Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle Part 2, Chapter 10 (view annotations) |
10 |
They took a great many precautions—all absolutely useless, for | |
nothing can change the end (written and filed away) of the | |
present chapter. Only Lucette and the agency that forwarded | |
letters to him and to Ada knew Van’s address. Through an | |
432.05 | amiable lady in waiting at Demon’s bank, Van made sure that |
his father would not turn up in Manhattan before March 30. | |
They never came out or went in together, arranging a meeting | |
place at the Library or in an emporium whence to start the | |
day’s excursions—and it so happened that the only time they | |
432.10 | broke that rule (she having got stuck in the lift for a few |
panicky moments and he having blithely trotted downstairs from | |
their common summit), they issued right into the visual field | |
of old Mrs. Arfour who happened to be passing by their front | |
door with her tiny tan-and-gray long-silked Yorkshire terrier. | |
432.15 | The simultaneous association was immediate and complete: she |
had known both families for years and was now interested to | |
learn from chattering (rather than chatting) Ada that Van had | |
happened to be in town just when she, Ada, had happened to | |
return from the West; that Marina was fine; that Demon was | |
432.20 | in Mexico or Oxmice; and that Lenore Colline had a similar |
[ 432 ]
adorable pet with a similar adorable parting along the middle | |
of the back. That same day (February 3, 1893) Van rebribed | |
the already gorged janitor to have him answer all questions | |
which any visitor, and especially a dentist’s widow with a | |
433.05 | caterpillar dog, might ask about any Veens, with a brief asser- |
tion of utter ignorance. The only personage they had not reck- | |
oned with was the old scoundrel usually portrayed as a skeleton | |
or an angel. | |
Van’s father had just left one Santiago to view the results of | |
433.10 | an earthquake in another, when Ladore Hospital cabled that |
Dan was dying. He set off at once for Manhattan, eyes blazing, | |
wings whistling. He had not many interests in life. | |
At the airport of the moonlit white town we call Tent, and | |
Tobakov’s sailors, who built it, called Palatka, in northern | |
433.15 | Florida, where owing to engine trouble he had to change planes, |
Demon made a long-distance call and received a full account of | |
Dan’s death from the inordinately circumstantial Dr. Nikulin | |
(grandson of the great rodentiologist Kunikulinov—we can’t | |
get rid of the lettuce). Daniel Veen’s life had been a mixture | |
433.20 | of the ready-made and the grotesque; but his death had shown |
an artistic streak because of its reflecting (as his cousin, not his | |
doctor, instantly perceived) the man’s latterly conceived pas- | |
sion for the paintings, and faked paintings, associated with the | |
name of Hieronymus Bosch. | |
433.25 | Next day, February 5, around nine A.M. Manhattan (winter) |
time, on the way to Dan’s lawyer, Demon noted—just as he | |
was about to cross Alexis Avenue--an ancient but insignificant | |
acquaintance, Mrs. Arfour, advancing toward him, with her | |
toy terrier, along his side of the street. Unhesitatingly, Demon | |
433.30 | stepped off the curb, and having no hat to raise (hats were not |
worn with raincloaks and besides he had just taken a very | |
exotic and potent pill to face the day’s ordeal on top of a sleep- | |
less journey), contented himself—quite properly—with a wave | |
of his slim umbrella; recalled with a paint dab of delight one of |
[ 433 ]
the gargle girls of her late husband; and smoothly passed in | |
front of a slow-clopping horse-drawn vegetable cart, well out | |
of the way of Mrs. R4. But precisely in regard to such a con- | |
tingency, Fate had prepared an alternate continuation. As De- | |
434.05 | mon rushed (or, in terms of the pill, sauntered) by the Monaco, |
where he had often lunched, it occurred to him that his son | |
(whom he had been unable to “contact”) might still be living | |
with dull little Cordula de Prey in the penthouse apartment of | |
that fine building. He had never been up there—or had he? | |
434.10 | For a business consultation with Van? On a sun-hazed terrace? |
And a clouded drink? (He had, that’s right, but Cordula was | |
not dull and had not been present.) | |
With the simple and, combinationally speaking, neat, thought | |
that, after all, there was but one sky (white, with minute, | |
434.15 | multicolored optical sparks), Demon hastened to enter the |
lobby and catch the lift which a ginger-haired waiter had just | |
