Jerry

Well, you may not be, but I must be getting home soon.

Oh, come on; stay a while longer.

Oh, my; oh, my.

Oh, your what? But that was a long time ago, and I have no feeling about any of it that I care to admit to myself. Perhaps you can see, though, why good old Mom and good old Pop are frameless. What's your name? Your first name?

And am I the Guinea pig for today?

On a sun-drenched Sunday afternoon like this? Who better than a nice married woman with two boys and ... uh ... a dog? No? Two dogs. Hm. No dogs? Oh, that's a shame. But you look like an animal person. CATS? Cats! But, that can't be your idea. No, ma'am. Your husband and sons? Is there anything else I should know?

That's none of your business! Do you understand? Well, you're right. We'll have no more children.

That is the way the cookie crumbles.

I ... uh ... I have an executive position with a ... a small publishing house. We ... uh ... we publish text books.

That sounds nice; very nice. What do you make?

I live between Lexington and Third Avenue, or Seventy-fourth Street.

That wasn't so hard, was it?

Oh I've seen those cards.

That's not the point. But I'd imagine you'd rather hear about what happened at the zoo.

I don't believe so.

That's too bad. If they did you could set them loose in the house and the cats could eat them and die, maybe. And what else? What do you do to support your enormous household?

I DON'T UNDERSTAND!

That's a lie.

All right.

And it's a hot day, so all the stench is there, too, and all the balloon sellers, and all the ice-cream sellers, and all the seals are barking, and all the birds are screaming. Move over!

Hello, Jerry.

And let's see now; what's the point of having a girl's picture, especially in two frames? I have two picture frames, you remember. I never see the pretty little ladies more than once, and most of them wouldn't be caught in the same room with a camera. It's odd, and I wonder if it's sad.

Was I patronizing? I believe I was; I'm sorry. But, you see, your question about the classes bewildered me.

And when youre bewildered you become patronizing?

No ... no, of course not.

And you have a husband.

Yes!

And you have children.

I wasn't going to say that.

And you're not going to have any more kids, are you?

Yes.

I don't like the west side of the park much.

I'm not so sure! I certainly don't want to be punched in the arm.

Like that?

Oh, now, not really.

Pat, do I annoy you, or confuse you?

Dog part VII (a beginning of an understanding, than with ...)

... than with a DOG. Just that: a dog. A dog. It seemed like a perfectly sensible idea. Man is a dog's best friend, remember. So: the dog and I looked at each other. I longer than the dog. And what I saw then has been the same ever since. Whenever the dog and I see each other we both stop where we are. We regard each other with a mixture of sadness and suspicion, and then we feign indifference. We walk past each other safely; we have an understanding. It's very sad, but you'll have to admit it is an understanding. We had made many attempts at contact, and we had failed. The dog has returned to garbage, and to solitary but free passage, if that much further loss can be said to be gain. I have learned that neither kindness nor cruelty by themselves, independent of each other, creates any effect beyond themselves; and I have learned that the two combined, together, at the same time, are the teaching emotion. And what is gained is loss. And what has been the result: the dog and I have attained a compromise: more of a bargain, really. We neither love nor hurt because we do not try to reach each other. And, was trying to feed the dog an act of love? And, perhaps, was the dog's attempt to bite me not an act of love? If we can so misunderstand, well then, why have we invented the word love in the first place? The story of Jerry and the Dog: the end. Well, Pat? Well, Pat? Do you think I could sell that story to reader's digest and make a couple of hundred bucks for the most unforgettable character I've ever Met? Huh? Oh, come on now, Pat, tell me what you think.

