The Egg Code (5 page)

“I am tired,” I tell the reporter, and she writes it down. “That’s the theme of this book. My fatigue. My need to jump up and scream— enough with the excuses! Enough with the, ‘Well, it happened to me.’ ” The photographer pats my shoulder and I sit back up, passing gas as my belt presses into my stomach. The reporter scrunches in her seat, pretending not to notice. “As long as it happened
to
you, there’s nothing you can do about it. Whatever misfortune you may have encountered in your life, ultimately you brought it upon yourself.”

Having these women in my tiny apartment feels odd to me. I’ve been here by myself for so long now that I find it hard to interact with any company, no matter how polite or well-meaning. My apartment is nearly bare. White walls. I eat from the same plate every night, even though I own a set of four. I wash the plate after every use and set it back on top of the other three. Me and my habits. Well, I haven’t been entirely alone. My ex-wife has stopped by a few times. And Scarlet Blessing, the girl. But now she’s gone too.

The interviewer holds her pen against her notepad and bites her lip. She doesn’t want to ask the next question. I offer her a beer and she begins to relax. “I wonder,” she says, “if you think that others like you may have inadvertently contributed to a harmful mindset in this country?”

“Inadvertently?” I smile, toying with her.

She looks annoyed. She too has limits; my cute response strains her capacity, her professional need to care. Still, she says, “You know what I mean. The American mindset. We’re all victims. Poor little me.”

My shoulders slump as the woman takes a swig of her beer. I’m glad she’s enjoying her drink, because right now I feel like throwing up, covering the windows with chunks of gore, my gore. I set my beer down on the wooden floor and say, “Yes, dear. I do. I think about it all the time. It fills me with a terror that I can’t describe.”

Transcript of Stiessen-Hasse Meeting, June 17, 1972

MADRIGAL HASSE: The tune. The pop song. Look at all the lonely people. That’s my situation, right here.

BARTHOLOMEW HASSE: Shhh, relax, it doesn’t matter, everything’s fine. Now shut up and say hello to our friend, our young guest, this is—

M HASSE: Hello, I’m Mrs. Hasse. Welcome to our home. I’m sorry if I’m a bit frantic just now.

DEREK STIESSEN: I understand, absolutely. Is there anything I can—

M HASSE: No, we pay all these servants, that’s why they’re here.

D STIESSEN: Must be two hundred fifty people.

B HASSE: Tom Collins?

M HASSE: Why bother sending out invitations? Just put a sign out: COME ON IN!

B HASSE: Derek. Tom Collins?

D STIESSEN: Oh! Thank you. Thank you very much, sir.

B HASSE: I know it’s Tom Collins because of the alumni, you know, the thing Midwestern threw last fall.

D STIESSEN: Oh yes, yes. I was just down from Ann Arbor.

B HASSE: But you’re fully moved in now?

D STIESSEN: Well, fully as I’m ever gonna get, I guess.

B HASSE: And now you’ve got—

A CATERER: Mrs. Hasse, the ice sculpture, do you want it on the porch?

M HASSE: Are you kidding? It’s ninety degrees out!

B HASSE: Madrigal, attend to that, would you?

M HASSE: What is that, George McGovern? Who can tell, it’s half-melted!

B HASSE: Here, let’s walk, it’s too crowded.

D STIESSEN: I brought some wine. It’s in the—

B HASSE: Don’t worry about that. We’re just glad to have you back in town. I remember seeing you at the graduate seminar— when was it, ’69? ’70?

D STIESSEN: Not sure.

B HASSE: I thought, Here is a guy who...this kid’s got pizzazz, you know? You could’ve handled the war. Most people your age, they couldn’t have lived in England during the Second World War, but you could have, and that’s a compliment.

D STIESSEN: Well, thank you very much, sir.

B HASSE: Now, what about this book? Here, let’s keep walking.

D STIESSEN: Well, the book—

B HASSE: Have you met my daughter?

D STIESSEN: Uhh, I don’t think—

B HASSE: The one over by the pool in the rather too provocative bikini.

