A Singular Man

4

THAT was some Friday night. At Thirty Three Golf Street Monday morning there was no Sally Tomson pecking away at her machine. Nor Tuesday nor Wednesday. And Matilda locked in her room now for five days. Smith acquiring a contraption to make breakfast which woke a person with soft music and leaked out a cup of coffee. Once doing so the middle of the night upon Smith's arm while he lay defenseless asleep in a disturbingly objectionable dream.

Chaos gathering at Merry Mansions. Whorls of dust and cracked pieces of delf. Smith slipping notes in under the bedroom door to the silent Matilda. Who on Monday grunted once. And to the shout on Tuesday are you alive, growled. Smith making his way as usual along the river desperate to hop into one of the medical institutions for a mental checkup.

Three days of Miss Tomson's empty desk And Miss Martin came in and said Mr. Smith shall I parcel up Miss Tomson's things and send them to her. George shouting no one's to touch that desk, leave it just as it is. And the rest of the day was one of obtuse politeness with Miss Martin coming back with a letter handing it to Smith, saying, Mr. Smith I'm afraid you've made an error.

"Miss Martin, I'm terribly busy, can't you correct k yourself, where is it, what's the matter with you, what are you paid for.'1

And Miss Martin took her silent white finger and with a fat pink fingernail touched the bottom of the page where George had signed the name Sally Tomson instead of his own.

When the fights start to flicker on during the rapidly dark afternoons were the worst moments at Thirty Three Golf Street. George nipping out for a walk. And late Monday at an excavation peering down into the floodlit morass of winches, cement mixers and ladles of concrete swinging through the air. All din, dust and unsad. A man near George on the platform recognising him from prepsterhood, followed Smith as he retreated the short distance to the corner. And saying behind him, why hi, George. And Smith running outright. Hailing a taxi. Taking it to The Game Club where sitting in the library in die deep stillness and chime of a grandfather clock, examining one's behaviour which was getting too weird for words. What harm to say, hello, hi, good to see you, gosh you look great, remember the great things we did as kids and prepsters, the snakes we put in neighbours' kitchens through the window. And I ran. Can't now face the things which happened years ago, both believing in the same God, putting hands up the same dresses.

Thursday the sixth day of Matilda's incarceration. Morning dawning. George reaching to punch the coffee contraption into life which lacked the loving hand, the juice of living. And with one bleary eye awake the flash thought that Matilda was dead. Maid servant starves to death in Merry Mansions. Police and public crucifixion on the front pages. Why did you do it Mr. Smith, murder her in this ruthless slow way. Instead of shrivelment why not the knife or gun, you're licensed to carry a pistol Why didn't you blast her. Members of the jury this murderer is not only a murderer but a twisted and callous person.

And Thursday Smith swept up his nudity in the polka dot dressing gown, plunged tootsies into slippers to pound once again on Matilda's door. Milkbottle silent. And in the polished mahogany, George's eyes culled up a scene of other mahogany. The witness stand. Gold-miners giving evidence, sure he's violent didn't I see him with my own peepers chasing those poor kids up on the roof and he goosed my wife last Christmas. Violently. Just a forceful nudge of the knee.

"Matilda are you in there."

As Smith looking down his dressing gowned person to the bare skin of the legs. Hair ending at the ankles. Yes your honor, his usual was an attack on Matilda Friday nights, sure he was tight, sure we knocked on his two inch thick steel door, yeah I got one too but only an inch, we could really hear him and this poor dark creature, as he took advantage of her color.

And finally Thursday noon after the constant visits to pound, Smith shivering at his bedroom phone. Reaching for the instrument. A few dials of the finger and buster, the street outside will be full of clanging bells and sirens careering in off the avenue, anything to keep people nervous. The blue uniforms, respirators, acetylin torches and usual safe cracking equipment to get to Matilda's cadaver behind the mahogany disguised half inch steel door. And as George put the dark plastic to his ear and a finger into the chromium dial, his arms rose in rigidity as an icy clutch of water crashed upon his back. A loud shout and laugh from Matilda as she said surprise and Smith said Jesus Christ so it could be heard in the padded cells on the island in the river.

"Matilda, God damn you. What the hell's the idea. The absolute and the preposterous cheek after I'm half scared to death."

"You can't talk to me like that Mr. Smith."

"I'm talking to you like that. Get me a towel. You're behaving in an absolutely stupid manner."

"That white trash, that blond bitch."

"She's my secretary. What the hell are you making out of my life. Don't I pay you enough."

"Yeah, sure bring up money. Sure bring up the money, Mr. Smith. It's the only thing you understand is that old green stuff. Buy everybody off don't you."

"Matilda you're talking out of turn. I'm soaked."

"I know my turn to talk, you don't have to tell me when to talk. I'll talk and I'll talk and I'll talk. Slurping up asparagus."

"We're going to settle this Matilda. Get me a towel."

"Sure you can settle, can't you. Get it yourself. Everybody in their place, setde up. Fire me. Get rid of those you can get rid of. I don't mind walking the streets. Plenty of jobs."

"Well you're not working in that room."

"You want to fire me."

"No one said anything about firing."

"Fire me."

"No."

"Well you can if you want, just so you understand that."

"Stop explaining my rights to me and get some clothes on. And get me a towel."

