“First the body. No. First the place. No. First both. Now either. Now the other. Sick of the either try the other. Sick of it back sick of the either. So on. Somehow on. Till sick of both. Throw up and go. Where neither. Till sick of there. Throw up and back. The body again. Where none. The place again. Where none. Try again. Fail again. Better again. Or better worse. Fail worse again. Still worse again. Till sick for good. Throw up for good. Go for good. Where neither for good. Good and all.”
Very inspirational. Somehow the full quote reminds me more of Wilbur than the first.
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So after Wanders' "Worstward Ho" treatise, I had to go read it for myself to see what I've been missing all these years. And now I'm done with Samuel Beckett for good. I couldn't get through the whole thing, even after skimming more and more. It just wouldn't let up.
But the association with Wilbur is spot on. His story won't let up either.
They call me Hammer. Sledge Hammer, because that’s the name on my door. That’s the door that the dames walk in through, like the one who opened it just now.
“Mr Hammer?” Her voice was like a gangster’s moll I once knew, who sang at the piano at his speakeasy while the couples worked the dance floor. “Are you there?”
“I’m busy on a case,” I said from behind my desk. The case was only half empty, and I put down the bottle I was going through into the file cabinet. “Come in. My secretary’s on leave today.” Actually, she’d left that morning after demanding the six months’ back pay I owed her, saying that she’d waited long enough. Dames, I tell you.
This dame, though. She wasn’t the usual type I got in here. For one thing, she must have been sixty if she was a day, with long grey hair up to her shoulders and a face that looked like it had known suffering. For another thing, she wasn’t alone. She had with her a smiling one eyed yellow cat and a French bulldog, and you could tell she’d never blown a smoke ring in her life. For all that, you could see right away that her name was spelt Trouble.
“Come in, Trouble,” I said.
She blinked. “Sorry? I’m called Eshtelle.” She came in, though. “I need help, Mr Hammer, and you came highly recommended.”
“Well, then, sit down, doll.” I indicated the chair across the desk. She looked at it doubtfully before perching on the edge. “So what’s your problem, sister?”
“Well, it’s like this, Mr Hammer.” She looked down at her hands, which were twisting in her lap. “I live in a condominium complex called Charterstone.” I knew the place, buildings by the rich and snooty for the rich and snooty. “And there’s this man called Weelbur Weston who’s been… in a relationship with me. One that I wish to terminate, but it isn’t going well.” She paused.
“Spill, sister,” I said, when the pause seemed about to become permanent. “You want to give this bozo his marching orders. He doesn’t want to be given his marching orders. Is that it?”
“That’s it, exactly.” She looked at me gratefully, and the cat and dog both smiled. “Weelbur Weston is, unfortunately, not alone. Behind him stands a loathsome hag armed with mind control muffins. Her name is Mary Worth.”
“Mary Worth,” I repeated, taking a note. “And this dame stops you from kicking Weelbur Weston to the curb, is that so?”
“Right. Twice so far I’ve dumped Weelbur – once for getting drunk at a double date with his ex girlfriend and her current beau, and pawing her in the restaurant, and another time for threatening to murder my poor sweet Libby.” She indicated the smiling cat. “Both times Mary Worth meddled me to ‘give him another chance.’ But I’m out of chances to give him.” She rubbed her face tiredly. “Today I met him out by the lake at Charterstone, and he immediately began telling me how much he missed me. In order to gain some time, I told him I missed him too, but all it did was make him say that he was coming over tonight. I said I was busy tonight, but he could come over tomorrow. I needed to buy some time.”
“And you used that time to come to me.” My eyes went wistfully to the filing cabinet. It seemed my pending case would have to wait. “You could, of course, do a bunk. Skip the joint at midnight, with your dog and cat. Move to the other side of the country.”
“Don’t imagine I haven’t thought of it. But there’s another man in my life. His name is Arther and though we’re on a break, I’m still hoping we’ll finally get together again.”
“So what do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Why,” she replied, “find whatever you can to get Weelbur put away. I don’t care what it is, there must be something he’s done that’s criminal. His combover is a crime in itself.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I told her my fees, and she paid with so little reluctance that I wished I’d doubled them. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Putting Weelbur Weston away wouldn’t be easy, I thought, as I jammed my hat on my head and pulled on my overcoat. But Mary Worth was another matter. Her murder of Aldo Kelrast – that was a crime the police had been trying to pin on her for years. There were other things, too, that I’d heard hinted. It shouldn’t be difficult to get her locked away, not at all.
First, though, I would put a call through to Arther Zerro, and tell him one of his old marks was still hot for him, and he could take her for all she had. Arther and I had been in the Marines together.
If you don’t stick up for your service buddies, you don’t stick up for anything at all.
Thanks for researching this, Wanders. Is shocking (shocking!) that KM misquotes Beckett, isn’t it? Maybe tomorrow Wilbur and Estelle will encounter two tramps waiting and waiting for a guy named Godot on that same Charterstone path.
Estelle’s busy later going out dancing with Dr. Ed.
I vote that we depose Moy and make Bill the Butcher the new Mary Worth writer.
A million bucks says that Estelle is heading over to Mary's place tonight. She can't wait to tell her that she's decided to give Wilbur a second chance for the fourth or fifth time. Plus she was already planning on stopping by. Before Mary left Estelle's apartment the other day, she made her promise to rinse out and return that Ziploc bag. Mary needs it to mix up some rat poison. After that, she'll use it to marinate some lamb chops for Jeff.
HelenClark
p.s. Good stuff, Wanders!
What will Wilbur do when Libby starts meowing AND Pierre barks along while he's singing? I see some pet cookies with a dusting of arsenic in their future....
Well, as the title character in Macbeth said "tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...it's always a new day!" ... Moy's offense here is not so unique, I do have to say, those words of Beckett are showing up in lots of places these days as an 'inspirational' quote--ha! ... I love the apparently true anecdote of one of SB's friends greeting him with the words, "what a nice, sunny day!" and he says "yes, that's true." The friend continues, "it's the kind of day that makes you glad to be alive!", and Sam answers, "now, I wouldn't go _that_ far."
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