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| She had been much too blessed for this to be... |
06-12-2010 |
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| She had been much too blessed for this to be trueHe could never father a child who killed four peopleEverything life had provided her, everything life offered her, everything life demanded of her, everything that had happened to her from the day she was born made that impossibleKilling people? It was not one of their problemsMercifully life had omitted that from their lives
Killing people was as far as you could get from all that had been given to the Levovs to doNo, she was not, she could not, be his"If you are so big on not lying or taking anything, small or great--all that crap, Merry, completely meaningless crap--I beg you to tell me the truth!"
"The truth is simpleYou must be done with craving and selfhood
"Merry," he cried, "Merry, Merry," and, the unbridled unchecked in him, powerless not to attack, with all his manly brawn he fell upon her huddled there on the grimy pallet"It isn't you! You could not have chanel quilted handbag done it!" She put up no resistance as he tore from her face the veil cut from the end of a stockingWhere the heel should be was her chinNothing is more fetid than something where your foot has been, and she puts her mouth up against itWe loved her, she loved us--and as a result she wears her face in a stocking"Now speak!" he commanded herHe pried her mouth open, disregarding a guideline he had never before overstepped--the injunction against violenceIt was the end of all understandingThere was no way for understanding to be there anymore, even though he knew violence to be inhuman and futile, and understanding--talking sense to each other for however long it took to bring about accord--all there was that could achieve a lasting resultThe father who could never use force on his child, for whom force was the embodiment of moral bankruptcy, pried open her mouth and with his fingers took hold of her tongueOne of her front teeth louis vuitton jewelry was missing, one of her beautiful teethThat proved it wasn't MerryThe years of braces, the retainer, the night brace, all those contraptions to perfect her bite, to save her gums, to beautify her smile--this could not be the same girl
"Speak!" he demanded, and at last the true smell of her reached him, the lowest human smell there is, excluding only the stench of the rotting living and the rotting deadStrangely, though she had told him she did not wash so as to do no harm to the water, he had smelled nothing before--neither when they'd embraced on the street nor sitting in the dimness across from her pallet--nothing other than a sourish, nauseatingly unfamiliar something that he ascribed to the piss-soaked buildingBut what he smelled now, while pulling open her mouth, was a human being and not a building, a mad human being who grubs about for pleasure in its own shitHer foulness had reached himHis daughter is a human omega olympic watch mess stinking of human wasteHer smell is the smell of everything organic breaking downIt is the smell of no coherenceIt is the smell of all she's becomeShe could do it, and she did do it, and this reverence for life is the final obscenity
He tried to locate a muscle in his head somewhere to plug the opening at the top of his throat, something to stop him up and prevent their sliding still further into the filth, but there was no such muscleA spasm of gastric secretions and undigested food started up the intestinal piping and, in a bitter, acidic stream, surged sickeningly onto his tongue, and when he cried out, " Who are you!" it was spewed with his words onto her face
Even in the dimness of that room, once he was over her he knew very well who she wasIt was not necessary for her to speak with her face unprotected to inform him that the inexplicable had forever displaced whatever he once thought he knewIf she was no rolex chain longer branded as Merry Levov by her stutter, she was marked unmistakably by the eyesWithin the chiseled-out, oversized eye sockets, the eyes were hisThe tallness was his and the eyes were hisThe tooth she was missing had been pulled or knocked out
She looked not at him when he retreated to the door but anxiously all around her narrow room, as though in his frenzy he had battered most brutally the harmless microorganisms that dwelled with her in her solitudeLittle wonder that she had vanishedLittle wonder that he hadThis was his daughter, and she was unknowableThis murderer is mineHis vomit was on her face, a face that, but for the eyes, was now most unlike her mother's or her father'sThe veil was off, but behind the veil there was another veilIsn't there always?
"Come with me," he begged
"Merry, you are asking me to do something that is excruciatingly painfulYou are asking me to leave youPlease," he begged her, "come chanel j12 with |
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| Merry listens to SheilaSheila will talk to her... |
06-11-2010 |
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| Merry listens to SheilaSheila will talk to her and get her out of that room
"--leave it to our visiting intellectual to get everything wrongThe complacent rudeness with which she plays the old French game of beating up on the bourgeoisie Orcutt was confiding to the Swede his amusement with Marcia's posturing"It's to her credit, I suppose, that she doesn't defer to the regulation dinnerparty discipline of not saying anything about anythingBut still it's amazing, constantly amazes me, how emptiness always goes with clevernessShe hasn't the faintest idea, really, of what she's talking aboutKnow quilted chanel bags what my father used to say? 'All brains and no intelligenceThe smarter the stupiderDawn wanted nothing further to do with their catastropheShe was just biding her time with him until the house was builtGo and do it yourselfGet back in the fucking car and get herDo you love her or don't you love her? You're acceding to her the way you acceded to your father, the way you have acceded to everything in your lifeYou're afraid of letting the beast out of the bagQuite a critique she has made of decorumYou keep yourself a secretYou don't choose ever1But how could he bring Merry home, now, tonight, in miu miu black bag that veil, with his father here? If his father were to see her, he'd expire on the spotTo where else then? Where would he take her? Could the two of them go live in Puerto Rico? Dawn wouldn't care where he wentAs long as she had her OrcuttHe had to get her before she again set foot in that underpassForget that inhuman idiot Sheila SalzmanFind a place for Merry to live where there is not that underpassThat's all that mattersStart with the underpassSave her from getting herself killed in the underpassBefore the morning, before she has even left her room--start there
He had been cracking up in the classic chanel quilted bag only way he knew how, which is not really cracking up at all but sinking, all evening long being unmade by steadily sinking under the weightA man who never goes full out and explodes, who only sinksbut now it was clear what to doGo get her out of there before dawnAfter Dawn life was inconceivableThere was nothing he could do without DawnBut she wanted Orcutt"That Wasp blandness," she'd said, all but yawning to make her pointBut that blandness had terrific glamour for a little Irish Catholic girlThe mother of Merry Levov needs nothing less than William Orcutt IIIThe cuckolded husband cartier must 21 understandsUnder-384 stands everything nowWho will get her back to the dream of where she has always wanted to go? MrTeamed up with Orcutt she'll be back on the trackSpring Lake, Atlantic City, now MrRid of the stain of our child, the stain on her credentials, rid of the stain of the destruction of the store, she can begin to resume the uncontaminated lifeBut I was stopped at the general storeKnows that I am allowed in no fartherI'm of no use anymoreThis is as far as she goes with me
He brought a chair around, sat himself down between his wife and his mother, and, even as Dawn spoke, took her hand in spy bag fendi his |
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| But this did not long trouble him, for he was not... |
06-10-2010 |
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| But this did not long trouble him, for he was not in an analytic mood
After breakfast he smoked a cigarette and glanced over the Commercial AdvertiserWhile he was thus engaged two or three men he knew came in, and the usual greetings were exchanged: it was the same world after all, though he had such a queer sense of having slipped through the meshes of time and space
He looked at his watch, and finding that it was half-past nine got up and went into the writing-roomThere he wrote a few lines, and ordered a messenger to take a cab to the Parker House and wait for the answerHe then sat down behind another newspaper and tried to calculate how long it would take a cab to get to the Parker House
"The lady was out, sir," he suddenly heard a waiter's voice at his elbow; and he stammered: "Out??" as if it were a word in a strange language
He got up and went into the hallIt must be a mistake: she could not vuitton pink bag be out at that hourHe flushed with anger at his own stupidity: why had he not sent the note as soon as he arrived?
