The Broom of the System (13 page)

“I think I’m going to be physically ill.”

“I’m frankly worried. This has almost taken my mind off your present lack of trust in me. Norman is not right.”

“How come I’ve never seen him? I see his car all the time, in that space.”

“I think there are size problems with the front door. He has a special entrance on the east side. Elevator. Reinforced cables.”

“Wow.”

“....”

“Did he finish all that? Is he finished?”

“He’s certainly slowing down. I sense something missing, though. See the way he’s looking around?”

“Dear God, Rick, look at the floor.”

“Dessert. That’s what’s missing. And here comes the waiter.”

“Laws of nature will be violated if he eats all that and doesn’t die.”

“Lenore, listen, I think we should go over and see if there’s anything we can do.”

“Are you joking? I think that’s an insane person, over there. I don’t think it was the light, I think he really tried to bite the waiter. See the way the waiter’s just sort of tossing the desserts onto the table from a safe distance?”

“Norman’s sated, though, you can tell. The desserts are going at a normal rate, more or less.”

“You’ve still got a lot of your own steak left, you know.”

“The steak will keep. I feel vicariously gorged,
anyway.”

“What are you doing? Are you kidding? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Come on.”

“Big mistake, Rick. Not something I wish to do.”

“Be a sport.”

“How are we going to get over there?”

“Serpentine. Follow me. Watch the—”

“I see it.”

“Norman?”

“Who’s that?”

“Rick Vigorous, Norman.”

“Not a good time, Vigorous. The beast is at trough, as you can see.”

“Norman, we were just at the other table, there, just beyond the vegetables, see?”

“....”

“... And thought we’d come over to see if anything in particular might be the tiniest bit wrong, and to introduce this young lady I’m with, who works in the Building, and whom you may or may not know.”

“I don’t think I know you, no.”

“Norman Bombardini may I present Ms. Lenore Beadsman, Lenore, Mr. Bombardini.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Beadsman. Not related to Stonecipher Beadsman, by any chance?”

“Lenore is Mr. Beadsman’s daughter.”

“Daughter. Interesting. Stonecipheco Baby Foods. Not a bad line of products, really. A bit soft and runny for my taste, of course....”

“Well, it’s infant food, really, Norman.”

“... but any port in the proverbial storm. Please feel free to sit down.”

“Shall we?”

“Ummm ...”

“Let’s.”

“Just put the plates anywhere at all. You probably don’t want to sit in that chair, at all, Ms. Beadsman, I predict.”

“Not really.”

“Here’s another one.” “....”

“So, Norman.”

“I don’t suppose either of you would care for a bit of eclair?”

“No thank you.”

“No thanks, Norman, really. ”

“Well, it’s just as well, because you can’t have any. They’re mine. I paid for them and they’re mine.”

“No one disputes that.”

“Staked your claim pretty thoroughly, I’d say.”

“Ms. Beadsman, you’re not one of those spunky girls, are you? One of those girls with spunk? My wife has spunk. Or rather she had spunk. Or rather she was my wife. Spunk is apt to make me uncontrollably ravenous, thus representing not an insignificant hazard to the possessor thereof.”

“Lenore is comparatively devoid of spunk, really.”

“Thanks, Rick.”

“So, Norman. How are things?”

“Things are huge and grotesque and disgusting, Vigorous; surely you can see that.”

“Pretty keen analysis, really.”

“Careful, Ms. Beadsman. That was spunky, in my opinion.”

“Norman, I couldn’t help noticing that you’re having rather more for dinner than seems completely natural. Or healthy.”

“I’d go along with that, Vigorous.”

“So I presume something is the matter.”

“Astute as always.”

“....”

