The Plant (5 page)

As for me, I’m sort of clinging to what Tyndale said—that I acted in 31

good faith as a citizen. The one thing I’ll not do is send you the photos, which were returned to me today. They might give you the sort of dreams I’ve been having—and those dreams are definitely ungood. I’ve come to the conclusion that all special effects wizards must be frustrated surgeons. In fact, if Roger gives me the okay, I’m going to burn them.

I love you, Ruth.

Your adoring horse’s ass,

John

32

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: John Kenton

DATE: 2/2/81

MESSAGE: Go ahead and burn them. I never want to hear about Carlos Detweiller again.

Listen, John—a little excitement’s fine, but if we don’t start some action here at Zenith, we’re all going to be looking for jobs. I’ve heard that Apex may be hunting buyers. Which is like looking for dodo birds or pterodactyls. We’ve
got
to have a book or books that will make some noise by this summer, and that means we better start looking yesterday. Start shaking the trees, okay?

Roger

33

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

t o : Roger

f r o m : John

r e: Tree-shaking

What trees? Zenith House exists on the Great Plains of American publishing, and you damned well know it.

John

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: John Kenton

DATE: 2/3/81

MESSAGE: Find a tree or find a job. That’s all there is, sweets.

Roger

34

February 4, 1981

Mr. John “Judas Priest” Kenton

Zenith Asshole-House, Publishers of Kaka

490 Avenue of Dog-Shit

New York, New York 10017

Dear Judas,

This is the thanks I get for giving you my book. Okay, I understand. I should have known what to expect. You think you are SO SMART. Okay. I understand. You are really nothing but a dirty b etraying bastard. How much have you stolen. Plenty, I would guess. You think you are SO SMART but you are nothing but a “Warped Plank” in “the GREAT FLOOR OF THE UNIVERSE.” There are ways to deal with GUYS LIKE

YOU. You probably think I am going to come and get you. But I am not. I would not

“dirty my hands with your dirt,” as Mr. Keen us ed to say. But I can fix you if I want.

And I want! I WANT!!!!

Meantime you have spoiled everything here so I suppose you are satisfied. That doesn’t matter. I have gone West. I would say “fuck you” but who would. Not me. I wouldn’t even if I was a girl and you were Richard Ge ar. I wouldn’t if you was s ome really neat girl with a good build.

Well I am going away but my material is copywright and I just hope you know what copywright is even if you don’t know “shit” from “shoe-polish.” So you just put that in your pipe and smoke it all the day long Mr. Judas Kenton. Goodbye.

I hate you,

Carlos Detweiller

In Transit

U.S. of A.

35

February 7, 1981

Dear Ruth,

I had sort of expected a “fuck-you” letter from Carlos Detweiller—it was in the back of my mind, anyway—and I got a dilly just the other day. I employed Zenith House’s creaky pre-World War I Xerox machine to make a copy, and have enclosed it with this letter. In his anger he is almost lyri-cal—I especially like the line about me being a warped plank in the floor of the universe...a phrase even Carlyle might admire. He misspelled Richard Gere’s name, but maybe that was artistic license. On the whole, I’d say I feel relieved—it’s over, at least. The guy has struck out for the Great American West, undoubtedly with his rose-cutting shears slung low on one hip (on one rose-hip? oh, forget it).

“Yeah, but is he really gone?” you ask. The answer is, yes he is.

I got the letter yesterday and rang up Barton Iverson of the Central Falls Police almost at once (after getting Roger’s grudging approval for the long distance, I might add). I thought Iverson would go along with my request to check matters out, and he did. Seems he too thought the “sakrifice photos”

were too real for comfort, and the latest Detweiller communication does have a rather threatening tone. He sent a man named Riley—the same man who went before, I think—to check out Carlos, and he (Iverson, not Riley) called me back in ninety minutes. It seems that Detweiller served his notice almost right after being released from custody, and the Barfield woman has even advertised for a new florist’s assistant in the local newspapers.

