第12章 Margins

Edward was explaining to Carl about margins. "The width of the margin shows culture, aestheticism and a sense of values or the lack of them," he said. "A very wide left margin shows an impractical person of culture and refinement with a deep appreciation for the best in art and music. Whereas," Edward said, quoting his handwriting analysis book, "whereas, narrow left margins show the opposite. No left margin at all shows a practical nature, a wholesome economy and a general lack of good taste in the arts. A very wide right margin shows a person afraid to face reality, oversensitive to the future and generally a poor mixer."

"I dont believe in it," Carl said. "Now," Edward continued, "with reference to your sign there, you have an all-around wide margin which shows a person of extremely delicate sensibilities with love of color and form, one who holds aloof from the multitude and lives in his own dream world of beauty and good taste."

"Are you sure you got that right?" "Im communicating with you," Edward said, "across a vast gulf of ignorance and darkness." "I brought the darkness, is that the idea?" Carl asked. "You brought the darkness, you black mother," Edward said. "Funky, man."

"Edward," Carl said, "for Gods sake." "Why did you write all that jazz on your sign, Carl? Why? Its not true, is it? Is it?" "Its kind of true," Carl said. He looked down at his brown sandwich boards, which said: I Was Put In Jail in Selby County Alabama For Five Years For Stealing A Dollar and A Half Which I Did Not Do. While I Was In Jail My Brother Was Killed & My Mother Ran Away When I Was Little. In Jail I Began Preaching & I Preach to People Wherever I Can Bearing the Witness of Eschatological Love. I Have Filled Out Papers for Jobs But Nobody Will Give Me a Job Because I Have Been In Jail & The Whole Scene Is Very Dreary, Pepsi Cola. I Need Your Offerings to Get Food. Patent Applied For & Deliver Us From Evil. "Its true," Carl said, "with a kind of merde-y inner truth which shines forth as the objective correlative of what actually did happen, back home."

"Now, look at the way you made that m and that n there," Edward said. "The tops are pointed rather than rounded. That indicates aggressiveness and energy. The fact that theyre also pointed rather than rounded at the bottom indicates a sarcastic, stubborn and irritable nature. See what I mean?"

"If you say so," Carl said. "Your capitals are very small," Edward said, "indicating humility." "My mother would be pleased," Carl said, "if she knew." "On the other hand, the excessive size of the loops in your y and your g display exaggeration and egoism."

"Thats always been one of my problems," Carl answered. "Whats your whole name?" Edward asked, leaning against a building. They were on Fourteenth Street, near Broadway. "Carl Maria von Weber," Carl said. "Are you a drug addict?" "Edward," Carl said, "you are a swinger."

"Are you a Muslim?" Carl felt his long hair. "Have you read The Mystery of Being, by Gabriel Marcel? I really liked that one. I thought that one was fine." "No, cmon Carl, answer the question," Edward insisted. "Theres got to be frankness and honesty between the races. Are you one?"

"I think an accommodation can be reached and the government is doing all it can at the moment," Carl said. "I think theres something to be said on all sides of the question. This is not such a good place to hustle, you know that? I havent got but two offerings all morning." "People like people who look neat," Edward said. "You look kind of crummy, if you dont mind my saying so."

"You really think its too long?" Carl asked, feeling his hair again. "Do you think Im a pretty color?" Edward asked. "Are you envious?" "No," Carl said. "Not envious." "See? Exaggeration and egoism. Just like I said." "Youre kind of boring, Edward. To tell the truth."

