The Way Through Doors (14 page)

—Here’s the story, she said. I’m more stubborn than you are. I’m telling you now I won’t let go of your ear until you let me read WORLD’S FAIR.

She gave him then her winningest smile.

The pamphleteer smiled too.

—You know, he said, I was thinking of taking all the smiling out of
W.F.
In
Seymour, an Introduction,
he goes on about how smiling is just awful and no one should do it, in books, at least. What do you think?

—Smiling is for the birds, said Sif. Now give me the goddamned book.

—All right, said the pamphleteer. I’ll give you an early version. But hold on a moment, because I have to add one more bit.

He walked over to his drafting table. On the butcher paper he quickly sketched out the schematic he had just imagined, complete with a figure indicating Sif and a figure indicating himself.

Sif (still holding on to the pamphleteer’s ear), said,

—Do I really look like that?

—Much cuter, he said. And craftier-looking.

—Do I look crafty? she asked.

—You’re just the craftiest, said the pamphleteer.

This pleased Sif immediately. The pamphleteer rose and crossed the room, Sif hanging on all the while. He proceeded to make a lithograph plate of his schematic. This took some time.

—Can I get a drink? asked Sif. I’m very thirsty.

—All right, just give me a second, said the pamphleteer. He put the plate into the lithograph machine, put some good-quality paper underneath, and made a print. Taking it out, he smiled.

—Not bad, said Sif. Now, to the refrigerator.

They crossed the apartment. Sif took a bottle of iced tea out of the refrigerator. She poured two glasses and returned it. Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a long sip.

With a spluttering laugh, she shook her head and put the glass down.

—Not an American cabernet, she said, an Italian, even a Chilean. American cabernets are fine. But not for this….

She shook her head again.

—You really don’t have the right instincts for this business of putting iced tea into old wine bottles.

—Fine, said the pamphleteer, blushing. Let’s finish this so you can let go of my goddamned ear.

Together they managed a sort of three-legged race over to the printing press. The pamphleteer took a little box from off the top of a pile of little boxes. On the cover it said,

WF 7 J 1978

Out of the box he slid a thick pamphlet. He took the printed schematic sheet and, taking a sewing needle and some thread from off a table, sewed it into the pamphlet. Then, turning, he returned the pamphlet to its box, kissed it once upon its cover, and presented it to Sif.

—For you, he said. You’ll be the first to see it.

Sif let go of his ear and did a little dance.

—I’m so happy, she said. This had better be good. You’ve refused countless outings with a certain girl named Sif on account of you were working on an important book. SO it had better be good.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Then she danced off to the door. She pulled her bag off a hook on the wall, slipped
W.F.
into it, and herself slipped out the door.

—GOOD-BYE, she said. I’ll be back soon.

—When? called the pamphleteer.

Sif’s pretty head poked back through the door.

—By good, I mean that the book had better make life better in at least six or seven definite ways immediately. Also, there had better be somewhere in it a method for handling fortune and chance so as to best provoke the most complicated, involved, and glorious refractions of what’s possible.

—Look in section three, said the pamphleteer.

But Sif was already gone away down to the street. A man was passing, carefully transporting his entire life and a mustache with great speed between the tables, chairs, waiters, and regulars of a sprawling street café. She followed. This was how she chose her routes, by tailing someone for precisely seven minutes, deciding upon where he or she must be going, and then going there, independent of him or her. This course of action had often resulted in her arriving at a person’s destination ahead of that person, which then gave that person the feeling that there were some favorable circumstances or kismet involving the two of them. But, in fact, it was merely caprice on the part of Sif.

At some point she entered a park and climbed a tree. Someone saw and told a policeman. The policeman came over. Sif was seated quite high up in the tree and was reading
W.F.
The policeman shouted up to her.

—Miss, he said, you’ll have to come down.

She set her book a moment upon her crossed legs and peered down at the police officer. Taking from her bag a small square of card stock, she dropped it expertly. The card stock fluttered through the air and hovered a moment before the police officer, who caught it. It said:

Pardon me, I am almost entirely deaf. I would, in general, prefer not to speak to you, however, if you must speak with me, please write your remarks out legibly in longhand (or preferably type them), and deliver them to me. Two things: Do not use scraps of odd paper or the backs of promotional materials, envelopes, etc., for this purpose. I choose to read only elegantly assembled correspondence. And second, allow a period of time for me to read and then respond to your message. Also, I would appreciate if, during that time, you would go away. Find something else to do and then return. If you allow enough time I will be likely to have responded. I’m sorry that these measures are required of you, and also of myself, however, I am, as I have said, rather hard of hearing, and it would be kind of you to do this little thing in order to make me more comfortable in the world.

The policeman was young. He was a good-natured fellow and well liked. Everyone thought that he would go far. Already proposals were being put forward at the station house by his superiors that he ought to be transferred to Homicide and made a detective. He had the peculiar faculty of having the proper resources to deal with many odd and inflammable situations.

He read the card over twice, then put it into the pocket of his jacket. He looked up at Sif, met her gaze, then held up one finger. He walked away from her tree, left the park, and crossed the street. A copy shop was there. The policeman talked awhile with the clerk in the copy shop. The clerk immediately went into the back and attended to the policeman’s order, putting it ahead of all the other orders that had piled up through the course of the day. Some few moments later he returned and pressed a package into the policeman’s waiting hand. The officer thanked the clerk and left the store. He then went into the next store, which was a tobacco store. There he purchased an expensive Italian pen along with a bottle of ink. These in tow, he crossed the street, reentered the park, and took a seat at one of several stone tables. Sif’s view of these stone tables was obscured, and though she had seen the other proceedings, she could no longer see what was passing. After perhaps five minutes, the officer reappeared beneath her tree. A small boy was with him. The officer handed the small boy an envelope. The boy shimmied up the tree to Sif. They looked at each other.

—Hello, he said. My name’s Morris. I’m very good at walking far and at climbing trees.

—Do you have something for me? asked Sif.

—I do, said Morris the tree climber and far walker. He handed Sif an envelope. It was a printed envelope, and said,

Miles Lutheran
Officer of the Law
Tompkins Square Park Task Force

12 October xxxx

GIRL in TREE

Vocation or Title Unknown
Tompkins Square Park

Third Tree from the Street, within Fenced Enclosure Opposite East 340 Tenth Street.

Sif smiled to herself.

—Thank you, Morris, she said. You can go now.

—All right, said Morris, who proceeded to descend the tree very rapidly, going headfirst like a squirrel, but without difficulty or incident.

Sif opened the letter. She admired the penmanship and the quality of the ink and paper.

Dear Girl in Tree,

I’m sorry, but I am going to have to ask you to come down. This is principally because I am afraid for your safety, not because you are hard of hearing, but because it is a simple and easy thing to fall from a tree and hurt oneself. Now, I know that you don’t think you are going to fall. You may say to yourself, I have never fallen. Why should I fall? Well, miss, falls are almost always unexpected.