Confederacy of Dunces, A - John Kennedy Toole [38]
“Miss Trixie is very light,” the office manager told Ignatius. “I don’t think she could have hurt you much.”
“Has she ever stepped on you, you idiot? How would you know?”
Ignatius sat at the feet of his co-workers and studied his hand.
“I suspect that I won’t be able to use this hand again today. I had better go home immediately and bathe it.”
“But the filing has to be done. Look how behind you are already.”
“Are you talking about filing at a time like this? I am prepared to contact my attorneys and have them sue you for making me get on that obscene stool.”
“We’ll help you up, Gloria.” Miss Trixie assumed what was apparently a hoisting position. She spread her sneakers far apart, toes pointing outward, and squatted like a Balinese dancer.
“Get up,” Mr. Gonzalez snapped at her. “You’re going to fall over.”
“No,” she answered through tight, withered lips. “I’m going to help Gloria. Get down on that side, Gomez. We’ll just grab Gloria by the elbows.”
Ignatius watched passively while Mr. Gonzalez squatted on his other side.
“You are distributing your weight incorrectly,” he told them didactically. “If you are going to attempt to raise me, that position offers you no leverage. I suspect that the three of us will be injured. I suggest that you try a standing position. In that way you can easily bend over and hoist me.”
“Don’t be nervous, Gloria,” Miss Trixie said, rocking back and forth on her haunches. Then she fell forward onto Ignatius, throwing him on his back once again. The edge of her celluloid visor hit him in the throat.
“Oof,” gurgled from somewhere in the depths of Ignatius’s throat. “Braah.”
“Gloria!” Miss Trixie wheezed. She looked into the full face directly beneath hers. “Gomez, call a doctor.”
“Miss Trixie, get off Mr. Reilly,” the office manager hissed from where he squatted beside his two underlings.
“Braah.”
“What are you people doing down there on the floor?” a man asked from the door. Mr. Gonzalez’s chipper face hardened into a mask of horror, and he squeaked, “Good morning, Mr. Levy. We’re so glad to see you.”
“I just came in to see if I had any personal mail. I’m driving back to the coast right away. What’s this big sign over here for? Somebody’s going to get his eye knocked out on that thing.”
“Is that Mr. Levy?” Ignatius called from the floor. He could not see the man over the row of filing cabinets. “Braah. I have been wanting to meet him.”
Shedding Miss Trixie, who slumped to the floor, Ignatius struggled to his feet and saw a sportily dressed middle-aged man holding the handle of the office door so that he could flee as rapidly as he had entered.
“Hello there,” Mr. Levy said casually. “New worker, Gonzalez?”
“Oh, yes sir. Mr. Levy, this is Mr. Reilly. He’s very efficient. A whiz. As a matter of fact, he’s made it possible for us to do away with several other workers.”
“Braah.”
“Oh, yeah, the name on this sign.” Mr. Levy gave Ignatius a strange look.
“I have taken an unusual interest in your firm,” Ignatius said to Mr. Levy. “The sign which you noticed upon entering is only the first of several innovations which I plan. Braah. I will change your mind about this firm, sir. Mark my word.”
“You don’t say?” Mr. Levy studied Ignatius with certain curiosity. “What about the mail, Gonzalez?”
“There’s not much. You received your new credit cards. Transglobal Airlines sent you a certificate making you an honorary pilot for flying one hundred hours with them.” Mr. Gonzalez opened his desk and gave Mr. Levy the mail. “There’s also a brochure from a hotel in Miami.”
“You’d better start making my spring practice reservations. I gave you my itinerary of practice camps, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir. By the way, I have some letters for you to sign. I had to write a letter to Abelman’s Dry Goods. We always have trouble with them.”
“I know. What do those crooks want now?”
“Abelman claims that the last lot of trousers we shipped him were only two feet long in the leg. I’m trying to straighten out the matter.”
“Yeah? Well, stranger things have happened around