Rented Space, Chapters 1-7
3.
�How�s your roast beef, Mr. Crabbe?� Carolyn Poole asked.
�A bit tough, but I�ve had worse,� Crabbe said.
Carolyn was cutting up cooked carrots for Liza, who sat in a highchair between mother and father. Carolyn caught enough of the slight that a look of hurt crossed her face, unnoticed by Mr. Crabbe.
�So what do you go by? Is it Eugene or Gene or…Butch?� Thomas asked, smiling.
�My mother named me Eugene,� Crabbe said.
�Oh,� Thomas said, taking a bite of beef.
Silence. Thomas felt uneasy at the quiet.
�Timmy, stop playing with your food,� he said, though Timmy was just doing his usual thing, stirring the food about to make it look like he�d eaten.
�I don�t like carrots,� he said.
Thomas ignored him.
�So tell us how you came to be Poet Laureate, Eugene. Did you meet the President?�
Detecting a bit of breathlessness in the latter question, Crabbe answered it first. �I met him. He called me the �poet lariat,� however.�
�He did?� Carolyn said.
Crabbe didn�t answer for a moment. He was fascinated by the sullenness of the boy, Timmy. Like to see John Thomas give the brat a good whipping for not eating his carrots, Crabbe thought. Little shite-hole, he said, using his favorite epithet. Mother�s cunt-licking, fart smelling shite-hole. Crabbe believed his anger at humanity generally, but particulary at children, was a deep and abiding well-spring of his poetic talent, and he nurtured his ill-will like some people nurture rare, tropical orchids.
�Oh yes,� Crabbe said, returning. �It�s all a little shtick, you see, playing dumb. He plays dumb for the liberal media, who then proceed to underestimate him. And he plays dumb for the rubes in Iowa, who adore him for it. He�s a crafty man, I�m telling you.�
�You know, I�ve thought as much myself,� Thomas said. �He makes a mockery of these elite liberals, let me tell you. That�s one thing I love about the man. Hell, I�d vote for him even if he were stupid, just to confound the intellectuals.�
�I saw you on Today the other morning,� Carolyn said. �Little did I know, I�d be renting a room to you before the week was out.�
�Yes, well, I had to live somewhere,� Crabbe said.
�I�m curious, Eugene,� Thomas said. �Now don�t take this the wrong way…�
Come out with it, you stupid get of a syphilitic, ten dollar, back-alley, stand-up against the wall whore.
�…I do wonder what in the world you�re doing here. Why don�t you have your own place?�
Crabbe sighed at having to explain himself.
�I had to move down here for the Poet Laureate position. I have an office in the Library of Congress, you see, plus regular official responsibilities. I don’t know if the job will suit me, however, and I don�t see a point in buying a home if I decide to relinquish the position after a year.�
Crabbe would never relinquish the position. He could never relinquish the position.
As if his explanation weren’t good enough, he added, “I’ve always rented. I am resistant to the American insistence on buying a home. Plus, poets don’t make much money. We’re not super stars.”
The little girl, Sarah, was eating her roast beef in a ruminative way that reminded Crabbe of a sloe-eyed calf about to be struck in the head with a hammer. The thought of the girl�s skull being crushed by a hammer pleased him.
�What kind of official responsibilities?� Thomas asked.
�What?� Crabbe asked.
�What official responsibilities?�
Crabbe did not hesitate, lying with perfect fluency.
�Oh, my first commission is to write a dedicatory poem for the new Wal-Mart they are building in the District.�
�You mean if they build it,� Carolyn said. �There are a lot of people who oppose Wal-Mart moving in here.�
�A lot of liberals with their usual anti-corporate nonsense on a placard,� Thomas added. �I think that�s wonderful, a poem for Wal-Mart. That�s real American, if you think about it, to write a poem to a beloved corporation.�
Crabbe felt himself in full-flowered lying mode, now.
�After that, I have been asked to write a poem celebrating the birth of Teddy Kennedy�s newest grandchild.�
�You�re kidding me?� Thomas said.