"O it's business now. You don't mind a little bare tit on Fridays. You want it white now."

"I've got to be at the office."

"Sure, everything's black and white in the day time."

"I just hope that by tonight you're behaving in a civilized manner."

"Or what are you going to do."

"Stop pressurizing me. Just telling you to be out of that room. And have something to eat ready for a change."

George rose sadly in the direction of the bathroom. Reflecting upon the turkey cock unable to flap its wings in the floor. Life's getting like a merrygoround with people getting on and off and no one paying for the ride. I'll try to track Miss Tomson down. No I won't. If she can get more money and better conditions somewhere else, let her. That goes for Matilda too. I've never bought anyone in my life. Cheaply. Is treating people with warmth and concern buying them. And then being doused from behind. Answer me that. Hear her, standing on the verge of stark nudity having an argument with me.

Smith putting on a blue shirt and a black tie dotted with three legged golden stars. No Miss Tomson to reach out and give it a flick and say that's for the birds. Guess you might say I'm going to have a little freedom of expression around my office for a change. And take up the phone with my new adaptor that fades out my voice when the talking gets ticklish and sends the line dead at signs of disaster. Wear white shoes with red dots if urge denotes that attire. I lie. What an empty god forsaken place the office has become. When people are going home, sidewalks crowded. And I'm head in hands. Too sad to look up, out, forward. And late tonight I take the train.

"Matilda, I catch the train at eight and I want sandwiches."

"Sure if that's the way you want it."

"Shit."

"Ooo you said a nasty word, Mr. Smith."

"Are you locked in that room again."

"I'm delicately attired."

Smith clenching fists. He raised them slowly. Dropped them and spread out his fingers and looked at the nails. Not much moon showing. I'll just take so much from her and no more. O there'll be changes, no more of this if it's all right with you Matilda. Thinks she owns me. That I live to keep her.

Businesslike George Smith went to the kitchen. Taking four large elliptical white plates. At Matilda's door he raised them above his head and crashed them to the floor. A little white chip bounced right up on the hall table. Amazing.

Smith passing out of Merry Mansions. Dog trotting to Golf Street. To any new meantime of horror. Nearly stopping to ask a female pedestrian were she ever a feeding mother to give some human milk of kindness.

And Miss Martin with worried lines across her brow, stood at the top of the stairs of number Thirty Three, holding one hand in another.

"Good morning, Miss Martin."

"Mr. Smith I was so worried. I was going to ring."

"Just a little something, Miss Martin, held me up. Sudden conference. Top level, private, all that sort of thing."

"Shall I get you some apples."

"Please."

"Mail is on your desk. There were a few phone calls, you know when no one speaks on the other end. The breathing is awful. I switched the music in with die adaptor"

"The bag pipes record."

"Yes Mr. Smith. They hung up right away."

"Good."

Smith smiled and entered his office behind the frosted glass. Past the top of that desk which is like a desert. Lost on it without water. Letters, there they are, arranged [431 right in a row. I'm just not up to it. Examine the stamps. Always a nice distraction. Whoa, one or two countries I've not yet heard of. What could they be after. I'm putting my soul under lock and key. And by Jesus these three go in the safe, unopened. Miss Tomson come back. I must not weaken. Open this harmless one. With one neat slit. Goodness, handmade paper inside. No. Not one of these. Dear Sir, Quite obviously you intend overlooking the particular seriousness of this matter.Perhaps you will have to be made to dance a different tune. And we take this opportunity of reminding you that it shall be to our music.We know you have read this.Yours faithfully, JJJ. & Others

George Smith putting feeble hand to the buzzer. Still able to press down. Three shopping days till Christmas. Cigar store man has a big sign, Give Smoke For Yule. Soon as good will towards men comes round in the calendar they try to get in a sneaky boot to one's oxsters.

"Miss Martin, come in please."

"Yes, Mr. Smith."

"Would you get me a glass of water."

"Certainly. Will a paper cup do."

"Goatskin, anything."

"I wasn't trying to be funny, Mr. Smith."

"I know you weren't Miss Martin, forgive me. Put all this correspondence in the safe and lock it. Bum it, eat it-"

"I don't understand Mr. Smith."

"Forgive me Miss Martin forgive me, in my moment of mood."

"I'll get the water right away."

"And ice."

"Yes Mr. Smith, right away."

"Hold it Miss Martin. Stop right where you are. Gome here a minute. Right over to the desk. Don't be scared. I just want you to tell me something. In my eyes. See. Just tell me what color they are."

"I think they're green, Mr. Smith."

"I mean the whites, what are they."

'White. Mr. Smith."

"How white."

"Just white, Mr. Smith."

"You don't think they're going grey."

"No, Mr. Smith."

"Or brown."

"No."

"Miss Martin thank you very much. Really thanks. Stop all calls. I'll be away from tonight over Christmas. And just one more thing before you go. Make an account of Miss Tomson's wages, till the end of this week."

"Shall I mail them to her sir."

"Don't be distant Miss Martin."

"Sorry Mr. Smith."

"No, don't mail them to her. Leave it on my desk. That's some buckle you have on that belt."

"Like it Mr. Smith. Out of an antique shop. I was looking at a brass pig. And just behind it was this buckle."

"Where is this brass pig."

