a step. Don’t understand it. I conduct more interviews than anybody else in the department—Fensdeicke told me so. Also, very few errors. This information must be on record somewhere, therefore why don’t they promote me? Suppose that in fact I could speak to Foxx about it. Perhaps all that’s necessary is bringing the matter to somebody’s attention. He could write a memo to whoever his superior is in Sacramento. Certainly wouldn’t do any harm. My career’s at a standstill, to say the least. I’m being wasted. Maybe the Bureau’s just too big. People can often be overlooked no matter how efficiently they perform, or how badly. Well, I might just throw a rock through the front window and wait to see if that has any effect—doubt if it would. Sometimes get the feeling I could pick up a gun and shoot Fensdeicke dead on the spot, it would be noted on one of the files and that would be the end of the matter.
Waiting for summer. Long way off.
FEBRUARY 6
Vandals got into a house on Geary street last night, not far from here. Owner out of the city. Neighbors reported lights, noises, police discovered most of the furniture broken—sawed to pieces, hacked, mattresses ripped apart, mirrors shattered, paint poured into the washing machine, dishes thrown against walls, lighting fixtures pulled out, carpets burned & cut, shoes & garments stuffed into the toilet, bathtub filled and overflowing, etc. Pictures in the morning Chronicle, everybody astonished. At lunch old Clegg shaking his head over it. If he had his way he’d line them up against the wall and call out the firing squad, teach them a lesson. Fensdeicke agreeing, saying it’s “simply dreadful!” She can’t understand how people can behave like that. All I could do to keep from laughing.
FEBRUARY 7
Beginning to think we’ve gotten to be the most savage nation on earth. Not so peaceful and charitable and decent as we claim. Oh no, not quite! Magazine article reports we have 10 times as many murders per capita as England, 9 times as many rapes as Italy, 8 times as many thieves as there are in France. Doesn’t surprise me, I’ve sensed it. Merely walking along the street I’ve sensed America’s savage soul. A thousand explanations, but the fact remains.
FEBRUARY 8
Tempted to keep a scrapbook of monstrous events. Abominations in the sight of the Lord. No end to the examples. This A.M. a man on his way to work stopped by car filled with boys who hit him with tire chains, gouged out one of his eyes, drove away laughing and clapping their hands. Here I sit thinking about it while Bianca calmly studies stock-market reports. Fills me with disgust. In the Book of Tobit they say I used to do many acts of charity for my brothers. I would give bread to the hungry and my clothes to the naked, and if I saw one of my people dead and thrown outside the wall of Nineveh, I would bury him. Oh yes, but that was in the time of Shalmaneser, and I’m different now. How different I am! Weigh my iniquities as well as those of every other inhabitant of the earth—weigh them on scales and which way the movement of the pointer turns will be found out! Disgust is the least word I could use. Spit out the word. I shut my eyes & spit on whoever’s convenient. That’s how it is. No bread to the hungry, clothes I keep for my own use. Let the dead rot in the open city! Yes. And worse. Well, somebody—who? no matter—made a bet with friends, went to a brothel and there in front of them all he got on a whore without taking the hat off his head or taking the cigar out of his mouth. More than a crude boast about virility. Must have been his way of announcing contempt for whatever society holds sacred. Of course there are other ways of proving it. Anyhow, sooner or later we come together side by side, toes pointing stiffly at the sky.
FEBRUARY 9
Glad this day is done! Robin & Twinka here most of the afternoon hunched over their books on the dining-room table. I wasn’t able to keep away from them. Knew there was going to be trouble, couldn’t help myself. Promised myself I would watch television, keep my back turned to them, keep out of the dining room, but heard their voices and my good intentions weren’t worth a gumdrop—sneaking to the door holding my breath, on my knees as low as I could get. They knew I was there. Cocking their legs apart—the dirty sluts. But naturally they pretended not to know anything about it when B came after me. So it’s my fault. I’m to blame, who else! I’m always to blame. As far back as I can remember I’ve been to blame for whatever happened.
Just now occurred to me they must have told her. Of course, otherwise B wouldn’t have noticed. So they did it deliberately, encouraged me—yes, now that I think about it. So they think they can make a fool of me! Well, they’re going to pay for that. I won’t forget. I’ll get even with them, yes, and then some, don’t care how long it takes. I’d like to tie them up tight together, give them a taste of the candle.
I think I could be quite a teacher. Quite a teacher.
FEBRUARY 10
Sunday afternoon and I’ve been out walking, am now downtown in a Market Street coffee shop. Few minutes after 5 P.M. Have a nice table to myself in the corner and can look out at the street. The window’s fly-specked and coffee is not very good but I don’t care, am feeling cheerful. Buttery shafts of light slanting between empty office buildings. I’m sitting here among people who don’t amount to anything at all, yet they presume I’m one of them—no different from them! Maybe that’s why I feel so amused. Just now glanced around. Safe to say not one person in the place has given me a second glance. Certainly am amused. If only they knew! I admit that right now I haven’t been or done anything special, have got a job maybe not much different from other people here, but of course that’s not the point. I’m going to BE somebody one of these days, which means I already AM somebody. Not one of the sweepings of San Francisco, not Earl Summerfield! Look around! Old old women with swollen ankles and battered hats. Toughs with pimples, sideburns, leather boots, rings of keys hooked to their belts—guess they ride motorcycles. They’re Nothing. Not one of them, not a single one is going to be anything else. Get old, paunchy, still try to act tough. Street full of them. And the old gray men turning pages of newspaper they probably picked out of a trash can. See them studying the paper like they expect to come across a notice announcing they’ve been elected to board of directors of Bank of America. Yes, this is where they live, places like this, shabby hotels around the corner, all-night hotdog stands, etc. I feel like getting down on my knees to pray & thank God I’m just a spectator.
Yes indeed Earl Summerfield, you’re feeling all right today. That’s a welcome change. So many days I feel discouraged, resentful. Maybe I pity myself, I shouldn’t. Have good health and a job, can’t expect Everything. I suppose one reason I get angry over trifles is that I’m counting on that supervisor’s job more than I realized. I should get it. I deserve it, although I’m not the first person whose abilities have been neglected. However, I am optimistic. Yes, I am!
Excellent. Return to the apartment, see if B’s at home. Have an honest talk with her. So much has gone wrong between us, but I do love her. Also, I believe she still loves me. She’s right, I’m the one at fault. I’ll try to improve.
FEBRUARY 11
Realize now that we never loved each other. Remembering what she said to me just one minute ago makes me want to cut a piece out of her belly. She doesn’t care if I live or die, in fact she’d rather I was dead. She as much as said so. She’s never loved anybody. But of course I haven’t either. I’m sorry about that, truly am. I’d like to know what it means to be in love with oh, with Anything. Just about Anything on earth, but my opinion is that love eludes certain people.
FEBRUARY 12
Bureau closed on account of Lincoln’s birthday. Began raining at noon & hasn’t let up. I’m sorry the office was closed, don’t know how to occupy myself during the day. Look forward to tomorrow.
