The Abyss of Human Illusion (10 page)

—L—

H
e didn’t understand Los Angeles. It seemed to him a demented collection of buildings scattered haphazardly over a vast area. This lack of understanding was profoundly intensified by the fact that he not only was unable to drive, he had no sense of direction. The old friends from New York with whom he and his restive and discontented wife were staying, took them here and there during their two-week visit, but his pale role as complaisant passenger made the city even more lavishly and bewilderingly strange, for he was never able to locate or isolate or even remember anything that might have served as a landmark, and only knew where he was moments before his host turned into the street where his little cottage stood behind a scrubby lawn that ran directly to the curb with no sidewalk intervening, a commonplace, as he discovered, in California: a place with no sidewalks: pedestrians knew just where they stood.

Perhaps this sense of disconnection, this topographical anomie, contributed to his emotional desuetude, his stunned vacancy, when his wife abruptly left him one sunny, blue Los Angeles day, with a man she had met at a party they’d attended, a man whose name he didn’t know nor face remember: a nonentity, if it came to that. The note she left for him was cheerful, even breezy, as if he had been in on the whole affair and had helped plan it. But he soon realized that he, too, had become a nonentity, now that his wife had left him, that he had “lived,” so to speak, only in relation to her and her curiously blithe selfishness. His host and hostess were enormously kind to him, and took great care not to seem pitying, although this care was in itself a form of pity, as he and they knew. He was, perhaps, made more contemptible to himself as he thought, as he knew, that the man who had stolen—as he had come to think of it—stolen his wife, did not know
his
name or face either; he could clearly hear his wife’s voice: “Oh, what do
you
care what his name is? Take me away!” His face burned with the cuckold’s shame.

He spent two week’s after his wife’s departure drinking steadily, one might say stupidly; he drank until he passed out, began drinking again when his brain flickered awake, then drank until he passed out—this went on and on, and half-permitted him to think that he didn’t know what had happened to him: well, he
didn’t.
After he sobered up, he left Los Angeles, defeated and dulled, to return to New York on a Trailways bus so as to grind himself into his misery a little more, a little deeper; a man of perhaps fifty in the seat next to him performed fellatio on him in the dark early morning somewhere near Joliet, and he absurdly thought that he was getting even with his wife, the bitch.
Someone
liked him, even if it was this sad old cocksucker.

But New York was of no help, it didn’t feel at all like home to him, it existed in a kind of aquatic grayness of sleet and dark clouds and sympathetic friends, all of whom performed their parts as carefully as possible, rarely bringing up his wife save once in a while, to call her a bitch, a whore, even, transgressively, a cunt. He stayed with two of these friends, a man and wife, and in the comically sad way in which life crawls and stumbles its way through time, this couple had always been thought of by their passive guest with a kind of jolly but mocking contempt: now he slept on their pull-out Carlyle couch, ate their food, and drank their liquor.

He began to talk to them about his wife, to confide in them, to think of them as the intimate friends that they assuredly were not. In his neurotic and uxorious gloom, he said, in many different ways, the same thing over and over to them:
Where is my wife? I want my wife!
He would take her back no matter what, ask her nothing, forgive her everything, she could walk on him, kick him, she could spit on him! if only she would come back to him, come back and make him the complete slave and idiot of abasement that he so longed to be. His was a continuing performance that went beyond humiliation, a groveling masochism of which he embarrassingly seemed fully aware. They watched him in silence as he blubbered and wailed; it was horrifying. But not to him.

A week or two into the crazed life that he was sedulously creating for himself, he found out, somehow, that his wife and her kidnapper, her rapist, her Svengali and sinister sexual magician, her depraved wizard, her slavering satyr with his enormous phallus eternally ready for her, only her … he found out that they were living in St. Louis. He had no address for them, and no way of thinking them—of thinking her—into the landscape: what did St. Louis look like? But he unexpectedly got the address from his host, who had a friend in St. Louis, an assistant professor at Washington University. He had no idea how any of this had come about.