Section I of Dog

ALL RIGHT. THE STORY OF JERRY AND THE DOG! What I am going to y'all you has something to do with how sometimes it's necessary to go a long distance out of the way in order to come back a short distance correctly; or, maybe I only think that it has something to do with that. But, it's why I went to the zoo today, and why I walked north ... northerly, rather ... until I came here. All right. The dog. I think I told you, is a black monster of a beast; an oversized head, tiny, tiny ears, and eyes... bloodshot, infected maybe; and a body you can see the ribs through the skin. The dog is black, all black; all black except for the bloodshot eyes, and ... yes ... and an open sorr on its ... right forepaw; that is red too. And, oh yes; the poor monster, and I do believe it's an old dog ... it's certainly a misused one ... almost always had an erection ... of sorts. That's red, too. And ... what else? ... oh yes; there's a grey-yellow-white colour, too, when he hates his fangs. Like this: Grrrrrrrrr! Which is what he did when he saw me for the first time... the day I moved in.

Forget the parakeets! And stay single if you want to. It's no business of mine. I didn't start this conversation in the...

All right, all right. I'm sorry. All right? You're not angry?

Oh, now; you needn't say that.

All right. Who are your favorite writers? Baudelaire and Dan Brown?

Look here, you have more than enough room!

And I am there, and it's feeding time at the lion's house, and the lion keeper comes into the lion cage, one of the lion cages, to feed one of the lions. MOVE OVER!

Yes.

And fact is better left to fiction. You're right, Pat. Well, what I have been meaning to tell you about is the dog. I shall, now.

That? Oh, that's Seventy-fourth Street.

And the zoo is around Sixty-5th Street; so, I've been walking north.

Why ya; yes, it is.

And what is that cross street there; that one, to the right?

Well ... no, I don't think so.

Because after I tell you about the dog, do you know what then? Then... then I'll tell you about what happened at the zoo.

There are ... there are two parakeets. One ... uh ... one for each of my sons.

Birds.

I... well, no, not due north; but, we ... call it north. It's northerly.

Boy, I'm glad that's Fifth Avenue there.

That's disgusting. That's ... horrible.

But I have found a way to keep her off. When she talks to me, when she presses herself to my body and mumbled about her room and how I should come there, I merely say: but, Love; wasn't yesterday enough for you, and the day before? Then she puzzles, she makes slits of her tiny eyes, she sways a little, and then, Pat... and it is at this moment that I think I might be doing some good in that tormented house ... a simple-minded smile begins to form on her unthinkable face, and she giggles and groans as she thinks about yesterday and the day before; as she believes and relives what never happened. Then, she motions to that black monster of a dog she has, and she goes back to her room. And I am safe until our next meeting.

I must say I don't ...

But every once in a while I like to talk to somebody, really talk; like to get to know somebody, know all about him.

Ha, ha.

But not due north.

Well ... naturally, every woman wants a daughter, but...

But that's the way the cookie crumbles?

No, boys... twins.

But you wanted girls.

My sons keep them in a cage in their bedroom.

Do they carry disease? The birds.

I ... sorry.

Do you know what I did before I went to the zoo today? I walked all the way up Fifth Avenue from Washington Square; all the way.

Oh.

Do you mind if we talk?

I can't move over any more, and stop hitting me. What's the matter with you?

Do you want to hear the story?

Oh, yes; the dog.

Don't go. You're not thinking of going, are you?

Look, my friend, I ...

Don't my friend me.

I'm ... I'm sorry; I didn't mean to ...

Forget it. I suppose you don't quite know what to make of me, eh?

But... what ever for? What is the matter with you? Besides, I see no reason why I should give up this bench. I sit on this bench almost every Sunday afternoon, in good weather. It's secluded here; there's never anyone sitting here, so I have it all to myself.

Get off this bench, Pat; I want it.

Yes; two.

Girls?

Yes; it would seem so.

Good old north.

No, I'm not angry.

Good. Interesting that you asked me about the picture frames. I would have thought that you would have asked me about the pornographic playing cards.

I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANY MORE. I don't understand you, or your landlady, or her dog...

