The Lacuna
Page 101
“On whose authority? Loren Matus?”
“The HUAC in its infinite wisdom has devised what they call an acid test for revealing an organization’s true colors. You want to hear their criteria? Any one of the following is sufficient. Number one: it shows unswerving loyalty to the Soviet Union. Or, two: it has refused to condemn the Soviet Union. Or three: it has gained accolades from the Communist press. Or four: it has displayed an anti-American bias, despite professions of love for America.”
“So. If you love America, but you hate the segregation laws…”
“Yes. That could arguably be an anti-American bias. Let me ask a rhetorical question. Has the American Poodle Society explicitly condemned the Soviet Union?” He signaled to the waitress, and she came immediately, as if pulled on a string. Refilled our glasses, her eyes carefully down. Then the quick smile, a flash of strong teeth with a tiny center gap. Away she went, after that, unspooling the tether.
“Let me ask you something,” Artie said. “A personal question, if I may. When you look at a beautiful girl, do you see beauty?”
“A fair question. When you look at a great painting, do you see beauty? You see color and form, right? Loveliness, allure, magnificence. Maybe even arousal. So tell me, Artie. Do you want to have sex with the painting?”
“I’m sorry, my interest is not prurient. I’m just a curious man. Curiosity killed the cat, my wife used to tell me very often.”
“Anyway, this letter. You’re advising me to ignore it?”
“I am advising you,” he said slowly, “that you are being approached by a snake. You could attempt to reason with the snake, or you could offer it a cash contribution. Most likely the snake is still going to bite.”
Grant’s twelve-year-old whisky is a potent anesthetic. “Luckily enough, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not looking for a job right now. I have the only job I ever wanted.”
“Luckily enough. You are a writer, employed by the American imagination. Your publisher does not have to answer to any sponsors, only to your readers.”
“Employed by the American imagination. I like that very much.”
“Are they really reading you in China?”
“Goodness, no. Not even in France. Some reviewer said, ‘Don’t be surprised if this book shows up in China.’ Something like that. They also said I was Chaplinesque.”
“Well, many artists are not so lucky as yourself. Mr. Chaplin among them. Film stars, directors, television scriptwriters. They all have to be produced, they require sponsors. It’s becoming a lucrative industry for the likes of Aware Incorporated.”
Suddenly the girl was back, unsummoned. “You’re the writer, aren’t you? I’m crazy about your books.”
“What writer?”
“Harrison Shepherd?”
“That’s so strange. You’re the second person to ask me that.”
“Oh. Sorry, my mistake.” She floated away, an unmoored skiff, and disappeared through a door at the back.
Artie reorganized his sigmoidal curve against the bar, the better to stare at his dimwit companion. “What’s wrong with you? She’s a sugar pie.”
“I know it. I’m grateful. To all these girls, I really am.”
“So, you could sign a damn cocktail napkin. It would have made her day.”
“That’s what I can’t see, Artie. What thrilled her was a book—she wants a hero. Not some tin whistle double-gaiter on a barstool.”
“So. In a pinch, you stand in.”
“Do you know how that feels to me, to pass myself off as important? Exactly like passing counterfeit money. Look at her, she’s magnificent. My name, some ink on a napkin. How could that be worth the gold-brick standard of her day?”
Artie swiveled back to face the bar, fished a pack of Old Golds out of his pocket.
“So. Matus the snake has contacted me because a motion-picture option got his attention. That’s what you think?”
“You know what they say. God wants to punish you, he answers your prayers.”
“Artie, I didn’t pray for a motion picture. It makes me uneasy. I don’t like attention.”
“You have a funny way of choosing your profession, in that case.”
“People think that. If a person is famous, he must have wanted to be in the public eye. But to me, writing books is a way to earn a living in my pajamas.”
Artie nodded thoughtfully. “I take your point. People think lawyers are a cutthroat gang, and me, I couldn’t cut the throat of a fish. Margaret says I should take up fishing. And I think, an old softie like me? What would I do if I caught one? Apologize?”
October 3
Two airplane tickets purchased, air-coach to Mexico and back, at a cost of $191 each. A breathtaking sum, but all in the line of duty; Arthur Gold says it can be worked out for some reduction in the tax later on. He is helping Mrs. Brown with the passport applications. Apartment queries sent to Mérida, and fair warning to Frida, expect a visit, though Diego is sure to be out of the country. Romulus will feed the cats and mind the house, eight weeks, I will have to remember to bring back a smashing present.
Mrs. Brown stands at the ready, her suitcase already packed, though the trip is six weeks away. No price is too high for this joy. Her thrill for adventure is a thing I dearly wish I could learn by example. She makes me wish for the boy who once could swim miles underwater, looking for treasure.
Today I teased her, asking whether I needed to look out for any fellow who might be angry with me for taking her off this way. She blinked, taken aback.
“Well, it’s not out of the question,” I said. “I’m aware that you’re an attractive woman. And I’ve noticed you’re sprucing up, of late.”
She honestly blushed. No-nonsense Mrs. Brown. She said not to worry myself, if any man she cared for took an interest, I would be first to know it.
The New York Times, October 23, 1947
79 in Hollywood Found Subversive, Inquiry Head Says
Evidence of Communist Spying Will Be Offered Next Week, Thomas Declares
By Samuel A. Tower, special to the New York Times
WASHINGTON, OCT. 22—Actors, writers and others in Hollywood were named today as members of the Communist party or as Communist sympathizers. The accusations were by Robert Taylor, screen actor, and by other movie figures as the inquiry of the House Committee on Un-American Activities into the extent of Communist penetration into the film industry went into its third day.
