--1. The baptismal font was full of the old man's clotted blood....
--2. The Battle of Gettysburg is fought again by walking corpses
--3. John Shawnessy is crucified on a telegraph pole
--4. The petals of the raintree in the City turn into coins
--5. Shawnessy enters a patent office where all the world's dead bodies are stored and classified
--6. Shawnessy asks all the questions of Shakespeare one would wish answered
--7. Shawnessy encounters several eminent Victorian men who have been transformed into women
--8. Shawnessy floats down the yellow waters of a river atop the huge old atlas of Raintree County
--9. Nell Gaither on their wedding night. "give me lips, lover..."
--10. The homecoming
sequence begins with the Perfessor pressing a button....
--11. Lockridge can
return in dream to the time in Raintree County before there were
human beings and county lines, when the earth was shining, pregnant,
and unpolluted.
--12. Elsie can revisit the world
of her early memories, denying her father's mortality.
--13. Shawnessy finally
overcomes nostalgia as history yields to prophecy and he plants
a renewed myth of the Republic in the soil of Raintree County.
--From Dream Section, Dream II, ms. pp 49-52.
. . . . The sea was shouting on the white
sands. The boldest of the nymphs was waiting for him in a thicket
of wild thorn, her lips wet with the yellow wine of the festival.
If only he had not this sadness, the memory of an earlier time
before he had come to this seagirt isle. If only he hadn't wasted
his strength and his desire in a dark crime and long ago. If
only the lucid and plastic island and the seas that carried the
eager little breakers (each one distinct in its whole progress
from horizon to the shore under the vast, living sky) were not
filled with the memory of an ancient violation. . . .
He was walking along the road past
the barn. Through the open door the stalls and stables breathed
the old brown stench of livestock. He saw the house, a scarred
yet lovely image just beyond the barn, and all the forlorn objects
of his childhood memory of it strewn around, fixed and lifeless,
as if the air were amber enclosing the scene. He passed on quickly
down the road as a man might pass in swift review the landscape
of his childhood and came to the church at the crossroads a mile
above the farm.
He was before the congregation
in the revival tabernacle, but all the time he was disturbed
by the knowledge that the body of an old man was hidden behind
the pulpit with the pitchfork still thrust through his shrivelled
breast. The old man's bearded head was lying where anyone who
came too close could see it, dead eyes glaring and dried spittle
on the chin. The baptismal font was full of the old man's clotted
blood, which had gushed in a hideous flood from his dead body.
The whole affair was unclean, unmentionably, and yet he had to
go on as if nothing had happened, conducting the revival service.
Sooner or later the members of the congregation would smell the
stench, or someone would go down a little too far and see the
old man's stiff hand sticking out, and the jig would be up. Then
he would have to run for sure and get away as best he could,
for he never would be able to explain. . . .
Now he was aware of eyes everywhere
watching him, only the eyes, for the faces and bodies were sunken
into shadow, but everywhere the lambent eyes of the members of
the congregation followed him as he moved restlessly back and
forth before the altar. The eyes followed him as now he slunk
down the side of the church, trying to find a way out. The pitiful
thing was that he had mislaid his glasses and couldn't find his
way; in fact couldn't see anything but was obliged to wander
in the halflight of the dawn without anyone to care for him.
The earth here was covered with
naked boulders blasted by the sands of a hundred centuries. He
could see streaks of fiery day in the eastern sky. He had been
wandering all night trying to get away from his pursuers. He
reached up and touched his eyes. He knew then that he was wholly
blind, for where his eyes should be were only blackened pits,
dried blood still in them. He seemed to remember then that his
eyes had been torn out for his inexpiable crime. So he must wander
in this land where there were no gods to save him and no altars
that were not blasted by lightning; only the swallowing gulf
of night and desert and the unredeemed centuries of all eternity.
His own voice rose on the blast of the hot dead wind, quavering
in a cry of anguish and endurance, a cry of sorrow and farewell,
of everlasting sorrow . . . .
--From Dream Section, Dream VII, ms. pp. 265-9
humming,
--Come home! Come back to raintree
county! Come back to your great...
The railroad tracks were halfburied in sand, where he stood looking
up at the painted marble balconies of the coliseum. Chariots
thundered ceaselessly on the circular track, voices cried blood
and death, slave bodies lay on the bloody course, ground and
trampled by wheels and hooves of hurrying chariots.