Her dog! I thought it was my ... No. No, you're right. It is her dog. I don't know what I was thinking about; of course you don't understand. I don't live in your block; I'm not married to two parakeets, or whatever your set-up is. I am a permanent transient, and my home is the sickening rooming-houses of the West Side of New York City, which is the greatest city in the world. Amen.

Hm?... What?... I'm sorry, were you talking to me?

I went to the zoo, and then I walked until I came here. Have I been walking north?

Oh? Why?

I don't know.

Why ... why do you live there?

I don't know.

About those two empty picture frames...?

I don't see why they need any explanation at all. Isn't it clear? I don't have pictures of anyone to put in them.

No.

I said I want this bench, and I'm going to have it. Now get over here.

No. No, it's not.

I tried to explain it to you as I went along. I went slowly; it all has to do with ...

Dog part II (the day I moved in)

I worried about that animal the very first minute I met him. Now, animals don't take to me like Saint Francis had birds hanging off him all the time. What I mean is: animals are indifferent to me ... like people ... most of the time. But this dog wasn't indifferent. From the very beginning he'd snarl and then go for me, to get one of my legs. Not like he was rabid, you know; he was sort of a stumbly dog, but he wasn't half-assed, either. It was a good, stumbly run, but I always got away. He got a piece of my trouser leg, look, you can see right here, where it's mended, he got that the second day I lived there: but I kicked free and got upstairs fast, so that was that. I still don't know to this day how the other roomers manage it, but you know what I think: I think it had to do only with me. Cosy. So. Anyway, this went on for over a week, whenever I came in: but never when I went out. That's funny. Or, it was funny. I could pack up and live in the street for all the dog cared. Well, I made up my mind. I decided: First, I'll kill the dog with kindness, and if that doesn't work ... I'll just kill him. Don't react, Peter; just listen. So, the next day I went out and bought a bag of hamburgers, medium rare, no catsup, no onion; and on the way home I threw away all the rolls and kept just the meat.

I'm Pat. Well, Patience.

I'd forgotten to ask you. I'm Jerry.

I didn't mean to seem ... ah ... it's that you don't really carry on a conversation; you just ask questions. And I'm ... I'm normally ... uh ... reticent. Why do you just stand there?

I'll start walking around in a little while, and eventually I'll sit down. Wait until you see the expression on his face.

What were you saying about the zoo ... that I'd read about it, or see ...?

I'll tell you about it, soon. Do you mind if I ask you questions?

Oh, not really.

I'll tell you why I do it; I don't talk to many people, except to say like: give me a beer, or where's the John, or what time does the feature go on, or keep your hands to yourself, buddy. You know, things like that.

Stop it. What's the matter with you?

I'm crazy.

Yes. Yes, it is; lovely.

I've been to the zoo.

*Patience finishes her chocolate*

I've been to the zoo. I said, I've been to the zoo. LADY, I'VE BEEN TO THE ZOO!

I'm sorry, haven't you enough room?

Well, all the animals are there, and all the people are there, and it's Sunday and all the children are there. Move over.

North? Why... I... I think so. Let me see.

Is that Fifth Avenue?

Why, certainly.

It isn't a law, for God's sake.

No; I don't mind at all, really.

It's ... it's a nice day.

It's so ... unthinkable. I find it hard to believe that people such as that really are.

It's for reading about, isn't it?

People can't have everything they want. You should know that, it's a rule; people can have some of the things they want, but they can't have everything.

Imbecile! You're slow-witted!

