Herzog (52 page)

    He was aware that his brother might now show up at any time. Will had been disturbed by his appearance.

    It was unmistakable. And I had better look out, thought Herzog, people do get put away, and seem even to intend it. I have wanted to be cared for. I devoutly hoped Emmerich would find me sick. But I have no intention of doing that-I am responsible, responsible to reason. This is simply temporary excitement. Responsible to the children. He walked quietly into the woods, the many leaves, living and fallen, green and tan, going between rotted stumps, moss, fungus disks; he found a hunters' path, also a deer trail. He felt quite well here, and calmer. The silence sustained him, and the brilliant weather, the feeling that he was easily contained by everything about him Within the hollowness of God, as he noted, and deaf to the final multiplicity of facts, as well as, blind to ultimate distances. Two billion light-years out. Supernovae.

    Daily radiance, trodden here Within the hollowness of God To God he jotted several lines.

    How my mind has struggled to make coherent sense.

    I have not been too good at it. But have desired to do your unknowable will, taking it, and you, without symbols. Everything of intensest significance.

    Especially if divested of me.

    Returning once more to practical considerations, he must be very careful with Will and talk to him only in the most concrete terms about concrete matters, like this property, and look as ordinary as possible. If you wear a wise look, he warned himself, you'll be in trouble, and fast. No one can bear such looks any longer, not even your brother. Therefore, watch your face! Certain expressions burn people up, and especially the expression of wisdom, which can lead you straight to the loony bin. You will have earned it!

    He lay down near the locust trees.

    They bloomed with a light, tiny but delicious flower-he was sorry to have missed that. He recognized that with his arms behind him and his legs extended any way, he was lying as he had lain less than a week ago on his dirty little sofa in New York. But was it only a week- five days? Unbelievable! How different he felt!

    Confident, even happy in his excitement, stable. The bitter cup would come round again, by and by. This rest and well-being were only a momentary difference in the strange lining or variable silk between life and void.

    The life you gave me has been curious, he wanted to say to his mother, and perhaps the death I must inherit will turn out to be even more profoundly curious. I have sometimes wished it would hurry up, longed for it to come soon. But I am still on the same side of eternity as ever, its just as well, for I have certain things still to do. And without noise, I hope. Some of my oldest aims seem to have slid away.

    But I have others.

    Life on this earth can't be simply a picture.

    And terrible forces in me, including the forces of admiration or praise, powers, including loving powers, very damaging, making me almost an idiot because I lacked the capacity to manage them.

    I may turn out to be not such a terrible hopeless fool as everyone, as you, as I myself suspected.

    Meantime, to lay off certain persistent torments.

    To surrender the hyperactivity of this hyperactive face. But just to put it out instead to the radiance of the sun. I want to send you, and others, the most loving wish I have in my heart. This is the only way 1 have to reach out - out where it is incomprehensible. I can only pray toward it. So... Peace!

    For the next two days-or were there three?- Herzog did nothing but send such messages, and write down songs, psalms, and utterances, putting into words what he had often thought but, for the sake of form, or something of the sort, had always suppressed. Once in a while he found himself painting the little piano again, or eating bread and beans in the kitchen, or sleeping in the hammock, and he was always slightly surprised to discover how he had been occupied. He looked at the calendar one morning, and tried to guess the date, counting in silence, or rather groping over nights and days. His beard informed him better than his brain. His bristles felt like four days' growth, and he thought it best to be clean-shaven when Will arrived.

    He built a fire and heated a pan of water, lathered his cheeks with brown laundry soap.

    Clean-shaven, he was extremely pale. His face had become much thinner, too. He had just put down his razor when he heard the smooth noise of an engine at the foot of the drive. He ran into the garden to meet his brother.

    Will was alone in his Cadillac. The great car got up the hill slowly, scraping its underbelly on rocks and bending the tall growth of weeds and canes.

    Will was a masterful driver. He might be short but there was nothing timid about him, and as for the beautiful Italian Plum finish of the Cadillac he was not the sort of man to fret about a few scratches.