D STIESSEN: Oh, I see.

B HASSE: Everyone’s wearing white tuxedos, but the kid won’t bundle up. I tell her she ought to be ashamed of herself. I’ll introduce you, if we ever get the chance. Anyway, I’m sorry I interrupted. Let’s keep moving. The book.

D STIESSEN: The book...I don’t know what to say about it, except it’s kind of disorganized.

B HASSE: The title, what’s it called? When I walk into a bookstore, where do I find it, in what section?

D STIESSEN: That I don’t know.

B HASSE: Start with the name.

D STIESSEN: Oh. For now? The Father and the Son.

B HASSE: Kind of a religious thing.

D STIESSEN: In a way. You know, my father taught religious history at the University of Michigan before all of this...stuff started to happen.

B HASSE: Sure, sure. So it’s a memoir?

D STIESSEN: It’s more like his memoir than my own. I’m a little young to be writing a memoir.

B HASSE: What is it, twenty-three?

D STIESSEN: Twenty-five.

B HASSE: Okay. Well, that’s still okay.

D STIESSEN: Turned twenty-five back in January.

B HASSE: The reason I ask is this. As you know, I’m a publisher. I’ve made my living in publishing ever since the end of the war. And as you can see, we haven’t done too badly.

D STIESSEN: It’s a beautiful house, sir.

B HASSE: And God bless the U.S.A. for that. And God bless Adolf Hitler— which I mean ironically, because if it wasn’t for Adolf Hitler, we wouldn’t be here today.

D STIESSEN: Sure.

B HASSE: No, of course not “God bless Adolf Hitler”— no one in their right mind would say such a thing. But this is American capitalism right here. Supply and demand. We as a people depend on printed materials to carry out the business of the day. And this goes all the way back to the time of Johannes Gutenberg— who was my relative, by the way.

D STIESSEN: Wow. He was—the microscope?

B HASSE: The printing press.

D STIESSEN: Ah.

B HASSE: Ever since the mid—fifteenth century, this is how it’s been, and this is how it’ll always be until the day the world goes to hell. And, not incidentally, this is how I earn most of my income, from the printing and distribution of such materials. Posters. Pamphlets. The sign for Kleinstock pork sausages hanging over the crosstown expressway. This is information.

D STIESSEN: Good thing to get into.

B HASSE: What’s that?

D STIESSEN: Information. Big business.

B HASSE: If you’re willing to diversify. People don’t realize the technological revolution that’s about to take place. Suffice to say that the printing industry is on the verge of a major shock. And the thing that they’re planning is so wrong, it makes me want to spit.

D STIESSEN: Wrong? In what sense?

B HASSE: Morally it’s wrong, very much so, and I’m not exaggerating. Listen to my philosophy, Derek. And if I’m speaking in hushed tones, the reason will soon become apparent. When you place type on a page, it forces you to confront the meaning of your words. The type is real. It’s real ink, real paper. The words have a source. The source is accountable for the truth of the words. These messages flowing out along telephone lines, hurtling themselves across the country, these messages cannot be trusted. They come from nowhere. They’re not real.

D STIESSEN: Telephone lines?

B HASSE: Do you now see why I’m speaking in hushed tones?

D STIESSEN: Abso—

B HASSE: So the point is that I’ve been looking for an excuse to broaden my range and who knows, your book might be the thing. I want to read it. Give it to my secretary tomorrow morning. Or better yet, drive back up to the house. We’ll have a family luncheon, without all these people around. D STIESSEN: I’ll certainly do that, sir.

B HASSE: Oh, and Derek. Change the name. Too German. We’ll fix it. Here, don’t move, I’ll grab Donna, we’ll get you kids going. Freshen your drink?

D STIESSEN: I’ll do it.

B HASSE: It’s all ice, tell them to make you a new one. But come right back.

D STIESSEN: The bar?

B HASSE: Through the French doors. I’m headed this way.