CROWD
ranked in tiers of seats, yelling with thumbs
down,
--Give him to the beast! Blood!
Blood!
PROFESSOR STILES
roman emperor, leaning from the imperatorial
box, pale temples wreathed in vineleaves, hands hanging languidly
down,
--Dearie dee! That old holiday
spirit! (Yawning) The circus! The Circus! The roar of the drums!
JOHN SHAWNESSY
standing in middle of arena, surrounded by
schoolchildren,
--How about calling this thing
off, emperor?
EMPEROR JUSTINIAN WEBSTER STILES
--I've done all I could, boy. But you know the populus romanus as well as I do. They will have their little pomps and games. After you've been suitably mangled, I'll see that you get a write-up on the front page of the sol cotittyanus. You know, john, the trouble with all you martyrs is that you've all got martyr complexes. How about it, senator, can we get this boy off?
SENATOR CIGARIUS BOVOCACUS JONES
toga, cigar,
--No one is more concerned about
the lot of the common man than I am. But I wouldn't fairly represent
the thousands that have made me their spokesman if--
EMPEROR STILES
--Right you are, senator. Yon cassius hath a lean and hungry look.
CASSIUS P. CARNEY
consulting watch, raising hand, counting seconds,
--We'll see how these bastards
like a little cold steel. One for the money, two for the show,
three to make ready--
EMPEROR STILES
--Well, my dear, there he is. Are you content?
EDITH VAUGHN
costume of empress theodora, seated beside
emperor, eating chocolates, looking down wistfully,
--Which will it be--the lady or
the tiger?
EMPEROR STILES
--I've always
wondered how that goddam lousy story turned out. (Clapping hands
smartly) Go!
The gates of the railroad roundhouse
at the end of the track opened, and a huge blacksnouted locomotive
roared out, bell clanging. Mr. shawnessy ran, crossing a thick
web of tracks in the darkened arena, trying to judge which one
the thing was on before it reached him and the children. Jags
of fire spouted and fell from the stack . . . .
The rim of an erupting volcano,
glowing scarlet in the purple night, rained death on the city.
Doomed hands clutched skyward. Pale faces pressed through streets
hunting asylum. Troops, strikebreakers, pinkertons, cops ran
about clubbing, shooting, raping.
JOHN SHAWNESSY
hanging on crossbar of telephone pole, struggling
to get loose,
--Forgive them, father, for they--
GARWOOD JONES
hanging on righthand pole, naked, face behind
huge greek masque of himself,
--Well, john, I suppose you've
been wondering who I am.
EMPEROR STILES
from podium, watching spectacle, tuning up
violin,
--Vote for gog, magog, and demagog!
Put the ecks after the old cock, boys, and vote the straight
ticket, one-way to hell. Might as well have a little fun while
we're at it.
CASH CARNEY
hanging on lefthand pole, naked, feebly kicking,
--Stretched on the rack of supply
and demand, what else can we--
PROFESSOR STILES
watching the city burn, fiddling with maniac
fury, hair wild, thrashing his limber body about in time to the
music,
--Malthus will be delighted. Gibbon
will be excited. Darwin will be invited. They know not what they
do, but as for me, give me a little laudanum in my tea. (Picking
up pen, dipping it into distilled rattlesnake venom, inditing
on fine parchment with furious gusto) The gospel according to
smuck! (Arms elongating, head beginning to be simian) Five thousand
years ago circa, this supposed messiah was allegedly lynched
by an anonymous mob at approximately--
From the pole mr. shawnessy could
see the huge hearsed body of a coach, burning somberly, rolled
across the yards toward the mouth of the embattled roundhouse.
The people began to shout as the roundhouse soundlessly crumbled,
its wall blown out by an internal explosion.
CROWD
chanting,
--God is dead! God is dead! God
is . . . .
Getting down from the train, mr. shawnessy stood in the station,
having come from the funeral of some august person.
NEWSBOY
peeling off papers,
--Read all about it. Extra! Extra!
CROWD
in background, chanting,
--God is dead! God is dead!
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Must be a colossal hoax. Sounds like the work of--
REPORTER J. W. STILES
standing at bulletin board, chalking up bulletins,
reading with crisp finality,
--Flash! At exactly 12:15 p. m.
at his palatial residence on park avenue, the old gentleman finally
cashed in his checks.
