‘I’m a sick pup? I’m the sick one?’
‘… Wants to blame her, won’t admit it, needs to, won’t admit it, sweepingly blames the whole affair of Himself on her, won’t interface with her or worse even acknowledge her, resents even the fact she forgives things like you and Marlon Bain killing her dog —’
‘— a hit-and-run-and-back-up-and-hit-again driver, I told you rep—’
‘— pretends he gets the most retardate PR staffer he can make hold the crayon to send grotesque solecistic pseudo-impersonal replies to her pathetic letters. Jethro Bodine, O.? Jethro Bodine?
‘A private chuckle. She’d never get it.’
‘Disowns her — worse, sicker, tells himself he’s convinced himself she doesn’t even exist, as if she never existed, but by some coincidence has this rapacious fetish for young married mothers he can strategize into betraying their spouses and maybe damaging their kids for all time, and has this apparently even more rapacious compulsive need to call the blood-relative he hasn’t even seen in four years and tell him all about every Subject and Strategy, blow-by-blow, long distance, in nanomicroscopic detail. Let’s stop and ponder this all for a moment, O., what say?’
‘I’m letting all this be just water off a duck’s back. I can tell it’s the tooth talking. I can remember the stress of the place. All I can say is that trust me here: this Moment Subject is like strickenly dissimilar from what you’re indicting. The levels and circumstances aren’t the ones you’re so anxious to call rapacious. Is all I can say at this juncture.’
‘Why do I suspect it’s simply that you tried to make the big X with her and she demurred and this simply piqued your interest? During my can’t-miss nail-interval you were saying how enormous interior linemen were making comments about her bottom being so huge and soft you could whack it over and over with a car antenna and not hurt it.’
‘Hallie I never said any such fucking thing. You pulled that out of the air. And I’m sick?’
‘You said she was obese.’
‘I said she was a girl and a half in all directions. Which all of a sudden there was something that seemed cross-cultural about it: I had this sudden flash of understanding how cultures can regard largeness as erotic. More of someone to love. Not to mention queerly and oddly intense and alive and vibrant.’
‘And she declined a casual advance, and showed you pictures of her like enormous offspring, and you came to attention.’
‘With a heartbreakingly lovely face, too, Hal, all peachy and lissome, like big pretty girls get.’
Tm going to have to keep her away from this kid Ortho Stice up here, because he really is a Rubensophile. After P.M.s when we sit around he’ll go on and on about enormous breasts and melon bellies and quivering laps until we’re all grimacing and pinching our nose-bridges. And whatever you meant was not lissome.’
‘The reserve QB who’s next to me in these godawful pre-game costumed swoop-and-glides said something I liked. Helen passed him in the locker room and he — do you want to hear this?’
‘She was in the locker room?’
‘It’s the law. The pros aren’t a PR-gulag. He said she had a face that’d break your heart and then also break the heart of whoever like rushed over to your aid as you pitched over sideways grabbing your chest.’
‘That is a pretty good one, O.’
‘But so far we concur on the basic oddness, it sounds like. If the radicals want Quebec loose from Canada still, and that’s always been the priceless pearl, why like dissipate themselves trying to wreak mayhem down here almost the precise moment Interdependence is declared? ‘ce pas?’
‘I’d rather just agree it’s a stumper and then go dry my ankle and find a clean shirt and grab Schacht and hit him up for some Anbesol before we hit the truck.’
‘Right? And do these different groups get along, amongst themselves, the different Separatist flanges?’
‘Not according to Poutrincourt they don’t.’
‘So why then the united concerted switch from like Let Quebec Go or we stick knives in the eyes of Canadian VIPs and drop huge confections on Rue Sherbrooke during St. Jean-Baptiste Day to all of a sudden Let Canada Go or we blow up ATHSCME towers and stretch mirrors across U.S. highways and hang fleur-de-lis banners from U.S. monuments and disrupt InterLace pulses and skywrite Nuck obscenities over Buffalo and dicky with waste-vehicle launchers so it rains moose-guano on New Haven and shoot O.N.A.N.ite V.I.P.s on U.S. soil and only barely get foiled from injecting anaerobic toxins into jars of Planters peanuts?’
‘The New Haven Brown Rain thing was sort of a chortle, though, you have to admit.’
‘Chortles are good. We like chortles. But what’s the political motivation for the about-face? Account for this for me. All it has to do is sound soberly considered.’
‘Orin, I’m trying to reconcile your doubtless sincere seriousness about this with your choice of me as co-ponderer.’
‘All—’
Tm a privileged white seventeen-year-old U.S. male. I’m a student at a tennis academy that sees itself as a prophylactic. I eat, sleep, evacuate, highlight things with yellow markers, and hit balls. I lift things and swing things and run in huge outdoor circles. I am just about as apolitical as someone can be. I am out of all loops but one, by design. I’m sitting here naked with my foot in a bucket. What exactly is it you hope to get from me on this? I keep losing focus on whether you want a deep-sounding line of patter to facilitate Xing this fleshy Subject or have somehow been seduced into believing it’s really worth pondering the weedy thought-processes of fringe Canadians. Of fringe anybody. How consistent do the Brazilian Nuevo Contras’ objectives look? The Noie Störkraffs? Shining Path’s? The Belgian CCCY? Pro-Life assault squads? The Ez-ed-Dean-el-Qassan? P.E.T.A. fur-farm arsonists’ objectives? Jesus, Gentle and the poor C.U.S.P.s?’k
‘Poor C.U.S.P.s?’
‘Why not just soberly shrug and invoke the term wacko and leave it at that? Why not tell her you’re a radically simple and somewhat sick young man who kicks balls really high in the air for a living?’
‘All I—’
‘Why not just say who cares? This stuff isn’t about you and me. The person this stuff is about is the person you say you’ve erased from all RAM. Why not tell the damn truth for once?’
‘Me tell the truth? Me lie?’
‘What, this ascapartic bathroom-mag journalist is going to give you like an SAT entrance-test on Francophone extremism? Like a gyno-entrance exam? You have to place above a certain percentile to get her to let you X her on the floor of the nursery right next to the bassinet? Whom are you trying to kid? Whom do you think this is really about? Can you be that sick that you can’t even admit it over the fucking phone?’
‘Or what?’
‘I’m sorry, O. I apologize.’
‘Think nothing of it. I know you didn’t mean it.’
‘I hate losing the temper.’
‘You don’t sound good, Hallie. You sound ground down.’
Hal grinds at his eye with a finger. ‘These tooth-episodes make me feel like that wobbled shrieking figure in that Munch lithograph.’
‘That chew’s going to eat right through your membranes. It’s a vicious vice. I’m urging in all earnest. Ask that Schacht kid.’