It’s called, “Jeune âne avec chien,” said Blurtso. How do you know she likes dogs? said Harlan. She must, said Blurtso, just look at her.
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“Blurtso parrots Papa” (IV)
The terry-cloth towel hung from the hook to the left of the sink. It was stained with old blood that had dried and new blood that had not. The blade of the razor rested on a bar of soap and its handle rested on the sink. The basin was streaked with remnants of stubble and soap.
Nick returned to the kitchen when he heard the coffee. He turned off the flame and poured the thick liquid into a small cup. He added a teaspoon of sugar and stirred it with the spoon. He felt the salt air blow through the window. He could taste it on his lips.
Jim will be waiting, he thought, taking a sip from the cup. He was glad he had somewhere to go. Glad he had a reason to shave. He took another sip and picked at a crumb on the table. Any reason is enough, he thought.
“Blurtso parrots Papa” (III)
The sun after the rain dried the rain into steam and the steam drenched the street and the bay. Jim’s shirt clung to his neck and his arms beaded with sweat. His arms beaded and his eyebrows glistened with sweat.
In the dark his eyebrows still glistened and from his bed he heard the late voices rise from the bay. He heard a door open and he heard a door close and a streetlight cast a shadow on the wall. The streetlight cast the shadow of the window shutter on the wall. The mattress grew damp where his body touched the mattress and he shifted from where his body touched the mattress. Sweat beaded at the creases of his arms at his elbows and ran to his elbows. Sweat beaded on his neck and ran along the creases and ran behind his ears. “When this is over,” he said, “thirty nights will be remembered as one.”
The shadow of the shutter in the lamplight grew dim in the brightness when the late voices became early voices rising from the bay.
“Blurtso captures a dream” (II)
“Jeune âne au bain.”
“Blurtso captures a dream” (I)
It’s warmer today, said Harlan. Yes, said Blurtso. You don’t look very good, said Harlan, what have you been doing? I’ve been painting, said Blurtso. Painting? said Harlan. Yes, said Blurtso, I saw Lizzy again, and I think she should be immortalized like the models of Renoir.
I call it, “Jeune âne au piano.”
“Blurtso does King Lear”
Why should a dog, a rat, a human have life,
and thou no breath at all?
“Blurtso parrots Papa” (II)
The people were standing until they sat down. The sunlight through the window was bright on the floor. It fell on the side of Jim’s shoe and cast a shadow on his other shoe.
A bell rang and a person he couldn’t see went somewhere he couldn’t see.
The dust on the floor remained on the floor and didn’t hang in the air. The people that were sitting began to lie down. The shadow from Jim’s shoe stretched to the cuff of his other leg.
A bell rang and a person he couldn’t see went somewhere he couldn’t see.
“Blurtso parrots Papa” (I)
What’s that? said Alex. It’s something I wrote for my Literature class. Your literature class? said Alex. Yes, said Blurtso, the assignment was to imitate a twentieth century American author. Who did you choose? I chose Hemingway, would you like to hear what I wrote? I’d love to, said Alex.
“I suppose that’s that, said Nick.
“I suppose so,” said Jim.
“I would have thought it would be longer,” said Nick.
“Or shorter,” said Jim.
The wind was in the trees and the wind was on the roof and Nick slumped in his chair and Jim slumped in his chair. The darkness grew until the voices were only two dark chairs talking. The voice of Nick’s chair said, “I suppose this is what the room sounds like when no one’s here.”
“Yes,” said the voice from Jim’s chair, “the sound of the wind on the walls of an empty room.”
“Do you suppose this is what death is like?” said the voice from Nick’s chair.
“Two voices in an empty room?” said Jim’s chair.
“Two voices,” said Nick’s chair, “with no objects to distract them.”
“And no words,” said Jim’s chair.
“Two voices and the wind,” said Nick’s chair.
“Two voices and the wind,” said Jim’s chair.
“Or just the wind?” said Nick’s chair.
“Or just the wind,” said Jim’s chair.
The dark chairs sat in the sound of the wind and were dark.
“Blurtso and the books” (II)
Wow, thought Blurtso, counting the twenty Patrick O’Brian novels I have, and my copy of Leaves of Grass, I now have a library of 5,021 volumes… five thousand of which I wrote myself.
“Blurtso and the books” (I)
What are all these? said Harlan. They’re books, said Blurtso. Books? said Harlan. Yes, said Blurtso, I used the money I had left over from my school grant to publish my novel. Your novel? said Harlan. Yes, said Blurtso, Blurtseau Lundif – Corsaire Extraordinaire. How many copies did you print? said Harlan. Only five thousand, said Blurtso.