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When he was left alone, when he had pulled out one stop after another (for the work required it), Stanley straightened himself on the seat, tightened the knot of the red necktie, and struck. The music soared around him, from the corner of his eye he caught the glitter of his wrist watch, and even as he read the music before him, and saw his thumb and last finger come down time after time with three black keys between them, wringing out fourths, the work he had copied coming over on the Conte di Brescia, wringing that chord of the devil’s interval from the full length of the thirty-foot bass pipes, he did not stop. The walls quivered, still he did not hesitate. Everything moved, and even falling, soared in atonement.
He was the only person caught in the collapse, and afterward, most of his work was recovered too, and it is still spoken of, when it is noted, with high regard, though seldom played.
ahh!!!
Sixteen years like living with a God damned invalid sixteen years every time you come in sitting there waiting just like you left him wave his stick at you, plump up his pillow cut a paragraph add a sentence hold his God damned hand [...] walk down the street God damned sunshine begin to think maybe you'll meet him maybe cleared things up got out by himself come back open the God damned door right there where you left him ...
epigraph, on writing a novel
—My book! My book! That’s all we ever hear from you my book, well let me just tell you something that’s to don’t be surprised if somebody else has a book, that’s all. Just don’t be surprised! And she fixed unflinching on the passing gantlet of apartment house existences dismantled and laid out side by side on aprons of grass affording the embattled privacy of city stoops, sheltered by awnings of rippling yellow plastic blazoning heraldic initials in old world black letter, mounting names discreetly hidden a bare year since in the Brooklyn telephone directory on sentry carriage lamps, ships’ lanterns in authentic replica, a livid pastel wagon wheel swooning at a rustic angle, a demented wheelbarrow choked with stalked memories of flowers, a family of metal flamingoes, of ducks, of playful elves, till with a narrow miss for the cast iron potbellied stove painted pink and sporting a naked geranium stem from its lid the car left the pavement.—Just don’t act too surprised.
—Crawley here. What? No, I don’t know what the hell’s going on there nobody does . . . What? no, it’s not just two or three stocks, it’s the whole market . . . do what? Certainly not. If you want to quote me you can say the long overdue technical readjustments taking place in our present dynamic market situation offer no convincing evidence of the sort that has characterized long-term deterioration in past major business downturns. What might appear at this ah, this juncture as conflicting behavior, the conflicting behavior of prevailing economic forces . . . right. Expect a certain leveling off period when . . . right. Right. Any time . . . Shirley? any more papers call tell them I’m out, he finished handing back the phone, turning, —now. These young ladies and gentlemen are here to buy some stock are they?
—Governor Cates is one of the men who opened the frontiers of America as we know it today, Davidoff leaned knuckled under on the expanse of walnut stretched before him, pad, pencils, ashtray, pad, pencils, ashtray,—he . . .
—Him? He was this frontiersman?
—Not like Daniel Boone if that’s what you’re thinking of, no. He opened America’s industrial frontiers, her natural resources that make us the wealthiest country in the world. He’s a man presidents come to for advice, and you can be proud . . .
—Is he rich?
—Well after all, a man who has contributed so greatly to his country’s wealth and power would deserve . . .
—That’s the, must be our last proxy statement Boss a little kit we put together for them on the, boys and girls? We can’t get into too many details now, we just wanted you to meet the topflight managerial talent your directors have working here for you, we’re all here to keep your profits rolling in and even if you just have one share right now any time you think we’ve stepped out of line don’t forget that one share means you can haul us right up on the carpet and . . .
—Don’t need to press that point Dave let’s just get the . . .
A conductor with a wisp mustache stood tapping his punch.—Ticket?
—Ja? He looked up from the paper with a great smile.
—Your ticket?
—Ahh, Sie wollen meine, meine . . . He rummaged in pockets, to come up with a cardboard square and offer it with a beaming smile.
—This is a half fare ticket, Mister.
—Bitte?
—I said this ticket, this is half fare ticket.
—Ja ja . . . he beamed, nodding, his eyes beginning to cross.
—Half fare, half. Kiddie. Child.
—Ja, wissen Sie . . .
—Look. You, man. Ticket, child ticket. Get it?
—In dem Bahnhof, ja, he commenced still beaming, eyes now firmly crossed,—in dem Bahnhof habe ich die . . .
—For Christ sake look. Where you buy ticket?
—Herr Teets, verstehen Sie? In dem Bahnhof, Herr Bahnhofmeister Teets, Gott-trunkener Mensch, verstehen Sie? Mit der Dummheit kämpfen Götter selbst vergebens, he beamed, eyes abruptly straightened,—nicht?
—Oh for Christ sake.
—Bitte? The smile gone, his mouth hung open.
—Forget it. The conductor punched the ticket emphatically and turned up the aisle, abruptly snagged by a hand on his arm.
lmao
—I just finished telling you what I mean Whiteback, it has nothing to do with curricular anything. The function of this school is custodial. It’s here to keep these kids off the streets until the girls are big enough to get pregnant and the boys are old enough to go out and hold up a gas station, it’s strictly custodial and the rest is plumbing. If these teachers of yours strike just sit still and keep the doors open, by the time these kids have been lying around the house for a week their parents will march the teachers back in at gunpoint.
giggled
—You know what I stop and remember Tom? She’d turned abruptly, resting elbows back on the sink’s edge, facing him.—I remember Doctor Brill telling us David needed his operation for double hernia when you first went to work there and you put it off, and put it off. There was that baby and we didn’t know what was going to happen but you kept putting it off till your company medical benefits took effect, so you wouldn’t have to . . .
—Marian you . . . you have a real instinct don’t you Marian, a real God damn instinct . . .
—And you didn’t want him. Did you, you didn’t want him in the first place.
—What, Marian what the hell do you think you’re saying?
—David. You didn’t want him in the first place.
—Marian you, you’ve said some rotten things but you, that’s the rottenest thing you could say isn’t it, so completely . . . dishonest and rotten.
—Well it’s . . .
—I wanted to wait to have children, didn’t I, I wanted to wait till we got ori our feet, that wasn’t David I didn’t want, there was no David and if you ever dare to, you know God damn well that when he was born when he was David you know God damn well he’s everything I . . . he stopped and got breath.—You’ve got a real instinct for the jugular haven’t you Marian.
men love to talk like this when they're confronted with the Truth
—Coen God damn it can’t you see what I mean? Can’t you see this is what’s going to happen right here, after all it took to put all this together? Can’t you see you go public and all these people owning you want is dividends and running their stock up, you don’t give them that and they sell you out, you do and some bunch of vice presidents some place you never heard of like the ones that turned this out, this wood product they call it, they spot you and launch an offer and all of a sudden you’re working for them trimming and cutting and finally bringing in people to turn something out they don’t care what the hell it is, there’s no pride in their work because what you’ve got them turning out nobody could be proud of in the first place . . . He broke the piece over his knee and stood up with the bottle,—if they’d just understand I’m not just trying to grab this whole show for myself but to keep it doing something that’s, that’s worth doing . . .