Read Online Moloch: Or, This Gentile World by Henry Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henry Miller
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summoned a tragic air. “You said it!” he observed.
Dave was about to go.
“Oh, Dave… before you go!” Moloch made a few mysterious
passes. Dave sidled up to him with a sheepish expression.
“How many?” he said.
“Oh, five will do.”
“Here, take ten,” said Dave, hauling out a wad of filthy greenbacks.
“Don’t spoil the boss!” exclaimed Prigozi. “You’ll never get it back, you know.”
Concluding this ceremony, Dave paused and bowed his head. It was Dave’s way of registering profound thought. “I want to say something before I forget it,” he announced sententiously. “Between you and me, I think messenger 785 has an ‘effective’ mind.”
“What makes you think he’s defective,” said Moloch. He understood quite well that this was Dave’s method of showing his appreciation for the privilege of lending his boss a few dollars.
Dave never noticed the grammatical correction, but sailed on blithely; there was more than a hint of braggadocio in his comments.
“Why, I noticed he always carries a book under his arm. It’s written in Italian. He says it’s a classic.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong in that, Dave.”
“Maybe not, but when I asked him if he understood Italian he said, ‘No, but I like to read it just the same—it makes me feel better.’”
“What was the name of the book?”
“I think he said Inferno … is that right? Is there such a book?” He laughed apologetically, showing all the yellow stumps in his mouth.
Prigozi nabbed him by the sleeve and pointed to some red lettering on a narrow cardboard strip which Moloch had tacked on the railing for the applicants to study while they waited to be interviewed:
DO NOT ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE
“Do you know what that means?” he asked. “No,” said Dave, “do you?”
“Well, read the Inferno and find out. Damn it, Dave, you want to get wised up. You can’t go on being an ignoramus all your life.”
“Aw hell!” grunted Dave, with a deprecating air, and trundled off like Florizel the Fat.
With Dave’s departure the two were left alone. The rest of the staff had disappeared. Moloch had formed the habit of remaining in the office for an hour or two after closing time, waiting for something to happen. His adventures usually began after five o’clock. Generally, one of his cronies dropped in for a chat. Sometimes a gang appeared and swept him out of the office like a cyclone. Frequently this period was taken up by the eccentrics whom he put to work and watched over with a cruel interest. With these he held long consultations in which he dipped freely and morbidly into their private life, gave hygienic advice, regulated their marital conduct, interpreted their dreams, allayed their discontent, studied their phobias and obsessions. Occasionally he borrowed money of them, which he repaid with interest. Or, he might accept their invitation to dine, or go to a show. If he thought there was an opportunity of philandering, he made it his business to call on their wives.... Some of the messengers were females. These he subjected to a rigid scrutiny when they made application for work. The addresses of the good-looking ones he kept in a memorandum book. When things got dull, he looked through these addresses and began calling them up— those with a star after their names first. Usually he was rewarded for his thoroughness.
The results of these observations and experiences he recorded with elaborate, painstaking efforts in a loose-leaf journal which he kept at the office. This journal also contained typewritten excerpts from the works of those authors whom he admired with an almost idolatrous fervor. The job of transcribing this material he entrusted to his secretary. It could hardly be said that he was unaware of the effect which these disclosures produced upon the mind of the clever, prurient virgin who acted as his secretary. She accepted the task with the serenity of a censor. Moloch awarded her
Dave was about to go.
“Oh, Dave… before you go!” Moloch made a few mysterious
passes. Dave sidled up to him with a sheepish expression.
“How many?” he said.
“Oh, five will do.”
“Here, take ten,” said Dave, hauling out a wad of filthy greenbacks.
“Don’t spoil the boss!” exclaimed Prigozi. “You’ll never get it back, you know.”
Concluding this ceremony, Dave paused and bowed his head. It was Dave’s way of registering profound thought. “I want to say something before I forget it,” he announced sententiously. “Between you and me, I think messenger 785 has an ‘effective’ mind.”
“What makes you think he’s defective,” said Moloch. He understood quite well that this was Dave’s method of showing his appreciation for the privilege of lending his boss a few dollars.
Dave never noticed the grammatical correction, but sailed on blithely; there was more than a hint of braggadocio in his comments.
“Why, I noticed he always carries a book under his arm. It’s written in Italian. He says it’s a classic.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong in that, Dave.”
“Maybe not, but when I asked him if he understood Italian he said, ‘No, but I like to read it just the same—it makes me feel better.’”
“What was the name of the book?”
“I think he said Inferno … is that right? Is there such a book?” He laughed apologetically, showing all the yellow stumps in his mouth.
Prigozi nabbed him by the sleeve and pointed to some red lettering on a narrow cardboard strip which Moloch had tacked on the railing for the applicants to study while they waited to be interviewed:
DO NOT ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE
“Do you know what that means?” he asked. “No,” said Dave, “do you?”
“Well, read the Inferno and find out. Damn it, Dave, you want to get wised up. You can’t go on being an ignoramus all your life.”
“Aw hell!” grunted Dave, with a deprecating air, and trundled off like Florizel the Fat.
With Dave’s departure the two were left alone. The rest of the staff had disappeared. Moloch had formed the habit of remaining in the office for an hour or two after closing time, waiting for something to happen. His adventures usually began after five o’clock. Generally, one of his cronies dropped in for a chat. Sometimes a gang appeared and swept him out of the office like a cyclone. Frequently this period was taken up by the eccentrics whom he put to work and watched over with a cruel interest. With these he held long consultations in which he dipped freely and morbidly into their private life, gave hygienic advice, regulated their marital conduct, interpreted their dreams, allayed their discontent, studied their phobias and obsessions. Occasionally he borrowed money of them, which he repaid with interest. Or, he might accept their invitation to dine, or go to a show. If he thought there was an opportunity of philandering, he made it his business to call on their wives.... Some of the messengers were females. These he subjected to a rigid scrutiny when they made application for work. The addresses of the good-looking ones he kept in a memorandum book. When things got dull, he looked through these addresses and began calling them up— those with a star after their names first. Usually he was rewarded for his thoroughness.
The results of these observations and experiences he recorded with elaborate, painstaking efforts in a loose-leaf journal which he kept at the office. This journal also contained typewritten excerpts from the works of those authors whom he admired with an almost idolatrous fervor. The job of transcribing this material he entrusted to his secretary. It could hardly be said that he was unaware of the effect which these disclosures produced upon the mind of the clever, prurient virgin who acted as his secretary. She accepted the task with the serenity of a censor. Moloch awarded her
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