Growing near, the smooth-nosed, bristle-crowded moon of Matthew's face, its lines of weariness and worry, its by george bright green eyes… what? smaragdine… small yellow in them too? pressing themselves upon him, pressing him back. May you guttle brittle glass, you galligaskins. Guzzle oil or acid, all kinds of iridescent poisons. Yes, you're like your sweet peculiar friend, that fatling Faunus, except about the eyes, and then the nose… lord, lord, let's see… the nose — the nose is—
Furber nodded, waving Watson off.
You're tired. That's it. You're tired, or you'd see better. Tired feet make tired eyes.
Furber was getting tall again. He backed and the forge light flew against the ceiling.
His work, now — there's his pay, for instance—
His pay?
How can you afford him, Matthew? What do you pay him?
Is that what you want to know? what I pay? is that why you've come here?
I had no idea you had so large — so opulent — a business.
Is what I pay your business?
Ah, now, easy … because he's better, isn't he? Yes, and luckier than most, too — just as you say, so—
Shit.
So you say shit to a minister. Shit, eh?
Oh well I'm sorry. Okay. Of course I'm sorry.
You think shit's an ugly word for a man of God to hear. Doubtless you do. Still uglier for him to say. And you'd hide your own shame under it — under shit. Why? Because I asked you what you paid, you threw that word at me. Well Luther could shout shit, if he was a mind to…. Shit! So can I. As you hear. I can say it. Shit…. Oh I'm acquainted with the major product of our days, Matthew, what we principally manufacture, what we spool out — stand to pool and sit to stool is what they say, don't they? — our—
All right, okay. I'm sorry — but I'm tired, like I said, you know — worried. It slipped.
That's the way it goes….
No offense unless offended;
my cruelish words for love intended,
were with hate intensely blended…
ha ha
ha ha …
an error pharmaceutical's
an easy one to make.
Well now. And you're tired. Worried. Of course…
A careless tear is soonest mended,
so if you'd wound your fond intended,
mortal blows are recommended…
ha ha
ha ha
an error gymnosophical's
an easy one to make.
Well. And you're the only one who thinks of Henry. I never do. Just you. Your friends. I'm out, well out. There's none of that concern in me. In you. Your friends…. Well now what foolishness, Matthew. Sorry to have to say so, but — foolishness. I think of no one else. That's why I'm here. That's why I ask my foolish questions. What do you take me for, I wonder? A peck of foolishness, I suppose. Well don't take conceit from your weariness, please don't take pride. No — no — I mean what I say, and so I mean to say it…. You take me lightly. All of you take me lightly. All these years. You. Your friends… God! — to be taken lightly. . Am I a gossip, eh? an old shawled lady? Does the rocker move my blood? Sorry to say — more foolishness, Matthew. A peck of foolishness. No. I've said I'll have my say, and so I shall…. I'm merely meddlesome, that's what you and your friends think. I know. No. I will not listen now. Oh no…. You've been out hunting Henry all day — that's where everybody's been — all day — out hunting Henry. It's been an effort of the community like a barn raising or a quilting party or a husking bee. Dear god — what am I going to do with you? And I held you all at ears' length once like so many hares. Well where have you looked? along the river? there's mud on your shoes. In another contingent, then — with Chamlay? — well hip hip hooray — with Knox, too, on his right arm handy like a coil of rope — oh I know, I know — and it was meadows for you, was it? or woods? Dear god — it's futile for me to preach. And to think, once — speech…. You never thought to search a single spirit, turn out a single skin, to bring a lung, a bowel, a heart, to view. But I'm a meddler, not the master of this church — one of the ladies, regular in attendance, not so strong as I once was and now strenuous in hearing — only that. And if I tell you someone's swallowed Henry like a hungry animal, like a wild beast, why I'm just preaching, making up my mysteries, and the beast is an image I've drawn in the air. No — I will not listen anymore…. And while you hunted, did you swap stories, by any chance? Did you rest a bit on a warm stone, say, and speak of the old times, and of Henry, and his foolish life and his foolish ways? There was the pleasure of companionship, the walk over the old shooting trails, the air, these late fall days, so moderate, sweet how often did you chuckle? There — you see? I hope so. I devoutly hope so. My god what must I do to make you see? A slap on the back at parting — the friendly sting of a friendly hand. "Tomorrow, Mat, tomorrow, we'll try again tomorrow." Sure. Better luck tomorrow. It was fun. It was like catching fish. It was like hunting deer. No — you're right. I'll forget it. I wasn't even there. How could I know?…. Already I've forgotten — as I promised. But you should remember that my heart's large too, that it contains my people — my whole congregation… my dear people. You.
Coals in his eyes… in his face, a scoopful, the speakbacker. Fair? What does he know of- Speak back. You're just a jocose cusser, ain't you? Joe the josser. Quite a jouker. My life for a knife. .
Fair is mostly made of air. You know that little poem? Fffair…. Well. No matter… Have you inspected Mrs. Pimber's fruit cellar, Matthew? I expect you'll find him there, heels up, in a stone jar — preserved. Oh yes. Positively Egyptian. Or perhaps she put him up in parts, year after year, as pieces broke off. Who knows how many of each? Easy — mind now — take it easy. Don't misunderstand. We've had enough of that. But it's important that you see them: quarts of feet and fingers over there-a new batch, the caps are clean and shiny — then jams of liver and kidney jellies, brains and lungs like cauliflowers floating halfway up their jars, eyebuds bleached like little onions or, if bloodshot, like baby beets — oh no, I hold my hands up to you — you've got to take the tour, why, it's instructive — brains, did I say? — well such a store: glands and tongues and teeth like white corn, pearly ear lobes and lips in soft pink sauce, crocks of pickled pricks- So, Matthew, now it's your turn to flinch. That's not a word a minister should use. Brother Jethro should not say prick; he should not say peter either, or even think… Well, to the shaded ladies, Matthew, and dishonest men, I shade my words, but we needn't fear. We've been burned so many times, you and I, our hide's tanned now, dark as my suit and tough as Omensetter's leather… So I'm unfair? It's mostly air but I don't care. You don't know that little poem? But I'm unfair? Unjust, unfair — good god no—precise. Exact as plain geometry. Please remember that I always speak in figure, Matthew, through emblem and design, you understand. They enlarge my voice like cupped hands. Once, in Cleveland, I called such purity in speaking, such precision and force of phrase, the measure of spiritual space, the algebra of the inward life. No use to do that here. I'm never so grand now, though I've my plans. But for christ's sake, face up, you know how she is. How often did she geld him, I mean? So many times — so many jars. Or did she want him differently unable? There, in her memory — don't you see it? — like a storing cellar, snapped off as they grew… all that growing life.
Though the watched pot wouldn't — now there was a bubble — something stirring, the woolly mammoth moving, his face eclipsing queerly.
You follow me?
Nudgewinkbump, as crude as, nearly. Bim. Am I making myself out? The christmas cookie. Making it clearly? Soon I shall. Have patience though patience is painful. Bam. Winken and Blinken and Nod one night crawled under their underclothes. Bum. Please have patience. Wrathfully bitten christmas cookie, curving according to the mouth. And he bulks bigly still. Ape. Like what did he say I talk? like what? Cock-a-doodle-do? An owl, a cat, a kangaroo? He doesn't understand my anger, my exasperation.