He found his hat and stick and went forth into the streetThe city had suddenly become as strange and vast and empty as if he were a traveller from distant landsFor a moment he stood on the door-step hesitating; then he decided to go to the Parker HouseWhat if the messenger had been misinformed, and she were still there?
He started to walk across the Common; and on the first bench, under a tree, he saw her sittingShe had a grey silk sunshade over her head?how could he ever have imagined her with a pink one? As he approached he was struck by her listless attitude: she sat there as if she had nothing else to doHe saw her drooping profile, and the knot of hair fastened low in the neck under her dark hat, and the long wrinkled glove on the hand that held the sunshadeHe came a step or two omega ladies watch nearer, and she turned and looked at him
"Oh"?she said; and for the first time he noticed a startled look on her face; but in another moment it gave way to a slow smile of wonder and contentment
"Oh"?she murmured again, on a different note, as he stood looking down at her; and without rising she made a place for him on the bench
"I'm here on business?just got here," Archer explained; and, without knowing why, he suddenly began to feign astonishment at seeing her"But what on earth are you doing in this wilderness?" He had really no idea what he was saying: he felt as if he were shouting at her across endless distances, and she might vanish again before he could overtake her
"I? Oh, I'm here on business too," she answered, turning her head toward him so that they were face to faceThe words hardly reached him: he was aware only of her voice, and of the startling fact that not an echo of it had remained in chanel cambon purse his memoryHe had not even remembered that it was low-pitched, with a faint roughness on the consonants
"You do your hair differently," he said, his heart beating as if he had uttered something irrevocable
"Differently? No?it's only that I do it as best I can when I'm without Nastasia
"Nastasia; but isn't she with you?"
"No; I'm aloneFor two days it was not worth while to bring her
"You're alone?at the Parker House?"
She looked at him with a flash of her old malice"Does it strike you as dangerous?"
"No; not dangerous?"
"But unconventional? I see; I suppose it is She considered a moment"I hadn't thought of it, because I've just done something so much more unconventional The faint tinge of irony lingered in her eyes"I've just refused to take back a sum of money?that belonged to me
Archer sprang up and moved a step or two awayShe had furled her parasol and sat absently drawing omega watch orange patterns on the gravelPresently he came back and stood before her
"Some one?has come here to meet you?"
"Yes
"With this offer?"
She nodded
"And you refused?because of the conditions?"
"I refused," she said after a moment
He sat down by her again"What were the conditions?"
"Oh, they were not onerous: just to sit at the head of his table now and then
There was another interval of silenceArcher's heart had slammed itself shut in the queer way it had, and he sat vainly groping for a word
"He wants you back?at any price?"
"Well?a considerable priceAt least the sum is considerable for me
He paused again, beating about the question he felt he must put
"It was to meet him here that you came?"
She stared, and then burst into a laugh"Meet him?my husband? HERE? At this season he's always at Cowes or Baden
"He sent some one?"
"Yes
"With a letter?"
She shook her mulberry roxanne he |
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| A lifetime experiment in enduranceA performance... |
06-09-2010 |
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| A lifetime experiment in enduranceA performance over a ruinSwede Levov lives a double life
And now he is dying and what sustained him in a double life can sustain him no longer, and that horror mercifully half sub-81 merged, two-thirds submerged, even at times nine-tenths submerged, comes back distilled despite the heroic creation of that second marriage and the fathering of the wonderful boys; in the final months of the cancer, it's back worse than ever; she's back worse than ever, the first child who was the cancellation of everything, and one night in bed when he cannot sleep, when every effort fails to control his runaway thoughts, he is so depleted by his anguish he thinks, "There's this guy who was in my brother's class, and he's a writer, and maybe if I told him But what would happen if he told the writer? He doesn't even know"I'll write him a letterI know he writes about fathers, about sons, so I'll write him about my father--can he turn that down? Maybe he'll respond to that The hook to which I am to be the eyeBut I come because he is the SwedeNo other hook is necessary
Yes, the fendi big story was back worse than ever, and he thought, "If I can give it to a pro" but when he got me there he couldn't deliverOnce he got my attention he didn't want itHe thought better of itIt was none of my businessWhat good would it have done him? None at allYou go to someone and you think, "I'll tell him this But why? The impulse is that the telling is going to relieve youAnd that's why you feel awful later--you've relieved yourself, and if it truly is tragic and awful, it's not better, it's worse--the exhibitionism inherent to a confession has only made the misery worseThe Swede realized thisHe was nothing like the chump I was imagining, and he had figured this out simply enoughHe realized that there was nothing to be had through meHe certainly didn't want to cry in front of me the way he had with his brotherI wasn't his brotherI wasn't anyone--that's what he saw when he saw meSo he just blabbered deliberately on about the boys and went home and, the story untold, he diedHe turned to me, of all people, and he was conscious of everything and I missed everything
And now Chris, Steve, Kent, and white chanel bag their mother would be at the Rimrock house, perhaps along with the Swede's old mother, with MrsThe mother must be ninetySitting shiva at ninety for her beloved SeymourAnd the daughter, Meredith, Merryobviously hadn't attended the funeral, not with that outsized uncle around who hated her guts, that vindictive uncle who might even take it upon himself to turn her inBut with Jerry now gone, she dares to leave her hideout to join in the mourning, makes her way to Old Rimrock, perhaps in disguise, and there, alongside her half-brothers and her stepmother and Grandma Levov, weeps her heart out over her father's deathBut no, she was dead tooIf the Swede had been telling Jerry the truth, the daughter in hiding had died--perhaps in hiding she had been murdered or had even taken her own lifeAnything might have occurred--and "anything" wasn't supposed to occur, not to him
The brutality of the destruction of this indestructible manWhatever Happened to Swede LevovSurely not what befell the Kid from TomkinsvilleEven as boys we must have known that it couldn't have been as easy for him as it looked, that a gucci twirl watch part of it was a mystique, but who could have imagined that his life would come apart in this horrible way? A sliver off the comet of the American chaos had come loose and spun all the way out to Old Rimrock and himHis great looks, his larger-than-lifeness, his glory, our sense of his having been exempted from all self-doubt by his heroic role--that all these manly properties had precipitated a political murder made me think of the compelling story not of John RTunis's sacrificial Tomkinsville Kid but of Kennedy, John FKennedy, only a decade the Swede's senior and another privileged son of fortune, another man of glamour exuding American meaning, assassinated while still in his mid-forties just five years before the Swede's daughter violently protested the Kennedy-Johnson war and blew up her father's lifeI thought, But of course
