Read Online The Autograph Man by Zadie Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Zadie Smith
Tags: Fiction
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story about you for their own entertainment. He believed, further, that on such days all you can do is follow, dumbly, with your knuckles grazing the ground. In that sense, if in no other, he was a profoundly religious man.
“I can’t believe that, Dred! Look at dat!” said Marvin, grinning. Marvin was enjoying himself. Alex parted his hands, slowly, relinquishing whatever was left.
“What do you want me to say, Marvin?”
Marvin sniffed. “Don’t mistake me, I don’t really care, I’m only the milk operative. I was just wondering if you did or did not do that to your own car. Other than that . . .” Marvin grinned some more.
Now Alex let Marvin’s face fall out of view, bent his legs and crouched on the doorstep. On its lip, on the doorstep’s concrete lip, he met a massive pulsing snail wearing its shell a long way down its back, as a sort of afterthought. Alex peeled it off and held it in the cup of his palm for a moment. Then he launched it towards the grass, but even with that action came the sad thought of more creative possibilities for both him and the snail: the polished dark country of Marvin’s shoe, the cool, featureless Lapland of the window ledge, the barren Arizona of the path that leads down to the road and eventual death.
“Look. Seriously. Are you depressed? I mean, generally?” asked Marvin with real curiosity.
“Yes. Yes, I imagine so.”
“You
imagine
so?”
“Marvin, I don’t want to talk about this, actually.”
“And you don’t know
when
did you do that to your car?”
“Marvin, I have no recollection.”
Marvin said
“Ha!”
like the first blast of a military horn. He took an elegant hop down two steps and moseyed down the path. The snail found itself somewhere maddeningly familiar, wet and green; a place where bad things, most often revolving blades, might arrive, with no warning, from nowhere. Alex crossed his eyes. Clicked his heels together three times. Closed his door against Mountjoy.
CHAPTER TWO
Yesod
FOUNDATION • Famous Phrases #1 • Muhammad Ali was Jewish • Stress balls versus funnels • The covenant and the pound notes • Famous Phrases #2 • God and Garbo • Kitty Alexander’s autograph • Joseph explains the Judaic attitude to transubstantiation
1.
Back inside his flat, valiant Alex-Li held up a series of clothing items at arm’s length, and if he could not smell them he put them on. He took no great care, for the result was always the same, irrespective of effort. Everything he wore looked as if it had been flung at him by an irate girlfriend in a hallway, a ragbag of items he remembered wearing the night before, mixed with some he didn’t recognize.
With one sock on, he hopped across the room, picked up the Autograph Association Flip Calendar on his desk and peered at it. February 12. Underneath, a photo of Sandra Dee. She was smiling and offering up two facts about herself:
My real name was Alexandra Zuck!
I began modeling at 13!
Alex ripped through February 16 (Dolores Del Rio) and 17 (Peter Lawford), settling on the eighteenth, a Wednesday, as the most probable date. Archibald Leach was teeing off with his godlike chin pointed towards the camera, with his perfect golf clothes. Almost too good to look at. Saying, in quotation marks:
“Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. Even
I
want to be Cary Grant.”
Underneath this was something in Alex’s handwriting:
Auction—12 pm Rock and movie memorabilia. 3 pm
Vintage Hollywood
So he had business today.
The phone began to ring. Alex, who always felt subtly attacked by the phone if he could not see it, hurried to find his glasses and put them on, remolding the mad wire arms until they behaved themselves and hooked behind his ears.
“Yes? Yes, hello?”
“Tandem,” said a girl, “I see you’re picking up the phone,
finally.
Good phone voice, too. Give the man an Oscar. Oh, and I’m still alive?”
Alex opened his mouth, but the line went dead.
“Esther?”
said Alex into the
“I can’t believe that, Dred! Look at dat!” said Marvin, grinning. Marvin was enjoying himself. Alex parted his hands, slowly, relinquishing whatever was left.
“What do you want me to say, Marvin?”
Marvin sniffed. “Don’t mistake me, I don’t really care, I’m only the milk operative. I was just wondering if you did or did not do that to your own car. Other than that . . .” Marvin grinned some more.
Now Alex let Marvin’s face fall out of view, bent his legs and crouched on the doorstep. On its lip, on the doorstep’s concrete lip, he met a massive pulsing snail wearing its shell a long way down its back, as a sort of afterthought. Alex peeled it off and held it in the cup of his palm for a moment. Then he launched it towards the grass, but even with that action came the sad thought of more creative possibilities for both him and the snail: the polished dark country of Marvin’s shoe, the cool, featureless Lapland of the window ledge, the barren Arizona of the path that leads down to the road and eventual death.
“Look. Seriously. Are you depressed? I mean, generally?” asked Marvin with real curiosity.
“Yes. Yes, I imagine so.”
“You
imagine
so?”
“Marvin, I don’t want to talk about this, actually.”
“And you don’t know
when
did you do that to your car?”
“Marvin, I have no recollection.”
Marvin said
“Ha!”
like the first blast of a military horn. He took an elegant hop down two steps and moseyed down the path. The snail found itself somewhere maddeningly familiar, wet and green; a place where bad things, most often revolving blades, might arrive, with no warning, from nowhere. Alex crossed his eyes. Clicked his heels together three times. Closed his door against Mountjoy.
CHAPTER TWO
Yesod
FOUNDATION • Famous Phrases #1 • Muhammad Ali was Jewish • Stress balls versus funnels • The covenant and the pound notes • Famous Phrases #2 • God and Garbo • Kitty Alexander’s autograph • Joseph explains the Judaic attitude to transubstantiation
1.
Back inside his flat, valiant Alex-Li held up a series of clothing items at arm’s length, and if he could not smell them he put them on. He took no great care, for the result was always the same, irrespective of effort. Everything he wore looked as if it had been flung at him by an irate girlfriend in a hallway, a ragbag of items he remembered wearing the night before, mixed with some he didn’t recognize.
With one sock on, he hopped across the room, picked up the Autograph Association Flip Calendar on his desk and peered at it. February 12. Underneath, a photo of Sandra Dee. She was smiling and offering up two facts about herself:
My real name was Alexandra Zuck!
I began modeling at 13!
Alex ripped through February 16 (Dolores Del Rio) and 17 (Peter Lawford), settling on the eighteenth, a Wednesday, as the most probable date. Archibald Leach was teeing off with his godlike chin pointed towards the camera, with his perfect golf clothes. Almost too good to look at. Saying, in quotation marks:
“Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. Even
I
want to be Cary Grant.”
Underneath this was something in Alex’s handwriting:
Auction—12 pm Rock and movie memorabilia. 3 pm
Vintage Hollywood
So he had business today.
The phone began to ring. Alex, who always felt subtly attacked by the phone if he could not see it, hurried to find his glasses and put them on, remolding the mad wire arms until they behaved themselves and hooked behind his ears.
“Yes? Yes, hello?”
“Tandem,” said a girl, “I see you’re picking up the phone,
finally.
Good phone voice, too. Give the man an Oscar. Oh, and I’m still alive?”
Alex opened his mouth, but the line went dead.
“Esther?”
said Alex into the
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