"Two blocks over and right across from a building has big sign in front which says Religious Fittings."

"Thanks Miss Martin."

Two thirty that unurgent time of afternoon with wandering minstrels toting signs on portable radios, it is possible I may cough again with a transplant throat. Madam I cannot speak but can feel. And past a window full of wines. And around this corner. There, Religious Fittings. With additional remarks. Crosses our speciality, everyone welcome to come in and look around. Get tacked up. Measurements free.

Smith viewing the large stuffed ape. Under which stood the little brass pig. Overshadowed by the anthropoid's private parts. Miss Martin says she was looking at the brass pig at the time. Mustn't betray eagerness in the shop. Just look as if I'm after a cane or an instrument for some neat little ulterior appetite. I like having satisfied alone. And which I keep tucked away in my personality. Don't like the look of this proprietor.

"Good day, are you the proprietor."

"What do you want."

"As a matter of fact I want canes."

"You want canes, mister."

"I want canes. Everyone in the shop."

"Mister wait a minute."

"No."

"Well wait a minute."

"No."

"You mean you want all the canes."

"Yes."

"I got two hundred canes."

"Wrap them up."

"Hold it. Do you know what you're saying."

"Wrap them up."

"I ain't got that much wrapping paper. You don't know what you're saying."

"Are you questioning my sanity."

"Yeah."

"Let me repeat. You own this shop."

"What do you mean, repeat. You haven't said it once yet."

"I repeat. You own this shop."

"Look mister I understand English/¹

"And let me repeat. I want to buy every cane in your shop."

"This is a store. But if you repeat I'm going to repeat. I've had a lot of people come in here in my time. And what is happening at this moment is original. They come in about the ape."

"A most obscene exhibition too."

"That's God's problem mister. But you come in about some problem you got, I think."

"The canes please."

"I said I got two hundred, what do I know what they cost together."

"Write a round figure on a piece of paper."

"How do I know how much two hundred canes are worth."

"I'm not suggesting you rob yourself. A round figure."

"What are you trying to do to me."

"Write a satisfactory figure on a piece of paper. I will fetch a car and you get your bank to phone my bank."

"Certainly not. You can't make me write anything on a piece of paper what do you think this is."

"Dear me. You are amusing. Goodness. I can't believe it. Completely irresponsible. Utterly pig headed. Round figure. I repeat."

"Stop saying that."

"A simple thing like canes."

"Mister, before I ask you where you come from, why don't you just buy that jug, look, an antique thermometer, with one of these things tells you the weather. Never have to go outside, and you know it's raining. No insult, but it might suit you good."

"The instrument looks broken and rather battered to me."

"What do you expect. Antique."

"Canes."

"Can't you get off that subject. Look, here's a table that's got real foreign worm holes. That carving. Right up the leg, a craftsman did it"

"I'm particularly fascinated by carved canes."

"Do me a favour mister. Here's a doll, real hair. You could buy a carriage, push it around. I think it would make you feel better because. Look why this chair. Say I got it, here this brass pig. A round figure. Ha ha. That's a good one. How about this."

"Wrap it up."

"No kidding."

"No kidding."

"Mister thanks, thanks a lot. You sure had me worried. And for you I take ten percent off. And let for a change me repeat, thanks a lot and merry Christmas."

George attired in the double breasted suit of the cunning connoisseur, on top of which he wore a great coat with a bear fur collar. Leaving the hairy garment swinging open as he did business. Every little percent helps. And tucking up this brass omnivorous hoofed mammal, reminder of swine everywhere. Smith picked up polish and made it safely to Merry Mansions and past Hugo who pretended to read the early evening paper. Dolt.

Inside Flat Fourteen. Music from the sitting room. White scraps of dishes over the hall. To the left, master's quarters, to the right servant's. One hesitates wondering which way. Well, how do you like this.

"Matilda, I hate interrupting the music."

"Hey I didn't hear you come in Mr. Smith."

"I'd prefer Matilda, if you'd wear your uniform."

"What's the matter with what I'm wearing."

"It's what you're not wearing Matilda."

"O say that's cute, that's a little pig. Where did you get it. Gee Air. Smith let me feel it."

"Stand back''

"What's a matter Mr. Smith I just want to feel it. A real cute thing. Mr. Smith, you've been worrying again. I know you have. Yes, I see it. You don't fool me. You been to the antique shop to soothe your nerves, I know it. You sit right down there. Here have this pillow. Take your coat. Won't touch that pig. Been thinking Mr. Smith, I've got no right to interfere with your business life. No. I've got no right. That's not my place. My place is out there in that kitchen. And in here if necessary to make you comfortable. I just wanted to keep you calm. It's people who upset people. But I think, well, my place is the kitchen."

"I'm not disputing this little testimony, Matilda. But I come in and find you stretched out on the couch. Appreciate your selection of music. But just making clear you seem to have a place on the couch as well as a place in the kitchen."

"Mr. Smith the resounding crash of those plates in my ears this morning brought it home to me as I was nearly jumping out of my skin in which I was standing at the time, that me and you Mr. Smith shouldn't fall out like that, just like the dishes it cracks you up. I just know it does. Loving words that are kind and true, loving deeds and blessings too."

"I see."