Meanwhile Joy was telling me things about her life that I'd never known as a single-minded kid searching the neighborhood for a grape to burst--Joy was tossing into this agitated pot of memory called "the reunion" yet more stuff no one knew at the time, that no one gucci backpack had to know back when all our storytelling about ourselves was still eloquently naiveJoy was telling me about how her father had died of a heart attack when she was nine and the family was living in Brooklyn; about how she and her mother and Harold, her older brother, had moved from Brooklyn to the Newark haven of Grossman's Dress Shop; about how, in the attic space above the shop, she and her mother slept in the double bed in their one big room while Harold slept in the kitchen, on a sofa he made up each night and unmade each morning so they could eat breakfast there before going to schoolShe asked if I remembered Harold, now a retired pharmacist in Scotch Plains, and told me how just the week before she'd gone out to the cemetery in Brooklyn to visit her father's grave--as frequently as once a month she went out there, all the way to Brooklyn, she said, surprised herself by how much this graveyard now mattered to her"What do you do at the cemetery?"
"I unabashedly talk to him," Joy said"When I was ten it wasn't nearly as bad as it is nowI thought then it was odd that people had two louis vuitton pink parents |
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| He knew this not just because of the million... |
06-08-2010 |
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| He knew this not just because of the million memories but also because in the top drawer of his office desk he still kept handy a ten-year-old copy of a local weekly, the Denville-Randolph Courier, featuring on the first page the article about Dawn and her cattle businessShe had consented to be interviewed only if the journalist promised not to mention her having been Miss New Jersey of 1949The journalist agreed and the piece was titled "Old Rimrock Woman Feels Lucky to Love What She's Doing," and concluded with a paragraph that, simple as it was, made him proud of her whenever he went back to read it: "'People are lucky if they get to do what they love and are good at it,' Mrs
The Courier story testified just how much she had loved the house, as well as everything else about their livesBeneath a photograph of her standing before the pewter plates lined up on the fireplace mantel--in her white turtleneck shirt and cream-colored blazer, with her hair styled in a pageboy and her two delicate hands in front of her, the fingers decorously intertwined, looking sweet though a bit plain--the caption read, "MrsLevov, the former Miss New Jersey of 1949, loves living in a 170-year-old home, an environment which she says reflects the values of her family When Dawn called the paper in a fury about mentioning Miss New Jersey, the journalist answered that he had kept to his promise not to mention it in the article; it was the editor who had put it in the caption
No, she had not hated the house, of course she hadn't--and that 204 didn't matter anywayAll that mattered now was the restoration of her well-being; the foolish remarks she might make to this one or that one were of no consequence beside the recovery taking holdMaybe what was agitating him was that the self-adjustments on which she was building a recovery were not regenerative for him or entirely admirable to him, were even something of an affront to himHe could not dior saddle bag tell people--certainly couldn't convince himself--that he hated the things he'd lovedBut he couldn't help it, not when he remembered how at seven Merry would eat herself sick with the raw batter while baking two dozen tollhouse cookies, and a week later they'd still be finding batter all over the place, even up on top of the refrigeratorSo how could he hate the refrigerator? How could he let his emotions be reshaped, imagine himself being rescued, as Dawn did, by their leaving it behind for an all-but-silent new IceTemp, the Rolls-Royce of refrigerators? He for one could not say he hated the kitchen in which Merry used to bake her cookies and melt her cheese sandwiches and make her baked ziti, even if the cupboards weren't stainless steel or the counters Italian marbleHe could not say he hated the cellar where she used to go to play hide-and-seek with her screaming friends, even if sometimes it spooked even him a little to be down there in the wintertime with those scuttling miceHe could not say he hated the massive fireplace adorned with the antique iron kettle that was all at once insufferably corny in Dawn's estimation, not when he remembered how, early every January, he would chop up the Christmas tree and set it afire there, the whole thing in one go, so that the explosive blaze of the bone-dry branches, the great whoosh and the loud crackling and the dancing shadows, cavorting devils climbing to the ceiling from the four walls, would transport Merry into a delirium of terrified delightHe could not say he hated the ball-and-claw-foot bathtub where he used to give her baths, just because decades of indelible mineral stains from the well water streakedthe enamel and encircled the drainHe could not even hate the f ^ toilet whose handle required all that jiggling to get the thing to stop gushing, not when he remembered her kneeling beside it and throwing up while he knelt next to her, holding her sick little montre cartier forehead
Nor could he say he hated his daughter for what she had done--if he could! If only, instead of living chaotically in the world where she wasn't and in the world where she once was and in the world where she might now be, he could come to hate her enough not to care anything about her world, then or nowIf only he could be back thinking like everybody else, once again the totally natural man instead of this riven charlatan of sincerity, an artless outer Swede and a tormented inner Swede, a visible stable Swede and a concealed beleaguered Swede, an easygoing, smiling sham Swede enshrouding the Swede buried aliveIf only he could even faintly reconstitute the undivided oneness of existence that had made for his straightforward physical confidence and freedom before he became the father of an alleged murdererIf only he could be as unknowing as some people perceived him to be--if only he could be as perfectly simple as the legend of Swede Levov concocted by the hero-worshiping kids of his dayIf only he could say, "I hate this house!" and be Weequahic's Swede Levov againIf he could say, "I hate that child! I never want to see her again!" and then go ahead, disown her, forevermore despise and reject her and the vision for which she was willing, if not to kill, then to cruelly abandon her own family, a vision having nothing whatsoever to do with "ideals" but with dishonesty, criminality, megalomania, and insanityBlind antagonism and an infantile desire to menace--those were her idealsIn search always of something to hateYes, it went way, way beyond her stutteringThat violent hatred of America was a disease unto itselfLoved being an AmericanBut back then he hadn't dared begin to explain to her why he did, for fear of unleashing the demon, insultThey lived in dread of Merry's stuttering tongueAnd by then he had no influence anywayDawn had no influenceHis parents had no influenceIn what way was she "his" any longer if she hadn't chanel clearance even been his then, certainly not his if to drive her into her frightening blitzkrieg mentality it required no more than for her own father to begin to explain why his affections happened to be for the country where he'd been born and raisedStuttering, sputtering little bitch! Who the fuck did she think she was?
