towards the E. & E. Scene aforementioned. Officially we were to Speak of Joe etc. (see above): in fact and understandably we Discussed our Honeymoon Plans, at least Began to: my own Inclination was to Revisit the Iroquois Motel, off Exit 58 (Irving/Angola) of the Thomas E. Dewey Thruway, which has certain sentimental associations for us; Marsha’s was, as best I could Determine, to travel to your city for the purpose of savoring the effects of her Bombshell Letter and to display to her first husband, who did not initiate it, her current pregnancy. The prospect (of so considerable an expedition) dizzied me; but I could not in any case Think Past the morrow’s Deadline P & A Session. More Immediately Alarming, moreover, was my bride’s condition: it became Every Moment More Apparent that she had put by, for this happy occasion, one last dose of that unidentified but remarkable narcotic she calls Honey Dust, acquired two weeks earlier from Mr. Bray at Comalot Farm and (so I had Believed) exhausted a day or two since. By sundown she was off her Exercycle and calmly burbling in the grass. It was All I Could Do to Haul her over to the appropriate window of the farmhouse for E. & E. The light was on; we were A Bit Late; I Peeked In and Saw Joe smoking his pipe and perusing our script, that novelized etc. aforecited. I Rapped on the pane for him to commence his performance, and Made to Make Sure “Rennie” was set to Espy.

She was asleep, my Wife, and snoring. Joe strolled over, raised the sash, leaned out, took a look, and said: Christ, Horner. But at my Entreaty he came out; we Fetched Her In; Marsha was stirring already, must have been a minor dose of Dust; I Knew From Past Experience she would be Cross As a Bear when she was Herself again, especially if that really was the End of the Ride, ha. I Hurried to Make my Pitch.

This is, I Said in effect to Joe, my Wife. That I
Care
For. Nevertheless, and Against my Inclination—
deeply
Against etc.—but by way of Partial Recompense for, let’s Say, 8/31/53 & thereafter, I here Offer you, Joe, on my and her Very Wedding Night, her.

Joe tapped out his pipe and without surprise responded: Horner, you Disgust me. She too.

Her
too, too, here put in Marsha, whom I had Not Supposed all that awake yet, and who not for nothing was the ex-secretarial Bride of a Former Grammar Teacher:
Me
he Disgusts, too, she sort of repeated. Hold on, I Protested, not a little Taken Aback to Find her both awake and disgusted. Let me Explain. Explain my ass, my Wife expostulated [excuse the expression, Mr. Andrews]. Explain my ass, she repeated [the exact wording is important, sir]: It’s our G.D.M.F.‘ing
Wedding Night,
Jacob!

Exclamation point hers, sir, as Reasonably inferred from tone of voice, facial expression, tear-glint in eyes. I Must Explain that over & above the surprising content of her expostulation—surprising I Mean in that I had Anticipated, on the basis of earlier observations and remarks of hers, at best indifference to, at worst outright enthusiasm for, on her part, my Proposition, should she be Together enough, as they say, to register it at all—was a more considerable extraordinariness: it was the first time that Marsha had ever addressed me by my Name!

When I was Together enough myself for Further Speech, I Inquired of her, in effect, You don’t
want
to go to bed with him? Well, she said, no. I mean [she said, and I Reasonably Infer three suspension points plus italics]…
no.
I mean
[i.e., she
means] I
didn’t.
Oh, Said I. Well. Then. Golly. In
that
case.

Now, excuse the playscript format, sir: this was, after all—I now Recalled With Growing Consternation—a
scene,
from
Der Wiedertraum.

M
ORGAN
(
SUDDENLY INTERESTED
) (
IN EFFECT
): Done.

M
E
: What?

M
ORGAN
: Leave us, Horner. Alone. Go ’round to the window.

M
ARSHA
(
IN EFFECT
): No.

M
ORGAN
: Horner?

M
E
: Well…

M
Y
W
IFE
(
VERBATIM
): Jacob!

M
YSELF
(
IN EFFECT
): She, um, doesn’t
want
to, Joe. I Mean, I’m as Surprised as anybody. But if she really doesn’t
want
to. Gosh.

I now Summarize. Here Morgan withdrew from his pockets both hands, where he had thrust them during the above. With the left he held before Marsha’s nose a tiny white packet disagreeably familiar, saying: Honey Dust. Found in “Bibi’s” room after she left. With the right he unzipped his trouser fly, whereto, to my Chagrin, my Wife, without another word, went. Out, Horner, Joe ordered. To the window. Peep. Espy. Watch
me fuck your Wife
[your pardon, Mr. A., but etc.], before your Very Eyes, before
you
Do, on your Very Wedding Night. Out.

Well, Said I, my voice to my Surprise choking off some. Well. But by golly I Want it Clearly Understood, Joe, that this is
it
for
Der Wiedertraum!
Tears in my eyes, sir. Morgan appeared to Consider for a moment—Marsha was at it, I Couldn’t Look—and then said: Nope. You Go Out There and Watch me [etc., above]. Then you Leave. She stays here. Though it is too late for me to knock your Wife up, I am going to Honey-Dust and hump her every which way till the cows come home, like
[sic]
you did Rennie. At eight A.M. sharp you and I will have our scheduled Last P & A: Confrontation and Deadline. After that she’s yours. Bring your Hornbook. Go.