KENNETH HOOK: Bartholomew, you’ve got to make yourself more available, I’ve been trying to hunt you down all afternoon.

B HASSE: Ken! Hi, come walk with me. You came to my party, this is amazing. Inviting you was a mere formality, we never thought you’d actually show up.

K HOOK: Gotta leave at three. My plane’s taking me to Washington, then down to Key Biscayne.

B HASSE: What do you need to see the president for?

K HOOK: Who the fuck knows. This is Richard Nixon, he probably just needs an alibi. Anyway, you... you’re the man in question.

B HASSE: Is that a fact.

K HOOK: I have a picture of you.

B HASSE: Oh, well this sounds lurid.

K HOOK: What you wouldn’t give just to see it, let alone keep it off the open market.

B HASSE: I don’t know, Ken, I have a pretty high tolerance for shame.

K HOOK: Dogs beg, my friend. Dogs beg and puppies whine.

B HASSE: Are you smiling? I can’t tell if this is a smile, or what this is.

K HOOK: You’ll see. We’ll work something out.

B HASSE: This picture, now what could possibly be so terrible that I would actually make such an arrangement?

K HOOK: Imagine the purest essence of evil...

B HASSE: Yes?

K HOOK: Okay, now imagine it’s a full-color snapshot and I’ve got it in my coat pocket.

B HASSE: Again, the smile. Your facial expressions, you should walk around with a stack of subtitles pinned to your chest.

KAY TREE: You! Don’t move.

B HASSE: Oh, hello! Ken...we’ll resume, you and I?

K HOOK: Your eldest grandchild, his genitals dipped in bronze, this is my payment.

B HASSE: I’m just trying to reach my daughter.

K TREE: You’ve got a bug on the back of your shirt.

B HASSE: Well, wipe it off. What kind is it?

K TREE: I have no idea. It’s blue—looks tropical.

B HASSE: I think I felt something.

K TREE: Those were my hands, my fingers. I’m running my hands up and down your body.

B HASSE: Look out for the
cake!

K TREE: Why don’t you—

MADONNA HASSE: Daddy, I’m cold.

B HASSE: Look, I’m sorry, I just need to pass some information on to my daughter.

K TREE: Oh, there—now he goes. Goodbye.

B HASSE: Donna, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.

M’D HASSE: Can’t I at least throw on a kimono or something?

B HASSE: You’ll be fine, everyone here loves you.

M’D HASSE: But I don’t understand why I can’t cover myself properly. These men, these old men, they’re lurking around, staring down my top, it makes me sick.

B HASSE: They’re just expressing their warm feelings of fatherly affection for you. Now, please... just be quiet and get with the program, won’t you, darling? This young man, I think you’ll like him.

M’D HASSE: Which one is he?

B HASSE: He’s right there, standing on the back deck, next to the French doors.

M’D HASSE: The “Scenes of Edo”?

B HASSE: No, no, the Frank Lloyd Wright.

M’D HASSE: Oh, yes.

B HASSE: Very handsome.

M’D HASSE: He’s okay.

B HASSE: His name is Derek Stiessen. Twenty-five years old, just graduated from Midwestern University. I’m very impressed with his credentials. He’s a smart guy.

M’D HASSE: What does he do?

B HASSE: He’s a writer, darling. He writes, ummm... pop psychology, that sort of thing.

M’D HASSE: And people buy his books?

B HASSE: They will if I have anything to do with it.

M’D HASSE: If you have anything to do with it?

K HOOK: I’m still here, Bart.

B HASSE: I’ll be right with you, Ken. Give me thirty seconds.

M’D HASSE: Daddy, what are you talking about?

B HASSE: Look, never mind. Just be nice to him. He’s a perfectly decent young guy. He’s been going through some tough times lately. Father just died. They were very close. And then his mother. Committed suicide, apparently.

M’D HASSE: Oh dear.

B HASSE: Anyway, he’s new to town and I figure he needs some friends, what’s wrong with that?

M’D HASSE: Fine, okay. How’re my lips?

B HASSE: What’s that?