Imagine the vileness with which she would have assaulted him for revealing to her that just reciting the names of the forty-eight states used to thrill him back when he was a little kidThe truth of it was that even the road maps used to give him a kick when they gave them away free at the gas stationSo did the offhand way he had got his nicknameThe first day of high school, down in the gym for their first class, and him just jerking around with the basketball while the other kids were still all over the place getting into their sneakersFrom fifteen feet out he dropped in two hook shots--swish! swish!--just to get startedAnd then that easygoing way that Henry "Doc" Ward, the popular young phys ed teacher and wrestling coach fresh from Montclair State, laughingly called from his office doorway--called out to this lanky blond fourteen-year-old with the brilliant blue gaze and the easy, effortless style whom he'd never seen in his gym before--"Where'd you learn that, Swede?" Because the name differentiated Seymour Levov from Seymour Munzer and Seymour Wishnow, who were also on the class roll, it stuck all through gym his freshman year; then other teachers and coaches took it up, then kids in the school, and afterward, as long as Weequahic remained the old Jewish Weequahic and people there still cared about the past, Doc Ward was known as the guy who'd christened Swede LevovSimple as that, an old American nickname, proclaimed by a gym teacher, bequeathed in a gym, a name that made him mythic in a way that Seymour would never have done, mythic not only during his school years but to his schoolmates, in memory, omega deville watch for the rest of their daysHe carried it with him like an invisible passport, all the while wandering deeper and deeper into an American's life, forthrightly evolving into a large, smooth, optimistic American such as his conspicuously raw forebears--including the obstinate father whose American claim was not inconsiderable--couldn't have dreamed of as one of their own
The way his father talked to people, that got him too, the American way his father said to the guy at the pump, "Fill 'er up, MacCheck the front end, will ya, Chief?" The excitement of their trips in the DeSotoThe tiny, musty tourist cabins they stopped at overnight while meandering up through the scenic back roads of New York State to see Niagara FallsThe trip to Washington when Jerry was a brat all the wayHis first liberty home from the marines, the pilgrimage to Hyde Park with the folks and Jerry to stand together as a family looking at FDR's graveFresh from boot camp and there at Roosevelt's grave, he felt that something meaningful was happening; hardened and richly tanned from training through the hottest months on a parade ground where the temperature rose some days to a hundred twenty degrees, he stood silent, proudly wearing his new summer uniform, the shirt starched, the khaki pants sleekly pocketless over the rear and perfectly pressed, the tie pulled taut, cap centered on his close-shaven head, black leather dress shoes spit-shined, agleam, and the belt--the belt that made him feel most like a marine, that tightly woven khaki fabric belt with the metal buckle--girding a waist that had seen him through some ten thousand sit-ups as a raw Parris Island recruitWho was she to sneer at all this, to reject all this, to hate all this and set out to destroy it? The war, winning the war--did she hate that too? The neighbors, out in the street, crying and hugging on V-J Day, blowing car horns and marching up and down front lawns loudly banging kitchen dior saddle pot |
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| Only a few hours had passed since the Swede... |
06-07-2010 |
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| Only a few hours had passed since the Swede learned that it was Sheila Salzman, the speech therapist, who had hidden Merry after the bombingThe Salzmans had not told himAnd if only they had--called when she showed up there, done their duty to him thenHe could not complete the thoughtIf he were to contemplate head-on all that would not have happened had Merry never been permitted to become a fugitive from justiceCouldn't complete that thought eitherHe sat at dinner, eternally inert--immobilized, ineffectual, inert, estranged from those expansive blessings of openness and vigor conferred on him by his hyperoptimismA lifetime's agility as a businessman, as an athlete, as a UMarine, had in no way conditioned him for being a captive confined to a futureless box where he was not to think about what had become of his daughter, was not to think about how the Salzmans had assisted her, was not to think aboutabout what had become of his wifeHe was supposed to get through dinner not thinking about the only things he could think aboutHe was supposed to do this foreverHowever much he might crave to get out, he was to remain stopped chanel jumbo flap bag dead in the moment in that boxOtherwise the world would explode
Barry Umanoff, once the Swede's teammate and closest high school friend, was a law professor at Columbia, and whenever the folks flew up from Florida Barry and his wife were invited for dinnerSeeing Barry always made his father happy, in part because Barry, the son of an immigrant tailor, had evolved into a university professor but also because Lou Levov--wrongly, though the Swede pretended not to care--credited Barry Umanoff with getting Seymour to lay down his baseball glove and enter the businessEvery summer Lou reminded Barry--"Counselor" as he'd been calling him since high school--of the good deed Barry had done for the Levov family by the example of his professional seriousness, and Barry would say that, if he'd been one-hundredth the ballplayer the Swede was, nobody would have gotten him near a law school
It was Barry and Marcia Umanoff with whom Merry had stayed overnight a couple of times in New York before the Swede finally forbade her going into New York at all, and it was Barry from whom the Swede had sought legal advice after Merry's gucci clearance disappearance from Old RimrockBarry took him to meet Schevitz, the Manhattan litigatorWhen the Swede asked Schevitz to level with him--what was the worst that could be laid on his daughter if she was apprehended and found guilty?--he was told, "Seven to ten years
"But," said Schevitz, "if it's done in the passion of the antiwar movement, if it's done accidentally, if everything was done to try to prevent anyone from getting hurtAnd do we know she did it alone? We don'tDo we even know she did it? We don'tNo significant political history, a lot of rhetoric, a lot of violent rhetoric, but is this a kid who, on her own, would kill someone deliberately? How do we know she made the bomb or set the bomb? To make a bomb you have to be fairly sophisticated--could this kid light a match?"
