When Fender had first entered the business, Pearson had taken him in hand and taught him what he could, so there was little point in his standing before Fender’s desk like a startled stag, as if every sale of real estate set up vibrations in the air to which his sensitive organs immediately responded, for Fender knew he gathered his information in a more prosaic way. He read the papers mainly, devoting the largest portion of his day and nearly the whole of his energy to them. He read each line on every page, proceeding patiently from front to rear, therefore including even overseas and national news, the comics and the columns of opinion — those parts of the paper which presumed to paint what Pearson, peering beneath his palm like an Indian, called “the wider prospect,” since it was his fiercely held conviction that events which seemed of world importance were, when you thought about them deeply, but weak misleading echoes of a sound made strongly only once and then in some close place of no real size. Do you realize, Fender, he was fond of saying, that all news is kitchen gossip at the first — is merely nearby, local, neighbor news — and that nothing happens — anywhere — that doesn’t happen on a piece of property? And once when Fender had suggested air and ocean, Pearson, angry, had replied: you’re a water-strider, are you? you regularly fly by flapping? Triumphantly he’d shouted: what’s the airplane, if you please? Elizabeth? what’s Mary? Leonardo? Flandre? France? And he went on with a dizzying list of ships and planes.
In order that no such happening should escape him (at least this seemed to Fender to be the reason), Pearson ran a broad-nibbed pen behind the path of his eye to cancel what he’d read and frequently to decorate the margins with perfectly symmetrical stars he then carefully colored in, so that the paper, when he finished, was a bewildering splay and run of bright blue ink from one end to the other — soaked through with lines, blots, finger smears and stars. Because he read on slowly, cautiously, and artfully, because of his devotion, his passion, his love, because — it was really impossible, Fender thought, to be absolutely certain why, the effect so dwarfed the causes — still, whatever the reason, he remembered everything: births, deaths, divorces, auctions, wills, proceedings of the city council and the courts, all the endless activities of the fraternal orders whose officers and properties he knew (they were the Masons, Moose, Odd Fellows, Elks, Knights Templar, Pythias and Columbus, the Eagles and the Eastern Star), as well as the countless civic programs and charitable resolves of the Chamber of Commerce and the service clubs which he sometimes read aloud in solemn priestly tones while circling the office (these were the Optimists, Rotary, Lions, Kiwanis and Golden Rule), nor did he overlook the movements of the VFW, DAR, AmVets and Legion either, or the apparently infinite interests of every church and synagogue (indeed he had a quip about that), and he seemed to have overcome whatever handicap in age and sex he might have had to keep warmly on the trail of the women’s groups, the young people’s fellowships too, the children’s even (the Future Farmers, for example, the Sunshine Girls, Boy Scouts, Brownies, Rainbows, Hi-Ys and 4-H), also he greedily received the news of the sporting leagues (kittyball, softball, hardball, basketball, bowling, dartball, handball, tennis, ping-pong, volleyball, golf), as well as those dreary items from the clubs of the lonely (fish, stamps, chess, photography, birds) for which his memory was complete, just as it seemed to be for everything… for everything… for all the advertisements… particularly those… while at the same time he was passionately interested in political side-taking, the choice of queens, awards of trophies, conventions of salesmen and dentists, all testimonials, fund luncheons, gift announcements, threats of epidemic sickness, sales, transfers, removals, celebrations, weddings, accidents, elections, thefts, and with the let of bids, permits for new construction, licenses and notes of condolence, mergers, promotions, bankruptcies, foreclosures, hearings, fires, suits, settlements, raids, arrests; if there was an address — anywhere — it caught his eye, for an address was the name of a property, and it was important (it was everything!) to know properties — how they fared — because properties were like people, they had characters; they suffered from vicissitudes, as he’d told Fender often, and fell upon evil times like the best of us did, only to rise up again and be renewed as it also happened sometimes; and the consequence of all this continuous, close, and fanatical concern was that Pearson could, when he drove a street, pass judgment on it, read its future, as he’d done so many times in those early days, in the lawns and porches of its houses, in their lamps or curtains or their paint and chimneys, but largely in the lines from the papers that sprang into his mind at the sight of their numbers: three fifty-two, for instance, has diabetes, Fender, he’d say — serious — I wouldn’t give her long… then three sixty-four is eighty-seven, very feeble, needs a cane to breathe… and there was a golden wedding across the street not long ago… ah, here — three more in a row — not a one under seventy, living in these great big houses all alone, in these worn old trees, can’t even crawl the stairs — the same as empty: say! what would you hear if you were a mouse in the basement or a wasp in the attic? not a noise, eh? not a sound, nothing — just the whole house running — running down… well, well, we’re being watched, someone wonders why I’ve stopped, she’s peeping between her curtains, see her? — suppose she knew, Fender, hah! suppose she knew… this street’s about to move, that’s the fact to remember, it’s a street of old ladies — now are we going to take command or not?… you’ve got to be creative, Fender, you’ve got to
see… here, look at five one oh, that two-steepled business with the porte cochere — all right, what are the possibilities there? that was a coach house once, in back… oh come on, come on, it’s easy — friend, it’s easy — you spot the house and instantly — like that! — it fills your mind: name, slogans, programs, the whole package, everything!… let’s see — Twin Steeples — no, Twin Pinnacles Funeral Home—Twin Pinnacles! ah! superb! — you haven’t been in the business long enough to know how good that name is, Fender, so don’t make a face… no sir — bravo, Pearson, fine friend, bravo! — not Smerz, Block, Nicolay — names of people — no, a place, a lofty position, perfect for final rest — peaks — deserved — sure, a little paint is all, some facing stone, enlarge that window, lots of space for the hearse in back, big basement likely, if it isn’t damp, a few spots hid by shrubbery at the corners of the lot to light it up… Twin Pinnacles… perfect, perfect… paint the turrets gold — with the sun glinting from them, a little suggestion of the Great Gate Above — can’t you see it? a flood lamp at night — ideas! ideas! that’s what this job is, it’s creative… you’ve got to consider how the undertaking business is, who needs to move, who might, all that — facts… how’s this street to go? that’s what you’ve got to think — will they be lodge halls? offices? or are there too many cheap apartments in this neighborhood already? — there’s one, for instance, with two outside stairs — no good — his driver’s license up a year, he drinks and rust is in his eaves — see those stains?… you’ve got to know how far it is to the center of town, what other businesses there are around, what the general direction of the traffic is — north-south, west-east? consider, see?… this is your person, Fender — these streets, these buildings, this town — the body of your beloved — yes, yes, yum — and you’ve got to know it… think, perceive, consider and create… who were those biddies with the string? yeah, fates — well that’s our function, Fender, we’re the fates… so maybe dentists, doctors — you’ve got to think — how far is it from the hospital? happen to know?… six-tenths of a mile from this corner — not bad, considering… see what I mean? here she is, Fender, feel her up, eh? hah! yum… oh say, figure, Fender, figure — beauticians? barbers? chapter of the Red Cross? or realtors even! maybe me! hay, maybe Pearson!… you’ve got to have everything at the tip — the tip… Fender, the thing is: it’s moving, and the thing to ask yourself is: am I going to create, control, direct, manage, make that move, or is it going to manage and move and make me? see?… they talk about subdivisions — out in the country — weed fields and drainage ditches — that’s child’s play, sandbox stuff — slides! swings! — but look what’s here, right here! we can subdivide this street, that’s what it comes to, it’s in our hands!… responsibility!… ah, it’s terrific, this business, Fender, terrific.