One mildly interesting thing: Riley checked on the guy in the “sakrifice photos,” and came up with a name I know: It was Mr. Norville Keen, the same guy, I’m pretty sure, that Detweiller mentioned in his first two letters 36

(“Why describe a guest when you can see that guest,” and other pearls of wisdom). The cop asked her a few questions about the staging of those photos, and the Barfield woman clammed up, ka-bang, just like that. Asked him if it was an official investigation, or what. It isn’t, of course, so that was that...and in my mind, the whole subject is closed. Iverson told me that Riley can’t “make” the Barfield woman from any of the photos, so there was no handle to question her further...not that anyone there in Central Falls really wants to, I think. Iverson was very frank with me. “Let sleeping weirdos lay,” was what he actually said, and I agree two hundred per cent.

If the new Anthony LaScorbia novel turns out to be Plants from Hell, though, I’m quitting.

I’ll write you a more normal letter later in the week, I hope, but I thought you’d want to know how it all turned out. Meanwhile, I’m back to spending my nights on my novel and my days looking for a bestseller we can buy for $2,500. As I believe President Lincoln once said, “Good fucking luck, turkey.”

Meantime, thanks for your phone call, and your last missive. And in answer to your question, yeah, I’m also H*O*R*N*Y.

My love,

John

37

February 19, 1981

Dear Mr. Kenton,

You don’t know me, but I sort of know you. My name is Roberta Solrac, and I am
an avid reader of Anthony LaScorbia’s series of novels. Like Mr. LaScorbia, I feel
that ecology is about to revolt!!! Anyway, I wrote Mr. LaScorbia a “fan letter” last
month and he answered me! I was very excited and honored, so I sent him a dozen
roses. He said he was excited and honored (to get the roses) as no one had ever sent him
flowers before.

Anyway, in our correspondence, he mentioned your name and said you were
responsible for his literary triumphs. I can’t send you roses as I am “broke,” but I am
sending you a small plant for your office, via UPS. It is supposed to bring good luck.

Hope this finds you well, and keep up the good work!!!

Yours most sincerely,

Roberta Solrac

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

t o: Roger

f r o m: John

r e: Ongoing insanity

Take a look at the enclosed letter, Roger. Then spell “Solrac” backwards.

I think I really am going crazy. What did I do to deserve this guy?

38

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: John Kenton

DATE: 2/23/81

MESSAGE: Maybe you’re jumping at shadows. If not, what do you want to do about it? Re-open things with the Central Falls P.D.?

Assuming this is Detweiller—and I admit the last name soars into the outer limits of the coincidental and the style bears a certain similarity, although it’s obviously a different typewriter—it’s just, if I may wax alliterative, a harmless helping of little-kid harassment. My advice is forget it. If “Roberta Solrac” sends you a plant in the mail, dump it down the incinerator chute. It’s probably poison ivy. You’re letting this get on your nerves, John. I tell you this seriously:
Forget
it.

Roger

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

t o : Roger

f r o m : John

r e : “Roberta Solrac”

Poison ivy, my ass. The guy worked in a greenhouse. It’s probably deadly nightshade, or belladonna, or something like that.

John

39

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: John Kenton

DATE: 2/23/81

MESSAGE: I thought about shagging my butt down the hall to talk to you, but I’m expecting a call from Harlow “The Axeman Cometh”

Enders in a few minutes, and don’t want to be out of my office. But maybe it’s better that I write this down anyway, because you don’t seem to really believe anything unless it’s in print.

John, let this go.
The Detweiller thing is over. I know the whole business knocked you for a loop—hell, it did me, too—but you’ve got to let it go. We have got some serious problems here in-house, just in case you didn’t know it. There’s going to be a re-evaluation of what we’re up to in June, and what were up to is not much. This means we could all be out on our asses in September. Our “year of grace” has begun to shrink. Quit worrying about Detweiller and for Christ’s sake find something I can publish that will make money.