    On level ground, under the elm, the car stood idling. Two Chinese fangs of vapor came from the rear, and William got out, his face lined in the sun. He took in the house, Moses approaching eagerly.

    What must Will feel? Moses wondered. He must be appalled. What else could he be?

    "Will! How are you?" He embraced his brother.

    "How are you, Moses. Are you feeling all right?" Will might act as conservative as he pleased. He could never conceal his real emotions from his brother.

    "I just shaved. I always look white after shaving, but I feel well. Honest, I do."

    "You've lost weight. Maybe ten pounds, since you left Chicago. It's too much," said W.

    "How's your rib?"

    "Doesn't bother me a bit."

    "And the head?"

    "Fine. I've been resting. Where's Muriel? I thought she was coming, too."

    "She took the plane. I'm going to meet her in Boston."

    Will had learned to conduct himself with restraint. A Herzog, he had a good deal to hold down. Moses could remember a time when Willie, too, had been demonstrative, passionate, explosive, given to bursts of rage, flinging objects on the ground.

    Just a moment-what was it, now, that he had thrown down?

    A brush! That was it! The broad old Russian shoe brush. Will slammed it to the floor so hard the veneer backing fell off, and beneath were the stitches, ancient waxed thread, maybe even sinew. But that was long ago. Thirty-five years ago, easily. And where had it gone, the wrath of Willie Herzog? my dear brother? Into a certain poise and quiet humor, part decorousness, part (possibly) slavery. The explosions had become implosions, and where light once was darkness came, bit by bit. It didn't matter. The sight of Will stirred Moses' love for him. Will looked tired and wrinkled; he had been on the road a long time, he needed something to eat, and a rest. He had taken this long trip because he was concerned about him, Moses. And how considerate of him not to bring Muriel.

    "How was the drive, Will? Are you hungry? Shall I open a can of tuna?"

    "You're the one that doesn't seem to have eaten. I had something on the road."

    "Well, come, sit down a while." He led him toward the lawn chairs. "It was lovely here when I took care of the grounds."

    "So this is the house? No, I don't want to sit, thanks. I'd rather move around. Let's see it."

    "Yes, this is the famous house, the house of happiness," said Moses, but he added, "As a matter of fact, I have been happy here. None of this ingratitude."

    "It seems well built."

    "From a builder's viewpoint it's terrific.

    Imagine what it would cost today. The foundations would hold the Empire State Building. And I'll show you the hand-hewn chestnut beams. Old mortise and tenon. No metal at all."

    "It must be hard to heat."

    "Not so hard. Electric baseboards."

    "I wish I were selling you the current. Make a fortune... But it is a beautiful spot, I'll give you that. These trees are fine. How many acres have you got?"

    "Forty. But surrounded by abandoned farms. Not a neighbor in two miles."

    "Oh... Is that good?"

    "Very private, I mean."

    "What are your taxes?"

    "One-eighty-six or so. Never over one-ninety."

    "And the mortgage?"

    "There's only a small principal. Payments and interest are two hundred and fifty a year."

    "Very good," said Will approvingly. "But now tell me, how much money have you put into this place, Mose?"

    "I've never totaled it up. Twenty grand, I guess. More than half of it in improvements."

    Will nodded. His arms crossed, he gazed upward at the structure with his partly averted face-he too had this hereditary peculiarity. Only his eyes were quietly and firmly shrewd, not dreaming. Moses, however, saw without the slightest difficulty what Will was thinking.

    He expressed it to himself in Yiddish.

    In drerd aufn deck. The edge of nowhere. Out on the lid of Hell.

    "In itself, it's a fine-looking piece of property. It may turn out to be a pretty reasonable investment at that. Of course, the location is a bit peculiar. Ludeyville isn't on the map."

    "No, not on the Esso map," Moses conceded.

    "The state of Massachusetts knows where it is, naturally."

    Both brothers smiled slightly, without looking at each other.

    "Let's look over the interior," said W.

