U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [426]
"Physician" Who Took Prominent Part in Valentino Funeral Exposed as Former Convict NEVER SAW HIM SAYS MANAGER
Close the doors they are coming through the windows My God they're coming through the floor
THE CAMERA EYE (47)
sirens bloom in the fog over the harbor horns of al colors everyshaped whistles reach up from the river and the churn of screws the throb of engines bel s
-195-the steady broken swish of waves cut by prows out of the unseen stirring fumblingly through the window tentacles stretch tingling
to release the spring
tonight start out ship somewhere join up sign on the dotted line enlist become one of hock the old raincoat of incertitude (in which you
hunch alone from the upsidedown image on the retina painstakingly out of color shape words remembered light and dark straining
to rebuild yesterday to clip out paper figures to
simulate growth warp newsprint into faces smoothing and wrinkling in the various barelyfelt velocities of time) tonight now the room fil s with the throb and hub-bub of departure the explorer gets a few necessities to-gether coaches himself on a beginning better the streets first a strol uptown down-town along the wharves under the el peering into faces in taxicabs at the drivers of trucks at old men chewing in lunchrooms at drunk bums drooling puke in al eys
what's the newsvendor reading? what did the elderly wop sel ing chestnuts whisper to the fat woman behind the picklejars? where is she going the plain girl in a red hat running up the subway steps and the cop joking the other cop across the street? and the smack of a kiss from two shadows under the stoop of the brownstone house and the grouchy faces at the streetcorner suddenly gaping black
-196-with yel s at the thud of a blow a whistle scampering feet the event?
tonight now
but instead you find yourself (if self is the bel yaching malingerer so often the companion of aimless walks) the jobhunt forgotten neglected the bul etinboard where the futures are scrawled in chalk
among nibbling chinamen at the Thalia
ears dazed by the crash of alien gongs the chuckle of rattles the piping of incomprehensible flutes the swing and squawk of ununderstandable talk otherworld music
antics postures costumes
an unidentified stranger
destination unknown
hat pul ed down over the has he any? face
CHARLEY ANDERSON
It was a bright metalcolored January day when Charley went downtown to lunch with Nat Benton. He got to the broker's office a little early, and sat waiting in an empty office looking out through the broad steelframed windows at the North River and the Statue of Liberty and the bay beyond al shiny ruffled green in the northwest wind, spotted with white dabs of smoke from tugboats, streaked with catspaws and the churny wakes of freighters bucking the wind, checkered with lighters and flatboats, carferries, barges and the red sawedoff passengerferries. A schooner with grey sails was running out before the wind.
-197-Charley sat at Nat Benton's desk smoking a cigarette and being careful to get al his ashes in the polished brass ashreceiver that stood beside the desk. The phone buzzed. It was the switchboard girl. "Mr. Anderson . . . Mr. Benton asked me to beg you to excuse him for a few more minutes. He's out on the floor. He'l be over right away." A little later Benton stuck in the crack of the door his thin pale face on a long neck like a chicken's. "Hul o, Charley
. . . be right there." Charley had time to smoke one more cigarette before Benton came back. "I bet you're starved."
"That's al right, Nat, I been enjoyin' the view."
"View? . . . Sure. . . . Why, I don't believe I look out of that window from one week's end to the other. . . . Stil it was on one of those darned red ferries that old Vanderbilt got his start. . . . I guess if I took my nose out of the ticker now and then I'd be better off. . . . Come along, let's get something to eat." Going down in the elevator Nat Benton went on talking. "Why, you are