CROWD
in background, chanting,
--God is dead! God is dead! God
is--
REPORTER STILES
--The grand old man of american finance died peacefully last night after a distinguished career as politician, statesman, financier, and public servant. Although for many years, younger and more active men had begun to take the play away from him, the old boy still persisted in coming to his office on wall street every day, where he sat playing solitaire and somewhat morosely reading the latest market returns. Whatever the opinion may be of his accomplishments in late years, all detraction falls silent in this solemn hour as we remember him in his illustrious prime when he stood on the cannonswept hills of gettysburg and rallied his troops with the forever famous words, Give 'em h---, boys. Whether or not he was really involved in the machinations of the whiskey ring and the tammany scandals we leave it to history to record. But be it forever remembered that in her darkest hour, the republic turned to him, and he was not found wanting. During his last days, he showed the same stubborn courage that had characterized him all during his career. Visitors at the rockebilt mansion saw a portly, ailing old man sitting on the verandah, a cigar clenched in his teeth, steadily writing away at his memoirs, which are soon to be published under the title my memories of the cosmos in war and peace. His demise marks the end of an era.
CROWD
moaning,
--God is dead! God is dead!
--From Dream Section, Dream VII, ms. p. 236.
Suddenly her mouth was glued to his in breathdevouring kisses, and at the same time she gently shook the tree. Coins rained clinking on the varnished floor. She leaned back against the swaying trunk, accepting his weight on her wide belly. He understood the exact frame of her body, clothed in vaporous flesh, felt the rack and sway, the cradling valley of the pelvic home. But as he sought to pull away the mesh of clothing, he was repelled by a nickelodeon, worn from her shoulders on a strap, supported like a handorgan on her hips and belly.
--From Dream Section, Dream V, ms. pp. 217-23 .
GUIDE
metallic monotone, through horn of edison
phonograph,
--Which war for the preservation
of what republic and the emancipation of whose race. Which war
for the preservation of what republic and the emancipation of
whose race. Which war for the...
Mr. shawnessy was confused then
by a memory of many wars, by many names of departed cities, by
many echoes in the ruined halls of the republic, in which reverberated
the hollow music of the guide's voice, a distant scream like
that of one of the more unpleasant varieties of the anthropoid
apes. Among the picturesque ruins along the river he sought the
building where a young soldier had lain in his last illness.
He mounted crumbling steps and, looking through a glass door,
saw what at first appeared to be the inside of a museum, but
he quickly realized that it was the patent building in washington,
where soldiers had been hospitalized during the war. Dead contraptions
for doing everything in the world lay in labelled glass cases
down corridors to distant windows that gave a stained and tragic
light. In cots between the cases lay hundreds of soldiers--anatomies
with every nerve, vein, organ, muscle, bone intact--but bloodless
like machines.
MR. SHAWNESSY
entering, accosting the custodian,
--Among your patients, a boy named--
CUSTODIAN
face of gibbon ape, emaciated, pedantic,
--The filing system is beginning
to get out of kilter. Exactly 1,435,269 new patents were filed
with the u.s. bureau of patents last year alone.
MR. SHAWNESSY
walking slowly in corridors now cleared of
cots, peering at the cases, reading labels, seeing inside bodies
of human beings in various stages of decomposition, all lacquered
and gathering dust,
--You mean that every soldier of
the great war is preserved here? It seems a bit--
CUSTODIAN
--The bodies of all the human beings who ever lived are here, involving a tremendous labor of disinterment, reconstruction, relocation, classification.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Could you direct me to the president's case?
CUSTODIAN
in huge room, walls five hundred feet high,
solid with identical blackbound books the size of family bibles,
plucking book from wall,
--Lincoln, a., 1809-1865, pres.,
u.s.a., getts. add., assass.
MR. SHAWNESSY
hunting among cases, stopping, peering through
smeared glass, reading label,
--Orville (better know as flash)
perkins, a union soldier, february 17, 1865.
He had a spade with which he was
digging in the earth there. The stones put up so many years ago
had all fallen down. In the damp soil he found a little silver
coin engraved with the figure of a runner stripped.
MR. SHAWNESSY
reading the worn legend,
--E pluribus unum.
