Confederacy of Dunces, A - John Kennedy Toole [26]
“Just look at those smiling morons! If only all of those wires would snap!” Ignatius rattled the few kernels of popcorn in his last bag. “Thank God that scene is over.”
When a love scene appeared to be developing, he bounded up out of his seat and stomped up the aisle to the candy counter for more popcorn, but as he returned to his seat, the two big pink figures were just preparing to kiss.
“They probably have halitosis,” Ignatius announced over the heads of the children. “I hate to think of the obscene places that those mouths have doubtlessly been before!”
“You’ll have to do something,” the candy woman told the manager laconically. “He’s worse than ever tonight.”
The manager sighed and started down the aisle to where Ignatius was mumbling, “Oh, my God, their tongues are probably all over each other’s capped and rotting teeth.”
Three
Ignatius staggered up the brick path to the house, climbed the steps painfully, and rang the bell. One stalk of the dead banana tree had expired and collapsed stiffly onto the hood of the Plymouth.
“Ignatius, baby,” Mrs. Reilly cried when she opened the door. “What’s wrong? You look like you dying.”
“My valve closed on the streetcar.”
“Lord, come in quick out the cold.”
Ignatius shuffled miserably back to the kitchen and fell into a chair.
“The personnel manager at that insurance company treated me very insultingly.”
“You didn’t get the job?”
“Of course I didn’t get the job.”
“What happened?”
“I would rather not discuss it.”
“Did you go to the other places?”
“Obviously not. Do I appear to be in a condition that would attract prospective employers? I had the good judgment to come home as soon as possible.”
“Don’t feel blue, precious.”
“‘Blue’? I am afraid that I never feel ‘blue.’”
“Now don’t be nasty. You’ll get a nice job. You only been on the streets a few days,” his mother said and looked at him. “Ignatius, was you wearing that cap when you spoke to the insurance man?”
“Of course I was. That office was improperly heated. I don’t know how the employees of that company manage to stay alive exposing themselves to that chill day after day. And then there are those fluorescent tubes baking their brains out and blinding them. I did not like the office at all. I tried to explain the inadequacies of the place to the personnel manager, but he seemed rather uninterested. He was ultimately very hostile.” Ignatius let out a monstrous belch. “However, I told you that it would be like this. I am an anachronism. People realize this and resent it.”
“Lord, babe, you gotta look up.”
“Look up?” Ignatius repeated savagely. “Who has been sowing that unnatural garbage into your mind?”
“Mr. Mancuso.”
“Oh, my God! I should have known. Is he an example of ‘looking up’?”
“You oughta hear the whole story of that poor man’s life. You oughta hear what this sergeant at the precinct’s trying…”
“Stop!” Ignatius covered one ear and beat a fist on the table. “I will not listen to another word about that man. Throughout the centuries it has been the Mancusos of the world who have caused wars and spread diseases. Suddenly the spirit of that evil man is haunting this house. He has become your Svengali!”
“Ignatius, get a holt of yourself.”
“I refuse to ‘look up.’ Optimism nauseates me. It is perverse. Since man’s fall, his proper position in the universe has been one of misery.”
“I ain’t miserable.”
“You are.”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Ignatius, I ain’t miserable. If I was, I’d tell you.”
“If I had demolished private property while intoxicated and had thereby thrown my child to the wolves, I would be beating my breast and wailing. I would kneel in penance until my knees bled. By the way, what penance has the priest given you for your sin?”
“Three Hail Mary’s and a Our Father.”
“Is that all?” Ignatius screamed. “Did you tell him what you did, that you halted a critical work of great brilliance?”
“I went to confession, Ignatius. I told Father everything. He says, ‘It don’t sound like your fault, honey. It sounds to me like you just took a little skid on a wet street.’ So