thinking about saying anything to her, wasn’t even planning to get close to her—then all at once the shout. She started running and right then I got wet and just stood there for several minutes looking around. Don’t know what happened to her, where she disappeared to. Don’t know why I stood there. Gazing around like a dog with an egg in its teeth, then strolled off. Most of all I can’t understand why I shouted. Had no intention of doing that. The more I think about it the more puzzled I am. As though somebody inside of me is actually the one who’s giving orders. Hmm! Don’t like this idea because I’ve always been proud of my self-control. Maybe that, too, is an illusion. If so, what’s left? If I can’t account for myself I’m nothing.
FEBRUARY 18
McAuliffe again asked to borrow money. Last time he asked I refused and felt guilty ever since, so this time lent it to him. $20—he swears he’ll pay it back next week. I hope so. Yes, I know he will.
Aside from that an uneventful day. Sun came out for a while—somebody said. I wouldn’t know. Blinds lowered as always. I never have understood the reason. If the Bureau doesn’t want us to know what’s going on outside why did they build those enormous windows? I ought to ask but Fensdeicke wouldn’t know either. It’s simply the policy, she’d say, and think it was odd of me to ask. No sense risking criticism. Blinds down permanently and there we are—ninety of us illuminated by those fluorescent tubes like so many insects. I think it would be more cheerful working inside a casket. If a laborer comes through the door dripping and leaves a puddle on the linoleum I can make a guess about the weather, otherwise no telling. Overcast when I walked into that mausoleum this A.M. and overcast when I was released at 5. If the sun came out today I’d have to take somebody’s word for it.
What else? Photograph in the paper of a woman in New York or someplace back there being carried out of a burning hotel. She was unconscious, at least it looked that way, her head flung back. Nightgown had blown apart & showed precious little triangle of flesh as white as cheese. Thinking about it makes me nervous, I ought to stop. If not I know what I’ll do. Reminds me of McA talking about that hotel chambermaid who was held prisoner for several weeks and tortured. He claims her little Passageway was stuffed full of lighted cigarettes, but of course he may have invented the story just to see how I reacted. In either case I was careful not to reveal my thoughts.
Otherwise? The usual. Deadly tedium. That’s just how I feel. Sluggish. Depressed. Bored. I don’t know what to do. Try to comprehend what goes on around me day and night but it’s hopeless. I’m shoved to the Left, dragged to the Right. How long has it been since anybody on earth asked for my opinion about anything? What difference does it make what I believe or what I want? Does anybody listen? Nobody even sees me.
FEBRUARY 19
Washington’s Birthday next Friday, something to be grateful for. B’s school and the office both close. I could ask if she’d like to see the parade, or go to Aquatic Park for the program. Possibly both, although there’ll be a crowd. We’ll have to go early to get a seat in the grandstand. It’s worth a try.
Enough for tonight. I’m worn out. Might be wise to conceal this. She doesn’t care what I do, just the same I think she’s curious and might come in here while I’m away, pry around. All right, Earl, think of a secret place.
FEBRUARY 20
According to news on TV we’ve developed a missile they say is capable of carrying more Death & Destruction than ever before in all human history. Looks like pretty soon we’re going to be able to split the world in half. Might be a good idea. Why not? Why build these things if we don’t use them? Use them!—That’s how I feel. Nothing but hate in the world. Take today. Some old woman praying in front of a candle at All Hallows when a Mexican hopped out from behind a statue of the Virgin, dragged her by the hair up the steps to the altar, tore off her clothes and was kicking her in the face when a priest appeared. Apparently no surprise to parishioners—they say it happens so often they usually go there to pray in groups. Too dangerous alone. Plenty of other examples, in fact so many I forget them in an hour.
So ends a typical Wednesday.
FEBRUARY 21
Sick of those greedy laborers outside the door every morning waiting for us to open—I can read their thoughts by the expression in their eyes—wondering what sort of mood Mr. Summerfield is in. Wondering if they’d be smart to come back later in the day when I won’t ask so many questions, just let them go ahead and collect the money. I know everything that goes through their empty heads. Wondering if maybe it would be smart to try a different window—try Mr. Clegg or Mr. McAuliffe or Mr. Rostov. They think they’re fooling me. I could give them some information on that account, but on the other hand why should I care if they’re trying to cheat the State?—so is everybody else. Evading taxes, swindling, etc. There isn’t much decency left in the world. Not very much. In my opinion whatever there was went up in a column of smoke above Hiroshima. We set the past on fire. Quite a performance all right. I more or less remember it. Ashes everywhere, still sifting down. Ideals smirched, avarice, self-righteousness—the Holy Sepulcher just one more milestone on the road to some cloudy Fulfillment. Fulfillment of what! Cheating, lying, riots, war, wax, oil, iron, sulfur, wine, papyrus & eternal slavery. Jesus Christ in Heaven.
I’m tired, sick at heart. Not much hope. Maybe suicide’s not wrong.
FEBRUARY 22
Washington’s Birthday. Bianca didn’t want to go, claimed she had to talk with Spach about organizing a teachers’ association of some sort. It was just one more excuse to avoid going anywhere with me, I wasn’t taken in by it but I really don’t care. Am used to being alone. Let her have tea and cookies with Spach, do as she pleases, get down on her knees in front of him if she cares to, it means nothing to me! Someday she’ll be damned for what she does. We pay for what we do in this world. Sooner or later the wheel comes full circle for us all.
Besides, it’s a good thing she didn’t go because she would have gotten bored in 5 minutes and insisted on leaving. Folk dancers, mandolin player, magician, Hollywood actors giving declarations of faith in America, only place on earth where there’s any freedom, etc. Sweetness and more sweetness. Crap! Make-believe. Also a long dull speech about constitutional guarantees and so forth by our ex-Governor. People in the grandstand were coughing, eating peanuts, yawning but then of course applauding when he was finished. I felt like vomiting on the platform, let them see what their beautiful nation really stands for. They ought to have a good look at America. No doubt it looks very nice from a distance, just be sure you don’t get too close. Then you find out. Bigotry, fraud, immorality—no use cataloguing it! In short, the whole business soured my stomach right from the beginning. Five thousand people getting to their feet to sing the national anthem and then recite the Pledge of Allegiance but I know what was in their hearts and in their minds. I know what they do every day and every night. I wonder if I was the only one who mouthed the words but didn’t utter a sound. No, probably there were others. Must be a few other people who realize how decayed this country is. Then that bitch in the bathing suit climbed up on the stage wearing a cardboard crown & carrying a scepter, went parading back and forth to show off her tits. No shame. No modesty. Program said she was a dramatics student at University of California—Mara St. Johns. She looked to me like one of those professional sluts from Hollywood. If she isn’t the symbol of American rottenness, what is? Program said she was active in the Presbyterian church! There’s hypocrisy for you Earl, but some day the wheel is going to come full circle for her too—for her and all the others like her. For the dirty things they do. Pretending to be what they’re not. In fact the longer I think about it the more it seems to me this whole nation is going to lie in ashes and lumps of pitch just as the Bible predicted. Was it there? Mmm—well, wherever. Doesn’t matter, message