CHARLES DARWIN
slightly apelike features, working at bottom
of digging, with magnifying glass, butterfly net, tweezers,
--Some of the more interesting
specimens are in the next row. Uncle tom of uncle tom's cabin.
A beautiful job of reconstruction. The three-toed dawnhorses
are in the third aisle.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Mr. darwin, what happens to the soul after death?
CHARLES DARWIN
--Homo pluviarboriensis, or raintree county man, who evidently consisted of (holding aloft) a fibia, a dried testicle, a sheet of m.s., a colt revolver, a contraceptive, and a railroad spike, was dug out of a tertiary stratum in which were also embedded bovum domesticum and his spouse bova domestica, the plebeian housefly, la cucaracha, and john d. rockefeller.
CUSTODIAN
smalltown lawyer, owlish, disgruntled expression,
--It's the greatest corpus delicti
case in all history.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--You mean that the body of the savior has been discovered and hidden in here too?
LAWYER
--Been here all the time. They merely lost the files. (Pulling out newspaper clippings, adjusting spectacles) According to this issue of the free enquirer, dated november 18, 1865, quote--
MR. SHAWNESSY
--There must be some mistake. I wrote a letter home only last month. (Gazing through case at a dim form recumbent beside tracks) I'll never lie by the rails with unlistening ears.
RECUMBENT FORM
mortuary effigy, stonily rigid, hands on breast pointed in prayer,
--Under this stone jerusalem stiles |
CARETAKER
arranging flowers in urn, meticulously wiping
birdstains from stone, assuming look and olympian manner of victor
hugo,
--There is, in the cemetery of--
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Someone has made a dreadful mistake. I've got to get home.
PERFESSOR
sitting up, medieval jerkin and hose, peaked
sandals, lecherous, pointed, poignant face of françois
villon,
--And what of all the lushloined
girls, les femmes du temps jadis? They are all gone down the
gulf of years.
--Where is susanna whose long hair shaken |
WOMAN'S VOICE
waning down the corridors, musical, lonely,
--Beautiful river and change everlasting.
Come back, lost boy, before it's too late. Come back.
MR. SHAWNESSY
peering into glass case,
--Who spoke?
CARETAKER
--May we suggest for the epitaph--
PERFESSOR
--Mes chers amis, quand je mourai, |
JOHNNY
--Yes, somewhere,
in the raintree county that never was, a monument that never
will, a lonely and tremendous shaft of stone, with twin stairs
flowing upward unto the base thereof; within, a spiral stair;
and on the stony face a legend of...
Stone soldiers arrested in the
sempiternal agonies of the great war lay all around him in the
silent dawn. He was approaching the base of a monument that had
never been finished, so egregiously had its forgotten architects
dreamed it into being. Stone stairs leading to the base were
an ascending waste of cracked slabs and fennel. He was going
up the spiral stair inside, rising from level to level.
PERFESSOR
talking over his shoulder,
--Imagine yourself standing on
one of the loftiest buildings of the modern city. Down there,
blind millions hive in dark walls. Can any soul survive in this
swamp of the annihilation of souls? Can you believe--
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Retro grade,
sathanus.
A red sun was sinking to westward.
He was alone. Looking down, he saw at first a pleasant scene
of farmland crossed by a single river and a single track, but
as he watched, the railroad became three and then began brightly
to multiply with interlacing arms among the fields. The rails
were beaded with buildings and the river banded with bridges
until what he saw was in fact the image of a city where trains
were thundering to the stations laden with human and heavy cargo.
JOHN SHAWNESSY
holding in his hand the visitor's guide to
the centennial exhibition and the city of philadelphia, thrilled
with a memory of metropolitan years, speaking in a voice of challenge,
--Et maintenant--a nous deux! Do
you see how after all we have been building a legend
Of the earth,
dark
earth,
plowtorn
. . . .
