Love Called This Thing

AvramDavidson

Nan Peter Baker Four This Is Nan Peter Baker Howdo You ReceiveMe Over and now a word from Our Sponsor interviewedin his office the Commissioner said but Ruth I canexplain everything there is nothing to explain David it’s alltoo obvious I’m Bert Peel Officer and this is my brother Harry a cold front coming down from Canada andwe’ve gotto get word to the Fort colon congestion is absolutely unnecessaryin men and women over forty at any one of the ninety-one offices of the Clinton National Bank and Trust…

” Embarassede richesse ,” the French count had said when helooked at all the pretty girls on the high school swim team, and explained what it meant in English. Pennywasn’t reallyin love with him; she only thought she was, after pre-tendingshe was, to make David jealous, which she certainly did. But after the count gently explained to her, she and David made up just in time for the SpringFrom , which madethe distant observer very happy.

At least he thought it did. “What is happy?” he often askedhimself. Maybe just pretend. You never really loved meRick it was just a pretense wasn’t it? Like the distant Page 1

observerthinking of himself as “him” when, really, he knew nowhadknown longhe was only an “it.” it’s about time wefaced up to reality, Alison. Yes. It was about time. We can’tgo on like this.No, certainly not. It was time.

In the beginning, there was no time. There was sight heredark, there bright. He did not know then, of course andhow long had “then” lasted? Memory did not tell that thebright was stars.And there was soundwhispering , crackling, shrilling. What do youmean. Professor, when you saythat outer space is not a place of silence? And then (he knewnow that this “then” was about fifty years ago) there hadbegun a new kind of sound. Not steady, but interrupted, andinterrupted according to patterns. Awareness had stirred, gradually, and wonder. He knew later that this was

“wireless.” CQ, CQ, CQ … SOS, SOS,SOS …

And thenthe other kinds of sounds, oh, very different.

These were voices. This was “radio.”And music. It was too different; the distant observer knew distress without even knowingthat it was distress.But he grew used to itthat is, distress ceased: but not wonder. Urgency came with the voices.What?What? He groped for meaning, not even knowingwhat meaning was.

Presently there was another kind of sight, not just the darkand the stars any longer, but picturesflickering , fad-ing, dancing, clear, pictures upon pictures. Gradually he learned selectivityhowto concentrate upon one, how to Page 2

not-see, not-hear the others. Still later: how to see and hear allwithout confusion.How to match sound and sight. That thingshad names. What people were, who made the voices andthe music. What meaningwas.

Aboathimself, he learned nothing directly. For a while, hehad tried to speak to them, but it was apparent that nothingof him reached Earth. He had learned Earth, yes.

Andknew what this place was, where he was.An asteroid.

How had he come to be there? This was in space. There were spaceshipshesaw the scenes on television. Meteors weredangerous to spaceships. He knew meteors. Some-timesspaceships crashed. He scannedall his little world, butthere was no spaceship, crashed or otherwise.

You’uegot to help me1 don’t know who I ami But that wasmore easy, oh, so much more sothat one was a man, andthere were many men. The sponsors (in this case, Muls , thecreamy-smooth deodorant) were men, too. Everybody wasvery kind to this man. He had amnesia. What was odor ?

This the observer could not understand. But to have no memory, this he understood very well. This he shared with men.

Gradually he had come to share many things with men.

They spoke different languages, but theone which came withthe first pictures was English, English fromAmerica .

Later on, there was English fromEngland , there was Page 3

French, Russian, Spanish, Japanesebut American was first andbest. So much more interesting than the Red Army and thehydroelectric dams, these stories of real life. Of love andsadness and of happiness.

Kid, there ain’t no problem in all this world you can’t lick ifyou really try. Very well, theobserver would try. You neverknow what you can do till you try. His first attempt attaking shape wasn’t good. Itdidn’t look much like a man.

Sohe tried again and again. Each time he grew better at it. It was true, what the people said. It was all true, every wordand picture of it. There ain’t no problem And so when it came time for his favorite Wednesday eveningprogram, the distant observer was ready. Summon-ingall his effort, husbanding all his energy, he passed along thewave length as a man walks down a street. There was aslight jar, a click. He realized that he couldnever undo whathad just been done. There was a new body now, a newmetabolism. The past is dead, David. We have to live forthe future.