"She was excellent in science," the Swede said"For her chemistry project she got an A
"Did she make a bomb for her chemistry project?"
"No, of course not--no
"Then we don't know, do we, whether she could light a match or notIt might have been all rhetoric to herWe don't know what she did and we don't know what she meant to doWe don't know gucci ladies watch anything and neither does anyone elseShe could have won the Westinghouse Science Prize and we wouldn't knowWhat can be proved? Probably very littleThe worst, since you ask me, is seven to tenBut let's assume she's treated as a juvenileUnder juvenile law she gets two to three, and even if she pleads guilty to something, the record is sealed and nobody can get at itLook, it all depends on her role in the homicideIt doesn't have to be too badIf the kid will come in, even if she did have something to do with it, we might get her off with practically nothing And until a few hours ago--when he'd learned that on the Oregon commune making bombs was her specialty, when from her own unstuttering mouth he heard that it was not a single possibly accidental death for which she was responsible but the coldhearted murder of four people--Schevitz's words were sometimes all he had to keep him from giving up hopeThis man did not deal in fairy talesYou could see that as soon as you walked into his officeSchevitz was somebody who liked to be proved right, somebody whose wish to prevail was his vocationBarry had made it clear beforehand that gucci g watch Schevitz was not a guy interested in making people feel goodHe was not addressing the Swede's yearnings when he said, If the kid will come in we might get her offBut this was back when they thought they could find a jury that would believe she didn't know how to light a matchThis was before five o'clock that afternoon
Barry's wife, Marcia, a literature professor in New York, was, by even the Swede's generous estimate, "a difficult person," a militant nonconformist of staggering self-certainty much given to sarcasm and calculatedly apocalyptic pronouncements designed to bring discomfort to the lords of the earthThere was nothing she did or said that didn't make clear where she stoodShe had barely to move a muscle--swallow while you were speaking, tap with a fingernail on the arm of her chair, even nod her head as if she were in total agreement--to inform you that nothing you were saying was correctTo encompass all her convictions she dressed in large block-printed caftans--an extensive woman, for whom a disheveled appearance was less a protest against convention than a sign that she was a thinker who got right to the dolce |
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| Archer instantly felt himself on the other side... |
06-06-2010 |
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Archer instantly felt himself on the other side of the argument"But why, sir? If there ever was a case?"
"Well?what's the use? SHE'S here?he's there; the Atlantic's between themShe'll never get back a dollar more of her money than what he's voluntarily returned to her: their damned heathen marriage settlements take precious good care of thatAs things go over there, Olenski's acted generously: he might have turned her out without a penny
The young man knew this and was silent
"I understand, though," MrLetterblair continued, "that she attaches no importance to the moneyTherefore, as the family say, why not let well enough alone?"
Archer had gone to the house an hour earlier in full agreement with MrLetterblair's view; but put into words by this selfish, well-fed and supremely indifferent old man it suddenly became the Pharisaic voice of a society wholly absorbed in barricading itself against the unpleasant
"I think that's for her to decide
"H'm?have you considered the consequences if she decides for divorce?"
"You mean the threat in her husband's letter? What weight would that carry? It's no more than the vague charge of an angry blackguard
"Yes; but it might make some unpleasant talk if he really defends the suit
"Unpleasant?!" said Archer prada china explosivelyLetterblair looked at him from under enquiring eyebrows, and the young man, aware of the uselessness of trying to explain what was in his mind, bowed acquiescently while his senior continued: "Divorce is always unpleasant
"You agree with me?" MrLetterblair resumed, after a waiting silence
"Naturally," said Archer
"Well, then, I may count on you; the Mingotts may count on you; to use your influence against the idea?"
Archer hesitated"I can't pledge myself till I've seen the Countess Olenska," he said at lengthArcher, I don't understand youDo you want to marry into a family with a scandalous divorce-suit hanging over it?"
"I don't think that has anything to do with the caseLetterblair put down his glass of port and fixed on his young partner a cautious and apprehensive gaze
Archer understood that he ran the risk of having his mandate withdrawn, and for some obscure reason he disliked the prospectNow that the job had been thrust on him he did not propose to relinquish it; and, to guard against the possibility, he saw that he must reassure the unimaginative old man who was the legal conscience of the Mingotts
"You may be sure, sir, that I shan't commit myself till I've reported to you; what I meant was that I'd rather not give an opinion till I've heard chanel cambon handbag what Madame Olenska has to sayLetterblair nodded approvingly at an excess of caution worthy of the best New York tradition, and the young man, glancing at his watch, pleaded an engagement and took leave