--From Dream Section, Dream IV, ms. pp. 139-42.
clapping hands, pointing to sturdy tree growing in angle between buildings,
--The smith a mighty man is he |
slim, strong figure, clad in simple blacksmith's garb, vigorously shoeing her horse,
--Cockadoodle doo! |
EVELINA
hand on horse's rump, leaning back to see
him working with courteous intentness, trying to fit a lady's
high heel to horse's hoof,
--You have made a delightful mistake,
mr. shawnessy. You are shoeing the wrong foot. Here, allow me
to--
Quite suddenly and with a practiced
ease, he slipped the little furlined shoe over her naked foot,
as the prince did for cinderella. There was a loud flourish of
trumpets and
PROFESSOR STILES
face and manner of lord beaconsfield, handing
her up to throne atop a carriage shaped like a huge black pumpkin,
drawn by six man in mouse costumes,
--Her majesty, the queen!
As befitted a queen, her gown was
a ceremonial costume stiff with jewels. Women in identical gowns
stood in dense ranks along a wide way colorful with pennants
and banners. Several miles away a fountain stood in a public
square, stone figures disporting in the spray. The occasion was
apparently the diamond jubilee of her reign.
PRIME MINISTER STILES
--Lovely and glorious! |
EVELINA REGINA
with gracious mien and little motions of her
sceptre, a huge ivory stick with gaudy ball of gold and diamonds
at the end,
--My subjects, I am touched more
deeply than I can express. I accept this honor in the name of
my sex. Ladies, at last our efforts are crowned with victory.
It is now fifty years since the great discovery was made by one
of our leading female novelists that the words describing the
sexes had been exactly reversed by some philological mistake
in the dawn of iniquity and that what we have been calling men
are actually--
PRIME MINISTER DISRAELI STILES
black dress, small hard boxlike bustle, artificially
stuffed breasts, wig of black curls,
--Madame, your wisdom passeth understanding.
Come, sweet sisters, gather round, sweet sisters. Mrs. tennyson,
will you favor us with a vocal selection?
ALFRED LORD TENNYSON
queen victoria wig and dress, crown jewels on vigorous pointed bosoms, casque of sir galahad on head, excalibur in hand, reading from little volume covered with lavender flowers,
--No
more, dear love, for at a touch I yield,
Ask
me no more.
Moaning like
a dove, the eminent poetess was seen moving off vaguely through
a landscape of immemorial elms, clambering over a stonewall beside
a moated grange, taking her place in a barge on which she floated
across a gray mere, a white blade shining in her hand. Before
she passed from sight, she tossed the sword away, but a woman
with drowned hair thrust suddenly from the water and caught it
by the bare blade.
The picnic of the literary society
was enlivened by the giggling and twittering of several eminent
nineteenth century females, including ralph waldo emerson in
side curls, old maid's gown, her face long, sweet, and thoughtful
like a horse, john greenleaf whittier, masquerading as barbara
fritchie with turbulent gray hairs, and henry adams, a small
dumpy woman with a crucifix on her breast and confused eyes.
Evelina kept looking everywhere for mr. shawnessy but saw no
sign of him. Meanwhile the men were dancing around maypoles and
fluttering handkerchiefs. It seemed to her that somehow the movement
for equality had not taken the right direction. But just now
she derived a certain pleasure from walking down the boulevard
over the prostrate bodies and faces of simpering men, who licked
her little glittering boots as she set the heels down primly
on their chests and in their mouths, being careful, of course,
not to hurt them.
8. Shawnessy floats down the yellow waters of a river atop the huge old atlas of Raintree County.
--From Dream Section, Dream III, ms. pp. 109-11.
It
was night in the great dismal swamp. Bloodhounds bayed in the
distance. Lanterns flashed far-off. Shotgun blasts ripped the
still leaves. A bloodred moon hung low on the horizon. The heaving
muds of the swamp shimmered and stank. Festoons of moss swung
softly against his body. Black branches of trees trailed in the
inky water. He was stumbling through the swamp, trying to find
a way to freedom. The young mulatto girl with him was going to
have a baby, and there was no one to help them. He was trying
to remember how he had come by this unhappy burden. Perhaps it
was a souvenir of the great war, a colored girl with a classic
name whom he had inherited from one of his soldier comrades.
At any rate, it was a sacred charge, and he must find the underground
railway station and get her to safety on the northern shore.
The river was running broad and
yellow in the semidarkness. Artificial cotton snow flakes sifted
noiselessly down. Floating icechunks and rotten flatboats swam
slowly on the flood. The pursuers were just behind. He could
see the intent mugs of bloodhounds breaking through the brush.
Then he and the girl were crossing on the floes and rotten rafts.