He wanted to go to her in strange and alien St. Louis, to plead his case, to beg her, implore her, to dare ask her if she’d had enough abandoned and filthy sex with her seducer; but feared that she certainly would accept his pleadings, his tears, with perverse delight, would abuse him with a word or two of contempt, and send him home alone. He knew this, knew that she was a bitch, a worthless bitch, shallow and corrupt and cruel: oh how he wanted her, she was
his
bitch! He asked his host then if he would consent to go to St. Louis and, through his friend at the university, meet with his wife, plead for him, set out his case for him, ask her why she’d left, ask her, ask her,
ask
her, even if he had to do it in front of her smirking lover. He would pay for his trip, his airfare and all expenses, and even include a bonus for his trouble, although he was not so totally unbalanced as to use the word “bonus.” And so the friend left, but was back within three days, for his wife and her amour had apparently left St. Louis, and there was no way of knowing where they had gone. The husband, in his by-now usual imbecilic daze, finally left his friends’ apartment after finding one of his own, a dark and wretched shotgun flat on Fourth Street and Avenue D, a perfect venue to complement his mood of not-quite-suicidal misery. How the streets churned with ignorance and poverty and hatred and violence. Perfect.

The weeks passed and he began, slowly, very slowly, to consider the rash frenzy, really, of his request to his “friend,” the weakness he had revealed to him in his unvarnished pleading that he go as his—what was it?—representative? intermediary? envoy? to his wife. He had exposed himself to this man and his wife, and he was certain that he had given them a social or psychological gift that they would use against him in some way in the future, he didn’t know when, but at some moment in a year or two or more, he’d be confronted with the whining, puerile, blubbering image of his collapse into bathos, he would be
presented,
as it were, as a milquetoast to whomever would listen. For now it was clear to him that the couple he had thought of with such dismissive contempt for so many years, had thought of him in the same way.

COMMENTARIES

— I —

… Kraft French Dressing, glowing weirdly orange …
The label on the bottle describes this dressing as “creamy.” So it was in 1934, so it is now. No one has ever discovered why this dressing, with its odd tang of sugary vinegar, was and is called “French,” nor has anyone suggested a reason for its strange, pumpkin-like color. It is highly popular.

… a bottle of Worcestershire sauce …
This sauce was Lea and Perrins, considered by virtually everyone to be the
ne plus ultra
of Worcestershire sauces. The brand has been made since 1835, and its paper wrapper surely adds to its special cachet. For many years, the label on the bottle noted that it was the recipe of a “nobleman in the county,” or, perhaps, “country,” but that information is no longer provided.

— II—

… the Shadow …
The Shadow’s name was Lamont Cranston, and his assistant and (perhaps) fiancée and/or lover was Margo Lane. She was always described as “the lovely Margo Lane.”

… Philco floor-model radio …
Philco radios have not been manufactured for many years.

… his black cloak and black slouch hat …
While the Shadow wore such raiment in the pulp stories conceived by author Walter B. Gibson, producers of the radio version, which concerns us here, working within the constraints of the medium, imbued the character with a secret power that he had “learned in the Orient,” the power “to cloud men’s minds so that they cannot see him.” Nor, of course, could listeners: it could not have mattered what he wore.

… his unearthly laughter …
The Shadow was good, a fighter of crime and oppression, yet the boy is terrified. This might suggest that children know that good may instantly become evil, and vice versa.

— III —

… standing at a dark window …
Fictional characters who stand at dark windows are often constrained to look down at streets gleaming with rain. But not here.

— IV —

…
his mother sits with a highball
… In this instance, Canada Dry ginger ale and Seagram’s 7 blended whisky. The term “highball” is no longer in general use.

… he has been talking, quarreling …
The quarrel was about money, specifically, a loan from his father-in-law on which the father would like to delay payment. His wife has taken her father’s side in this argument, not, perhaps, a good sign for the stability of the marriage.

— V —

… a drone of music
… It may be inferred that the narrator does not like the music in question. But the conversation? What deductive inference are we to draw from the singular selection, for further commentary, of one type of “drone”?

…
The cab was waiting
… A checker cab, one of the small, lost pleasures of New York life.

…
wearing his wife’s clothes …
This is somewhat puzzling. Either the woman was the wife’s size, or the wife’s clothing was of the one-size-fits-all variety.

— VI —

… his wife dead for many years …
His wife’s name was Constance (Connie), and his children’s Rose, Maria, Grace, and Alexander (Alex).

— VII —

…
Carol and …
the girls’ last names, in order, are: Brookner, Kalmas, Margolis, Imperato, Jorgensen, Pincus, Aquino, Griffin, Wasserman, Chaves, Newman, Bello, Scisorek, Vail, and Kirkjian.

…
the shade of a birch tree
… It may have been a poplar, or whatever you prefer.

