“How do you mean?”
“Oh, Hugh was saying once that the book he writes is never quite as good as the book he had in mind. That sometimes parts of it will actually come out better than what he planned, but that it’s never exactly the way he intended it to be. And I was thinking about music and wondering if it’s the same. Say you’re composing a symphony, and you can hear a certain passage in your mind and you work it out with pencil and paper and then an orchestra performs it, and everybody says it’s terrific and all, but you’re the composer and you hear it performed and it’s not the way you expected it to sound. It may be better or it may be worse, but it’s not the way you expected it to be.”
“I never thought of that.”
“No, neither did I until just now. Oh, Jesus, Beethoven.”
“What about him?”
“Well, he was deaf, right?”
“Toward the end of his life, yes.”
“Well, see, that’s so far-out. He heard it all in his head and put it down, and then he never got to hear it performed, so it could have been miles away from what he figured on and he would never have any way of knowing.”
“That’s a very strange idea.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
Linda nodded. “It’s almost frightening.”
“You know what it is? It’s a stoned idea.”
She thought for a moment, remembering the special paths her mind had taken on grass. Then she nodded. “You see what I mean?”
“Yes. It’s a stoned idea.”
“And I’m not even stoned. You’re not, are you?”
“Me? No.”
“You said that as if it’s impossible. Don’t you even smoke?”
“Not recently. There was a time when I smoked quite frequently, but I can’t remember the last time now.”
“Didn’t you like it?”
“Sometimes I did. At first I always did.”
“Then what happened? Bummers?”
“Occasionally.”
“Some people I know who’ve done acid say you learn as much from the bummers as from the good trips.”
“I’ve never had acid.”
“Neither have I. Is that why you stopped? Bummers?”
“Not exactly. I guess I reached a point where I didn’t like being high. And I didn’t like being around people who were high all the time.”
“Oh, I can dig it. People who are constantly stoned are a down. I mean, they never do anything.”
She nodded, but thought that wasn’t exactly what she had meant. She had been thinking of Marc, and it was not so much that he didn’t do anything as that she had been unable to avoid the feeling that nobody was home, that Marc was permanently out to lunch. But perhaps that amounted to the same thing.
“I’d like to get stoned with you sometime,” Karen was saying. “Just slightly stoned. Sometime when you think you feel like it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Yes I do. It’s that people can get to know each other better that way. Sometimes. Other times they just shut each other off. It depends on who they are and where their heads are at. I wish I knew you better.”
“We’re getting to know each other, Karen.”
“I suppose. It’s just—” She hesitated for a long moment, then changed course. “Have you read any of the new book?”
“Your father’s book? No. He doesn’t want me to read anything until it’s finished.”
“Same here. I thought maybe you might have read it. Does he talk about it with you?”
“Just in very general terms. He’ll say that he had a good day or a bad day. Or that he’s hung up on a scene, or got over being hung up on a scene, but he’s never said anything more specific than that.”
“He’ll tell me about certain problems but it’s always vague. I don’t know anything about what it’s about, really. Just the title.”
“What’s the title?”
“The Edge of Thought. He didn’t mention it? Well, anyway, it’s just a working title. That means he may change it later, or the publishers may want to change it, but he has to have a title typed on the first page or he can’t get started with the writing. I don’t know whether you would call it a superstition or what.”
“It’s not a bad title. The Edge of Thought.”
“It’s from a poem but I forget who by. Have you read Capital Reward?”
“That’s the newest one, isn’t it? I thought it wasn’t coming out until November.”
“A week before Thanksgiving. I read the galleys. That’s long sheets from the printer that you check to make sure the type is right before the book goes to press.”
“I know.”
“I did the proofreading. It’s harder to enjoy a book that way because you have to read so slowly, so first I read a copy of the manuscript straight through and then I went through the galleys and checked them against the manuscript. He hates to read galleys. Especially, he’s working on something else. Usually he just initials them and sends them back because the publisher’s proofreaders catch most of the mistakes, but I didn’t mind doing it. You know, something to do.”
“How’s the book?”
“Oh, I think it’s sensational, but I’m prejudiced. Of course I guess you’ll be getting an autographed copy as soon as it comes out.”
“That would be exciting.”
“Linda? What do you think of Hugh?”
“As a writer?”
“Uh-huh. No, wait a minute, that’s not what I mean, I mean as a person.” She put her face in her hands. “Oh, wow,” she said. “Oh, wow, this is heavy.”
“Are you all right, Karen?”
“Me? Sure.” She fastened troubled eyes on Linda. “I mean how do you feel about him, that’s what I meant.”
“This is an odd conversation.”
“It’s heavy. If it’s too heavy I could split.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“This is so hard to handle. I’m not such a kid, but I keep feeling like one all of a sudden. This is realty weird. You don’t have to answer the question.”
“Why shouldn’t I answer it? I like your father very much. I don’t know if that’s the answer you—”
“What’s really weird is I keep saying Hugh and you keep saying your father.”
“Well, I—”
“Are you going to marry him?”
“Not before I’m asked.”
“He hasn’t asked you? I thought maybe he did. I think he will.”
“Well, I can’t really—”
“Suppose he does.”
The conversation had been faintly uncomfortable from the beginning and was getting more and more difficult for her. Why didn’t customers come in when you wanted them to? Not even customers — it would have been a pleasure just then to explain to some cretin that there was no public rest room in the Mall. At this point any interruption would be a deliverance.
“I’m sure he’ll ask you,” Karen was saying. “And I hope you’ll say yes.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, God, yes.”
“That surprises me.”
“It does? Maybe we’re not communicating at all. It’s my fault. I never should have gotten into all this.” She stood up suddenly. “I guess I’ll split.”
“Don’t go, Karen.”
But she had to; she was fighting back tears. “I just think you would be very good for each other,” she said. “That’s all. I think you could make each other happy. And what this is all about, what everything’s all about, is that I’m just trying to find a way to tell you that you don’t have to worry about me. Like I won’t be in the way or anything, that’s all, that’s the only thing I was trying to say.”