God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater_ Or, Pearls Before Swine - Kurt Vonnegut [29]
"There, there—now, now."
"So they put me in the car, and they drove me to the nearest telephone, and they said, 'You call up Eliot. He'll help.' So that's what I've done."
"Would you like to come see me now, dear—or can you wait until tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow." It was almost a question.
"Wonderful! Any time that's convenient to you, dear."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, dear. It's going to be a very nice day."
"Thank God!"
"There, there."
"Ohhhhh, Mr. Rosewater, thank God for you!"
Eliot hung up. The telephone rang immediately.
"This is the Rosewater Foundation. How can we help you?"
"You might start by getting a haircut and a new suit," said a man.
"What?"
"Eliot—"
"Yes—?"
"You don't even recognize my voice?"
"I—I'm sorry—I—"
"It's your God-damned Dad!"
"Gee, Father!" said Eliot, lyrical with love, surprise and pleasure. "How nice to hear your voice."
"You didn't even recognize it."
"Sorry. You know—the calls just pour in."
"They do, eh?"
"You know that."
"I'm afraid I do."
"Gee—how are you, anyway?"
"Fine!" said the Senator with brisk sarcasm. "Couldn't be better!"
"I'm so glad to hear that."
The Senator cursed.
"What's the matter, Father?"
"Don't talk to me as though I were some drunk! Some pimp! Some moronic washerwoman!"
"What did I say?"
"Your whole damn tone!"
"Sorry."
"I can sense your getting ready to tell me to take an aspirin in a glass of wine. Don't talk down to me!"
"Sorry."
"I don't need anybody to make the last payment on my motor scooter." Eliot had actually done this for a client once. The client killed himself and a girl-friend two days later, smashed up in Bloomington.
"I know you don't."
"He knows I don't," said the Senator to somebody on his end of the line.
"You—you sound so angry and unhappy, Father." Eliot was genuinely concerned.
"It will pass."
"Is it anything special?"
"Little things, Eliot, little things—such as the Rosewater family's dying out."
"What makes you think it is?"
"Don't tell me you're pregnant."
"What about the people in Rhode Island?"
"You make me feel so much better. I'd forgotten all about them."
"Now you sound sarcastic."
"It must be a bad connection. Tell me some good news from out your way, Eliot. Buoy up this old futz."
"Mary Moody had twins."
"Good! Good! Wonderful! As long as somebody's reproducing. And what names has Miss Moody chosen for these new little citizens?"
"Foxcroft and Melody."
"Eliot—"
"Sir—?"
"I want you to take a good look at yourself."
Dutifully, Eliot looked himself over as best he could without a mirror. "I'm looking."
"Now ask yourself, 'Is this a dream? How did I ever get into such a disreputable condition?' "
Again dutifully, and without a trace of whimsicality, Eliot said to himself out loud, "Is this a dream? How did I ever get into such a disreputable condition?"
"Well? What is your answer?"
"Isn't a dream," Eliot reported.
"Don't you wish it were?"
"What would I wake up to?"
"What you can be. What you used to be!"
"You want me to start buying paintings for museums again? Would you be prouder of me, if I'd contributed two and a half million dollars to buy Rembrandt's Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer?"
"Don't reduce the argument to an absurdity."
"I'm not the one who did that. Blame the people who put up that kind of money for that kind of picture. I showed a photograph of it to Diana Moon Glampers, and she said, 'Maybe I'm dumb, Mr. Rosewater, but I wouldn't give that thing house room.' "
"Eliot—"
"Sir—?"
"Ask yourself what Harvard would think of you now."
"I don't have to. I already know." "Oh?"
"They're crazy about me. You should see the letters I get."
The Senator nodded to himself resignedly, knowing that the Harvard jibe was ill-considered, knowing Eliot told the truth when he spoke of letters from Harvard that were full of respect.
"After all—" said Eliot, "for goodness sakes,