Old-fashioned New York dined at seven, and the habit of after-dinner calls, though derided in Archer's set, still generally prevailedAs the young man strolled up Fifth Avenue from Waverley Place, the long thoroughfare was deserted but for a group of carriages standing before the Reggie Chiverses' (where there was a dinner for the Duke), and the occasional figure of an elderly gentleman in heavy overcoat and muffler ascending a brownstone doorstep and disappearing into a gas-lit hallThus, as Archer crossed Washington Square, he remarked that old Mrdu Lac was calling on his cousins the Dagonets, and turning down the corner of West Tenth Street he saw MrSkipworth, of his own firm, obviously bound on a visit to the Miss LanningsA little farther up Fifth Avenue, Beaufort appeared on his doorstep, darkly projected against a blaze of light, descended to his private brougham, and rolled away to a mysterious and probably unmentionable destinationIt was not an Opera night, and no one was giving a party, so that Beaufort's outing was undoubtedly of a clandestine natureArcher connected it in his omega usa mind with a little house beyond Lexington Avenue in which beribboned window curtains and flower-boxes had recently appeared, and before whose newly painted door the canary-coloured brougham of Miss Fanny Ring was frequently seen to wait
Beyond the small and slippery pyramid which composed MrsArcher's world lay the almost unmapped quarter inhabited by artists, musicians and "people who wrote These scattered fragments of humanity had never shown any desire to be amalgamated with the social structureIn spite of odd ways they were said to be, for the most part, quite respectable; but they preferred to keep to themselvesMedora Manson, in her prosperous days, had inaugurated a "literary salon"; but it had soon died out owing to the reluctance of the literary to frequent it
Others had made the same attempt, and there was a household of Blenkers?an intense and voluble mother, and three blowsy daughters who imitated her?where one met Edwin Booth and Patti and William Winter, and the new Shakespearian actor George Rignold, and some of the magazine editors and musical and literary criticsArcher and her group felt a certain timidity concerning these personsThey were odd, they were uncertain, they had things one didn't know about in the background of their lives and mindsLiterature and art balenciaga first were deeply respected in the Archer set, and MrsArcher was always at pains to tell her children how much more agreeable and cultivated society had been when it included such figures as Washington Irving, Fitz-Greene Halleck and the poet of "The Culprit Fay The most celebrated authors of that generation had been "gentlemen"; perhaps the unknown persons who succeeded them had gentlemanly sentiments, but their origin, their appearance, their hair, their intimacy with the stage and the Opera, made any old New York criterion inapplicable to them
"When I was a girl," MrsArcher used to say, "we knew everybody between the Battery and Canal Street; and only the people one knew had carriagesIt was perfectly easy to place any one then; now one can't tell, and I prefer not to try
Only old Catherine Mingott, with her absence of moral prejudices and almost parvenu indifference to the subtler distinctions, might have bridged the abyss; but she had never opened a book or looked at a picture, and cared for music only because it reminded her of gala nights at the Italiens, in the days of her triumph at the TuileriesPossibly Beaufort, who was her match in daring, would have succeeded in bringing about a fusion; but his grand house and silk-stockinged footmen were an obstacle to informal sac kelly hermes sociabi |
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| "And in that case there's no reason on earth why... |
06-05-2010 |
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| "And in that case there's no reason on earth why you shouldn't go back?" he concluded for her
Her eyes were clinging to him desperately"Oh, IS there no reason?"
"Not if you staked your all on the success of my marriageMy marriage," he said savagely, "isn't going to be a sight to keep you here She made no answer, and he went on: "What's the use? You gave me my first glimpse of a real life, and at the same moment you asked me to go on with a sham oneIt's beyond human enduring?that's all
"Oh, don't say that; when I'm enduring it!" she burst out, her eyes filling
Her arms had dropped along the table, and she sat with her face abandoned to his gaze as if in the recklessness of a desperate perilThe face exposed her as much as if it had been her whole person, with the soul behind it: Archer stood dumb, overwhelmed by what it suddenly told him
"You too?oh, all this time, you too?"
For answer, she let the tears on her lids overflow and run slowly downward
Half the width of the room was still between them, and neither made any show of movingArcher was conscious of a curious indifference to her bodily presence: he would hardly have been aware of it if one of the hands she had flung out on the table had not drawn his gaze as on the occasion when, in the little Twenty-third Street house, he had kept his eye on it in order not to look kelly handbag at her faceNow his imagination spun about the hand as about the edge of a vortex; but still he made no effort to draw nearerHe had known the love that is fed on caresses and feeds them; but this passion that was closer than his bones was not to be superficially satisfiedHis one terror was to do anything which might efface the sound and impression of her words; his one thought, that he should never again feel quite alone
But after a moment the sense of waste and ruin overcame himThere they were, close together and safe and shut in; yet so chained to their separate destinies that they might as well have been half the world apart
"What's the use?when you will go back?" he broke out, a great hopeless HOW ON EARTH CAN I KEEP YOU? crying out to her beneath his words
She sat motionless, with lowered lids"Oh?I shan't go yet!"
"Not yet? Some time, then? Some time that you already foresee?"
At that she raised her clearest eyes"I promise you: not as long as you hold outNot as long as we can look straight at each other like this
He dropped into his chairWhat her answer really said was: "If you lift a finger you'll drive me back: back to all the abominations you know of, and all the temptations you half guess He understood it as clearly as if she had uttered the words, and the thought kept him anchored to his side of the table in a kind tiffany jewelry canada of moved and sacred submission
"What a life for you!?" he groaned
"Oh?as long as it's a part of yours
"And mine a part of yours?"
She nodded
"And that's to be all?for either of us?"
"Well; it IS all, isn't it?"