“And what is your namemy , you got up here but quick!”

burbledKeith Kane, the M.C. of Cash or Credit. “I’ve never knowna volunteer from our happy studio audience to man-ageit quite so suddenly. This is just the warmup , sir, so youneedn’t be nervous. Not that you need the reassurance coolas a cucumber, isn’t he, folks? Say, did you folks ever hearthe story about the little Sunday School boy who said Page 4

thatKing Solomon had three hundred wives and six hun -

dredcucumbers? Wow!I’m really naughty! You other folks whovolunteered just take seats right there”

The first lady volunteer was old and pretty. Well, maybe notso old.But maybe like Mary Clay who realized that she wastoo old for young David Webster and after she cried sheaccepted the fact and sent him back to Madge Barkley whomhe really loved all the while, only they had this silly quarrel.

Thelady smiled at him. He smiled back. I-feel-GREATI

“So that’s the way the rules work, and now, folks, in just fiveseconds we’ll be on the air! Fivefourthreetwo oneGood evening, all you lovely people out there in TV

Land!This is Keith Kane, bringing you the greatthe greatertheGREATEST quiz program ever: Cash or Credit?”

Now he felt his heart beating very fast.So that was what itwas like! And now he knew what was odor. But the lovelylady volunteer next to him smelled, yes, that was sweet.But if it was Muls or Van Art Number Three, this he wouldlearn later.

“justrinse and dry, folks, that’s all there is to it: Clear-o, theall-purpose vegetable detergent.And now whom have wehere? What is your name, sir?”

Here it was. And how terrible if he should break down Page 5

andpress his hands to his head and sob, “I1 don’t know!”

Buthe did know; he had it all ready. “David. My name is David Taylor.” All the ones named David were good. Oh, theyhad their troubles, but in the end everyone loved them.And see: nice Keith Kane beaming. Thelady , too.

“Well, David, what’ll itbe ?Cash-or-Credit? You know therules: If you pick Cash, we spin this little wheel. If it comesup with a number, you go on to answerif you can, hah-haaquestion worth however many thousand dollars followthat number. If it comes up blankyou’re out. Where-as, if you pick Credit, you take your place among the vol -

unteersand if any contestant makes a boo-boo, why, you stepinto his shoes and he is out. Soooo?”

“Take the cash and let the credit go,” said David.

Grinning from lobe to lobe, Keith Kane asked the same questionsof the lady, whose name was Mrs. Conar , Mrs.

Ethel-Mae Conar , a widow: and received the same answer. The audience applauded, the wheel was spun, and it cameup io .

” TenthousandDOLLARS!” screamed Keith Kane.

“That’s what your first question is worth and here it is: What former President of the United States isassociated withthis tune, and what is the name of the tune, which re-fersto his State? Remember, you have thirty seconds to thinkit over …”

David and Mrs. Conar won two hundred and eighty-five Page 6

thousanddollars in cash before the program was over, as wellas a year’s supply of Clear-o, and fifty shares of stock ina mink ranch; and the band played “The Stars and Stripes Forever” as Keith Kane counted out the money. Mrs. Conar hadkissed him and kissed David and was now clasping his handsand sobbing that she didn’t really believe it.

“Oh, it’s true,” David assured her. “It’s all true; that’s the funnypart of it.” (David Mackay said that, in Matm6e, whenhe admitted his wife was an alcoholic.) Sight and soundand touch (kissing was pleasant; no wonder it was somuch done) and smell andandwhat was the other?

Taste.Keith Kane bawled at him the question of what he wasgoing to do with all his money David deliberated. What wasit that Clem Clooten , on Saddle-Galled, had said, the timehe broke the faro bank in Dogie City? Taste … yes:

“I’m goin ‘ out’n buy m’self a cup o’ java …” The audience wentwild.

Java tasted. Taste was as excitingas the other four sensa -

tions.And sitting next to him on the counter-stool was Mrs.

Ethel-Mae Conar , gazing at his distinguished profile.It was clean-cut. He gazed down at her. He was tall, of course.

He searched for the right words. It turned out to be singu -

lar. “Happy?” he asked.

She sighed, nodded. Then”You’re a rather strange youngman,” she said. “Do you know that?”