— VIII —

…
store-brand English muffin …
The store, A&P; the brand, Jane Parker.

…
peanut butter …
The peanut butter is also the A&P’s own brand. Ann Page.

… a cigarette …
He smokes Camel Lights and Marlboro Lights.

…
the old story of the death camp survivor …
The story: after being liberated from Auschwitz, a Jew tells another Jew that he’s going to leave soon for Brazil or Chile or Laos or Pakistan—someplace that is not in Europe. The other Jew says, “It’s so
far!”,
to which the first Jew replies, “Far from what?”

—IX —

… the sliding glass door …
This suggests, but does not, certainly, prove, that the mise-en-scène is California.

…
it presented a message …
E.g., “Hello! You’ve been selected for a Caribbean vacation!”

…
he’d had a friend …
This unexpected event occurred a month or so after the friend had published his first book of poems. There is probably no significance to this, although another “friend” of the poet said that perhaps he’s read his own work.

—X—

…
loves a girl, who, as it turns out …
The reader may be reminded of the last lines of
Swann’s Way
(Moncrieff-Kilmartin translation): “to think that I’ve wasted years of my life, that I’ve longed to die, that I’ve experienced my greatest love, for a woman who didn’t appeal to me, who wasn’t even my type!” It should be noted, however, that Proust tells us that Swann said this to himself in a period of his “intermittent caddishness.”

…
anything you can dream up …
You might wish to make on the fly leaves of this book some of the things you can dream up, if you wish; the reader is the ruler.

…
relentlessly invents its gods
… It is, of course, distressingly clear that many societies believe that their gods have not been invented but have permitted themselves to be revealed. There were also many extinct societies that believed in revealed gods. The latter are also extinct, despite the occasional romantic attempt to pretend otherwise.

…
“in mysterious ways”…
“God works in mysterious ways” is one of the supreme bromides of our age, and this is the age of bromides, many of them disguised as hardheaded observations of life.

— XI —

…
the Angelus is heard …
The morning Angelus prayer in the Roman Catholic church is announced by the ringing of church bells at 6:00 a.m. In this case, the bells are ringing in the belfry of the Visitation Academy, a school for Catholic girls, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

… in Dr. Denton pajamas …
One-piece children’s pajamas, often of cotton flannel, their distinguishing feature is the presence of foot coverings, so that the wearer has, so to speak, built-in “slippers” on the garment. They were especially popular in the thirties and forties.

— XII —

…
smoking one cigarette after another
… In this particular case, Philip Morris cigarettes, the package of which was designed to look like a cured tobacco leaf.

…
the husband’s Zippo lighter …
This lighter had a matte nickel finish.

… a gold graduation-gift fountain pen …
This was an Eversharp Skyline fountain pen of 14K gold. Its companion mechanical pencil had been broken for years, and languished in a kitchen drawer.

…
She was, of course, pregnant …
She may well have been made pregnant by her husband, but he didn’t think so.

— XIII —

…
sliced open his gum …
The dentist—in a case such as this, surely, an oral surgeon—will replace the lost bone with liquid bone (biphasic calcium phosphate, or BCP), which ideally will grow as naturally as the patient’s own bones, ultimately replacing it, so that he is “as good as new.”

…
and removes her skirt …
Fantasies of sexual adventures with providers of medical care would seem to be well-nigh universal, at least among male patients.

— XIV —

… in the best tradition of the deathless cliché …
“deathless cliché” is, of course, a deathless cliché.

…
still famous for his charming mediocrities …
That’s
your
opinion.

— XV —

… a sun-faded lime-green monster …
The term “lime-green” does not truly describe the color of this vehicle, which was of one never seen or even approximated in nature.

… he took $147.34
… In 1960, this was a considerable sum. A yearly income of $5,000–$6,000 was enough to live on quite comfortably.

—XVI —

… at the Medical Field Service School …
The school was attached to the Brooke Army Medical Center.

… The sky was turning rose and blue …
Rimbaud dated “Rèvé pour L’Hiver” October 7, 1870, noting that it was composed “En Wagon,” or aboard a train. While it is rarely, if ever, a good idea to attempt a translation—a transliteration—of poetry into prose, this does have some of the flavor of the original—lacking, of course, Rimbaud’s brilliant casualness, his arrogant and elegant linguistic slouch.