At that he sprang up, forgetting everything but the sweetness of her faceShe rose too, not as if to meet him or to flee from him, but quietly, as though the worst of the task were done and she had only to wait; so quietly that, as he came close, her outstretched hands acted not as a check but as a guide to himThey fell into his, while her arms, extended but not rigid, kept him far enough off to let her surrendered face say the rest
They may have stood in that way for a long time, or only for a few moments; but it was long enough for her silence to communicate all she had to say, and for him to feel that only one thing matteredHe must do nothing to make this meeting their last; he must leave their future in her care, asking only that she should keep fast hold of it
"Don't?don't be unhappy," she said, with a break in her voice, as she drew her hands away; and he answered: "You won't go back?you won't go back?" as if it were the one possibility he could not bear
"I won't go back," she said; and turning away she opened the door and led the way into the public dining-room
The strident school-teachers were big black bag gathering up their possessions preparatory to a straggling flight to the wharf; across the beach lay the white steam-boat at the pier; and over the sunlit waters Boston loomed in a line of haze
Once more on the boat, and in the presence of others, Archer felt a tranquillity of spirit that surprised as much as it sustained him
The day, according to any current valuation, had been a rather ridiculous failure; he had not so much as touched Madame Olenska's hand with his lips, or extracted one word from her that gave promise of farther opportunitiesNevertheless, for a man sick with unsatisfied love, and parting for an indefinite period from the object of his passion, he felt himself almost humiliatingly calm and comfortedIt was the perfect balance she had held between their loyalty to others and their honesty to themselves that had so stirred and yet tranquillized him; a balance not artfully calculated, as her tears and her falterings showed, but resulting naturally from her unabashed sincerityIt filled him with a tender awe, now the danger was over, and made him thank the fates that no personal vanity, no sense of playing a part before sophisticated witnesses, had tempted him to tempt herEven after they had clasped hands for good-bye at the Fall River station, and he had turned away alone, the conviction remained with him of having saved out of fendi spy bag replica their meeting much more than he had sacrificed
He wandered back to the club, and went and sat alone in the deserted library, turning and turning over in his thoughts every separate second of their hours togetherIt was clear to him, and it grew more clear under closer scrutiny, that if she should finally decide on returning to Europe?returning to her husband?it would not be because her old life tempted her, even on the new terms offeredNo: she would go only if she felt herself becoming a temptation to Archer, a temptation to fall away from the standard they had both set upHer choice would be to stay near him as long as he did not ask her to come nearer; and it depended on himself to keep her just there, safe but secluded
In the train these thoughts were still with himThey enclosed him in a kind of golden haze, through which the faces about him looked remote and indistinct: he had a feeling that if he spoke to his fellow-travellers they would not understand what he was sayingIn this state of abstraction he found himself, the following morning, waking to the reality of a stifling September day in New YorkThe heat-withered faces in the long train streamed past him, and he continued to stare at them through the same golden blur; but suddenly, as he left the station, one of the faces detached itself, came closer and forced itself upon his quilted chanel purse consciousne |
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| aradise Remembered
The SwedeDuring the war... |
06-04-2010 |
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| aradise Remembered
The SwedeDuring the war years, when I was still a grade school boy, this was a magical name in our Newark neighborhood, even to adults just a generation removed from the city's old Prince Street ghetto and not yet so flawlessly Americanized as to be bowled over by the prowess of a high school athleteThe name was magical; so was the anomalous faceOf the few fair-complexioned Jewish students in our preponderantly Jewish public high school, none possessed anything remotely like the steep-jawed, insentient Viking mask of this blue-eyed blond born into our tribe as Seymour Irving Levov
The Swede starred as end in football, center in basketball, and first baseman in baseballOnly the basketball team was ever any good--twice winning the city championship while he was its leading scorer--but as long as the Swede excelled, the fate of our sports teams didn't matter much to a student body whose elders, largely undereducated and overburdened, venerated academic achievement above all elsePhysical aggression, even camouflaged by athletic uniforms and official rules and intended to do no harm to Jews, was not a traditional source of pleasure in our community--advanced degrees wereNonetheless, through the Swede, the neighborhood entered into a fantasy about itself and about the world, the fantasy of sports fans everywhere: almost like Gentiles (as they imagined Gentiles), our families could forget the way things actually work and make an athletic performance the repository of all their hopesPrimarily, they could forget the war
The elevation of Swede Levov into the household Apollo of the Weequahic Jews can best be explained, I think, by the war against the Germans and the Japanese and the fears that it fosteredWith the Swede indomitable on the playing field, the meaningless surface of life provided a bizarre, delusionary kind of sustenance, the happy release into a Swedian innocence, for those who lived in dread of never seeing their sons or their brothers or their husbands again
And how did this affect him--the vuitton gold bag glorification, the sanctification, of every hook shot he sank, every pass he leaped up and caught, every line drive he rifled for a double down the left-field line? Is this what made him that staid and stone-faced boy? Or was the mature-seeming sobriety the outward manifestation of an arduous inward struggle to keep in check the narcissism that an entire community was ladling with love? The high school cheerleaders had a cheer for the SwedeUnlike the other cheers, meant to inspire the whole team or to galvanize the spectators, this was a rhythmic, foot-stomping tribute to the Swede alone, enthusiasm for his perfection undiluted and unabashedThe cheer rocked the gym at basketball games every time he took a rebound or scored a point, swept through our side of City Stadium at football games any time he gained a yard or intercepted a passEven at the sparsely attended home baseball games up at Irvington Park, where there was no cheerleading squad eagerly kneeling at the sidelines, you could hear it thinly chanted by the handful of Weequahic stalwarts in the wooden stands not only when the Swede came up to bat but when he made no more than a routine putout at first baseIt was a cheer that consisted of eight syllables, three of them his name, and it went, Bah bah-bah! Bah bah bahbah-fraW and the tempo, at football games particularly, accelerated with each repetition until, at the peak of frenzied adoration, an explosion of skirt-billowing cartwheels was ecstatically discharged and the orange gym bloom- ers of ten sturdy little cheerleaders flickered like fireworks before our marveling eyesand not for love of you or me but of the wonderful Swede"Swede Levov! It rhymes withSwede Levov! It rhymes withSwede Levov! It rhymes with'The Love'!"
Yes, everywhere he looked, people were in love with himThe candy store owners we boys pestered called the rest of us "Hey-you-no!" or "Kid-cut-it-out!"; him they called, respectfully, "Swede Parents smiled and benignly addressed him as "Seymour The chattering girls he passed on the street would borse louis vuitton ostentatiously swoon, and the bravest would holler after him, "Come back, come back, Levov of my life!" And he let it happen, walked about the neighborhood in possession of all that love, looking as though he didn't feel a thingContrary to whatever daydreams the rest of us may have had about the enhancing effect on ourselves of total, uncritical, idolatrous adulation, the love thrust upon the Swede seemed actually to deprive him of feelingIn this boy embraced as a symbol of hope by so many--as the embodiment of the strength, the resolve, the emboldened valor that would prevail to return our high school's servicemen home unscathed from Midway, Salerno, Cherbourg, the Solomons, the Aleutians, Tarawa--there appeared to be not a drop of wit or irony to interfere with his golden gift for responsibility
