The Lonely Hearts Hotel(103)

Caspar looked at Jimmy when he walked into the Romeo Hotel. “What the hell are you doing?” Caspar asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” Jimmy answered.

He went to his room to be alone. He couldn’t stop thinking of things that he wanted to do to her. He wanted to take her to the ice cream parlor that had twenty types of strawberry ice cream. He wanted to take her to visit his mother’s grave. He wanted to ride on a roller coaster with her. He wanted to go for pie with her after a movie. He imagined them listening to a record in a booth at a record store.

He imagined her in a nightgown sitting across the kitchen table, sipping coffee. Having that picture in his head made him feel almost delirious. He imagined her reaching over the table and picking up his piece of toast and eating it. He could almost hear the way it would sound.

He closed his eyes. He unbuttoned his shirt. He imagined it was Rose’s fingers undoing the buttons. He imagined it was her hand slipping down his pants. And he whispered, “I don’t have time for that now, sweetheart. I have to go to work. Cut that out!”





61


    THE CHILDREN’S WAR



Pierrot woke up with a start, feeling sad for their tiny baby, somewhere in a suitcase in the Saint Lawrence River. Perhaps it had floated off to sea. Would things have been any different if their child had survived? He couldn’t imagine it now. They would be in Montreal, performing for an audience of one in a high chair. A baby makes the ordinary miraculous.

Rose was asleep beside him. She was so pale and serene when she slept, as though she were frozen in ice.

When he began thinking about the baby, it was an indication that his mood was about to go to hell. It was like feeling a sore throat and knowing that it meant that the flu was coming on. He didn’t want to stew in those thoughts all day long.

Whenever he was depressed, it made him want to get high. He was surprised by this craving. He always assumed that the craving had disappeared—that its hold on him had weakened. And when it came back, he was surprised to feel it so strongly.

Imagine, if you will, the taxidermied corpse of a wolf. Dead for years, its insides gutted, its organs removed, its hide stuffed with wood chips, and sewed back up. With glass eyes, it’s been mounted in a position and put on display at the museum. Imagine then that, despite all that, there was the wolf strutting around, acting as if nothing had even happened, drooling and famished, its joints all elastic, pacing at the foot of your bed, as absolutely real as anything real could ever be. Imagine the shock you would feel.

Pierrot jumped up out of bed—as though the desire were in the bed, as though he could get away from it. He put on his clothes and quietly headed out for a walk.

? ? ?

AS PIERROT WAS PASSING THROUGH the lobby, the concierge called out his name and said he had a letter for him. Pierrot walked over to the desk and took the letter from the man’s hand. It wasn’t exactly for him personally per se. The words on the envelope were written in a studied print that had curlicues at the end of the strokes of each letter, making them look like the tendrils of flowers. On the envelope was written: To the members of the fine circus with many clowns in it, to be read by someone in charge.

Pierrot ripped open the envelope, pulled out the letter and perused its contents:

Would you find the time to send one of your clowns to visit the children at the Downtown City Hospital for Sick and Unfortunate Children? We cannot afford to pay for your services. But if you found it within your charity, the unfortunate children would see it undoubtedly as a great blessing.

He was surprised and touched by the letter. He liked the very honest manner in which it was composed. He also quite liked that something good was being expected of him. And, frankly, he was in the mood to see some children.

? ? ?

ON HIS WAY TO THE HOSPITAL, Pierrot stopped by at the theater and went into the prop room backstage to find himself a clown costume. He stuck a round, red nose on his face. He took out a top hat that was crushed at the top and had a red cloth carnation affixed to the side. He picked up an old battered suitcase. He looked at himself in the mirror. He found it almost alarming just how quickly he had transformed into a clown.

? ? ?

WHEN HE ARRIVED, Pierrot was escorted to the common room on the second floor of the hospital. A nurse lifted up a hand bell over her head and rang it, and children immediately began to be assembled.

A little girl had an intravenous drip that she was walking along like a pet ostrich she was taking for a walk. There was a girl covered in stitches where she had been mauled by a dog. She looked like a doll that had been mended with black thread. There was a boy with a cast on his arm. It was covered in ink drawings—no doubt he would one day be a sailor covered in tattoos. There was a boy in leg braces who seemed to nonetheless have a joyous sort of walk. There was a little boy with a bandage around his head. There was a little boy whose skin had been burned. There were some children who were pushed into the room in wheelchairs.

They were like tiny battlefield veterans, injured by the trials of being young, in the Great Children’s War. Perhaps he himself had never escaped his childhood wounds. The only difference was that these children wore their injuries on the outside.

There was a piano on a small raised stage in the room. He sat at it and began to play for the children. It was a cheap piano. It had a tinny sound. There was something childish about its sound, akin to striking a xylophone with a metal stick. It reminded him of the piano that he had learned to play on at the orphanage.