MULATTO GIRL
torn away on the swift flood, standing naked
on sinking raft, arms outstretched,
--Johnny! Help! Help! Down the
river! Down the river!
The girl was gone, sucked down
in the swirling yellow waters. He was trying now to stay afloat
on a huge old atlas of raintree county. He had a little child
in his arms. Facedown, ophelialike, the body of a naked woman
was floating in the pale chemical of the river, her flesh washed
white as lilies, but ravaged as by acid and slowly dissolving
from the bone. A little distance away, he saw a steamer full
of noisy excursionists go by, firing salutes from a cannon.
JOHNNY
sinking up to his waist,
--Help! Help! Save the child! Save
the child!
EXCURSIONIST
in summer holiday clothes, leaning over railing
of the delta belle, mildly interested in spectacle,
--Say, son, this is a hell of a
time to be takin' a swim.
SECOND EXCURSIONIST
--O, father, come out of that old lagoon. |
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
nightgown, hair in curlpapers, sitting on
deck, baby in lap, blowing on her hands from time to time, writing
with whispering lips line after line and page after page,
--Calvin, mind the baby. Then the
poor distracted female heard the voice of her pursuers in the.
. .
JOHNNY
sinking up to his chin, holding the baby aloft,
--Mrs. Stowe, for god's sake, hurry
up and get me out of here. I'm drowning, mrs. stowe, I'm. . .
--From Dream Section, Dream V, ms. pp. 184-91.
walking up dark stair, beckoning to upper
rooms,
--Sh-h-h-h-h. This way, johnny.
JOHNNY
following,
--So, then, you waited for us by
the river, where we, lonely soldiers of the republic, sought
what all men seek, the eternal feminine enfolding arms, the form
that springs from formlessness, the--
GIRL
a white face in the darkness, gently pulling
johnny into back seat of cab,
--Want a lift down pennsylvania
avenue?
JOHNNY
--Why, nell, I didn't know that--
NELL
breasts bare and trembly, wistful eyes,
--Why not? It's life--as the great
people say. Why shouldn't we bare our part of--
The buggy was going down a wide
boulevard past rows of wavering gaslamps. He was buried in the
musty scarlet years, riding down one of the stately names of
the oldtime republic. Lonely yet beloved, understanding yet misunderstood,
he was the johnny of that forgotten year, and like an extension
of himself was this vague landscape of the year 1863, containing
the face of one who was lost and gone forever on the great river
of the years, a face floating up to him again--of one he never
really knew, archetypal and mysterious.
NELL
--O, johnny,
to live--to be alive! To come back to you! My darling, I touched
you with letters.
Her warm mouth touched his with desperate kisses. His hands tugged
at a thick rind of clothes.
VOICES
in distance, singing,
--O, my darling, |
NELL
archly,
--My plural petticoats, my stiffboned
skirtframe, my impertinent bustle. Flayed and flung by the vines
and the beautiful, flayed and flung by the vines and the beautiful,
flayed and flung by the...
They were together on a big fourpostered
bed. Her body showed through her negligee as through a misted
glass. He was afraid they might be interrupted at the very threshold
of the longpostponed consummation, for there were many doors
opening on the hotel room, and people were making a vague disturbance
in corridors and streets. His hands slid beneath the shimmering
nightdress, grappling smoothly on the plush of naked--
NELL
panting, in husky voice, writhing as in pain
or violent pleasure,
--Shuck me. Husk me, beloved. Hold
me, I am the ripe one. Give me lips, lover. Thrust home. Tall,
tall, tall--
JOHNNY
--All, all, all--
NEWSBOY
popping head in and out of door and throwing
newspapers,
--Extra! Intra! Extra! Intra! Read
all about it. The body was given to his wife. The old man died
calm.
JOHNNY
pitching him a dime,
--Thanks, son. Now, for heaven's
sake, clear out!
GARWOOD JONES
drunk, fully clothed, smoking cigar, lying
squarely in middle of bed,
--don't mind me, john. As best
man, I'm very happy to lend any little service I can to you and
the missus. (Shoving johnny out of bed) Mind if I take a turn
at the throttle?
NELL
winking at johnny,
--Drefful sorry, johnny. He happened
to be along. Down, fido!
GARWOOD
very drunk, still smoking cigar, crawling
obediently under bed,
--Nothing's too good for our boy
john.