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Certainlyhe knew it.

He leaned closer. “This is bigger than both of us,” he said huskily. “Let me take you away from all this …” “I certainly will,” she said briskly, “right over to my place inthe Surrey-Regis on Park Avenue”that meant she was unhappydespite her moneyl”where we can have a de-centcup of coffee.” The counterman scowled at the bill David offered him.

” Whatsis?Play-money?A five-hunnerd-doUabill? Whud-dya, wise guy?” David arose slowly, buttoning his jacket, and leaned over.

“If you’re looking for trouble,buddy … ” he said. But the guychickened out. Anyway, Ethel-Mae had some change in herpurse. ” Taxil” David called happily. He helped her in, sankback in the seat, and when the driver asked Where To, David said crisply, “Follow that cabi “ The driver (Herman Bogancz , the license read) half-turned, half-growled. Ethel-Mae laughed. “Oh, if you aren’t nevermind, driver: the Surrey-Regis, on Park near” But H. Bogancz muttered that he knew where the place was.

David gazed out the window excitedly. Everywhere, men andlights and women and automobiles. “Little Old New York,” he murmured.

Suddenly she yelped, dug her fingers into his arm.

” Darlingi” he exclaimed. “Are you all right? Is anything wrong?”

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“No,” she said. “Oh, no”

“Something must be wrong,” he insisted. “You can tell me, dear. I trust you. No matter what you’ve done” “What I’ve done?” she screamed. “I’ve just won a half-sharein $285,000 is what” He seized her, turned her facing him. “Are you outof yourmind?” he gritted. And then, memory returning, he releasedher. “Yeah … Gee … that’s right.Yeah . . , how aboutthat? Do you know what this means? Ethel-Mac, we’rerich!WE’HE IUCH!” The driver twisted his chin slightly to the right. “Do y’

mind.mister ?Not so loud with the decibels. I gotta near condition.” David said, shocked, “If there’s anything I can doany thingat allif you need moneywe’ll get the best surgeon thereis” Herman Bogancz shrugged. “My cousin Sidney is the best surgeonthere is, and he says an operation wouldn’t help.” “Then,” said David, “there’s nothing more that any of us can doexcept waitandpray” “andwash it out three times a day with a boric acid solu tion,” said Herman Bogancz .

Daviddidn’t quite understand why Mrs. Conar made himapply for a room at the Surrey-Regis by himself while shewent up to her room through the side entrance. In fact, Page 9

hedidn’t understand at ali The clerk looked at him rather oddlywhen he explained this to him, and asked for a room nearhers. He looked even odder when he saw the $500

bill. Once again David buttoned his jacket (it had been necessaryto unbutton it first) and leaned over. “I hope,” he said, “that I’m not going to have any trouble with you.” “Oh, dear me, no,” said the clerk. “Not at all … my good-ness, Mr. Taylor, but you really are tall, aren’t you? Suite 516. Mrs. Conar’s is Suite521that’s the best I can do right justthis very minule .and “ Another gentleman materialized at David’s elbow.

“Good evening, sir,” he said suavely. “I am Mr. Feltz , the manager. Is everything all right?” “The boy’s not to blame,” David said, gesturing toward theclerk. “Society is to blamewe’re all to blame.It’s these crazy, mixed-up times we live in.” Behind David’s back, the clerk spread open the $500 bill forMr. Feltz’s inspection.

“How right you are, sir,” said Mr. Feltz .

“About the gentleman’sMr. Taylors change, Mr.

Feltz-?”

David turned, put his hand on the clerk’s shoulder. The manflushed, sucked in his lower lip. “That’s for you, sonny.

There is no such thing as a bad boy. I never met a man I didn’tlike.” “Front!” said the clerk, his voice tremulous.

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Mr. Feltz handed the keys to 516 to thebellboy himself, urgedMr. Taylor to make his wants known immediately.

As David walked toward the elevator, the manager turned tohis subordinate. “The Rich,” he said simply. The clerk noddedsolemnly. “We know their ways,” said Mr. Feltz .

“Eh? Well,that’s very generous of you, Robertbut , no, sixty-fortyis good enough. He seems to have taken a liking toyou. Send up flowers, the morning papers,a split of cham -

pagne. And include my card, Robert.”