"My job's to you. Building up the years of faithful service. To go on my record. That's something to be proud of. When they lay me down with the roses all around, lilies, that crazy wisteria, on top, right on that coffin, Mr. Smith, so's everyone can see it. That testimonial of the faithful years of service. At those gates, dig that testimonial big God. Note the sacrifice. What's that look, Mr. Smith. You sick."

"I want a bottle of sparkling white wine."

"Just let me touch this little pig once, Mr. Smith/9

"Get back."

"Gee you're mean. I only want to touch it. Gosh."

"Gee you're mean.

"In due course."

"In due course my ass."

"Watch the language."

"Slave cooking over a hot stove. Sure, you want olives. You go buy a barrel I got to stand smelling all day. You don't think of that. Hot chocolate drink at night. You find someone to do that. Let me touch your pig. I'm not going to kill it. Here you just feel me. Here come on. That's another thing. You think I'm fat, just feel here, solid I'm telling you."

"Get some ice in this bucket."

"Feel me, Mr. Smith."

"Feel me, "Back."

"It'll astound you. This thigh, Mr. Smith."

"Matilda."

"Feel, Mr. Smith."

"Our behaviour may be watched."

"What's a feel, Mr. Smith. Before you catch that train."

"A feel at this moment is foolish."

"Press here, Mr. Smith."

"Stop getting close."

"Show you it's not fat, Mr. Smith. Feel."

"My my."

"Told you Mr. Smith. Aren't you surprised."

"No one would ever know, how solid you are."

"That Miss Tomson's a bag of bones. Not a nice mattress like me. She tried to knee me, Mr. Smith. Right there. And you see her claws."

Out the window across the street a happy family having ham and cabbage. A mother, father, eight little kiddies. One kiddie getting a wallop across the mouth disappearing from view. He must wonder, that father, what it's like to be free of those burdens. Well mister, in the first place, its marvelous and in the second, again marvelous. See, put lips to the rim of this hand blown glass. Let the white grape have its timorous say on one's chops. My God he's looking at me in a resentful fashion.

"Matilda, draw the drapes."

George sat chewing the cud over matters. Unhappy memories. The vague muscle in Miss Tomson's arm and the last bang she gave the door and the black mounds of her rear. Is it wrong my mouth waters. Chime of a church steeple tolls seven. How the sound can get through the roar of traffic. Tomorrow morning awake early for a walk in the sun over the snow.

Goodbye to Matilda. Smith on his way out of Merry Mansions. Crossing the lobby just catching that reassuring polished look of himself in the mirror, when confronted by a gentleman just taking off his hat and taking a hanky to to wipe cold steam from his spectacles.

"I may have introduced myself before, I'm Mr. Stone, and of course you're Mr. Smith."

"Hello, Mr. Stone and goodbye, I'm catching a train. Compliments of the season, of course."

"Mind if we tarry a moment."

"Afraid I do."

"In that case might I quickly advise you of certain facts."

"No time for facts."

"In that case, I may have to insist. A crack is progressing up through the Goldminer's apartment. They are most disturbed by the appearance of this gulch in their wall since it undermines their confidence in the structure of the building which as you know my management has taken great care to keep sound and durable. I'm sorry to have to say such a thing to you, Mr. Smith, but the management likes to also give the impression of high tone. We feel the tone was kind of lowered by the noisy chase made up through the building."

"Merely, Mr. Stone, a rather boisterous end to a youth rally. Surely not objected to by any reasonable tenant. A good deal of my time is spent with the underprivileged."

"Mr. Smith it is my sad duty to inform you that while two tenants of the next building lay innocent in their bed and so far as we can judge by the information available, nearly asleep, they were stunned awake to find themselves covered in plaster."

"Lucky it was not — "

"Please don't say it Mr. Smith. I am human too and out for a laugh. But two innocent people of the next building were in their bed asleep and were stunned awake to find themselves covered in, please, plaster. Hugo was on duty. We have evidence members of your youth rally, which again, there's been some question about, that they leaped off the wall nearly going through to these people's bedroom. Luckily the general structure withtook the shock and only the ceiling collapsed."

"I gather there is a question of money."

"We shouldn't like to give that exact impression. But of course there is a certain question of satisfaction."

"My train. Bye bye."

"My train. Bye "Mr. Smith."

"Mr. Stone, bye bye, do I make myself clear."

"Mr. Smith you can't. My management has always been impressed by the respectful and high tone of your personal life. Remember the mosaics. The extra thickness of your door. Remember things like that." of your door. Remember "Bye, bye, Stone."

"Please, Mr. Smith, I must be instructed. What about this crack sent up the wall from your apartment. I don't know whether you care but the Goldminers are listening through it."

"What's that, Mr. Stone."

"I see no way out for you, Mr. Smith. The feelings of the Goldminers have been troubled. I don't know if it's what they're hearing or what. But the rapid appearance of the crack was disconcerting for Mrs. Goldminer especially. She tried covering it with a creeper but they said the racial atmosphere coming through the opening is killing it."

"I gather there is again a question of money, if not semantics."

"Of course again there is the matter of satisfaction, Mr. Smith, if not, ha ha, semantics."

"Be grateful Mr. Stone if you would send all further matters and misunderstandings to my business address, where I will take them up without prejudice."

"As you wish, Mr. Smith. I think you have acquitted yourself just as the management would have expected you would."

