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PARTISAN REVIEW
recently, that is, in the few moments previous to his present speaking ,
several brief breaks in her oh-so-shallow breathing , ominous inter–
ruptions of the ceiling readings , and little lapses in reception which
caused her silence to fall short of itself, toward another silence , like a
broken arc, and now her pauses had a puff and stutter to them like
that bird ofhers when it was angry , and he thought she might be about
to Kick the Habit and Cross Over, or whatever one did . Li.
: ve . Die.
He couldn't settle his heart about it, couldn't get his guts
to
decide.
The Universal Insutance Company of North America presents to Mr.
Edgar Hess this Electronically Prepared Personal Proposal of .. . The
blue folder contained no certificate , no diploma, no golden seal , no
ribbon like a panting tongue, but a promise of protection: the Estate
Builder, Econo-matic Life . Reality broke in like a burglar and stole his
dreams before he could etch his name . He would raise the hue and cry.
He would never be out of work. His desk was littered with electroni–
cally prepared proposals . His appointment book was black. His tie was
parched , his throat was dry . Hey there, stop-stop wife, stop life.
Ha ha. Hess wondered just who had his hat. The rug rose, wetting his
knees. Perhaps you might sprinkle her with something, Father , water
and oil, to snuff her evil out and sail her off to heaven like a paper
airplane. They were blue folders with a red stripe, in soft tabbed paper ,
privacy assured . The last business was his business, UNICONA's deep
concern, he always said, and his clients would nod submission, extend
their hands, shake like canisters of ice. Now this moment she
might ... she might go Hence, cut from his face like a whisker, and
Hess wondered whether it might have been otherwise, whether their
life together had been so totally enformulated that they couldn't help
rubbing wrongly together and consequently being in a constant state
of mutual exasperation like the sawing legs and so the laughing
screams of the cicada-an ill mix from the first , bad match, poor pair ,
punk job, odd lot, and so forth, a complete and perfect botch ; but if
she were oil, then he was water, and if she lay quietly in a skirt of
colorful irridescence, he fell slowly into darkness and into the depths of
himself, beyond all light, beyond the last fish, stonily to stony