As soon as the bellboy had gone (rather like a satisfied customeron his way out of a high-class opium den, with a $500 bill clutched in his hot hand), David went down the corridorand knocked on the door of Suite 521. “Ethel-Mac?” heasked, his face close to the door. “Dearest? This isDavid. Please open. I can explain everything.”

And, sure enough, her words as she opened the door and fellinto his arms were, “There is nothing to explain!” Then shesaid, “It’s just that you’re so sweetand naive. But that nastylittle nance down at the desk wouldn’t understand.”

Since Daviddidn’t understand either, he made no com-ment, but covered her face with kisses. “Darling, I love you,” he said. “Please believe me.”And she said, But she didshedid. “Do you know what it’s like to be aloneal-ways aloneneverto know love?Do you?Do you? No. Of courseyou don’t”

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Her answer wasexactly correct . “Hush, darling,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.” He sighed, kissed heragain. Then “Ethel-Mac?Ethel-Mac?Mrs. Conar ?What-? Why are you” But she didn’t seem to heai him. Nothing he had everheard on radio or seen on television prepared him forwhat was happening now. Buthe decided after a mo-mentor sowhat was happening now wasthough strange notunpleasant. “This is wrong,” he groaned happily. “It’s allwrong.But I1 don’t care. Do you hear, I don’t caret” It was two in the morning before he stumbled back to his ownroom, and bed. At half-past two, hewas awakened by thebellboy’s father and mother (smuggled up on the serv iceelevator) who had come all the way from Mulberry Street to kiss his hands. At three, he was halt-awakened by ascratching noise at his door. After a few minutes, he got up andafterapproaching it as cautiously as the Sheriff of Hangtownon the program of the same namethrew it sud denlyopen.

A pretty girl with her red hair in a pony-tail uttered a littlescream. Pencil and notebook fell to the floor. “Why youyou’reonly a child!” he said, in a hushed voice.

“Mr. T-Taylor” she began very nervously. “I saw you atthe studio and I fol -followed you”she gulped”over here. But it took till now for me to get up nerve” “Why, you’re frightened,” he said, looking down at her.

Page 12

“Don’t be frightened. Youdon’t ever have to be frightened ofme. Come in,” he urged. “Please come in.”

She picked up her notebook and followed him in obedi -

ently. Then, taking the seat he gestured to, she said, “And I’mnot such a child, either.I’m a senior at Bamard . Journal-ismmajor.And I want a story from you, Mr. Taylor, before allthe other reporters get here. Please, Mr. Taylor, please.”

He looked at her admiringly. “That took guts,” he said.

“Where I come from, the men get separated from the boys mightyyoung. Butdon’tcall me ‘Mr. Taylor’Mr .Taylor has grayhair at the temples. Call me David.”

She called him David. And she told him that her name wasPamela Novack .And he said that Pamela was a lovely name. She told him thatshe’d hated it as a child, but that latelyinfact, just this very minuteshe’d gotten to like it awhole lot more.And they laughed. They laughed a whole lot.

Before they knew it, it was getting light.

“Oh, golly,” Pamela sighed. “Oh, gee, have I got a story!

In a way, it’s so sad, and you having such an unhappy childhood, I mean: your mother dying from the brain tu -

morand your father being an alcoholic”

He said that was all in the past. He said they had to start lookingtoward the future. She nodded soberly. Then she stretchedand said she was hungry.

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“Hey, how about thati ” David laughed, catching sight of hisface in the mirror. It was a nice face. He had done well inmaking it; it looked like all the Davids he had ever seen.

“You know something?I’m hungry, too! Ihaven’t had a bite toeat since that cup of coffee after the show. Would you liketo have some breakfast? You would.Hot diggetyl …

Hello! I want Room Service, please.”

The narcoleptic tones of the operator said. Not till ha’pas’six.And then suddenly were clear and alert and saying, “Oh, Mr. TaylorP Pardon meof course, Mr. Taylorwhat wouldyou like? Scrambled eggs and coffee and toast and gallonsof orange juice.Yes, sir, Mr. Taylor.” Then, suddenly, the smile was gone from David’s face.

