Calculating river chickens
The pincer lunged at Jays shoe. It got a lace, no more. The nostril sniffed at Monicas discarded luggage. The eye kept its distance but changed expression. It seemed less passive and more malevolent. They crashed to the floor, shattering and sending bits of white china under the tables. The boy stood there1dazed and frightened, holding the empty tray in his hand. The whistles and catcalls from the customers (the cries ofhey, there go the profits!…“Mazeltov!” …and“well,hedidnt work here very long … “ which invariably seems to follow the breaking of glass or dishware in a public restaurant) all seemed to confuse him. Im sure it’s no skin off my back, said the razor with detachment. But when Hejar came, it was as though he dragged the careful script out of Berkes head and bundled it into a corner. Berke was tongue-tied. Hejar, as ever, was sunny. Today was no exception. "I said you exploited us, which you do,and that we were trapped. Ididnt say by what." I had trouble getting to sleep that night-the davenport is much too short for me-and it was around two forty-five before I finally sank into a kind of exhausted and broken-backed coma. Breakfast next morning, you can believe me, was a glum affair at the town home of Mr. and Mrs. Alfred E. Pullen, devoted couple. What will help? Rona JaffeTrompe lOeil,Cos, July. I pulled out the books, plugged in the computer, unplugged it, put the books away and stared into the ecologarium in my fist. Dr. Williams croaked an ejaculation of relief, partially occasioned by the reorientation gained from finding something familiar and also because it appeared at first glance to be undamaged. He dropped to his knees and eased the paneling to one side, his mouth dry with excitement, crooning softly and trying to keep his hands steady. I walked around the cars with the helmet, then divided the money between Nolan, Van Eyck and Manuel. They stood in the gathering dusk, the few bills in their hands, watching the highway below. The Other remained in the kitchen, slumped in frustration against the refrigerator. Patience. There was time enough. No need yet to advance upon this man they called the Thinker. The Other crossed its freckled forepaws over its thorax, distorting the two spongy bags hanging there. This distortion, was habitual, and went unmarked. The Other waited, its conchoidal hearing organs alert to the sounds from the living room. All were homely sounds; the thump of another log added to the fire... the ringing rapping of the Thinkers pipe on the metal ash tray... his sensual groan as he settled into the big deep chair before the fire... the scratching of the match and the spasmodic wheezy gurgling of the pipe as the Thinker drew it alive. ...and into a burst of Byzantine brilliance! I whacked the back of his red head, between a-little-too-playfully and not-too-hard. "Come on, kid-boy," I said. "Help me take care of puddles downstairs. Sandy, finish it up, huh?" A breakdown of function and structure, said Colles. An absolute lack of communication. Isnt it so?” Mr. Taylor, a trim, blond young man, who looked like an ad for expensive shirts, listened carefully, said nothing. Melchior looked impressed—and uncomprehending. Colles took his arm just above the elbow, pressed it. “Look at that fellow over there,” he said. “The one in the brown suit—see? Now: can I communicate with him? Or can you? On any save the most primitive level? No. Impossible, I assure you. I’ve only to look at him to know.” The crowd flowed across the street. The men in the car watched the vanishing brown suit. Id like to, Charlie, I really would. But... to be honest, I haven’t had this car very long. I’m still making payments, and . . . well, I just feel like I ought to stick pretty close to it..
