cwilleford.theburntorangeheresy-第22章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


t　there　are　four　walls　to　a　room。　A　fourth　panel　was　required…not　for　symmetry；　because　that　doesn't　matter…but　for　variety；　for　the　sake　of　an　ordered　environment。　Florida。　Sun。　Orange。　An　autumnal　sun　for　Debierue's　declining　years。　Burnt　orange。　But　not　a　panel　of　burnt　orange　in　toto…that　would　be　heresy；　because　Debierue；　even　at　his　great　age；　was　still　painting；　still　creating；　still　growing。　So　the　ragged　square　of　burnt　orange　required　a　lustrous　border　of　blue　to　surround　the　dying　sun　and　to　overflow　the　edges　of　the　rectangle。　Bluebird　blue？　Sky　blue？　No；　not　sky　nor　Dufy　blue；　because　that　meant　using　cobalt　oil　paint；　and　cobalt　blue；　with　the　passage　of　years；　gradually　turns　to　bluish　gray。　Prussian　blue；　with　a　haughty　whisper　of　zinc　white　added　to　make　it　bitterly　bold。　Besides；　right　here　in　this　hotel　room；　I　had　a　full　tube　of　Prussian　blue。
　　Texture？　Tactile　quality？　Little　if　any。　Pure；　smooth　even　colors。
　　The　four　paintings；　30〃　x　24〃；　were　the　only　paintings　Debierue　had　painted　since　ing　to　Florida。　The　paintings　were　for　his　personal　aesthetic　satisfaction；　to　enjoy　during　the　harvest　years　of　his　stay　in　America；　and　yet　they　were　in　keeping　with　his　traditionally　established　principles　of　Nihilistic　Surrealism。
　　Every　morning　when　Debierue　arose　at　six　A。M。；　depending　upon　his　waking　mood；　he　hung　one　of　the　red；　white；　or　blue　panels　next　to　the　permanently　centered　burnt　orange；　blue…bordered　panel；　the　painting　representing　the　painter…the　painter's　〃self。〃　For　the　remainder　of　the　day；　when　he　was　not　engaged　in　the　planning　of　another　（undisclosed　to　the　writer）　work　of　art；　he　studied　and　contemplated　the　two　bilateral　paintings　which　reminded　him　of　America's　multiple　〃manifest　destinies；〃　the　plexities　of　American　life　in　general；　and　his　personal　artistic　mitment　to　the　new　world。
　　Did　he　ever　awaken　in　a　mood　buoyant　enough　to　hang　two　or　perhaps　three　panels　at　once　alongside　the　burnt　orange　panel？
　　〃No；〃　he　said。
　　I　had　typed　eighteen　pages　for　a　total　of　4；347　words。　Now　that　the　concept　was　firmly　established；　I　could　have　gone　on　to　write　another　dozen　pages　of　interpretive　mentary；　but　I　forced　myself　to　stop　with　the　negative。　Wasn't　it　about　time？　Does　every　contemporary　work　of　art　have　to　end　with　an　affirmative？　Joyce；　with　his　coda　of　yesses　in　Ulysses；　Beckett；　with　the　〃I　will　go　on〃　of　his　trilogy；　and　those　1；001　phallically　erected　obelisks　and　church　spires　pointing　optimistically　toward　the　heavens…for　once；　just　once；　let　a　negative　prevail。
　　My　conclusion　was　not　a　lucky　accident。　It　was　a　valid；　pertinent　statement　of　Debierue's　life　and　art。　Skipping　two　spaces；　I　put　a　〃…30…〃　to　the　piece。
　　I　was　suddenly　tired。　My　neck　and　shoulders　were　sore　and　my　back　ached。　I　looked　at　my　watch。　Six　o'clock。　There　was　a　plaintive　rumble　in　my　hollow　stomach。　Except　for　going　into　the　can　three　times；　I　had　been　at　the　typewriter　for　almost　six　straight　hours。　I　got　up；　stretched；　rubbed　the　back　of　my　neck；　and　walked　around　the　coffee　table　shaking　my　hands　and　fingers　above　my　head　to　get　rid　of　the　numb　feeling　in　my　arms。
　　I　was　tired　but　I　wasn't　sleepy。　I　was　exhilarated　by　pleting　the　article　in　such　a　short　time。　Every　part　had　fallen　neatly　into　place；　and　I　knew　that　it　was　a　good　piece　of　writing。　I　had　never　felt　better　in　my　entire　life。
　　I　sighed；　put　the　cover　on　the　Hermes；　moved　the　typewriter　to　the　bed；　and　sat　at　the　desk　again　to　read　and　correct　the　article。　I　righted　spelling　errors；　changed　some　diction；　and　penciled　in　a　rough　transitional　sentence　between　two　disparate　paragraphs。　It　wasn't　good　enough；　and　I　made　a　note　in　the　margin　to　rewrite　it。　One　long　convoluted　sentence　with　three　semicolons　and　two　colons　made　me　laugh　aloud。　My　mind　had　really　been　racing　on　that　one。　I　reduced　it；　without　any　trouble；　to　four　clear；　separate　sentences…