"I'm pleased you said that, Mr. Stone."

"We need tarry no longer, Mr. Smith."

"Then this is goodbye Mr. Stone."

"Yes, Mr. Smith."

"Then goodbye."

"Goodbye Mr. Smith. Merry Christmas."

"And a yingle yule to you Mr. Stone."

Hugo sheepish at the door. How intolerable can this entrance get. Rumour has it he had doings with the aristocracy. Even rode a horse. Hightailing it round a palace on speaking terms with crowned heads. Titillated with his past tone as a present footboy. Merry Mansions had a certain Hilda before the elevator became automatic. With whom, I have it on good authority, Hugo was not past the odd knee trembler.

"Good evening Hugo/'

This is quite interesting. No answer. Seems he is looking up in the sky at the threatening snowflakes which are beginning to fall. It would seem this could be a struggle of wills.

"I say there, Hugo, taxi."

This is enthralling. If I had the time one might try a triple hot foot. He heard me speaking to Mr. Stone. It would seem in life when all is said and done that it is unwise to speak to anyone if it can be avoided. I don't suppose it has ever passed through his head that I am a shareholder in the management and could lop his ears off.

"I say there, my good man. You there. I say. Bung ho. Over the top. Charge."

This is quite beyond comprehension. Must have his ear plugs in. Like myself he has had experience with the military. Naturally one tries comraderie when possible. When leading men it is essential not to be scared. Taking the season into account I will not utter some taboo word. I will try volume.

"Taxi."

Hugo stiffened. Boy how he would like to spin around and snarl. However there was need to shout. Normally I would crawl out into the snow on the fours rather than be unkind. But you see Hugo I must have a taxi to take me to the station.

Snowflakes coming thick round the orange canopy, George climbing in on the leather seat. Pulling bag behind. Door slamming resoundingly. Taxi man saying to Hugo,

"Easy on the vehicle bud."

'Driver Grand Central please. Want to make an eight o'clock train."

"Not in this snow, mister."

"I quite understand."

"You do."

"Yes."

"In that case you'll be there at a quarter to eight or my name's not Silvershit."

"I beg your pardon."

"It's terrible. That's my handle. How do you like that for a handicap. Always I know if a guy's laughing in the back of the cab he's checking with my credentials."

Smith viewing this unfortunate name on the back of the seat beneath the victim's picture. Outside the snowflakes were big and blanketing the streets sofdy. Exhaust billowing whitely out behind the cars.

Taxi plunging under the gloom of the river bridge. Dark shelter from the snow. Black figure slumped against the stone. George drawing elbows in close around the ribs. Past Golf Street. Ghost of Miss Tomson. Will flit up and down there for years.

"How's that mister, got sixteen minutes to spare."

"Most impressive. This is for you. Merry Christmas."

"I can't take this. It would ruin the whole gesture. I know materialism is important but every once in a while I like to fight against it, that way I can really go in for a big kill without feeling guilty."

The station tonight, straggling late travellers maybe each looking for a companion. But crossing this huge marble hall with just my lonesome self. With the snowy night and nip outside. The pushed down hats and collars up. Group of girls in furs. Standing at the clock. With bags at feet. Magazines under the arms. All the trains waiting down on the tracks. I go in the entrance over there with a list of wistful destinations. Stop.

Up beyond in the distance on the balcony, the head moving tall and collected above the rail. It isn't. It is.

Couldn't be. All the way here I saw her coming out of lavish doorways. Now coming down the steps. She looks like it was all made for her. And it is. I'm overcome to run. With a heart so hurt. God gave me this chance again. If I walk with my head down I could walk right into you. You might just say oaf.

Smith bought a paper. Folding it up under his arm. Nearly put it up in front of the face. Thought my courage was rock solid. Could walk simply up. Miss Tomson, it's me. You look dazzling, unemployed. Knew all you needed was to get away from me. Til go on your train anywhere you're going. Oaf, I am going on a gold train with silver wheels. Reserved.

Can't face it. Turn away. Collar up. Hunch over and proceed to the entrance where the machine will take me away. A child no longer and must not squirt emotion all over the place. If you have behaved in a dastardly manner reconciliation is abomination. If it has been interpreted that I am low down I shall not give my person to further trampling and general wiping like a mat. To the ramp. And down down to the trains.

Slide in on the wicker seat. Executed the swinging of the bag up nicely. I'm sure other passengers noticed how neatly it was done. Double dirty windows looking out in the dark. O.K. conductor, driver, I'm ready to go. But she could have seen my sad back as I went in the entrance. I bent specially over and then with neat linen blew my nose. Had to stop to do this. Then she could have seen the figure I was. Alone, not in the best of taste, a cuff of a trouser eaten away by a moth, and a rubber sole just beginning to peel back from the toe of my shoe. But I picked up the bag again and descended to track thirteen. Hoping desperately for a tap on the shoulder.

The paper says there will be crisp cold. That north of cities and towns there may be flurries of snow, a powdery kind swirling in the wind. And ice will form. Should have brought my skates. But this would have encouraged jeers over the cocktails, Smith behaving younger than his age. Have a good mind to descend to the lake and skate by moonlight. Who was that figure zigzagging like lightning across the ice last night. Ah ha, you cocktailers. Ah ha.