JOHNNY
--Now, if we can just--
PRESIDENT OF THE LADIES' SITTING AND SEWING SOCIETY
walking briskly through door, placing horseshoe
of flowers around johnny's neck,
--A garland for our johnny. May
I sit and sew a while?
JOHNNY
--I accept this beautiful tribute, madame typographical error, in the same spirit in which, et cetera, et cetera. Now, for heaven's sake, madame, this is my wedding night, and--
SCHOOL CHILDREN
scrubbed faces, sunday suits, filing in, singing with innocent, uplifted eyes,
--Yankee doodle came to town |
COUSIN FROM SPOKANE
galloping large, rawboned house through door,
--Where are the sons a bitches!
Let me at 'em! Far on the old flag, will they!
COMMITTEE FROM THE LADY'S AID
fussy spinsters, entering and sitting on the
bed,
--Mr. shawnessy, is there anything
we can do to assist you in this trying hour?
DELEGATION FROM BAPTIST CHURCH
blackfrocked elders, cleaning teeth with whittled
sticks, spitting on floor, taking armchairs around the room,
--Brother shawnessy, have you been
baptized?
JOHNNY
--Nell, please. I'll try to get rid of all these people and then--
COUNTY SCHOOL BOARD
--Mr. shawnessy, reports have come to us that you have not been maintaining in your teaching the proper respect to the great institutions upon which our civilization has been founded. They say you begin every school day by spittin' on the image of
THE REVEREND LLOYD G. JARVEY
torch and bloodhounds, hunting up and down room,
--Adam, the first of humankind, |
W. B. SHAWNESSY
rocking on heels, bland old face smiling,
presenting johnny with bottle of botanical medicine,
--Here, john. Keep it with you
for emergencies. And don't forget your medical experience. Say,
who's this here young woman?
JOHNNY
feeling guilty, trying to hide girl behind
door,
--My wife, pa. That is--
W. B.
hands behind back,
--Of course, we were all young
once--uh--that is--uh--I should tell you, john, that I--uh--that
you--well-- In short, son, you're just a good, cleancut shawnessy.
GREAT-GRANDMA SHAWNESSY
girl of eighteen, small, virile scot with
bright blue eyes and hearty manner, sitting in haystack,
--From scottish earth, I came to
this. From here I go to endless bliss. Our cost of arms. It's
nice to be the founder of an illustrious line. As for who your
father really was, william--well, I suppose you've noticed the
poetic strain in our family, and--
BOBBY BURNS
charming, boyish manner, unattractive nose but beautiful eyes, talking in faint hoosier accent to great-grandma shawnessy,
--The golden hours on angel wings |
GREAT-GRANDMA SHAWNESSY
twinkle in her eye, giving her skirt a flirt,
--And jeannie and jacqueline and
janet and josephine, and mazie and martha and maud and mable,
and--
W. B.
tall thin, virile young man with wavy blonde
hair and elegant manner, sitting beneath hawthorne tree with
lovely red-haired girl, stroking chin thoughtfully,
--There's a curse on us shawnessys.
By the way, not a word of this to your mother, but--
The young w. b. put his arm around the girl, whom johnny recognized
as his mother in her youth, long before his own birth, her eyes
secret and strange.
JOHNNY
--Mamma! Please! All of us--
VOICES
in distance, singing,
--We'll rally round the flag, boys,
we'll rally once again--
OLD CONFEDERATE SOLDIER
ragged gray uniform, hanging by toes from
chandelier, firing rusty musket and setting hotel on fire,
--Cuss it! damnyanks all ovuh the
place. Fifty tew one. Ah'm goddamn close tew bein' outnumbuhed!
COLONEL GARWOOD JONES
spangly uniform, waving tin sword, leading
charge of trainees armed with brooms, mops, featherdusters, routing
johnny and nell out of haystack,
--forward, men! Sell your lives
dear! (Grabbing nell and carrying her bodily onto train slowly
going west) The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone. It is
to the vigilant--the active--the--
RECRUITING SERGEANT
directing band of toughs in uniform, grabbing
johnny, shoving musket in his hand,
--Finally caught up with you, bub.
All right, wipe that smile off.
