Letters

Exclamation point hers, sir, as Reasonably inferred from tone of voice, facial expression, tear-glint in eyes. I Must Explain that over & above the surprising content of her expostulation — surprising I Mean in that I had Anticipated, on the basis of earlier observations and remarks of hers, at best indifference to, at worst outright enthusiasm for, on her part, my Proposition, should she be Together enough, as they say, to register it at all — was a more considerable extraordinariness: it was the first time that Marsha had ever addressed me by my Name!

When I was Together enough myself for Further Speech, I Inquired of her, in effect, You don’t want to go to bed with him? Well, she said, no. I mean [she said, and I Reasonably Infer three suspension points plus italics]… no. I mean [i.e., she means] I didn’t. Oh, Said I. Well. Then. Golly. In that case.

Now, excuse the playscript format, sir: this was, after all — I now Recalled With Growing Consternation — a scene, from Der Wiedertraum.

MORGAN (SUDDENLY INTERESTED) (IN EFFECT): Done.

ME: What?

MORGAN: Leave us, Horner. Alone. Go ’round to the window.

MARSHA (IN EFFECT): No.

MORGAN: Horner?

ME: Well…

MY WIFE (VERBATIM): Jacob!

MYSELF (IN EFFECT): She, um, doesn’t want to, Joe. I Mean, I’m as Surprised as anybody. But if she really doesn’t want to. Gosh.

I now Summarize. Here Morgan withdrew from his pockets both hands, where he had thrust them during the above. With the left he held before Marsha’s nose a tiny white packet disagreeably familiar, saying: Honey Dust. Found in “Bibi’s” room after she left. With the right he unzipped his trouser fly, whereto, to my Chagrin, my Wife, without another word, went. Out, Horner, Joe ordered. To the window. Peep. Espy. Watch me fuck your Wife [your pardon, Mr. A., but etc.], before your Very Eyes, before you Do, on your Very Wedding Night. Out.

Well, Said I, my voice to my Surprise choking off some. Well. But by golly I Want it Clearly Understood, Joe, that this is it for Der Wiedertraum! Tears in my eyes, sir. Morgan appeared to Consider for a moment — Marsha was at it, I Couldn’t Look — and then said: Nope. You Go Out There and Watch me [etc., above]. Then you Leave. She stays here. Though it is too late for me to knock your Wife up, I am going to Honey-Dust and hump her every which way till the cows come home, like [sic] you did Rennie. At eight A.M. sharp you and I will have our scheduled Last P & A: Confrontation and Deadline. After that she’s yours. Bring your Hornbook. Go.

I Paused, Reflected, then Declared: I Hate This. But okay. Joe asked my Wife whether she heard and understood. Marsha cleared her mouth and throat and said, to me: You creep. To Morgan: Dust me, Dust me. To me: Want to Put It In for him, too? To Morgan: Dust me, for Christ sake. Thanks. To me: Oh, Buddy, will you ever Pay for this.

Etc. I Went Outside, Took up Position; they came to the window to make sure I Didn’t Cheat. I Hated it. They laughed; I Dry-Heaved: Then Marsha Dusted Off. I Said Huskily through the window: Let me Take her home now, Joe. He responded: Bugger off, Horner.

Bad night; I’ll Skip the Details. Sometime after midnight, in my Room, I Entered my Name in Column One, Cuckold, of my Hornbook: HORNER, Jacob, between Hephaestus and Hosea: Marsha in Column Two, Wife, between Aphrodite and Gomer, Joe in Column Three, Lover(s), between Anchises, Ares, Butes, Dionysus, Hermes, Poseidon, Zeus, etc., etc. and Everybody.

It is a listing I Keep, sir, have for some years Kept, at the (late) Doctor’s Rx. Before dawn I Actually Fell Asleep, so finally and truly Purged After All, even Pissed Off, did I Feel.

Woke up ditto! Monday 9/1: Labor, St. Giles’, and Confrontation Day! Went to Claim my Wife, plenty Fed Up sir! Running a touch late, Charged down to the P & A Room to Have It Out Quickly for good and all. Collect Marsha; Try to Make Things Up. Suggest to Tombo X we Oust Morgan and Run the Show Together upon my Return From Honeymoon: me Keep the books, him book the creeps, ha ha.

Remobilized!

Joe was dressed, smoking but not reading; apparently waiting for me, though I was by now a touch early. Desk clear except for Colt.45. Cut (I Cleared my Throat and Rebegan) Cut the Comedy, Joe. Put that thing away. Where’s Marsha? Etc.

Joe replied calmly, hands behind head: Your Wife is a lousy lay, Horner.

Undeterred, I Showed him with a Determined Sneer the Hornbook entry: my Name in the same column as, five letters later, his, and in Column Four (Remarks): All scores settled.