PARTISAN REVIEW
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momentum. "You should have gone for the eyes, Jack. Your plan
was no good. It never is when you don't listen to people. I mean you
use diagnosticians, don't you, before you operate?" She turned to
me and said, "Two of them. Jack has two young doctors who see
the patient and tell J ack what to do. They're awfully clever, but
their hands are made of shit, you know what 1 mean. Jack operates.
Of course, without them, he couldn't tell the difference between an
asshole and an elbow. I mean he'd have to consult the nurses to
find out which was which. But once he knows, look out, look out,
that's J ack Swoon, king of fingers . He never uses a knife on nose
jobs. Do you, Jack?" He shook his head no. "Does them with his
bare hands, fingers and the heels of his palms. This is the heel. See,
this part. He gets it smack up against the nares and grinds. Makes
nice little ski jumps everytime. 'I make the whole world gentile,' says
Jack. Personally, I think it leaves the holes too big, but that's what
folks want." Stanger chuckled and raised a voice to obscure hers,
and also the screaming which had followed us out to the elevator.
"Didn't somehow find a chance to talk to you, Phillip, and get to
know you. But I haven't forgotten our interview." His thumb ground
the elevator button as
if
it were an eyeball. "We'll get together soon.
You must promise me that." Sufficient, I thought. Enough said. He
had dark, protruding eyes and a feeble mouth. His expression was
overbred, full of difficulties, as if he remembered something in his
chemical history, not finished, far away. An animal, perhaps, still
to shoot. His handshake was tentative, trying to close on a good–
humored assurance. Mine was a quick, updown fuckyou. "I promise.
Goodnight and thanks." He then nodded to Mildred and they said
goodnight as the elevator door opened. Then he shook hands with
the Swoons and we stepped into t,he elevator.
As
the door slid shut
he turned away. The door stuck, by the grace of
deus ex machina,
just for an instant, to show Stanger from behind, the right buttock
in his fist, pulled away from its brother. An abstracted, habitual
gesture, expressive of long familiarity with the pressures of his body.
He released slow, thoughtful gas, a final goodnight to his guests in
the elevator. The door shut. Mrs. Swoon stared at it. Dr. Swoon's
fiery face ripped into a great smile. I glanced at Mildred. She pinched
her nose. Even thus, beautiful. The door opened, we said goodnight
to the Swoons, and she took my arm. We walked wildly, bumping
