Read Online Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Foster Wallace
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those stains. I was there for that clot of
veal marsala right there. Is this whole appointment a date-connected thing? Is this
April Fools, Dad, or do I need to call the Moms and C.T.?’
‘… who requires only daily evidence that you
speak?
That you recognize the occasional vista beyond your own generous Mondragonoid nose’s
fleshy tip?’
‘You rented a whole office and face for this, but leave your old unmistakable sweater-vest
on? And how’d you even get down here before me, with the Mercury up on blocks after
you… did you fool C.T. into giving you the keys to a functional car?’
‘Who used to pray daily for the day his own dear late father would sit, cough, open
that bloody issue of the
Tucson Citizen,
and not turn that newspaper into the room’s fifth wall? And who after all this light
and noise has apparently spawned the same silence?’
‘…’
‘Who’s lived his whole ruddy bloody cruddy life in five-walled rooms?’
‘Dad, I’ve got a duly scheduled challenge match with Schacht in like twelve minutes,
wind at my downhill back or no. I’ve got this oral-lyrologist who’s going to be outside
Brighton Best Savings wearing a predesignated necktie at straight-up five. I have
to mow his lawn for a month for this interview. I can’t just sit here watching you
think I’m mute while your fake nose points at the floor. And are you hearing me talking,
Dad? It speaks. It accepts soda and defines
implore
and converses with you.’
‘Praying for just one conversation, amateur or no, that does not end in terror? That
does not end like all the others: you staring, me swallowing?’
‘…’
‘Son?’
‘…’
‘
Son?
’
9 MAY—YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT
Another way fathers impact sons is that sons, once their voices have changed in puberty,
invariably answer the telephone with the same locutions and intonations as their fathers.
This holds true regardless of whether the fathers are still alive.
Because he left his dormitory room before 0600 for dawn drills and often didn’t get
back there until after supper, packing his book bag and knapsack and gear bag for
the whole day, together with selecting his best-strung racquets—it all took Hal some
time. Plus he usually collected and packed and selected in the dark, and with stealth,
because his brother Mario was usually still asleep in the other bed. Mario didn’t
drill and couldn’t play, and needed all the sleep he could get.
Hal held his complimentary gear bag and was putting different pairs of sweats to his
face, trying to find the cleanest pair by smell, when the telephone console sounded.
Mario thrashed and sat up in bed, a small hunched shape with a big head against the
gray light of the window. Hal got to the console on the second ring and had the transparent
phone’s antenna out by the third.
His way of answering the phone sounded like ‘Mmmyellow.’
‘I want to tell you,’ the voice on the phone said. ‘My head is filled with things
to say.’
Hal held three pairs of E.T.A. sweatpants in the hand that didn’t hold the phone.
He saw his older brother succumb to gravity and fall back limp against the pillows.
Mario often sat up and fell back still asleep.
‘I don’t mind,’ Hal said softly. ‘I could wait forever.’
‘That’s what you think,’ the voice said. The connection was cut. It had been Orin.
‘Hey Hal?’
The light in the room was a creepy gray, a kind of nonlight. Hal could hear Brandt
laughing at something Kenkle had said, off down the hall, and the clank of their janitorial
buckets. The person on the phone had been O.
‘Hey Hal?’ Mario was awake. It took four pillows to support Mario’s oversized skull.
His voice came from the tangled bedding. ‘Is it still dark out, or is it me?’
‘Go back to sleep. It isn’t even six.’ Hal put the good leg into the sweatpants first.
‘Who was it?’
Shoving three coverless Dunlop
veal marsala right there. Is this whole appointment a date-connected thing? Is this
April Fools, Dad, or do I need to call the Moms and C.T.?’
‘… who requires only daily evidence that you
speak?
That you recognize the occasional vista beyond your own generous Mondragonoid nose’s
fleshy tip?’
‘You rented a whole office and face for this, but leave your old unmistakable sweater-vest
on? And how’d you even get down here before me, with the Mercury up on blocks after
you… did you fool C.T. into giving you the keys to a functional car?’
‘Who used to pray daily for the day his own dear late father would sit, cough, open
that bloody issue of the
Tucson Citizen,
and not turn that newspaper into the room’s fifth wall? And who after all this light
and noise has apparently spawned the same silence?’
‘…’
‘Who’s lived his whole ruddy bloody cruddy life in five-walled rooms?’
‘Dad, I’ve got a duly scheduled challenge match with Schacht in like twelve minutes,
wind at my downhill back or no. I’ve got this oral-lyrologist who’s going to be outside
Brighton Best Savings wearing a predesignated necktie at straight-up five. I have
to mow his lawn for a month for this interview. I can’t just sit here watching you
think I’m mute while your fake nose points at the floor. And are you hearing me talking,
Dad? It speaks. It accepts soda and defines
implore
and converses with you.’
‘Praying for just one conversation, amateur or no, that does not end in terror? That
does not end like all the others: you staring, me swallowing?’
‘…’
‘Son?’
‘…’
‘
Son?
’
9 MAY—YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT
Another way fathers impact sons is that sons, once their voices have changed in puberty,
invariably answer the telephone with the same locutions and intonations as their fathers.
This holds true regardless of whether the fathers are still alive.
Because he left his dormitory room before 0600 for dawn drills and often didn’t get
back there until after supper, packing his book bag and knapsack and gear bag for
the whole day, together with selecting his best-strung racquets—it all took Hal some
time. Plus he usually collected and packed and selected in the dark, and with stealth,
because his brother Mario was usually still asleep in the other bed. Mario didn’t
drill and couldn’t play, and needed all the sleep he could get.
Hal held his complimentary gear bag and was putting different pairs of sweats to his
face, trying to find the cleanest pair by smell, when the telephone console sounded.
Mario thrashed and sat up in bed, a small hunched shape with a big head against the
gray light of the window. Hal got to the console on the second ring and had the transparent
phone’s antenna out by the third.
His way of answering the phone sounded like ‘Mmmyellow.’
‘I want to tell you,’ the voice on the phone said. ‘My head is filled with things
to say.’
Hal held three pairs of E.T.A. sweatpants in the hand that didn’t hold the phone.
He saw his older brother succumb to gravity and fall back limp against the pillows.
Mario often sat up and fell back still asleep.
‘I don’t mind,’ Hal said softly. ‘I could wait forever.’
‘That’s what you think,’ the voice said. The connection was cut. It had been Orin.
‘Hey Hal?’
The light in the room was a creepy gray, a kind of nonlight. Hal could hear Brandt
laughing at something Kenkle had said, off down the hall, and the clank of their janitorial
buckets. The person on the phone had been O.
‘Hey Hal?’ Mario was awake. It took four pillows to support Mario’s oversized skull.
His voice came from the tangled bedding. ‘Is it still dark out, or is it me?’
‘Go back to sleep. It isn’t even six.’ Hal put the good leg into the sweatpants first.
‘Who was it?’
Shoving three coverless Dunlop
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