I can’t make myself clearer. I love you, John, but let this go and get back to work, or I’m going to have to make some hard choices.

Roger

40

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

t o : Riddley

f r o m: John Kenton

r e : Possible incoming package

I have an idea that I may be receiving a U P S package from somewhere in the midwest during the next week to ten days. The sender’s name is Roberta Solrac. If you see such a package, make sure I don’t. In other words, dump it immediately down the nearest incinerator chute. I suspect you know most of what there is to know about the Detweiller business. This may be associated with that, and the contents of the package could be dangerous.

Unlikely, but in the realm of possibility.

Thanking you,

John Kenton

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

to: John Kenton

from: Riddley

re: Possible incoming package

Yassuh, Mist Kenton!

Riddley
Mail Roomp>

41

from
T H E S A K R E D B O O K O F C A R L O S

SAKRED MONTH OF FEBBA (Entry #64)

I know how to get him. I have set things in motion, praise Abbalah. Praise Green Demeter. I’ll get them all. Green Green “ must be seen.” Ha! You Ju d a s !

Little do you know! But I know! All about your girlfriend, too—only girlfriend is now girlFIEND, little do you know what she is up to! T h e re is another mule kicking in your stall, Mr. Judas Big-Shot Editor! OUIJA says this mu l e ’s name is GARY! In my dreams I have seen them and G A RY is HAIRY! Not like you, you wimpy little J U DAS! Soon I’m sending you a present! Everyone pros-p e rs! Every Judas safe in the arms of Abbalah! Come Abbalah! COME GREAT DEM E T E R !

COME GREEN!

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February 25

Dear Ruth,

I’ve got a case of the mean reds, so I thought I’d pass some of them on—

see the enclosed Xeroxes, concluding with a typically impudent communication from Riddley, he of the coal-black skin and three hundred huge white teeth.

You’ll notice that Roger kicked my ass good and hard—not much like Roger, and doubly sobering for that very reason. I don’t think one has to be very paranoid to see that he’s talking about the possibility of firing me. If I’d talked this out with him over martinis at Flaherty’s after work, I doubt very much if he would have come down so hard, and of course I had no idea he was waiting on a call from Enders. I undoubtedly deserved the ass-kicking I got—I haven’t really been doing my job—but he has no idea of the scare that letter threw into me when I realized it was Detweiller again. I’m too goddam thin-skinned for my own good, that’s what Roger thinks...but Detweiller is scary for other, less easily grasped reasons. Being the idée that’s gotten fixe in some crazy’s head has got to be one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world—if I knew Jody Foster, I think I’d give her a jingle and tell her I know exactly how she feels. There’s an almost palpable texture of slime about Detweiller’s communications, and oh boy, oh yeah, I wish I could get him out of my head, but I still have nightmares about those pictures.

Anyway, I have taken care of matters as well as I can, and no, I have no intention of calling Central Falls. We have an editorial meeting tomorrow.

43

I’ll try to the best of my limited abilities to get back on the beam...except at Zenith House the beam is so narrow it almost doesn’t exist.

I love you, I miss you, I long for your return. Maybe you being gone is part of the problem. Not to make you feel guilty.

All my love,

John

From the journals of Riddley Walker

2/23/81

Like a stone thrown into a large and stagnant pond, the Detweiller affair has caused any number of ripples at my place of employment. I thought that all of them had gone by; yet this afternoon one more rolled past, and who is to say even that one will be the last?

I have included a Xerox of an exceedingly curious memo I received from Kenton at 2:35 P.M. plus my own reply (the memo came just after Gelb left,in something of a huff; why he should have been in a huff eludes me since today he brought his own dice and I did him the courtesy of not even checking them, but Ah g’iss Ah woan
nevuh
understand dese white folks). I think I have covered the Detweiller affair to a nicety in these pages, but I should add that it never surprised me in the least that Kenton was the one to bring Detweiller, the rogue comet, into the erratic (and, I fear, degenerating) orbit of Zenith House. He is brighter than Sandra 44