And behind him, in a hoarse riot of whisper, — Oh this is minel this is mine!
— And that's why you must stop staying outside Agnes, because the Church…
— Yess, this is mine!. .
— There's no more to drink, said the woman he spoke to, but looking beyond him to that thin broken face. There yellow teeth tore sound into laughter.
— Tell them to fill the waterpots. Fill them up to the brim. .
— Anselm. .
— Mine hour is not yet come, Anselm returned, controlling the ragged edges to form words in Stanley's face, then getting breath, over Stanley's shoulder, he still laughed, — Woman! what have I to do… Stanley bumped him, turning now his whole body against the shudders he shared, locked so as those yellowed teeth bit words out of the air between them, — For I am come to set man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law. . and a man's foes shall be they of his own household. .
Stanley licked his lips against the fever upon them; and he blinked against the burning eyes.
— Yes, there's your gulf, the hand of your everloving ChristI
With daring tenderness Stanley's hand came to the warm wrist, where a vein's blue ridge coursed the bone. — Why do you fight it so hard?
— You, you. . Anselm pulled away. Then he looked around frantically for an instant, pulling up breath before he could speak, — Yes, what a lousy time to be alive, yes isn't it? Yes, I… and don't you wish it was the good old days, when Pope Urban sold his toenail parings as relics? and the. . yes, when you could choose between three assorted foreskins from the Lord's circumcision. .
— When I get drunk it means something, broke in upon them, broke long enough for Stanley's hand to reaffirm its hold, a frail enough articulation though, in closing so, it brought the veins on Anselm's hand to bursting prominence. — It doesn't help to talk this way Anselm, why do you do it?
— Because you can't… I, yes. . Anselm threw his hand up, breaking the grasp with no effort. — These lousy apologies, these refuges from being alive, art and religion and God damn it you. . and philosophy, I… and I was born with a veil over my head.
— With what? I don't. .
— Yes, a caul, God damn it, read an old cookbook, I, yes well what the hell, never mind. I studied medicine. I had a good lay this afternoon, Anselm went on disjointedly, pulling the stethoscope from his pocket. — I just go up to the hospital and I…
— Please, don't talk about. .
— No but listen, I've got to tell you, I go up to this hospital and they think I'm a special physician from outside, the nurses do, that's what I tell them, so then I go in to look over patients who think I'm connected with the hospital, that's what I tell them and you should see some of the handfuls I've had that way. This afternoon was the best yet. He brandished the stethoscope, the end flew past Stanley's chin. — This blonde, this terrific blonde, I gave her a three-and-a-half grain shot of sodium amytal and then I climbed in and gave her the business. . Uninterrupted, he stood there staring at the uncoupled caducei of the stethoscope; then twisting them closed like metaled snakes in his hand he whispered, — That's what it is, that's all any of it is. . But he could not break it, and he looked up and away, instantly found the blond girl earlier accused of putting a t in genial, made up, composed, as pretty (she would never be beautiful), as inanimate and stale as a photograph, once accused of taking the v out of live; now, of putting an / in lie: —Arse gratias artis, he muttered, — that's all any of it is.
— Anselm. . Stanley put a hand forth to him again, — if. . suffering. .
— Yes, God damn it, my scars, do you want to see them, they. . where's Otto? He'll show you his scars. Otto, hey Otto, come here, you, where the hell are you? Where the hell is he? He'll show you, he… he'll put up a real maudlin raree-show for you, he… maudlin! Yes, Mary Magdalene crying her eyes out for Christ. That's great. Can you see him crying his crazy eyes out for Christ?. . Anselm shuddered. — Suppose you never see me again? he burst in Stanley's face. — Yes, what would you do, you wouldn't have, yes but Christ didn't have any friends did he? Is that what you mean? Yes, well you wouldn't even have a witness, you. . because that's all He had, He… where the hell is he, he'll show you his scars, is that what you want? The Five Sacred Wounds. How would you like that, you could bleed all over the place. You might even get a good set of punctures with the Crown of Thorns, you. . how about the Ferita? the real bloody heart-wound. Or a good sweat of blood in Gethsemane? you could out-Lutgarde Saint Lutgarde, you could out-pussy Blessed Catherine of Racconigi, if you want to suffer why don't you go somewhere where it will do somebody else some good instead of being so God-damned selfish about it like these crazy saints. Get a little cross with mirrors in it, that would be the nuts if you want to suffer your way, for Christ sake. . Where the hell is he? yes, with his scars. .? Anselm looked frantically round the room, clutching the stethoscope out before him, for some tangibility among the pale presences.
— If it is fear, Stanley whispered to him in confidence.
— Yes look! Anselm rescued the palest shade of them all in his gesture. — Look at him, look at Charles for Christ sake, look at him! Love? I've heard you talking about love. He can tell you about love, about spiritual love, about your kind of love. Tell them, go ahead for Christ sake tell them, about your mother and the Pekinese that the pile of folding chairs fell on, she picked it up and breathed into its mouth, she kept it alive breathing her own life into it but for him? Would she give him one, breath of love? Or a lot of gas about love that has nothing to do with either one of them, for the love of Christ, for Christ sake, she left him here to cut his throat for Christ sake. .
Figures had started to gather round them, and Anselm lost in his weight with every word, retreating in fury from every hand though none dared touch him. He tried to jam the twisted stethoscope into his pocket, instead knocked it and the rolled magazine to the floor, and came up with that. — Your sick. . Lupercalia, he was muttering, as though the weight of words would keep them at bay, and the magazine came open on its back cover. And he burst out at Stanley for the last time, — Yes here, here's your peace and salvation, "If it slips, if it chafes, if it gripes, THROW AWAY THAT TRUSS!. ."
— Shut up, the hunched critic said to him, close.
— "Literally thousands of Rupture sufferers have entered this Kingdom of Paradise Regained. ."
— It doesn't help to talk this way, Anselm, Stanley said to him.
— Yes, here's your salvation, yes, thousands "have worn our Appliance without the slightest inconvenience. Cheap — Sanitary-Comfortable. ."
— Anselm, it doesn't help to talk like this. Why do you do it?
— Because the one God-damned thing I can't stand is your Goddamned. . confidence. Pin-Up Cuties fell to the floor between them.
— But it's not confidence in myself, Stanley said quickly, — but faith, not confidence but faith in something greater than any of us.
— Why don't you shut up and get out of here? the critic said.
Anselm turned to him slowly, and formed his words slowly when he spoke, — Fuck a duck and screw a pigeon, that's the way you'll get religion. Then he spat in his face. — That's for your side-show conversion, he said.
— Leave him, Stanley said quickly. — Let him be. He put an arm around Anselm's shoulders.
Anselm hung there for a moment, or part of a minute, then came up in a shock, — And stop this damned. . this God-damned sanctimonious attitude, he cried, twisting free, and they stood face to face. — Stanley, by Christ Stanley that's what it is, and you go around accusing people of refusing to humble themselves and submit to the love of Christ and you're the one, you're the one who refuses love, you're the one all the time who can't face it, who can't face loving, and being loved right here, right in this lousy world, this God-damned world where you are right now, right. . right now. Anselm stood panting; and Stanley had withdrawn a step to stand with his insensible hand on the arm of Agnes Deigh's chair.