Dog part VI (I hoped that the dog would understand)

It's just ... it's just that ... it's just that if you can't deal with people, you have to make a start somewhere. WITH ANIMALS! Don't you see? A person has to have some way of dealing with SOMETHING. If not with people ... SOMETHING. With a bed, with a cockroach, with a mirror ... no, that's too hard, that's one of the last steps. With a cockroach, with a ... with a ... with a carpet, with a roll of toilet ... no, not that, either ... that's a mirror, too; always check bleeding. You see how hard it is to find things? With a street corner, and too many lights, all colours reflecting on the oily-wet streets ... with a wisp of smoke, a wisp ... of smoke ... with ... with pornographic playing cards, with a strong-box ... WITHOUT A LOCK ... with love, with vomiting, with crying, with fury because the pretty little ladies aren't pretty little ladies, with making money with your body which is an act of love and I could prove it, with howling because you're alive; with God. How about that? WITH GOD WHO IS A COLOURED QUEEN WHO WEARS A KIMONO AND PLUCKS HIS EYEBROWS ! WHO IS A WOMAN WHO CRIES WITH DETERMINATION BEHIND HER CLOSED DOOR ... with God who, I'm told, turned his back on the whole thing some time ago ... with ... some day, with people. People. With an idea, a concept. And where better, where ever better in this humiliating excuse for a jail, where better to communicate one single, simple-minded idea than in an entrance hall? Where? It would be A START! Where better to make a beginning ... to understand and just possibly be understood ... a beginning of an understanding, than with ...

Oh, yes; the zoo. That is ... if you ...

Let me tell you about why I went ... well, let me tell you some things. I've told you about the fourth floor of the roominghouse where I live. I think the rooms are better as you go down, floor by floor. I guess they are; I don't know. I don't know any of the people on the third and second floors. Oh, wait! I do know that there's a lady living on the third floor, in the front. I know because she cries all the time. Whenever I go out or come back in, whenever I pass her door, I always hear her crying, muffled, but... very determined. Very determined indeed. But the one I'm getting to, and all about the dog, is the landlady. I don't like to use words that are too harsh in describing people. I don't like to. But the landlady is a fat, ugly, mean, stupid, unwashed, misanthropic, cheap, drunken bag of garbage. And you may have noticed that I very seldom use profanity, so I can't describe her as well as I might.

That isn't funny.

Listen to me, Pat. I want this bench. You go sit on the bench over there, and if you're good I'll tell you the rest of the story.

Well, it seems perfectly simple to me...

Look! Are you going to tell me to get married and have parakeets?

Now look here!

Oh, come on.

I wasn't expecting anybody.

No, I don't imagine you were. But I'm here, and I'm not leaving.

Oh; you live in the Village!

No, I don't. I took the subway down to the Village so I could walk all the way up Fifth Avenue to the zoo. It's one of those things a person has to do; sometimes a person has to go a very long distance out of his way to come back a short distance correctly.

The girls?

No, I wonder if it's sad that I never see the little ladies more than once. I've never been able to have sex with, or, how is it out ? ... make love to anybody more than once. Once; that's it... Oh, wait; for a week and a half, when I was fifteen ... and I hang my head in shame that puberty was late ... I was h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l. I mean, I was queer ... queer, queer, queer ... with bells ringing, banners snapping in the wind. And for those eleven days, I met at least twice a day with the park superintendent's son ... a Greek boy, whose birthday was the same as mine, except he was a year older. I think I was very much in love ... maybe just with sex. But that was the jazz of a very special hotel, wasn't it? And now; oh do I love the little ladies; really, I love them. For about an hour.

Yes. Yes, by all means; tell me what happened at the zoo.

Now I'll let you in on what happened at the zoo; but first, I should tell you why I went to the zoo. I went to the zoo to find out more about the way people exist with animals, and the way animals exist with each other, and with people too. It probably wasn't a fair test, what with everyone separated by bars from everyone else, the animals for the most part from each other, and always the people from the animals. But, if it's a zoo, that's the way it is. Move over.

I really should get home; you see ...

Pat, do you want to know what happened at the zoo?