“You want to know the story? I’d be happy to tell you. I think I have just enough caloric energy stored up to make it through the telling of the tale. It’s short. I am monstrously fat. I am a glutton. My wife was disgusted and repulsed. She gave me six months to lose one hundred pounds. I joined Weight Watchers ... see it there, right across the street, that gaunt storefront? This afternoon was the big six-month weigh-in. So to speak. I had gained almost seventy pounds in the six months. An errant Snickers bar fell out of the cuff of my pants and rolled against my wife’s foot as I stepped on the scale. The scale over there across the street is truly an ingenious device. One preprograms the desired new weight into it, and if one has achieved or gone below that new low weight, the scale bursts into recorded whistles and cheers and some lively marching-band tune. Apparently, tiny flags protrude from the top and wave mechanically back and forth. A failure—see for instance mine—results in a flatulent dirge of disappointed and contemptuous tuba. To the strains of the latter my wife left, the establishment, me, on the arm of a svelte yogurt distributor whom I am even now planning to crush, financially speaking, first thing tomorrow morning. Ms. Beadsman, you will find an eclair on the floor to the left of your chair. Could you perhaps manipulate it onto this plate with minimal chocolate loss and pass it to me.”

“....”

“Marvelous.”

“Still, though, Norman, I know you to be a highly intelligent man. Surely turbulence with the wife is no reason to eat like this. To self-destruct. A purported failure at Weight Watchers ... to hell with Weight Watchers!”

“No, Vigorous; as usual, no. I have come to see this afternoon that Weight Watchers—and diet enterprises, diet books, diet personalities, and diet cults in general—that they are almost inconceivably deep and profound things. They have tapped into a universe-view with which I find myself in complete agreement.”

“A universe-view? Norman, I—”

“I see you’re interested, Ms. Beadsman. Have I interested you?”

“Sort of.”

“No small feat, I imagine, to interest a spunky, sharp-haired girl.”

“....”

“Yin and Yang, Vigorous. Yin and Yang. Self and Other.”

“....”

“Weight Watchers holds as a descriptive axiom the transparently true fact that for each of us the universe is deeply and sharply and completely divided into for example in my case, me, on one side, and everything else, on the other. This for each of us exhaustively defines the whole universe, Vigorous. The whole universe. Self and Other.”

“Sounds uncontroversial to me, Norman.”

“Yes and also not only that each of our universes has this feature, but that we are by nature without exception
aware
of the fact that the universe is so divided, into Self, on one hand, and Other, on the other. Exhaustively divided. It’s part of our consciousness.”

“Okey dokey. ”

“And then they hold as a prescriptive axiom the undoubtedly equally true and inarguable fact that we each ought to desire our own universe to be
as full
as possible, that the Great Horror consists in an empty, rattling personal universe, one where one finds oneself with Self, on one hand, and vast empty lonely spaces before Others begin to enter the picture at all, on the other. A non-full universe. Loneliness, Vigorous. Weight Watchers sees itself as a warrior in the great war against loneliness. Is that not noble? One moment. You, waiter! I wouldn’t say no to a mint, you know! Feel free to bring some mints! Excuse me. Loneliness. Balance. The emptier one’s universe is, the worse it is. This we all surely accept. Do either of you not accept this?”

“....”

“....”

“Now, Weight Watchers perceives the problem as one involving the need to have as much Other around as possible, so that the relation is one of minimum Self to maximum Other. This is a valid though, as I’ve seen this afternoon, by no means exclusive way to attack the problem. Are you getting my drift, Vigorous?”

“Well, a drift is such a—”

“It occurs to me that I couldn’t care less. A full universe, Vigorous, Ms. Beadsman. We each need a full universe. Weight Watchers and their allies would have us systematically decrease the Self-component of the universe, so that the great Other-set will be physically attracted to the now more physically attractive Self, and rush in to fill the void caused by that diminution of Self. Certainly not incorrect, but just as certainly only
half
of the range of valid solutions to the full-universe problem. Is my drift getting palpable? Just as in genetic engineering, Vigorous. There is always more than one solution.”

“I think I—”

“An autonomously full universe, Vigorous. An autonomously full universe, Ms. Beadsman.”

“What should I do with these mints, here?”

“I’ll just take the bowl, thank you. Rather than diminishing Self to entice Other to fill our universe, we may also of course obviously choose to fill the universe with
Self.”

“You mean ... ?”

“Yes. I plan to grow to infinite size.”

“Do I recall saying big mistake? Did I mention decks not being completely full?”