entered, with breakfast for two on a wiggle-wheel table and | |
the Manhattan Times among the shining, ever so slightly | |
scratched, silver cupolas. Was his son still living up there, auto- | |
434.20 | matically asked Demon, placing a piece of nobler metal among |
the domes. Si, conceded the grinning imbecile, he had lived | |
there with his lady all winter. | |
“Then we are fellow travelers,” said Demon inhaling not | |
without gourmand anticipation the smell of Monaco’s coffee, | |
434.25 | exaggerated by the shadows of tropical weeds waving in the |
breeze of his brain. | |
On that memorable morning, Van, after ordering breakfast, | |
had climbed out of his bath and donned a strawberry-red terry- | |
cloth robe when he thought he heard Valerio’s voice from the | |
434.30 | adjacent parlor. Thither he padded, humming tunelessly, look- |
ing forward to another day of increasing happiness (with yet | |
another uncomfortable little edge smoothed away, another raw | |
kink in the past so refashioned as to fit into the new pattern | |
of radiance). |
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Demon, clothed entirely in black, black-spatted, black- | |
scarved, his monocle on a broader black ribbon than usual, was | |
sitting at the breakfast table, a cup of coffee in one hand, and | |
a conveniently folded financial section of the Times in the | |
435.05 | other. |
He gave a slight start and put down his cup rather jerkily on | |
noting the coincidence of color with a persistent detail in an | |
illumined lower left-hand corner of a certain picture repro- | |
duced in the copiously illustrated catalogue of his immediate | |
435.10 | mind. |
All Van could think of saying was “I am not alone” (je ne | |
suis pas seul), but Demon was brimming too richly with the | |
bad news he had brought to heed the hint of the fool who | |
should have simply walked on into the next room and come | |
435.15 | back one moment later (locking the door behind him—locking |
out years and years of lost life), instead of which he remained | |
standing near his father’s chair. | |
According to Bess (which is “fiend” in Russian), Dan’s buxom | |
but otherwise disgusting nurse, whom he preferred to all others | |
435.20 | and had taken to Ardis because she managed to extract orally a |
few last drops of “play-zero” (as the old whore called it) out | |
of his poor body, he had been complaining for some time, even | |
before Ada’s sudden departure, that a devil combining the char- | |
acteristics of a frog and a rodent desired to straddle him and | |
435.25 | ride him to the torture house of eternity. To Dr. Nikulin Dan |
described his rider as black, pale-bellied, with a black dorsal | |
buckler shining like a dung beetle’s back and with a knife in | |
his raised forelimb. On a very cold morning in late January | |
Dan had somehow escaped, through a basement maze and a | |
435.30 | toolroom, into the brown shrubbery of Ardis; he was naked |
except for a red bath towel which trailed from his rump like | |
a kind of caparison, and, despite the rough going, had crawled | |
on all fours, like a crippled steed under an invisible rider, deep | |
into the wooded landscape. On the other hand, had he at- |
[ 435 ]
tempted to warn her she might have made her big Ada yawn | |
and uttered something irrevocably cozy at the moment he | |
opened the thick protective door. | |
“I beg you, sir,” said Van, “go down, and I’ll join you in | |
436.05 | the bar as soon as I’m dressed. I’m in a delicate situation.” |
“Come, come,” retorted Demon, dropping and replacing his | |
monocle. “Cordula won’t mind.” | |
“It’s another, much more impressionable girl”—(yet another | |
awful fumble!). “Damn Cordula! Cordula is now Mrs. Tobak.” | |
436.10 | “Oh, of course!” cried Demon. “How stupid of me! I re- |
member Ada’s fiancé telling me—he and young Tobak worked | |
for a while in the same Phoenix bank. Of course. Splendid | |
broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, blond chap. Backbay Tobako- | |
vich!” | |
436.15 | “I don’t care,” said clenched Van, “if he looks like a crippled, |
crucified, albino toad. Please, Dad, I really must—” | |
“Funny your saying that. I’ve dropped in only to tell you | |
poor cousin Dan has died an odd Boschean death. He thought | |
a fantastic rodent sort of rode him out of the house. They found | |
436.20 | him too late, he expired in Nikulin’s clinic, raving about that |
detail of the picture. I’m having the deuce of a time rounding | |
up the family. The picture is now preserved in the Vienna | |
Academy of Art.” | |