And we move. Train lights dim. Through the pillars across this tunnel I see other trains. All late night travellers so sad and I suspect flatulent. Lamps lit on the tables. Wonder why we all bother coming and going. It's the money gentlemen. I travel for love. I go because I feel while perhaps passing in some strange hall, using some strange toilet I may find a moment of reverie. Or a touch or feel I've not had before. I am fond of stripping the bark from a branch and handling the sappy wood. And out under wild skies when spring is there I take down the dog wood flower and hold it.

Train comes up out of the dark. Swaying swiftly on the tracks past the windows of the underprivileged. Bunch of little thieving carol singers. Where was Miss Tomson going. Seeing someone she can fall in love with. Maybe a socialite she met through her brother. And they'll all be busy with hi, goodbye, hello, so long. She'll go slapping backs. Or go on her own where no one can slap hers. I have no right to object to an employee's private life but I know she would never do these things when she worked for me. Exposed now to the incredible vulgarity of these flashy rich.

Train tonight quite packed. With gentlemen, coats hung up and hats spotted with melting snow. Salary earners. That chap there is smug in his newspaper with pride in his firm. Until his services are no longer required. I have had profit never having had salary. Stacking the former away. Except when pressed to buy some contraption like the happy awaking machine. Leaking on me in a sinking dream. Give it to Matilda. Who sometimes I wonder if she is all right upstairs. What's this idea feel me. Just as I'm sitting in Merry Manse trying to get the whisky down to take the pressure off. She says feel me, go ahead. I expected her to say George any second. No doubt right now she's got the candles burning and my music on. I don't mean it's mine really. She can listen if she wants. Just makes me feel she couldn't possibly be keeping the place clean seduced with some of the tunes I've got which drive Matilda mad. One particular memory gives me shudders. Matilda on her back in the middle of the floor kicking her legs in the air. I said Good God, she's gripped by some malady. I thought give her something but I could see it was no use. I could never get close enough to her mouth. And I did a terrible thing because I was thinking treat shock with shock. And rushed to the closet and ripping it off the wall. I turned the extinguisher on her. She lay wiggling under the great creamy bubbling blanket and said man I just love that. Naturally I called a doctor. And we consulted there in silence ankle deep in foam. Seemingly there was some question as to who was the patient. As God help me, I happened to be in bathing costume.

In the station tonight nearly ten miles back I did not have the courage to go up and just say, Sally hello. And come let's tear a claw off some lobster. I know from experience that no woman refuses to eat seafood. And Miss Tomson with that tall frame to keep trim cannot lightly turn down the protein. There through the train window, a cemetery high on a hill, great white mausoleums, chilled shadowy crazy trees. In there too I have problems which tonight I shall not go into but get up and go to the bar. Down to the end of the train. All the boozers float back here. To sit quietly letting the mind run away.

Smith in the cocktail bar. All blue and smoke where he sat in a club chair as they would seem to have it. Tinkle, the ice rocking in the glasses. People sparkling. Lampposts go by outside. Under which streams the snow. I wear my long red underwear. Calmly under the trouser leg. Waiter in light blue. Only white thing in sight is his towel.

"Waiter, a cocktail."

"Of what variety or nature sir."

This is a new sympathetic behaviour I have not noticed before on trains. I think, place the tennis ball back in his court.

"I'd appreciate your suggestion in the matter."

"Sir, you might try a derobe, popular with our evening travellers."

"I beg your pardon, waiter."

"Sir, derobe-"

"I most certainly will not."

"Sir, it happens to be the name of the drink if you don't mind."

"In that case make it double strength."

Must close eyes. Relax. Fold the hands. Wearing red underwear the mere suggestion of undress is frightening. I can't even cross my legs with abandon for fear the garter gives and die red shank shows. For a late train of travellers there seems to be a note of merriment. Can't see down to the end but the laughter could almost be described as obvious. Even sounds like somewhat pushy laughter I've heard before. For once I feel I'm not being watched. Train moving too fast for a telescope to focus. And from the shadows looks like a rather sympathetic bunch of people. Tall with mouthfulls of even teeth with which they smash ice cubes at will. Ah, waiter. I see a cherry goes with the derobe. And a mint leaf. Hopeless to shield one's privates. However looks good floating in this tea tinted specialty.

"Pardon me waiter, how did this rather fascinating name come about."

"Simple. Woman comes in one evening. Says she wants something really new that no one has ever had before so Franz concocts this. She sits down drinks it, and next we're looking at her stark naked, we almost had to stop the train. So derobe."

"How refreshing."

"Took five attendants from the loony to hold her down. Lucky we were near the State Hospital at the time."

"You don't say."

"And mister, yours is double. But I think she was crazy before she drank it."

"Comforting. Thanks for the folklore."

"Anytime."

George put his lips to the edge of the glass. Sweet but soft. Just touch the cherry with the tongue. Nice little cherry. Can never remember no matter how long I mix in circles whether to take the mixer out of the cocktail. Don't like dripping on the table or poking out my eye. What's this standing in front of me.

"Hey don't leave your mixer in the glass."

"Sally, I megn Miss Tomson."

"Sally, why not."

"Sit down, Miss Tomson."

"I only just got up to go to the ladies. The rocking of the train makes me want to go. See you on the way back. What are you doing on this train. You don't have to answer that, see you on the way back."