“Lenore, please. Norman, friend, really. A universe-view is one thing. No one can grow to infinite size.”

“Has anyone ever tried?”

“Not to my knowledge, no, but ...”

“Then do me the kindness not to shrilly monger finite failure until I’ve tried. No one had ever been able to give butter life, either, but ...”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. To be ignored. A slip of the tongue.” “....”

“Yes and tonight Project Total Yang begins. I am going to grow and grow and grow. There will of course eventually cease to be room for anyone else in the universe at all, which I’m afraid will also mean the two of you, for which I apologize, but say also tough titty.”

“Really, enjoyed it a lot, we’ll have to do it again. We better go, my salad is attracting a fly, over there, I can see.”

“Looks yummy.”

“Unfortunately it’s mine and not yet part of your universe, at least temporarily. Rick, should we just wade on back over ...
^?
”

“Norman, I simply would not be honest if I didn’t say right up front that I’m worried about you, about your emotional outlook, given what you’ve told me of your day today, with its attendant strains.”

“Won’t be an outlook, eventually. Only an inlook. I just hope I can financially crush that yogurt distributor before there ceases to be any meaningful difference between him and me. The light green mints are particularly good here, I think. You may if you wish each have one.”

“ .... ”

“ .... ”

“Really quite good. Of course one other advantage of my approach to the Yin/Yang problem is that dieting becomes the worst possible thing to do. I find dieting makes me insanely angry at everything. Dieting makes me want to murder everyone around me.”

“Instead of merely appropriating their space.”

“You are not un-sharp, are you? Rather like your father. Your father whips a mean carrot. I could, of course, leave selected small comers of the universe unfilled for those who might arouse in me feelings of affection and attachment.”

“I’ll get back to you, probably, if things begin to crowd.”

“Norman, friend, simply know that I am around and available should you ever wish to talk, I’ll not say chew the fat, or perhaps should you simply wish to pal around. I am around for you, Norman.”

“Your crowning virtue, Vigorous. Your best feature. You are always around.”

“At least temporarily.”

“Lenore,
please.”

“Ms. Beadsman, I am coming to like you, unless it’s simply the inevitably favorable comparison of anyone with Vigorous here. Have you ever had intercourse with someone soon to be of infinite size?”

“On that note, I think, I’ll just be going.... Rick?”

“Right. Norman?”

“Goodbye, Vigorous. Enjoy that Self while you can.”

“I think the same route back would be ...”

“No problem.”

“Should we finish? Are you hungry?”

“Are you kidding? Let’s just go. Drop me off, and I’ll take a quick shower and grab some things and try to get Candy to drop me, and you can drive me back in the morning. I don’t feel like squeezing into my car tonight.”

“Right. There is of course still the issue of your not telling me an important thing.”

“Tell tell tell.”

“I could call Vern Raring at the switchboard and see if he knows.”

“Good luck getting him instead of like Enrique the cheesemaker.” “

“Lines. I forgot. Walinda was livid. I’m sure all that made for quite a day, what with you being worried about untellable matters, et cetera.”

“The badness of this day has been enormous.”

“As it were.”

“Not funny at all. That man has waddled around the bend.”

“Well, look, he’s trying to leave.”

“Don’t envy that busboy one bit.”

“Hell of a check, I’ll bet.”

“I’ll sure never park in his space.”

“Here, allow me.”

“.... ”

Lenore Beadsman was in possession of the following items. One of two square bedrooms with polished wood floors and inoperative fireplaces on the third floor of an enormous gray house belonging to a Cleveland oral surgeon, in East Corinth. Three large windows, two facing west, all so clean they squeaked, only one open, because only one had a screen. From the windows a view of the outside at the right-hand edge of which the tight seam of geometric suburban ground and dim sky was punctured by the far thin teeth of Cleveland. Windows through which late in the day came a sustained blast of pumpkin-colored Cleveland sunset. Windowsills that were really window shelves, and jutted out so far from the low window-bottoms they could be sat on, and were, although there were nails and sharp perpendicular paint chips, which problem was solved by the placement of black corduroy cushions, which Lenore also owned, on the sills.