    Moses gave him a tour of the house, beginning in the kitchen. "It needs an airing."

    "It is a bit musty. But handsome. The plaster is in excellent condition."

    "You need a cat to police the field mice. They winter in here. I'm fond of them but they chew everything. Even book bindings. They seem to love glue. And wax. Paraffin. Candles. Anything like that."

    Will showed him great politeness. He did not confront him harshly with fundamentals, as Shura would have done.

    There was a certain sweet decency in W. Helen had it, too. Shura would have said, "What a jerk you were to sink so much dough into this old barn." Well, that was simply Shura's way. Moses loved them all, notwithstanding.

    "And the water supply?" said W.

    "Gravity-fed, from the spring. We have two old wells, too. One of them was ruined by kerosene.

    Someone let a whole tankful of kerosene leak out and soak down. But it doesn't matter. The water supply is excellent. The cesspool is well built.

    Could accommodate twenty people. You wouldn't need orange trees."

    "Meaning what?"

    "It means that at Versailles Louis Quatorze planted oranges because the excrement of the court made the air foul."

    "How nice to have an education," said W.

    "To be pedantic, you mean," said Herzog. He spoke with a great deal of caution, taking special pains to give an impression of completest normalcy. That Will was studying him-Will who had become the most discreet and observant of the Herzogs-was transparently plain. Moses thought he could bear his scrutiny fairly well. His haggard, just-shaven cheeks were against him; as was the whole house (the skeletons in the toilet bowl, the owls in the fixtures, the half-painted piano, the remains of meals, the wife-deserted atmosphere); his "inspired" visit to Chicago was bad, too. Very bad. It must be noticeable, also, that he was in an extraordinary state, eyes dilated with excitement, the very speed of his pulses possibly visible in his large irises.

    Why must I be such a throb-hearted character... But I am. I am, and you can't teach old dogs. Myself is thus and so, and will continue thus and so. And why fight it? My balance comes from instability. Not organization, or courage, as with other people.

    It's tough, but that's how it is. On these terms I, too - even I!

    - apprehend certain things. Perhaps the only way I'm able to do it. Must play the instrument I've got.

    "You've been painting this piano, I see."

    "For June," said Herzog. "A present. A surprise."

    "What?" Will laughed. "Are you planning to send it from here? Why it'll cost two hundred bucks in freight. And it would have to be fixed up, tuned. Is it such a great piano?"

    "Madeleine bought it at auction for twenty-five bucks."

    "Take my word for it, Moses, you can buy a nice old piano right in Chicago, at a warehouse sale. Lots of old; instruments like this, kicking around."

    "Yes...? Only I like this color." This apple, parrot green, the special Ludeyville color. Moses' eyes were fixed upon his work with a certain inspired persistency. He was near a point of open impulsiveness, and some peculiarity might now dart forth. He couldn't allow that to happen.

    Under no circumstances must he utter a single word that might be interpreted as irrational. Things already looked bad enough. He glanced away from the piano into the clear shade of the garden, and tried to become as clear as that.

    He deferred to his brother's opinion. "Okay.

    Next trip, I'll get her a piano."

    "What you've got here is an excellent summer house," said W. "A little lonely, but nice. If you can clean it up."

    "It can be lovely here. But you know, we might make it a Herzog summer resort. For the family.

    Everyone put in a little money. Cut the brush.

    Build a swimming pool."

    "Oh, sure. Helen hates travel, you know that.

    And Shura is just the man to come up here where there are no race horses, or card games, or other tycoons, or broads."

    "There are trotter races at the Barrington Fair.... No, I guess that's not such a good idea, either. Well, perhaps we could make it into a nursing home. Or move it to another location."

    "Not worth it. I've seen mansions wrecked for slum clearance or for new superhighways. This isn't worth dismantling. Can't you rent it out?"

    Herzog silently grinned, staring with piercing humor at W.

    "All right, Mose, the only other suggestion is that you put it up for sale. You won't get your money out of it."

    "I could go to work and become rich. Make a ton of money, just to keep this house."