�Not at all,� Crabbe replied.
You idiotic, nose-picking, probably lick your wife�s asshole when she asks, freak of a fool. You don�t even know when you�re being made an ass.
�Beyond that, I will be called upon for the usual Fourth of July encomiums, Christmas lyrics, etc. And who knows what other business besides.�
�Wow, sounds really impressive,� Thomas said. �Oops!� Liza threw a carrot chunk that landed in the gravy bowl, splashing brown gravy on the tablecloth. No one bothered to remove the carrot from the gravy, which disgusted Crabbe.
Fucking little parasite probably had the thing in her gummy mouth, slobbered on with her germs, little fucking shite-hole, shitting and pissing all day, nastyfucking suckling beasty…
�Mr. Edwards liked my gravy,� Carolyn said out of the blue, looking at the carrot floating in the bowl, but not offering to do anything about it.
After a pause, in which he cursed Carolyn as a fucking fat flabby bitch/cunt, Crabbe asked, �How old was Mr. Edwards?�
�65 I guess, when he retired,� Carolyn said. Thomas nodded in agreement.
�Haven�t heard from him since,� Thomas said. �Seemed depressed to leave, but we couldn�t have a retired gentleman hanging around the house all day. Though he was like a grandfather to the kids. They loved him, dear old Mr. Edwards. He said when he left he�d really miss the children; they kept him young, he said.�
�And what did he teach at University?� Crabbe asked, sneering a little.
�Ancient history,� Carolyn said.
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Wow. I really liked this.
The internal dialogue of the bitter poet. The vague taunting. Fabulous. And the woman as she goes to sleep.
Comment by Mel B. — Thursday, 28 April 2005 @ 1:45 am
I’m glad you liked it. I’m really enjoying it quite a bit myself. I feel guilty that I have abandoned the World War II story, even if temporarily. I don’t know if that is frustrating to people, or if no one is reading and so no one really cares. Or maybe trying to read fiction on-line and in blog format, no less, is just such a bad experience, people give up after a brief bit of trying to read.
Comment by Matthew — Saturday, 30 April 2005 @ 3:31 pm
This is very good. The crabby old sob is well-drawn. I don’t think I could read a novel full of him and no positive characters. But he is a wonderful character sketch. The woman and the Joycean monologue at the end is nice, too. I bet you have been wanting to do such a monologue for a very long time now, too….She might be your positive character. Or maybe the sob changes? Something interesting could happen between them that’s for sure. Poetry, yes. Maybe its good, too. Or, maybe, they end up in bed. I can see that happening as well. Or maybe I just want to be titillated (rather than tot-illated, of you follow me)
Again, I think you set the stage for something that I do want to continue reading. But will you add onto this? How far will you go….?
Comment by Todd — Monday, 2 May 2005 @ 6:17 pm
What, you don’t think Crabbe’s a positive character? I think he has a lot of redeeming characteristics.
You’ve hit on the direction I’m heading, I think, in at least one of your predictions. As far as I can tell at this point, they don’t end up in bed, however. Sorry to disappoint. You want titillation, go read Nin’s “Delta of Venus.”
Comment by Matthew — Tuesday, 3 May 2005 @ 6:57 am
FINALLY I sit still long enough to read your fiction (E’s sleeping on my left arm) and I’m not disappointed.
Crabbe makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable in the same way he does Mrs. Poole. He’s a cramped character, trapped within himself. That you don’t mention he’s Poet Laureate until later on is great, setting me up to see him as this nobody there’s no reason for me to like and then letting me have this sudden sense of him as an exalted individual allows for quite a laugh. Lots of subtle humor in this piece with opportunities for more.
What I most want to see? Interactions with the children. Maybe he could be asked to read them a bedtime story, given his literary status and all.
Comment by Dawn — Tuesday, 3 May 2005 @ 7:50 am
Oh, and who Edwards is. I’m curious about that too.