“The HUAC in its infinite wisdom has devised what they call an acid test for revealing an organization’s true colors. You want to hear their criteria? Any one of the following is sufficient. Number one: it shows unswerving loyalty to the Soviet Union. Or, two: it has refused to condemn the Soviet Union. Or three: it has gained accolades from the Communist press. Or four: it has displayed an anti-American bias, despite professions of love for America.”
“So. If you love America, but you hate the segregation laws…”
“Yes. That could arguably be an anti-American bias. Let me ask a rhetorical question. Has the American Poodle Society explicitly condemned the Soviet Union?” He signaled to the waitress, and she came immediately, as if pulled on a string. Refilled our glasses, her eyes carefully down. Then the quick smile, a flash of strong teeth with a tiny center gap. Away she went, after that, unspooling the tether.
“Let me ask you something,” Artie said. “A personal question, if I may. When you look at a beautiful girl, do you see beauty?”
“A fair question. When you look at a great painting, do you see beauty? You see color and form, right? Loveliness, allure, magnificence. Maybe even arousal. So tell me, Artie. Do you want to have sex with the painting?”
“I’m sorry, my interest is not prurient. I’m just a curious man. Curiosity killed the cat, my wife used to tell me very often.”
“Anyway, this letter. You’re advising me to ignore it?”
“I am advising you,” he said slowly, “that you are being approached by a snake. You could attempt to reason with the snake, or you could offer it a cash contribution. Most likely the snake is still going to bite.”
Grant’s twelve-year-old whisky is a potent anesthetic. “Luckily enough, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not looking for a job right now. I have the only job I ever wanted.”
“Luckily enough. You are a writer, employed by the American imagination. Your publisher does not have to answer to any sponsors, only to your readers.”
“Employed by the American imagination. I like that very much.”
“Are they really reading you in China?”
“Goodness, no. Not even in France. Some reviewer said, ‘Don’t be surprised if this book shows up in China.’ Something like that. They also said I was Chaplinesque.”
“Well, many artists are not so lucky as yourself. Mr. Chaplin among them. Film stars, directors, television scriptwriters. They all have to be produced, they require sponsors. It’s becoming a lucrative industry for the likes of Aware Incorporated.”
Suddenly the girl was back, unsummoned. “You’re the writer, aren’t you? I’m crazy about your books.”
“What writer?”
“Harrison Shepherd?”
“That’s so strange. You’re the second person to ask me that.”
“Oh. Sorry, my mistake.” She floated away, an unmoored skiff, and disappeared through a door at the back.
Artie reorganized his sigmoidal curve against the bar, the better to stare at his dimwit companion. “What’s wrong with you? She’s a sugar pie.”
“I know it. I’m grateful. To all these girls, I really am.”
“So, you could sign a damn cocktail napkin. It would have made her day.”
“That’s what I can’t see, Artie. What thrilled her was a book—she wants a hero. Not some tin whistle double-gaiter on a barstool.”
“So. In a pinch, you stand in.”
“Do you know how that feels to me, to pass myself off as important? Exactly like passing counterfeit money. Look at her, she’s magnificent. My name, some ink on a napkin. How could that be worth the gold-brick standard of her day?”
Artie swiveled back to face the bar, fished a pack of Old Golds out of his pocket.
“So. Matus the snake has contacted me because a motion-picture option got his attention. That’s what you think?”
“You know what they say. God wants to punish you, he answers your prayers.”
“Artie, I didn’t pray for a motion picture. It makes me uneasy. I don’t like attention.”
“You have a funny way of choosing your profession, in that case.”
“People think that. If a person is famous, he must have wanted to be in the public eye. But to me, writing books is a way to earn a living in my pajamas.”
Artie nodded thoughtfully. “I take your point. People think lawyers are a cutthroat gang, and me, I couldn’t cut the throat of a fish. Margaret says I should take up fishing. And I think, an old softie like me? What would I do if I caught one? Apologize?”
October 3
Two airplane tickets purchased, air-coach to Mexico and back, at a cost of $191 each. A breathtaking sum, but all in the line of duty; Arthur Gold says it can be worked out for some reduction in the tax later on. He is helping Mrs. Brown with the passport applications. Apartment queries sent to Mérida, and fair warning to Frida, expect a visit, though Diego is sure to be out of the country. Romulus will feed the cats and mind the house, eight weeks, I will have to remember to bring back a smashing present.
Mrs. Brown stands at the ready, her suitcase already packed, though the trip is six weeks away. No price is too high for this joy. Her thrill for adventure is a thing I dearly wish I could learn by example. She makes me wish for the boy who once could swim miles underwater, looking for treasure.
Today I teased her, asking whether I needed to look out for any fellow who might be angry with me for taking her off this way. She blinked, taken aback.
“Well, it’s not out of the question,” I said. “I’m aware that you’re an attractive woman. And I’ve noticed you’re sprucing up, of late.”
She honestly blushed. No-nonsense Mrs. Brown. She said not to worry myself, if any man she cared for took an interest, I would be first to know it.
The New York Times, October 23, 1947
79 in Hollywood Found Subversive, Inquiry Head Says
Evidence of Communist Spying Will Be Offered Next Week, Thomas Declares
By Samuel A. Tower, special to the New York Times
WASHINGTON, OCT. 22—Actors, writers and others in Hollywood were named today as members of the Communist party or as Communist sympathizers. The accusations were by Robert Taylor, screen actor, and by other movie figures as the inquiry of the House Committee on Un-American Activities into the extent of Communist penetration into the film industry went into its third day.