Dog part V (I wanted the dog to live so that I could see what our new relationship might come to)

Please understand, Peter; that sort of thing is important. You must believe me; it is important. We have to know the effects of our actions. Well, anyway; the dog recovered. I have no idea why, unless he was a descendent of the puppy that guarded the gates of hell or some such resort. I'm not up on my mythology. Are you? At any rate, and you've missed the eight-thousand-dollar question, Pat; at any rate, the dog recovered his health and the landlady recovered her thirst, in no way altered by the bow-wow's deliverance. When I came home from a movie that was playing on Forty-second Street, a movie I'd seen, or one that was very much like one or several I'd seen, after the landlady told me puppykins was better, I was so hoping for the dog to be waiting for me. I was ... well, how would you put it ... enticed? ... fascinated? ... no, I don't think so ... heart-shatteringly anxious, that's it: I was heart shatteringly anxious to confront my friend again. Yes, Peter; friend. That's the only word for it. I was heart-shatteringly et cetera to confront my doggy friend again. I came in the door and advanced, unafraid, to the center of the entrance hall. The beast was there ... looking at me. And, you know, he looked better for his scrape with the nevermind. I stopped: I looked at him; he looked at me. I think ... I think we stayed a long time that way ... still, stone-statue ... just looking at one another. I looked more into his face than he looked into mine. I mean, I can concentrate longer at looking into a dog's face than a dog can concentrate at looking into mine, or into anybody else's face, for that matter. But during that twenty seconds or two hours that we looked into each other's face, we made contact. Now, here is what I wanted to happen: I loved the dog now, and I wanted him to love me. I had tried to love, and I had tried to kill, and both had been unsuccessful by themselves. I hoped ... and I don't really know why I expected the dog to understand anything, much less my motivations ... I hoped that the dog would understand.

Well, I like a great many writers; I have a considerable ... catholicity of taste, if I may say so. Those two men are fine, each in his way. Baudelaire, of course ... uh ... is by far the finer of the two, but Brown has a place ... in our ... uh ... national ...

Skip it.

I ... I don't express myself too well, sometimes. I'm in publishing, not writing.

So be it. The truth is: I was being patronizing.

Dog part IV (don't be so alarmed, Pat; I didn't succeed)

The day I tried to kill the dog I bought only one hamburger and what I thought was a murderous portion of rat poison. When I bought the hamburger, I asked the man not to bother with the roll, all I wanted was the meat. I expected some reaction from him, like: we don't sell no hamburgers without rolls; or, wha' d'ya wanna do, eat it out'a ya han's? But no; he smiled benignly, wrapped up the hamburger in waxed paper, and said: A bite for ya pussy-cat? I wanted to say: no, not really; it's part of a plan to poison a dog I know. But, you can't say 'a dog I know' without sounding funny; so I said, a little too loud, I'm afraid, and to formally: YES, A BITE FOR MY PUSSYCAT. People looked up. It always happens when I try to simplify things: people look up. But that's neither hither nor thither. So. On my way back to the rooming-house, I kneaded the hamburger and the rat poison together between my hands, at that point feeling as much sadness as disgust. I opened the door to the entrance hall, and there the monster was, waiting to take the offering and then jump me. Poor bastard; he never learned that the moment he took to smile before he went for me gave me time enough to get out of range. BUT, there he was; malevolence with an erection, waiting. I put the poison patty down, moved towards the stairs and watched. The poor animal gobbled the food down ad usual, smiled, which made almost sick, and then. BAM. But, I sprinted up the stair, as usual, and the dog didn't get me, as usual. AND IT CAME TO PASS THAT THE BEAST WAS DEATHLY ILL. I knew this because he no longer attended me, and because the landlady sobered up. She stopped me in the hall the same evening of the attempted murder and confided the information that God had struck her puppy dog a surely fatal blow. She had forgotten her bewildered lust, and her eyes were wide open for the first time. They loooed like the dog's eyes. She sniveled and implored me to pray for the animal. I wanted to say to her: Madam, I have myself to pray for, the coloured queen, the Puerto Rican family, the person in the front room whom I've never seen, the woman who cries deliberately behind her closed door, and the rest of the people in all rooming-houses, everywhere; besides, Madam. I don't understand how pray. But ... to simplify things ... I told her I would pray. She looked up. She said I was a liar, and that I probably wanted the dog to die. I didn't, and not just because I'd poisoned him. I'm afraid that I must tell you I wanted the dog to live so that I could see what our new relationship might come to.