Comment by Dawn — Tuesday, 3 May 2005 @ 7:51 am
He reads them a bedtime story in chapter four/page four. That’s a particularly favorite scene of mine. I think there will be more interaction with the children, but especially with Mrs. Poole. She has become the “positive character,” as Todd says. I am introducing another character in the chapters I’m working on now who I think people will find likable as well. Crabbe is going to have lunch with the Librarian of Congress.
Edwards is my Macintosh, viz. the “Hades” chapter of Ulysses. Just a hint
Comment by Matthew — Tuesday, 3 May 2005 @ 8:03 am
Well, at last I recognized (with Todd’s prompting) the subsequent chapters. Sorry about that.
The book reading scene is probably my favorite. And I must say that, while Blueberries for Sal has always been a personal favorite, your poking fun at it through Crabbe’s perspective is quite nice. Crabbe’s pinching the little girl is also a nice touch.
I have a couple thoughts about areas that struck me as a bit inconsistent, but think I should hold off until I read more. Seems too soon to suggest revisions when you’re probably still feeling your way through your approach to this piece.
I will say that Crabbe is unremittingly awful, especially when you present his internal thoughts (reminds me in some ways of my Uncle Norman who has a penchant for writing mean verse about people he doesn’t like). Just a flat-out nasty human being.
Comment by Dawn — Tuesday, 3 May 2005 @ 10:04 pm
Good chapter 6….I’m waiting for more, MORE PLEASE
Comment by Todd — Wednesday, 4 May 2005 @ 9:04 pm
Not only am I behind in reading your blog, but you snuck a chapter of your fiction in there without warning.
Gotta say I never made it all the way through Ulysses and have no interest in trying again. So I won’t get all the Ulysses hints.
Anyway, Crabbe is such an unpleasant character, and despite that, I keep reading and want more. I like his nasty, internal dialogue. I almost hope that something unpleasant happens to him to make him deserve his misery. My favorite Doctor Who character, Tom Baker, wrote a book called The Boy Who Kicked Pigs. It starts off by saying something about it being a lovely day, about Robert Cagliari being a horrid child, and this is the day that he would die.
And you learn that he would deserve it.
I like his email, with a wink to the reader, that says that if he were in a terrible sitcom, he’d be the old curmudgeon who has been softened by a love interest.
Comment by Mel B. — Thursday, 12 May 2005 @ 1:00 am
The bad guys are always easier to write. And I wonder, too, is he really so terrible? He lies, he would steal a croissant from a Starbucks, he thinks bad thoughts of small children…I don’t know that he is really so different from the rest of humanity. Maybe it’s that he is consistently bad that separates him from most of us. I really, really enjoy writing about him, though.
That Tom Baker book sounds interesting, but a little odd for a children’s book. Is a child ever so “horrid” that he deserves death?
There aren’t a lot of Ulysses references in this story, at least I don’t think so. Maybe I’ve unconsciously inserted a few, however. Ulysses has been the most influential book I’ve ever read.
Comment by Matthew — Thursday, 12 May 2005 @ 7:11 am
The children’s book is a bit odd, and it is uncomfortable to read at first. You don’t think a child would deserve to die… But then, you never thought little Anakin Skywalker of Episode I would ever turn into Darth Vader, either.
I haven’t read the Lemony Snickett (sp?) A Series of Unfortunate Events series, but those sound to be downers too.
Maybe it’s important to have a few downers. And I think Tom Baker intended his book to be a play on an old morality tale, much the same way the Lemony Snickett series is intended, or so I understand.
Anyway, your guy is pretty darned unpleasant. I don’t wish for humanity at this point for him. That would be giving in, too out of character, anyway.
Yes, we all do think bad thoughts. I have a few of them myself, but I’d like to think that I’m not consistently the most miserable person on the planet like Crabbe. (Though I suppose to be a poet laureate, and of the sort that got him chosen by the librarian, you have to have lots of pain. Unlike Mrs. Bush’s suggestion.)
But I’m interested to see where your imagination takes him.
Comment by Mel B. — Saturday, 14 May 2005 @ 1:56 pm