Anxiously, Pamela asked what the matter was. Scowling, he mimicked, “‘Yes, Mr. Taylor, certainly, Mr. Taylor-it isn’t methey likenobody likes meit’s the money. Once you beenin reform school, nobody has any use for you, the cops arealways watching you, the nice girls don’t want to have anythingto do with you” Pamela was troubled. “Oh, you mustn’t say that. I1

well, I think I’m a nice girl” she blushed suddenly, looked down”and Ilike youDavid.” He got up and walked back and forth, rubbing his left armwith his right hand. He swung around and faced her.

” Youl” he jeered. ” Whaddayou know?You’re just a fresh youngkid”

Page 14

“I am noti ” she snapped.

“A senior at Barnard! Whaddayou know aboutlife?

You-“

He stopped. He had been enjoying the experience of emotingso much that the significance of the scene had es -

capedhim. They were quarreling ! That meant they were in lovelOf courseDavids always quarreled with the girls theywere really in love with.

He dropped down on one knee beside her and looked intoher flushed, pretty face.

“Darling,” he said, brokenly, taking her hands. “Trust me I can’t explain nowbut just trust me”

There was a sound from the door. They looked up. Ethel-Mac Conar stood there, holding her throat with both hands.

After a moment, she said, “I must have hurt you very much, David, for you tohave done this to meto have forgotten.

So quickly.”

Exquisitely miserable, he shouted, “Leave me alonel Can’tyou leave me alone?Can’t you understand that it’s allover between us?” And then, his voice dropping, “Oh, Ethel-Mae, forgive me. Ididn’t mean to say that. Ididn’t meanit. I1 can explain.”

Letting her hands drop resignedly, she said, “There’s nothingto explain, David. I understand. It could never have workedout. I’mI’m justtoo old for you, David.” She Page 15

walkedover, lifted his head (he had hung it, of course), placedher palms on his cheeks and kissed him gently on theforehead. Then she turned to Pamela and said softly,

“Be good to him, my dear. And give him lots of love.” She wentout, her head high, a wistful smile on her lips, and theawareness that she had half of the $285,000, the year’s supplyof Clear-o (the vegetable detergent), and the fifty sharesof stock in a mink ranch.

There was a moment’s silence. Then, “Gosh,” said Pamela. “Golly,” she said.

David turned to her. “Darling, don’t cry any more,” he begged. “Everything’s going to be all right from now on.”

“I’m not crying,” she said. Her eyes were shining. “The hellwith the story and the journalism course and the hell with Bamard, too. With all your money,” she said, falling intohis welcoming arms, “we can get married and start a familyright away. Kiss me,” she said, “hold me tight, don’t everleave me I”

Mr. and Mrs. David Taylor live in a fifteen-room house inWestportwith two picture windows, three boxers, and threecars, They have two children and a third is on the way. They are as happy as any couple inWestport has a rightto be in these crazy, mixed-up days. David is a highly successfulwriter of television scripts, with an unerring nose forwhat the public wants. It is perhaps unfortunate that his workbrings him into contact with so many clever and at-Page 16

tractivewomen. He is, of course, unfaithful to his wife withone of them at least twice a year (or at least once a yearwith two of them ).

There used to be a time when a David would never do a thinglike this to his wife. He would almost do itand then, atthe last moment, not.But TV is maturing. The Davids do itall the time.All the damned time.

“But how could you?” Pam Taylor weeps. “David, how couldyou?”

And young David Taylor, his face twisted with anguish, cries, “Don’t you understand? Won’t you even try tounder-stand?I’m sick! I need help!”

Well.Naturally Pam is very sad that her husband is sick, sick, sickbut , after all, its the thing to be, isn’t it? And so she’shappy she can help him and happily she drives the twoof them down to Dr. Naumbourg , David is very sad thathe’s made his lovely wife unhappy, but he’s happy that he’sfulfilling his destiny as a David. Dr. Naumbourg always insistson both husbands and wives Going Into Therapy at thesame time. Pamela’s case is a common enough one, merelya routine phallic envy. Naumbourg gets them every day,

Butin all the years sinceVienna , Dr. N. has never had anotherpatient whose womb-tantasytakes the form of beinga Thing on aii asteroid.And so , while all three of Page 17

themare very happy. Dr. Naumbourg is perhaps the happi -

estof all.

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