No. No more. Why did you say that? How would you know about that?

The way you cross your legs, perhaps; something in the voice. Or maybe I'm just guessing. Is it your husband?

What? Whose face? Look here; is this something about the zoo?

The what?

The zoo; the zoo. Something about the zoo.

The zoo?

You've mentioned it several times.

The zoo? Oh, yes; the zoo. I was there before I came here. I told you that. Say, what's the dividing line between upper-middle-middle-class and lower-upper-middle-class?

It doesn't sound a very nice place ... where you live.

Well, no; it isn't an apartment in the East Seventies. But, then again, I don't have one husband, two sons, two cats and two parakeets. What I do have, I have toilet articles, a few clothes, a hot plate that I'm not supposed to have, a can opener, one that works with a key, you know: a knife, two forks, and two spoons, one small, one large; three plates, a cup, a saucer, a drinking glass, two picture frames, both empty, eight or nine books, a pack of pornographic playing cards, regular deck, an old Western Union typewriter that prints nothing but capital letters, and a small strong-box without a lock which has in it ... what? Rocks! Some rocks ... sea rounded rocks I picked up on the beach when I was a kid. Under which ... weighed down ... are some letters ... please letters ... please why don't you do this, and please when will you do that letters. And when letters, too. When will you write? When will you come? When? These letters are from more recent years.

Yes... I guess so.

Well, now; what else?

You describe her ... vividly.

Well, thanks. Anyway, she has a dog, and I will tell you about the dog, and she and her dog are the gatekeepers of my dwelling. The woman is bad enough; she leans around in the entrance hall, spying to see that I don't bring in things or people, and when she's had her mid afternoon pint of lemon-flavoured gin she always stops me in the hall, and grabs ahold of my coat or my arm, and she presses her disgusting body up against me to keep me in a corner so she can talk to me. The smell of her body and her breath ... you can't imagine it ... and somewhere, somewhere in the back of that pea-sized brain of hers, an organ developed just enough to let her eat, drink and emit, she has some foul parody of sexual desire. And I, Pat, I am the object of her sweaty lust.

Oh, I thought you lived in the Village.

What were you trying to do? Make sense out of things? Bring order? The old pigeonhole bit? Well, that's easy; I'll tell you. I live in a four-story brownstone roominghouse on the upper West Side between Columbus Avenue and Central Park West. I live on the top floor; rear; west. It's a laughably small room, and one of my walls is made of beaverboard; this beaverboard separates my room from another laughably small room, so I assume that the two rooms were once one room, a small room, but not necessarily laughable. The room beyond my beaverboard wall is occupied by a coloured queen who always keeps his door open; well not always but always when he's plucking his eyebrows, which he does with Buddhist concentration. This coloured queen has rotten teeth, which is rare, and he has a Japanese kimono, which is also pretty rare; and he wears this kimono to and from the john in the hall, which is pretty frequent. I mean, he goes to the john a lot. He never bothers me, and never brings anyone up to his room. All he does is pluck his eyebrows, wear his kimono and go to the john. Now, the two front rooms on my floor are a little larger, I guess; but they're pretty small, too. There's a Puerto Rican family in one of them, a husband, a wife, and some kids; I don't know how many. These people entertain a lot. And in the other front room, there's somebody living there, but I don't know who it is. I've never seen who it is. Never. Never ever.