But wit or irony is like a hitch in his swing for a kid like the Swede, irony being a human consolation and beside the point if you're getting your way as a godEither there was a whole side to his personality that he was suppressing or that was as yet asleep or, more likely, there wasn'tHis aloofness, his seeming passivity as the desired object of all this asexual lovemaking, made him appear, if not divine, a distinguished cut above the more primordial humanity of just about everybody else at the schoolHe was fettered to history, an instrument of history, esteemed with a passion that might never have been if he'd broken the Weequahic basketball record--by scoring twenty-seven points against Barringer--on a day other than the sad, sad day in 1943 when fifty-eight Flying Fortresses were shot down by Luftwaffe fighter planes, two fell victim to flak, and five more crashed after crossing the English coast on their way back from bombing Germany
The Swede's younger brother was my classmate, Jerry Levov, a scrawny, small-headed, oddly overflexible boy built along the lines of a licorice stick, something of a mathematical wizard, and the January 1950 valedictorianThough Jerry never really had a friendship with anyone, in his imperious, irascible replica fendi spy bag way, he took an interest in me over the years, and that was how I wound up, from the age of ten, regularly getting beaten by him at Ping-Pong in the finished basement of the Levovs' one-family house, on the corner of Wynd-moor and Keer--the word "finished" indicating that it was paneled in knotty pine, domesticated, and not, as Jerry seemed to think, that the basement was the perfect place for finishing off another kid
The explosiveness of Jerry's aggression at a Ping-Pong table exceeded his brother's in any sportA Ping-Pong ball is, brilliantly, sized and shaped so that it cannot take out your eyeI would not otherwise have played in Jerry Levov's basementIf it weren't for the opportunity to tell people that I knew my way around Swede Levov's house, nobody could have got me down into that basement, defenseless but for a small wooden paddleNothing that weighs as little as a Ping-Pong ball can be lethal, yet when Jerry whacked that thing murder couldn't have been far from his mindIt never occurred to me that this violent display might have something to do with what it was like for him to be the kid brother of Swede LevovSince I couldn't imagine anything better than being the Swede's brother--short of being the Swede himself--I failed to understand that for Jerry it might be difficult to imagine anything worse
The Swede's bedroom--which I never dared enter but would pause to gaze into when I used the toilet outside Jerry's room--was tucked under the eaves at the back of the houseWith its slanted ceiling and dormer windows and Weequahic pennants on the walls, it looked like what I thought of as a real boy's roomFrom the two windows that opened out over the back lawn you could see the roof of the Levovs' garage, where the Swede as a grade school kid practiced hitting in the wintertime by swinging at a baseball taped to a cord hung from a rafter--an idea he might have got from a baseball novel by John RTunis called The Kid from TomkinsvilleI came to that book and to other of Tunis's baseball books--Iron Duke, The Duke Decides, omega planet ocean watches Champion's Choice, Keystone Kids, Rookie of the Year--by spotting them on the built-in shelf beside the Swede's bed, all lined up alphabetically between two solid bronze bookends that had been a bar mitzvah gift, miniaturized replicas of Rodin's "The Thinker Immediately I went to the library to borrow all the Tunis books I could find and started with The Kid from Tomkinsville, a grim, gripping book to a boy, simply written, stiff in places but direct and dignified, about the Kid, Roy Tucker, a clean-cut young pitcher from the rural Connecticut hills whose father dies when he is four and whose mother dies when he is sixteen and who helps his grandmother make ends meet by working the family farm during the day and working at night in town at "MacKenzie's drugstore on the corner of South Main
The book, published in 1940, had black-and-white drawings that, with just a little expressionistic distortion and just enough anatomical skill, cannily pictorialize the hardness of the Kid's life, back before the game of baseball was illuminated with a million statistics, back when it was about the mysteries of earthly fate, when major leaguers looked less like big healthy kids and more like lean and hungry workingmenThe drawings seemed conceived out of the dark austerities of Depression AmericaEvery ten pages or so, to succinctly depict a dramatic physical moment in the story--"He was able to put a little steam in it,"
"It was over the fence,"
"Razzle limped to the dugout"--there is a blackish, ink-heavy rendering of a scrawny, shadow-faced ballplayer starkly silhouetted on a blank page, isolated, like the world's most lonesome soul, from both nature and man, or set in a stippled simulation of ballpark grass, dragging beneath him the skinny statuette of a wormlike shadowHe is unglamorous even in a baseball uniform; if he is the pitcher, his gloved hand looks like a paw; and what image after image makes graphically clear is that playing up in the majors, heroic though it may seem, is yet another form of backbreaking, unremu-nerative omega usa labo |
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| "Where then?"
"Where everybody else eats their... |
06-03-2010 |
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"Where then?"
"Where everybody else eats their meals
"Who are the people who live in these apartments?"
"Friends of mine
"Where did you meet them?"
"I met some here, I met some in the city--"
"Here? Where?"
"At the high schoolSh-sh-sh-sherry, for instance
"I never met Sherry
"Sh-sh-sh-sherry is the one, do you remember, who played the violin in all the class plays? And she goes into New York b-because she takes music lessons
"Is she involved with politics too?"
"Daddy, everything is politicalHow can she not be involved if she has a b-b-b-brain?"
"Merry, chloe black chloe black I don't want you to get into troubleYou're angry about the warA lot of people are angry about the warBut there are some people who are angry about the war who don't have any limitsDo you know what the limits are?"
"LimitsThat's all you think aboutNot going to the extremeWell, sometimes you have to fucking go to the extremeWhat do you think war is? War is an extremeIt isn't life out here in little RimrockNothing is too extreme out here
"You don't like it out here anymoreWould you want to live in New York? Would you like that?"
"Of c-c-c-course
"Suppose when you graduate roxanne mulberry from high school you were to go to college in New YorkWould you like that?"
"I don't know if I'm going to go to collegeLook at the administration of those collegesLook what they do to their students who are against the warHow can I want to be going to college? Higher educationIt's what I call lower educationMaybe I'll go to college, maybe I won'tI wouldn't start p-planning now
Conversation #18 about New York, after she fails to return home on a Saturday night"You're never to do that againYou're never to stay over with people who we don't knowWho are these people?"
"Never say louis vuitton denim never
"Who are the people you stayed with?"
"They're friends of Sh-sherry'sFrom the music school
"I don't believe you
"Why? You can't b-b-b-believe that I might have friends? That people might like me--you don't b-b-b-believe that? That people might put me up for the night--you don't b-b-b-believe that? What do you b-b-b-b-b-b-b-believe in?"
"You're sixteen years oldYou cannot stay over in New York City
"Stop reminding me of how old I am
"When you went off yesterday we expected you back at six o'clockAt seven o'clock at night you phoned to say you're staying overYou replica santos cartier said you had a place to stay
"But you can't do it againIf you do it again, you will never be allowed to go into New York by yourself
"Says who?"
"Your father
"I'll make a deal with you
"What's the deal, Father?"
"If you ever go into New York again and you find it's getting late and you have to stay somewhere, you stay with the Umanoffs
"The Umanoffs?"
"They like you, you like them, they've known you all your lifeThey have a very nice apartment
"Well, the people I stayed with have a very nice apartment too
"Who are they?"
"I told you, they're Sh-sherry's vuitton gold bag friends |
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