Wham in just a flash she has me intimidated. What a time for her to pee. God let us get off at the same stop together. No God, let me rephrase that. Just let us continue on this train before reaching any stops. I want time. Must be some surreptitious way I could sneak on the brakes. Or even a slight derailment in open country where Miss Tomson and I must trudge through underbrush looking for a farmhouse. But there is none and we've got to make the best of my coat for both of us, trying our level best to conserve body heat by proximity. Passing a river now. My God, there's the cemetery. Thought we had passed it already must have been dreaming. Great white houses of the dead, lonely in there at night. How's my plot. Engineers say some difficulty with the foundations and a reappraisal of costing is necessary. Whoosh. Up goes the price to box me. Never let Miss Tomson see those letters. Get the impression I was deeming demise. Suppose it's foolish of me, but I sometimes feel things are too complicated for me to die. feel things are too complicated

"Hey anyway, Mr. Smith — "

"Miss Tomson will you join me for a drink."

"Can't. I'm with people."

"Just one, Miss Tomson."

"Can't get over it, isn't it rich, you right in here all the time and I didn't see you. No I really can't."

"You didn't collect your last pay check."

"Forget it, Mr. Smith. Hey you're derobing."

"Won't you join me ha ha, Miss Tomson."

"Ha ha, Smithy, since you put it like that, sure. Always willing to take off my clothes. But I can't stay. See down there. No you can't see. But see what you can see, the big blue shadow, that's my brother."

"Amazing shadow."

"Yesh."

"Waiter. Two derobers here."

"You catch on fast mister."

George had never been good at the fast remark. Miss Tomson brings that out. Must put up some sort of show. She's been amused down there with her brother and his socialites. She could easily slip back into that life. I'm so nervous. Just not made for making smart remarks. The waiter in his kind anticipation of a dp could see I was new at it. Let me get away without crushing me altogether. I have warm inner feelings which explode resoundingly at boiling point.

"Miss Tomson, I'm glad."

"What for Mr. Smith."

"I'm just glad"

"Mr. Smith what are you doing on this train."

"Just glad I took it."

"You can't be on a train because you're glad."

"What stop, Miss Tomson, are you for."

"The last. What's yours."

"The Junction. I take a branch line."

"All by yourself, Mr. Smith, on this train like this. I can't get over it. Guess you're seeing friends."

"Not exactly."

"You're a mystery."

"What do you mean Miss Tomson."

"Why don't you find yourself some nice girl."

"Are you suggesting Miss Tomson I just find some nice girl just like that."

"Sure just like that. Crazy for a man living alone not getting any."

"Miss Tomson-"

"And you could get plenty if you got rid of that Matilda, While she's in the house you won't get a smell. I don't mean to sort of go into your personal life or anything, you know what I mean Smithy. It's unnatural."

"What's natural, Miss Tomson."

"This is for your own good, Smithy, and you ought to know. That Matilda will suck you dry. Before you know it you'll be one of these guys running around to museums collecting brass monkeys and that kind of thing."

Miss Tomson had her mixer out. Waiter gave her a tray with hers. Must be the brilliant pile of blond on her head and the legs. And in this dim blue her hands look longer than anything F^e ever seen before. Her fingernails around the glass. A black sweater and pearls.

"You looking at these, Mr. Smith."

"Yes."

"Pearls."

"Nice."

"Real ones. Ought to be hanging right between here but I don't feel like being half naked on a night like this. I just can't get over seeing you all by yourself on this train. Guess that's all right. But Jesus you're taking the branch line as well. Come and meet my brother and his friends why don't you. Maybe you want to be alone. And I'm barging in."

"Miss Tomson, no."

"But you don't want to meet anybody do you."

"Are you coming back."

"You mean the office. I don't know, Mr. Smith, I just honestly don't know. I've been laying in bed late just thinking of it. And I bought a machine that wakes you up with music and pours out hot coffee. Boy you ought to get one. You know that's what you need, Smithy. Lacking a loving hand when you wake up."

"I suppose so. Miss Tomson does your machine spit and grumble."

"It's magic."

"Where did you buy your machine, Miss Tomson."

"It really was a present."

"O."

"I couldn't refuse it. On the floor outside my door in the dark. I tripped over it and broke the glass on the clock. And couldn't give it back. Now I don't want to give it back. The guy I gave the cheapest thrill he ever got to. That's who. You know all the while I'm working for you he had me watched. How do you like that. The nerve. My apartment's like a funeral parlour with all the flowers. I say to the boy, take them and give them to your mother sonny or your girl friend. You know what one little upstart says to me, I laughed, he said I like men. Smithy, can't get over this, running into you like this."

Miss Tomson's hand came down and for a second touched Smith's knee. The train slowing through a station. A strain of Christmas carol. Look out now in the night. Community singers with a Santa Claus ringing a bell. Soon see the lights of the dam and we'll be reaching the fountains all lit up and then it won't be long. Her eyes are even bigger than they seemed before. And lashes longer. Daren't ask where she got the great bracelet. Looks too much like something I might give her and I feel too much like the guy she gave the cheapest thrill he ever got to. The touch of the hand on the knee electrified me. The dam. Great granite face. And the gem like lake below. Lit up. People on the ice.