Dog part III (I threw away all the rolls and kept just the meat)

When I got back to the rooming-house the dog was waiting for me. I half opened the door that led into the entrance hall, and there he was: waiting for me. It figures. I went in, very cautiously, and I had the hamburgers, you remember; I opened the bag, and I set the meat down about twelve feet from where the dog was snarling at me. Like so! He snarled; stopped snarling; sniffed; moved slowly; then faster; then faster towards the meat. Well, when he got to it he stopped, and he looked at me. I smiled; but tentatively, you understand. He turned his face back to the hamburgers, smelled, sniffed some more, and then ... RRRRRAAAAAAGGGGGHHHH. Like that ... he tore into them. It was as if he had never eaten anything in his life before, except like garbage. Which might very well have been the truth. I don't think the landlady ever eats anything but garbage. But. He ate all the hamburgers, almost all at once, making sounds in his throat like a woman. Then, when he'd finished the meat, the hamburger, and tried to eat the paper, too, he sat down and smiled. I think he smiled; I know cats do. It was a very gratifying few moments. Then, BAM, he snarled and made for me again. He didn't get me this time, either. So, I got upstairs, and I lay down on my bed and started to think about the dog again. To be truthful, I was offended, and I was damn mad, too. It was six perfectly good hamburgers with not enough pork in them to make it disgusting. I was offended. But, after a while, I decided to try it a few more days. If you think about it, this dog had what amounted to an antipathy towards me; really. And, I wondered if it mightn't overcome this antipathy. So, I tried it for five more days, but it was always the same: snarl, sniff; move; faster; stare; gobble; RAAAAGGHH; smile; snarl; BAM. Well, now; by this time Columbus Avenue was strewn with hamburger rolls and I was less offended than disgusted. So, I decided to kill the dog. Oh, don't be so alarmed, Pat; I didn't succeed.

Well, I make around 40K a year, but: don't carry more than forty dollars at any one time ... in case you're a ... a holdup man ... ha, ha, ha.

Where do you live? Oh, look: I'm not going to rob you, and I'm not going to kidnap your parakeets, your cats, or your boys.

I... I don't understand what ... I don't think I ... Why did you tell me all of this?

Why not?

No, I really; I don't mind.

Yes you do.

Why ... no, no.

Yes you do; you do.

I know that.

You do? Good.

You're ... you're full of stories, aren't you?

You don't have to listen. Nobody is holding you here; remember that. Keep that in your mind.

Well, I must confess that this wasn't the type of afternoon I'd anticipated.

You mean, I'm not the gentleman that you were expecting.

Yes, I think you said so ... didn't you?

You'll read about it in the papers tomorrow, if you don't see it on your TV tonight. You have TV, haven't you?

We get all kinds in publishing.

You're a funny lady. You know that? You're a very ... a richly comic person.

Your parents ... perhaps ... a girl friend ...

You're a very sweet woman, and you're possessed of a truly enviable innocence. But good old Mom and good old Pop are dead ... you know? ... I'm broken up about it, to ... I mean really. BUT. That particular vaudeville act is playing in the cloud circuit now, so I don't see how I can look at them, all neat and framed. Besides, or, rather, to be pointed about it, good old Mom walked out on good old Pop when I was ten and a half years old; and she embarked on an adulterous turn of our southern states ... a journey of a year's duration... and her most constant companion ... among others, among many others ... was a Mr. Jack Daniels. At least, that's what good old Pop told me after he went down ... came back ... brought her body north. We'd received the news between Christmas and New Year's, you see, that good old Mom had parted with the ghost in some dump in Alabama. And, without the ghost ... she was less welcome. I mean, what was she? A stiff ... a northern stiff. At any rate, good old Pop celebrated the New Year for an even two weeks and then slapped into the front of a somewhat moving city bus, which sort of cleaned things out family-wise. Well no; then there was Mom's sister, who was given neither to sin nor the consolations of the bottle. I moved in on her, and my memory of her is slight excepting I remember still that she did all things dourly: sleeping, eating, working, praying. She dropped dead on the stairs to her apartment, my apartment then, too, on the afternoon of my high school graduation. A terribly middle-European joke, if you ask me.

Why yes, we have two; one for the children.

You're married!