Edward thought about this for a moment. Then he said: "But Im white." "Its the color of choice," Carl said. "Im tired of talking about color, though. Lets talk about values or something." "Carl, Im a fool," Edward said suddenly. "Yes," Carl said. "But Im a white fool," Edward said. "Thats whats so lovely about me." "You are lovely, Edward," Carl said. "Its true. You have a nice look. Your aspect is good." "Oh, hell," Edward said despondently. "Youre very well-spoken," he said. "I noticed that." "The reason for that is," Carl said, "I read. Did you read The Cannibal by John Hawkes? I thought that was a hell of a book." "Get a haircut, Carl," Edward said. "Get a new suit. Maybe one of those new Italian suits with the tight coats. You could be upwardly mobile, you know, if you just put your back into it." "Why are you worried, Edward? Why does my situation distress you? Why dont you just walk away and talk to somebody else?" "You bother me," Edward confessed. "I keep trying to penetrate your inner reality, to find out what it is. Isnt that curious?" "John Hawkes also wrote The Beetle Leg and a couple of other books whose titles escape me at the moment," Carl said. "I think hes one of the best of our younger American writers." "Carl," Edward said, "what is your inner reality? Blurt it out, baby." "Its mine," Carl said quietly. He gazed down at his shoes, which resembled a pair of large dead brownish birds. "Are you sure you didnt steal that dollar and a half mentioned on your sign?" "Edward, I told you I didnt steal that dollar and a half." Carl stamped up and down in his sandwich boards. "It sure is cold here on Fourteenth Street." "Thats your imagination, Carl," Edward said. "This street isnt any colder than Fifth, or Lex. Your feeling that its colder here probably just arises from your marginal status as a despised person in our society." "Probably," Carl said. There was a look on his face. "You know I went to the government, and asked them to give me a job in the Marine Band, and they wouldnt do it?" "Do you blow good, man? Wheres your axe?" "They wouldnt give me that cotton-pickin job," Carl said. "What do you think of that?" "This eschatological love," Edward said, "what land of love is that?" "That is later love," Carl said. "Thats what I call it, anyhow. Thats love on the other side of the Jordan. The term refers to a set of conditions which. . . Its kind of a story we black people tell to ourselves to make ourselves happy." "Oh me," Edward said. "Ignorance and darkness." "Edward," Carl said, "you dont like me." "I do too like you, Carl," Edward said. "Where do you steal your books, mostly?" "Mostly in drugstores," Carl said. "I find them good because mostly theyre long and narrow and the clerks tend to stay near the prescription counters at the back of the store, whereas the books are usually in those little revolving racks near the front of the store. Its normally pretty easy to slip a couple in your overcoat pocket, if youre wearing an overcoat." "But. . ." "Yes," Carl said, "I know what youre thinking. If Ill steal books Ill steal other things. But stealing books is metaphysically different from stealing like money. Villon has something pretty good to say on the subject I believe." "Is that in If I Were King?" "Besides," Carl added, "havent you ever stolen anything? At some point in your life?" "My life," Edward said. "Why do you remind me of it?" "Edward, youre not satisfied with your life! I thought white lives were nice!" Carl said, surprised. "I love that word nice. It makes me so happy." "Listen Carl," Edward said, "why dont you just concentrate on improving your handwriting." "My character, you mean." "No," Edward said, "dont bother improving your character. Just improve your handwriting. Make larger capitals. Make smaller loops in your y and your g. Watch your word-spacing so as not to display disorientation. Watch your margins." "Its an idea. But isnt that kind of a superficial approach to the problem?" "Be careful about the spaces between the lines," Edward went on. "Spacing of lines shows clearness of thought. Pay attention to your finals. There are twenty-two different kinds of finals and each one tells a lot about a person. Ill lend you the book. Good handwriting is the key to advancement, or if not the key, at least a key. You could be the first man of your race to be Vice-President." "Thats something to shoot for, all right." "Would you like me to go get the book?" "I dont think so," Carl said, "no thanks. Its not that I dont have any faith in your solution. What I would like is to take a leak. Would you mind holding my sandwich boards for a minute?" "Not at all," Edward said, and in a moment had slipped Carls sandwich boards over his own slight shoulders. "Boy, theyre kind of heavy, arent they?" "They cut you a bit," Carl said with a malicious smile. "Ill just go into this mens store here." When Carl returned the two men slapped each other sharply in the face with the back of the hand, that beautiful part of the hand where the knuckles grow.