—XVII —

… smelled of rancid and sour fat …
In the early part of the twentieth century, this smell might have been called, in some working-class circles, “a far-away smell.”

… the way of Greek warriors …
Other Greek warriors who dressed their hair in such wise: Agamemmnon, Menelaus, Ajax (both Great and Lesser), etc., etc.

… Odysseus …
Odysseus was red-headed, a sign, perhaps, of his Achean roots.

… “a
groove,
man!”…
Like, excellent. Back-formation, “Groovy.”

—XVIII —

…
the booth of the diner
… It might have been the Royal, Homer’s, Kirk’s, or the Bridge View.

— XIX —

…
white rayon underpants
… In the thirties, these were called “step-ins,” a curiously obvious name.

…
her lunch dishes …
Dishes probably bought at the local Woolworth five and ten. They were probably decorated with lead-painted flowers, or multicolored stripes.

— XX —

…
under a mortar attack …
The expertise of the Chinese with mortars was well-known among American troops during the Korean War.

…
FECOM …
An acronym for Far East Command.

— XXI —

… an improvisatory fantasia …
There are many marriages that are based upon “improvisatory fantasias,” and why not? The notions of “honesty” in marriage, the revelation of all secrets, and “realism” seem to come from popular fiction of all sorts.

…
“swell”
… A word that is no longer in use, save ironically. The late painter and writer, Fielding Dawson, however, used the word without a trace of irony.

—XXII —

… a little girl in pigtails …
These two figures looked vaguely dated.

… Handsome is as handsome does …
This expression may, for some who are not concerned with linguistic subtleties, be transliterated, so to speak, as “actions speak louder than words.”

—XXIII —

… AMEN DICO VOBIS QUIA UNUS VESTRUM METRADITURUS EST … Which may be translated: “Amen, I say to you, there is one [of you] who will betray me.”

… in a summer pinafore …
The pinafore is pink and white.

… The Make-Believe Ballroom … a radio program hosted by the
D. J.
Martin Block. The theme song, “It’s Make-Believe Ballroom Time,” was, I believe, the Glenn Miller version.

… to Jersey City?! …
Jersey City was, and probably still is, unprepossessing at the best of times; in the “bitter cold” it could be thoroughly dispiriting.

… Lux Radio Theater … The hallmark of this radio drama series was its presentation, as aural dramas, of the popular movies of the era. Lana Turner may well have starred in the radio version of
The Postman Always Rings Twice.

… Bix Beiderbecke’s “Margie”…
“Margie,” a popular song, with words by Benny Davis, music by Con Conrad and J. Russel Robinson, published in 1920. It was performed, perhaps most famously, by Eddie Cantor in the film,
Margie.
The Beiderbecke performance, here noted, was recorded in New York on September 21, 1928, by Bix Beiderbecke and his Gang. The personnel were: Beiderbecke, cornet, Bill Rank, trombone, Izzy Friedman, clarinet, Min Leibrook, bass saxophone, Roy Bargy, piano, and Lennie Hayton, ordinarily a pianist, on drums. Bix plays with his usual heartbreaking clarity of tone. It’s pleasant to think otherwise, but Martin Block would probably never had had Bix’s “Margie” on his playlist.

— XXIV —

…
had he a wife …
This may suggest that Vince once had a wife but no longer had one, or it may suggest nothing of the kind.

…
next shopping trip
… To the A&P or Bohack’s….

the
favored cereal … In this case, Post Toasties, the General Foods Corporation’s apparent attempt at whimsy.

— XXV —

…
sunbaked funereal places …
E.g.: Las Vegas,
NV
; Palm Springs,
CA
; Phoenix,
AZ
; St. Augustine,
FL
; Santa Fe,
NM
; etc.

… an accounting ledger …
Purchased at his local stationery store, Laverty & Son, on Eighth Avenue between Thirteenth and Fourteenth Streets in New York. The store no longer exists.

— XXVI —

… canned 3.2 beer from a case …
The beer, from an Army beer hall, had an alcohol content of 3.2%, and was slightly more potent than water.

… the beer hall …
The beer hall in question was at Fort Hood, Texas; at the time—Spring 1952
—THE
home of the Second Armored Division (“Hell on Wheels”). No officers were anywhere in sight on this wholly uneventful day.

… one had Lone Star, the other Pearl …
Two brands of beer that were and, taking into account various corporate acquisitions, nominally still are indigenous to Texas.