“Father, I’m sorry—but I’m trying to tell you—” | |
436.25 | “If I could write,” mused Demon, “I would describe, in too |
many words no doubt, how passionately, how incandescently, | |
how incestuously—c’est le mot—art and science meet in an | |
insect, in a thrush, in a thistle of that ducal bosquet. Ada is | |
marrying an outdoor man, but her mind is a closed museum, | |
436.30 | and she, and dear Lucette, once drew my attention, by a creepy |
coincidence, to certain details of that other triptych, that | |
tremendous garden of tongue-in-cheek delights, circa 1500, and, | |
namely, to the butterflies in it—a Meadow Brown, female, in | |
the center of the right panel, and a Tortoiseshell in the middle |
[ 436 ]
panel, placed there as if settled on a flower—mark the ‘as if,’ | |
for here we have an example of exact knowledge on the part | |
of those two admirable little girls, because they say that actually | |
the wrong side of the bug is shown, it should have been the | |
437.05 | underside, if seen, as it is, in profile, but Bosch evidently found |
a wing or two in the corner cobweb of his casement and showed | |
the prettier upper surface in depicting his incorrectly folded | |
insect. I mean I don’t give a hoot for the esoteric meaning, | |
for the myth behind the moth, for the masterpiece-baiter who | |
437.10 | makes Bosch express some bosh of his time, I’m allergic to |
allegory and am quite sure he was just enjoying himself by | |
crossbreeding casual fancies just for the fun of the contour and | |
color, and what we have to study, as I was telling your cousins, | |
is the joy of the eye, the feel and the taste of the woman-sized | |
437.15 | strawberry that you embrace with him, or the exquisite surprise |
of an unusual orifice—but you are not following me, you want | |
me to go, so that you may interrupt her beauty sleep, lucky | |
beast! A propos, I have not been able to alert Lucette, who is | |
somewhere in Italy, but I’ve managed to trace Marina to Tsi- | |
437.20 | tsikar—flirting there with the Bishop of Belokonsk—she will ar- |
rive in the late afternoon, wearing, no doubt, pleureuses, very | |
becoming, and we shall then travel à trois to Ladore, because I | |
don’t think—” | |
Was he perhaps under the influence of some bright Chilean | |
437.25 | drug? That torrent was simply unstoppable, a crazy spectrum, |
a talking palette— | |
“—no really, I don’t think we should bother Ada in her | |
Agavia. He is—I mean, Vinelander is—the scion, s,c,i,o,n, of | |
one of those great Varangians who had conquered the Copper | |
437.30 | Tartars or Red Mongols—or whoever they were—who had |
conquered some earlier Bronze Riders—before we introduced | |
our Russian roulette and Irish loo at a lucky moment in the | |
history of Western casinos.” | |
“I am extremely, I am hideously sorry,” said Van, “what with |
[ 437 ]
Uncle Dan’s death and your state of excitement, sir, but my | |
girl friend’s coffee is getting cold, and I can’t very well stumble | |
into our bedroom with all that infernal paraphernalia.” | |
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving. After all we haven’t seen each other | |
438.05 | —since when, August? At any rate, I hope she’s prettier than |
the Cordula you had here before, volatile boy!” | |
Volatina, perhaps? Or dragonara? He definitely smelled of | |
ether. Please, please, please go. | |
“My gloves! Cloak! Thank you. Can I use your W.C.? No? | |
438.10 | All right. I’ll find one elsewhere. Come over as soon as you can, |
and we’ll meet Marina at the airport around four and then | |
whizz to the wake, and—” | |
And here Ada entered. Not naked—oh no; in a pink peignoir | |
so as not to shock Valerio—comfortably combing her hair, | |
438.15 | sweet and sleepy. She made the mistake of crying out “Bozhe |
moy!” and darting back into the dusk of the bedroom. All was | |
lost in that one chink of a second. | |
“Or better—come at once, both of you, because I’ll cancel | |
my appointment and go home right now.” He spoke, or | |
438.20 | thought he spoke, with the self-control and the clarity of enun- |
ciation which so frightened and mesmerized blunderers, bluster- | |
ers, a voluble broker, a guilty schoolboy. Especially so now— | |
when everything had gone to the hell curs, k chertyam so- | |
bach’im, of Jeroen Anthoniszoon van Äken and the molti aspetti | |
438.25 | affascinanti of his enigmatica arte, as Dan explained with a last |
sigh to Dr. Nikulin and to nurse Bellabestia (“Bess”) to whom | |
he bequeathed a trunkful of museum catalogues and his second- | |
best catheter. |
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