　　The　phone　rang；　a　loud；　jangling　ring　designed　to　arouse　traveling　salesmen　who　had　been　drinking　too　much　before　going　to　bed。　I　almost　jumped　out　of　my　chair。
　　Berenice's　voice　was　husky。　〃I'm　hungry。〃
　　〃Who　isn't？〃
　　〃I've　been　sleeping。〃
　　〃I've　been　working。〃
　　〃I've　been　awake　for　a　half　hour；　but　I'm　too　lazy　to　get　out　of　bed。　Why　don't　you　e　over　and　get　in　with　me？〃
　　〃Jesus；　Berenice；　I've　been　working　all　day　and　I'm　tired　as　hell。〃
　　〃If　you　eat　something；　you'll　feel　better。〃
　　〃All　right。　Give　me　an　hour；　and　I'll　be　over。〃
　　〃Should　I　order　dinner　sent　up？〃
　　〃No。　I　prefer　to　eat　something　hot；　and　I've　never　had　a　hot　meal　served　in　a　hotel　room。　We'll　go　down　to　the　dining　room。〃
　　〃I'll　do　my　nails。〃
　　〃In　an　hour。〃　I　racked　the　phone。
　　I　finished　reading　and　proofing　the　typescript　and　put　the　manuscript　in　a　manila　envelope　before　tucking　it　safely　away　in　my　suitcase。　There　were　only　minimal　changes　to　be　made　in　New　York。　Only　two　pages　would　require　rewriting。　I　put　the　canvas；　ashtray　palette；　and　other　art　materials　into　the　closet。　I　could　paint　the　picture　after　dinner。
　　The　tub　in　the　bathroom　was　huge；　the　old…fashioned　kind　with　big　claw　feet　clutching　metal　balls。　The　hot　water　came　boiling　out；　and　I　shaved　while　the　tub　filled。　The　water　was　much　too　hot　to　get　into；　but　I　added　a　little　cold　water　at　a　time　until　the　temperature　dropped　to　the　level　I　could　stand。　Sliding　down　into　the　steaming；　man…sized　tub　until　I　was　fully　submerged；　except　for　my　face；　I　soaked　up　the　heat。　The　soreness　gradually　left　my　back　and　shoulders。　I　finished　with　a　cold　shower；　and　by　the　time　I　was　dressed；　I　felt　as　if　I　had　had　eight　hours'　sleep。　I　called　the　bar；　ordered　two　Gibsons　to　be　sent　to　510；　Berenice's　room；　and　studied　the　road　maps　I　had　picked　up　at　the　last　Standard　station。
　　After　dinner；　I　figured　I　could　paint　the　picture　in　an　hour　or　at　most　an　hour　and　a　half。　Now　that　the　article　was　finished　there　was　no　point　in　staying　overnight　at　the　hotel。　I　wasn't　sleepy；　and　with　both　of　us　driving　we　could　make　it　to　New　York　in　about　thirty　hours。　The　front　wheels　of　the　old　car　started　to　shimmy　if　I　tried　to　push　it　beyond　fiftyfive　mph；　but　thirty　hours　from　Valdosta　was　a　fairly　accurate　estimate。　I　had　forty　dollars　in　my　wallet　and　some　loose　change。　My　Standard　credit　card　would　get　the　car　to　New　York；　but　I　decided　to　save　my　cash。　Berenice　had　traveler's　checks；　and　she　could　use　some　of　them　to　pay　the　hotel　tab。　Through　the　cracked　door；　I　heard　the　bellman　knock　on　510　across　the　way。　I　waited　until　Berenice　signed　the　chit　and　the　waiter　had　caught　the　down　elevator　before　I　crossed　the　hallway　and　knocked　on　her　door。
　　Berenice　was　willowy　in　a　blue　slack　suit　with　lemon；　quarter…inch　lines　forming　windowpane　checks；　and　the　four　tightly　grouped　buttons　of　the　double…breasted　jacket　were　genuine　lapis　lazuli。　The　bells　of　the　slacks　were　fully　sixteen　inches　in　diameter；　and　only　the　toes　of　her　white　wedgies　were　exposed。　There　was　a　silk　penny…colored　scarf　around　her　neck。　She　had　done　her　nails　in　Chen　Yu　nail　varnish；　that　peculiar　decadent　shade　of　red　that　resembles　dried　blood　（the　sexiest　shade　of　red　ever　made；　and　so　Germanic　thirtiesish　that　Visconti　made　Ingrid　Thulin　wear　it　in　The　Damned）；　and　she　had　painted　her　lips　to　match。　During　her　six　weeks　in　Palm　Beach；　Beremce　had　learned　some　peculiar　things　about　fashion；　but　the　schoolteacher　from　Duluth　had　not　disappeared。
