The Camera Eye (17)
the spring you could see Halley’s Comet over the elms from the back topfloor windows of the Upper House Mr. Greenleaf said you would have to go to confirmation class and be confirmed when the bishop came and next time you went canoeing you told Skinny that you wouldn’t be confirmed because you believed in camping and canoeing and Halley’s Comet and the Universe and the sound the rain made on the tent the night you’d both read The Hound of the Baskervilles and you’d hung out the steak on a tree and a hound must have smelt it because he kept circling round you and howling something terrible and you were so scared (but you didn’t say that, you don’t know what you said)
and not in church and Skinny said if you’d never been baptized you couldn’t be confirmed and you went and told Mr. Greenleaf and he looked very chilly and said you’d better not go to confirmation class any more and after that you had to go to church Sundays but you could go to either one you liked so sometimes you went to the Congregational and sometimes to the Episcopalian and the Sunday the bishop came you couldn’t see Halley’s Comet any more and you saw the others being confirmed and it lasted for hours because there were a lot of little girls being confirmed too and all you could hear was mumble mumble this thy child mumble mumble this thy child and you wondered if you’d be alive next time Halley’s Comet came round
Newsreel XIII
I was in front of the national palace when the firing began. I ran across the Plaza with other thousands of scurrying men women and children scores of whom fell in their flight to cover
NEW HIGH MOUNTAINS FOUND
Oh Jim O’Shea was castaway upon an Indian Isle
The natives there they liked his hair
They liked his Irish smile
BEDLAM IN ART
BANDITS AT HOME IN WILDS
Washington considers unfortunate illogical and unnatural the selection of General Huerta as provisional president of Mexico in succession to the overthrown president
3 FLEE CITY FEAR WEB
He’d put sand in the hotel sugar writer says he came to America an exile and found only sordidness.
LUNG YU FORMER EMPRESS OF CHINA DIES
IN THE FORBIDDEN CITY
La cucaracha la cucaracha
Ya no quiere caminar
Porque no tiene
porque no tiene
Marijuana que fumar.
ignoring of lower classes in organizing of republic may cause another uprising
600 AMERICANS FLEE CAPITAL
You shall have rings on your fingers
And bells on your toes
Elephants to ride upon
My little Irish rose
So come to your nabob and on next St. Patrick’s day
Be Mrs. Mumbo Jumbo Jijibhoy Jay O’Shea
Eleanor Stoddard
When she was small she hated everything. She hated her father, a stout redhaired man smelling of whiskers and stale pipetobacco. He worked in an office in the stockyards and came home with the stockyards stench on his clothes and told bloody jokes about butchering sheep and steers and hogs and men. Eleanor hated smells and the sight of blood. Nights she used to dream she lived alone with her mother in a big clean white house in Oak Park in winter when there was snow on the ground and she’d been setting a white linen tablecloth with bright white silver and she’d set white flowers and the white meat of chicken before her mother who was a society lady in a dress of white samite, but there’d suddenly be a tiny red speck on the table and it would grow and grow and her mother would make helpless fluttering motions with her hands and she’d try to brush it off but it would grow a spot of blood welling into a bloody blot spreading over the tablecloth and she’d wake up out of the nightmare smelling the stockyards and screaming.
When she was sixteen in highschool she and a girl named Isabelle swore together that if a boy ever touched them they’d kill themselves. But that fall the girl got pneumonia after scarlet fever and died.
The only other person Eleanor liked was Miss Oliphant, her English teacher. Miss Oliphant had been born in England. Her parents had come to Chicago when she was a girl in her teens. She was a great enthusiast for the English language, tried to get her pupils to use the broad “a” and felt that she had a right to some authority in matters pertaining to English literature due to being distantly related to a certain Mrs. Oliphant who’d been an English literary lady in the middle nineteenth century and had written so beautifully about Florence. So she’d occasionally have her more promising pupils, those who seemed the children of nicer parents, to tea in her little flat where she lived all alone with a sleepy blue Persian cat and a bullfinch, and talk to them about Goldsmith and Dr. Johnson’s pithy sayings and Keats and cor cordium and how terrible it was he died so young and Tennyson and how rude he’d been to women and about how they changed the guard at Whitehall and the grapevine Henry the Eighth planted at Hampton Court and the illfated Mary Queen of Scots. Miss Oliphant’s parents had been Catholics and had considered the Stuarts the rightful heirs to the British throne, and used to pass their wineglasses over the waterpitcher when they drank to the king. All this thrilled the boys and girls very much and particularly Eleanor and Isabelle, and Miss Oliphant used to give them high grades for their compositions and encourage them to read. Eleanor was very fond of her and very attentive in class. Just to hear Miss Oliphant pronounce a phrase like “The Great Monuments of English Prose,” or “The Little Princes in the Tower” or “St. George and Merrie England” made small chills go up and down her spine. When Isabelle died, Miss Oliphant was so lovely about it, had her to tea with her all alone and read her “Lycidas” in a clear crisp voice and told her to read “Adonais” when she got home, but that she couldn’t read it to her because she knew she’d break down if she did. Then she talked about her best friend when she’d been a girl who’d been an Irish girl with red hair and a clear warm white skin like Crown Darby, my dear, and how she’d gone to India and died of the fever, and how Miss Oliphant had never thought to survive her grief and how Crown Darby had been invented and the inventor had spent his last penny working on the formula for this wonderful china and had needed some gold as the last ingredient, and they had been starving to death and there had been nothing left but his wife’s wedding ring and how they kept the fire in the furnace going with their chairs and tables and at least he had produced this wonderful china that the royal family used exclusively.
It was Miss Oliphant who induced Eleanor to take courses at the Art Institute. She had reproductions on her walls of pictures by Rossetti and Burne-Jones and talked to Eleanor about the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. She made her feel that Art was something ivory white and very pure and noble and distant and sad.
When her mother died of pernicious anaemia Eleanor was a thin girl of eighteen, working days in a laceshop in the Loop and studying commercial art evenings at the Art Institute. After the funeral she went home and packed her belongings and moved to Moody House. She hardly ever went to see her father. He sometimes called her up on the phone but whenever she could she avoided answering. She wanted to forget all about him.