JOHNNY
almost in tears, waving to nell on platform
of receding train, a misty face of love and sadness,
--Goodby, nell. Write to me. I--
REPORTER STILES
scribbling in notebook,
--Young soldier off to the wars.
Most affecting were the farewells exchanged on this occasion.
Hardly an eye refused the tribute of tear as--
RECRUITING SERGEANT
bawling coarsely in mock grief,
--Boo hoo hoo! All right, you bastard.
Shoulders back, chin up. Hut! two! three! foh! hut! two! three...
JOHNNY
wandering over wild forest, hills, ridges
and round tops,
--Where are the lost soldiers of
that old war? They were here. They marched this way. It was high
summer. They were here, there were thousands, they fought in
these places, bled on this earth. Now they are gone-and the earth
remains. ....
--From Dream Section, Dream IX, ms. pp. 336...
--From Dream Section, Dream VIII, ms. pp. 302-5.
Yes, she was
back in the old, the archetypal strawland. She was walking down
the unpaved sidewalk beside the tidy white fences. She had come
back. Each house looked out at her like a strange, inscrutable
face. Behind the impassive eyes of the windows were rooms she
had never entered but had always vaguely wondered about. And
it gave her a queer start to think that they were all furnished
down to the last exquisite detail with the furniture of a lost
era and that they were peopled with faces that were gone from
the living and indifferent years. How still and dark and deep
the lawns looked and the spaces between the houses!
And now she was approaching the
little house behind its white fence. She paused with her hand
on the gate. They were all there, yes, they would surely be there.
And she would be there, too, the elsie of that lost year. They
would all be there in the eternal and changeless world between
the two broad bands of change. If now she entered, she would
see them there. Her mother would be working in the kitchen where
smell of sealing wax lingered forever. The lost elsie and the
forever lost ernest would be in the middle room reading, each
one absorbed in a sentimental journey, dreamers absorbed in a
dream, which was itself peopled only with dreamers. And somewhere
she would find little frank, another lost face of her childhood.
And if she went behind the house, she would see the sunlight
falling through the apple trees. She would see the outhouse filled
with clippings, and the barn, and the narrow backfield stretching
to the railroad. And perhaps, perhaps, even as she watched, one
of the trains of all those lost years would go roaring by carrying
to westward a thousand lost faces. And then she would feel herself
again entangled in that ancient, lived-in human earth of houses,
backyards, tranquil lives, between two roads of fate.
But no, she would not turn in for
yet awhile, for it occurred to her that probably school was meeting,
since there were no children in the streets....
She had turned and was approaching
the schoolhouse. It was not one of the newer schoolhouses that
had been built there after her time. It was the old frame school,
where the famous fourth of july celebration had been held when
the senator returned to the county, back in those tattered, stained,
and lovely years of the early nineties. Yes it was the old school,
and the children would all be in there, having ascended into
the world of eternal certainties, the world of raintree county.
They would all be there in the holy and wonderful communion of
the schoolroom, a half a hundred wistful faces, bathed in the
mystic waters of time's enchantment. She came up the walk, then,
still carried on the strange fiction of the dream.
She remembered the death of her
father in some earlier dream, and there rushed over her the most
strange, rich, intricate emotion, a recollection of a thousand
forgotten days in schoolrooms and in the grounds around a schoolhouse.
And all the children whom her father had taught seemed to troop
through her memory, proceeding all (by a second birth) from the
archetypal schoolroom into the archetypal raintree county, and
from there radiating beyond its borders and down the roads of
all the years into the sunlight of a new century.
But now, but now, she must be courageous
and hold onto the perishable moment, for only so did one recover
the precious lost faces. And in fact, she was opening the door
and stepping into the hall between the two rooms. In one her
mother taught the elementary classes, and in the other her father
taught to advance pupils. And now even as she touched the crucial
door, she feared that she might awaken from this dream into the
cold reality of an earlier dream.
But the golden light of the late
spring was in the room, one of those days when her heart cried
out with music, and she seemed capable of infinite exertions.
There was her brother ernest at his desk in the next row with
his eyes plunged into a history book. And there at the blackboard,
turning now, with the light of afternoon transforming his old
dark suit, there, to be sure was her father.
--Elsie, he said, will you please
go on with the problem there
Of hunting
for
a way
to
get back home....
--From Dream Secton, Dream IX, ms. pp.
To Other Writings by Ross, Jr.
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