"Miss Tomson, they're skating down there."

"Isn't it beautiful. Love to be on that."

"You skate."

"On my ass mostly. Maybe you'll give me a lesson sometime. Say where you going on the branch line."

"Last stop."

"Just like us on the main line. But that ain't too far, last stop of the branch, from the last stop on the main. Ha ha, sounds like a song. Why don't you drive over."

"No car, Miss Tomson."

"Well, why don't we drive over to you."

If I told Miss Tomson die whole truth I suppose she'd understand* But I don't even know myself what the truth is. She's got such a good nature. If I let this chance go, it may be gone forever. It is gone forever. Miss Tomson's brother I see somehow on top of me in the snow, take this buster and it wouldn't be a straightforward manly type of defeat like I could feel some pride being prostrated by a fist, but I get the impression from his blue shadow that there would be snow rubbing in the face and my collar opened to stuff snow down my back. And of course the red underwear would excite him to visit even greater ignominy upon me. He may even carry a whip.

"What's the matter, Smithy, you've gone silent. You don't want us to drive over."

"Forgive me Miss Tomson, just suddenly lately my mind goes vague. I suppose it's a few problems I've got on it recently."

"We could go skating together. Unless of course you're all tied up."

"O no, I'm not tied up."

Roped with cables I guess would be more like it. But how can I explain. What do you do. Can't say let's take this train ride all over again some other time and just plan to meet by accident. With all the night air frosty and hand in hand walking the ice hard ground. Looking for some chalet in the woods. Find it by its curling smoke. A log cabin made for us to have our hot chocolate drink. Or lemon and honey. When I could just lean over and eat her breath.

"What's the matter Smithy. It's O.K., you don't have to say anything. Just a wild suggestion. I used to love these weekends, mad and crazy. But they don't thrill me any more. Just if you didn't have anything better to do, you might enjoy a skate, that's all."

"Miss Tomson, I'm not really such good company."

"You're swell company."

Station name flies by. Another cemetery. Not much time left. Why do they need a junction. Tearing two people apart. Where the tracks divide. She's never said that before, swell company. Bring marshmallows to the side of the pond. Could support her under the armpit to the ice. Permit me, Miss Tomson, to show you how. Could start off with a flashy backwards figure eight, last year did it twice in a row without thundering on my ass. Need only do it once. So many excuses for grabbing her. And of course both of us could thunder down together. Doesn't bear thinking about. Save she'll bring her brother who seems terribly the type who sweeps around the ice so fast you don't know he's there till he's laid you out unconscious with a collision.

Conductor entering the blue haze. All tickets please. Passing with his little punch. Stuffing pockets. Peeling off bills. A little roving business all by itself. Has false teeth. Says, Pleasantville Junction, next. Euphemisms everywhere.

"Smithy. This is a house party. You know, just sort of drop over. You don't go for them."

"Never seems to fit."

"They'd go crazy over the bashful conservative way you are. I just wish myself I could be a wall flower like you. Come on Smithy, you got a girl up here."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Tomson."

"Don't hand me that I beg your pardon, Miss Tomson stuff. You got some nice rural nest tucked in the woods somewhere. Is she beautiful. A hick, maybe a farmer's daughter."

"Really, Miss Tomson."

How do I tell her with only minutes left that there is nothing of the sort. That I want her to come over the country hills. Meet me where I wait at some junction under the frozen winter trees with a gleaming pair of skates slung over my shoulder.

"Smith like all quiet guys, boy. Maybe I'm thinking you're a real operator. Anyway I got to go."

"Please stay."

"Your stop's next. Anyway I better get over to my brother, see the way he's rocking back and forth, means he's bragging. Don't fall through the ice with this little dish you're seeing. Thanks for the derobe. And Smithy, really have a good time, I mean it, so long."

"Goodbye Miss Tomson."

'Try Sally."

"Ha ha, Miss Tomson."

"Ha ha, see you."

Smith watching her dark figure float away down the blue train. I care so much. Inside me. And wonder why in this world you've got to look you're going someplace. To trains, planes or meetings, otherwise you get ignored. George George George. No sad now. Life is a big bowl of cherries. Provided you get most of them. Just grab. And you'll get Miss Tomson. Sure you will. Have her dark sweatered bosoms. Kissing those mounds like mad. Goodness. And hands gripping each thin shoulder. Four freckles under the right eye. Something awkward happening in my trousers. Which could block the aisle of the train, God and his apostles forbid. Conductors and commuters trying to get past. Watch the pushing, please. O watch the shoves. As George Smith in bare skin. Spiritual. Steps down from the high frosty train onto the snow of Pleasantville Junction platform. Light shines yellow under a green glass shade in the station office. Conductor with lamp and whistle. Swinging and blowing. Train gliding away on the track turning into the winter trees and snowy woodlands.

Smith a solitary figure with his little bag. Save for an old lady and a dog. As the great grey cars click down the rails, window by window, moving away. Give anything to be able to stand in a crowd. She'll be looking out of the club car showing me to her brother as they pass. Stand here. Show utter indifference to big country house parties everywhere. Here come the windows. All her friends will be looking too. Ready now, the pose just right. These first windows. No. The second. Must be at the observation glass at the end. Look more indifferent. Gee. Not a soul. To look at me.Orget The message I'm self Contained.