　　She　giggled　and　pointed　to　the　tray　on　the　coffee　table。　〃These　are　supposed　to　be　Gibsons！〃
　　There　were　two　miniatures　of　Gilbey's　gin　and　another　of　Stock　dry　vermouth　（two　tenths　of　gin；　an　eighth　of　vermouth）；　a　glass　pitcher　with　chunks；　not　cubes；　of　ice；　and　a　tiny　glass　bowl　containing　several　cocktail　onions。
　　I　shrugged。　〃I　don't　think　they're　allowed　to　serve　mixed　drinks　in　this　Georgia　county；　although　the　waiter　would've　mixed　them　for　you　if　you'd　tipped　him。　Actually〃　…I　twisted　the　metal　caps　off　the　two　gin　miniatures…　〃it's　better　this　way。　Most　bartenders　overuse　vermouth　in　Gibsons；　and　I'd　rather　make　my　own　anyway。〃
　　〃It　just　struck　me　funny；　that's　all；〃　Berenice　said。
　　While　I　mixed　the　Gibsons；　I　tried　to　work　out　a　simple　plan　and　a　way　of　presenting　it　to　Berenice　to　keep　her　away　from　my　room　until　we　were　ready　to　leave。
　　〃Did　you　go　to　a　movie　this　afternoon？〃
　　She　shook　her　head；　and　sipped　her　cocktail。　〃I　wouldn't　go　to　a　movie　alone　back　home；　much　less　in　a　strange　town。　I'm　not　the　scary　type；　you　know　that；　James；　but　there　are　some　things　a　woman　shouldn't　do　alone；　and　that's　one　of　them。〃
　　〃At　any　rate；　you　got　through　the　day。〃
　　〃I　slept　like　the　dead。　How's　the　article　ing？〃
　　〃That's　what　I　wanted　to　talk　to　you　about。　I　finished　it。〃
　　〃Already？　That's　wonderful；　James！〃
　　〃It's　a　good　rough　draft；〃　I　admitted；　〃but　it'll　need　a　few　things　filled　in　up　in　New　York…〃
　　〃Am　I　in　it？　Can　I　read　it？〃
　　〃No。　It's　an　article　about　Debierue　and　his　art；　not　about　you　and　me。　When　did　you　bee　interested　in　art　criticism？〃　I　grinned。
　　〃When　I　met　Mr。　Debierue；　that's　when。〃　She　smiled。　〃He's　the　nicest；　sweetest　old　gentleman　I　ever　met。〃
　　〃I'd　rather　you'd　wait　tifi　I　have　the　final　draft；　if　you　don't　mind。　I　want　to　get　back　to　New　York　as　soon　as　possible　to　finish　it。　So　after　dinner；　I'll　take　a　short　nap　until　midnight；　and　then　we　can　check　out　of　here　and　get　rolling。　If　we　trade　off　on　the　driving；　we　can　reach　the　city　in　about　thirty　hours。〃
　　〃You　won't　get　much　sleep　if　we　leave　at　midnight　。　。　。〃
　　〃I　don't　need　much；　and　you've　already　had　enough。　You　wouldn't　be　able　to　sleep　much　tonight　anyway；　not　after　being　in　the　sack　all　day。〃
　　〃I'm　not　arguing；　James；　I　was　just　worried　about　you…〃
　　〃In　that　case；　let's　go　downstairs　to　dinner；　so　I　can　e　back　up　and　get　some　sleep　before　midnight。〃
　　During　dinner；　Berenice　asked　me　if　she　could　see　Debierue's　picture；　but　I　put　her　off　by　telling　her　it　was　all　wrapped　up　securely　in　the　trunk　of　the　car；　and　that　it　wouldn't　be　a　good　idea　for　anyone　to　see　us　looking　at　a　painting　in　the　basement　garage。　I　reminded　her　conspiratorially　that　it　was　a　〃hot〃　picture；　and　we　didn't　want　anyone　suspecting　us　and　making　inquiries。　Because　I　halfwhispered　this　explanation；　she　nodded　solemnly　and　accepted　it。
　　The　food　was　excellent…medium…rare　sirloins；　corn　on　the　cob；　okra　and　tomatoes；　creamed　scalloped　potatoes；　a　cucumber　and　onion　salad；　with　a　chocolate　pudding　dessert　topped　with　real　whipped　cream；　not　sprayed　from　a　can…and　I　ate　every　bit　of　it；　including　four　hot　biscuits　with　butter　（my　two；　and　Berenice's　two）。　I　felt　somewhat　logy　following　the　heavy　meal；　but　after　drinking　two　cups　of　black　coffee；　although　I　was　unfortably　stuffed；　I　still　wasn't　sleepy。
　　I　signed　the　check　and　penciled　in　my　room　number。　〃After　all　that　food；　I'm　sleepy；〃　I　said。
　　Berenice　took　my　arm　as　we　left　the　dining　room　to　cross　the　lobby　to　the　elevators。　〃Wouldn't　you　like　a　little　nightcap；〃　she　squeezed　my　arm；　〃to　make　you　sleep　better…in　my　room？〃
　　〃No；〃　I　replied；　〃and　when　I　say　No　to　an　offer　like　that　you　know　I'm　sleepy　enough　already。〃
　　I　took　her　room　key；　opened　the　door；　and　kissed　her　good　night。　〃I'll