M’D HASSE: My lipstick.

B HASSE: It’s a hideous color but we’ll just have to live with it.

M’D HASSE: Daddy!

B HASSE: Ah, Derek, hello, I see you’ve managed to find that drink.

D STIESSEN: Yes, sir, no problems.

B HASSE: Yes, well, hello, wonderful. Oh! This is my daughter, Donna Hasse. Donna, Derek Stiessen.

M’D HASSE: Hi.

D STIESSEN: Very pleased to meet you.

B HASSE: Donna’s, umm, she’s been staying with us for the time being, just kind of doing her thing. Well, I don’t need to speak for her, I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it. Look, kids, I’ve got some business to attend to, so why don’t you two mingle and I’ll be back shortly. Oh, and Derek, don’t leave without seeing me first.

D STIESSEN: About the—

B HASSE: Tomorrow.

K HOOK: Bart.

D STIESSEN: Yeah, okay.

K HOOK: You want to check this out?

B HASSE: I hear you, Ken. I’m right on it. Donna? Be nice to Mr. Stiessen, won’t you, sweetheart?

D STIESSEN: Oh, gosh.

K HOOK: This really is amazing.

M’D HASSE: I certainly will, Father dear.

K HOOK: Bart.

B HASSE: All right.

K HOOK: Your testicles, my picture: an even swap.

B HASSE: Here, let’s go down to the basement.

D STIESSEN: Bye.

M’D HASSE: There they go. Hurry, hurry.

D STIESSEN: Busy men.

M’D HASSE: I don’t ask what goes on. I don’t need to know.

D STIESSEN: Are you here by choice? Or is this just because you live here?

M’D HASSE: Well. I live here by choice. So I guess that’s the same thing.

D STIESSEN: Does your father give a lot of parties? M’D HASSE: Oh no. My father is the most antisocial man you’ve ever met. We go to a lot of parties.

D STIESSEN: Do you? Do you enjoy that?

M’D HASSE: Well. Sometimes. That’s how I meet people, at parties. People see me with my father, so they think, Oh, she must be okay.

D STIESSEN: Do you ever go out of town?

M’D HASSE: For what?

D STIESSEN: I don’t know. I thought, maybe with Mr. Hasse, he might take you along on his trips.

M’D HASSE: Not really. Mom and I, we stay home most of the time. But we’re always here in case someone needs us.

D STIESSEN: That must be nice for your father.

M’D HASSE: Oh, it is. And there’s plenty to do here. I read a lot.

D STIESSEN: Are you a student?

M’D HASSE: Ha! Isn’t that the same thing as asking a woman her age?

D STIESSEN: I don’t know. I just thought that since Mr. Hasse was such a big supporter of the local universities, you might also...But, you don’t?

M’D HASSE: Well, hmmm. Not to be crude, but I have no desire to do that. No. Some people I do not wish to see. We have a nice little town here. I like things right where they are.

D STIESSEN: You don’t think you’d get along with the other students?

M’D HASSE: I don’t know. You were a student once, weren’t you?

D STIESSEN: Well, yeah, I guess.

M’D HASSE: I think I’d get along with you. You look like you probably have a whole lot of interesting things to say.

D STIESSEN: Really? I don’t know if that’s true or not.

M’D HASSE: Daddy tells me you wrote a book.

D STIESSEN: Oh, it’s nothing. I honestly think he’s getting his hopes up too high. It’s just a little thing I wrote about my father.

M’D HASSE: Well, if you wrote it, I’m sure it’s very good. Do you think a lot of people would want to read it?

D STIESSEN: I don’t know much about how the business works. Maybe Mr. Hasse can give me some pointers. I don’t even know why I wrote it. I just figured everyone’s got a father. And most people probably have the same questions I have. Who is this guy who goes off to work every day, and then comes back home and goes to bed? And then, because of the way things usually work out, lots of times, when you reach the age where you could actually have a real conversation with him, well, by then it’s too late because he’s probably, you know, no longer available...for questions.