P.S. Also, stay out of his closet. I think he keeps his personal stuff in there.

P.P.S. Unless you want to wash some windows or wax some floors, of course. In that case, be my guest.

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

TO: Roger FROM: Bill Gelb

RE: Riddley Walker's possible contribution to insane and degrading jokebook

By all means let's get him in on the project when he gets back. Maybe he can contribute a few dead-mommy jokes.

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: Bill Gelb DATE: 3/30/81

MESSAGE: As someone who hasn't even come up with a dim dim idea for a book of idea for a book of any any kind, I suggest you keep your wisecracks to yourself. Or maybe go down to R.W.'s closet and sniff the air. It seems to have done wonders for Herb and Sandra. That is not a serious suggestion. As I told Sandra, the janitor's closet is strictly Riddley's domain. kind, I suggest you keep your wisecracks to yourself. Or maybe go down to R.W.'s closet and sniff the air. It seems to have done wonders for Herb and Sandra. That is not a serious suggestion. As I told Sandra, the janitor's closet is strictly Riddley's domain.

From John Kenton's diary

March 30, 1981

I staggered into my apartment tonight half-drunk from the weirdest brainstorming session of my life (place, Flaherty's Pub; subject, what do you call a leper in a hot tub, etc., etc.). I'm drinking far too much lately, yet I would be a flat liar if I didn't say I felt a weird, shameful excitement. Nor is it just booze driving my emotions-at least I don't think so. I don't know if a jokebook can possibly hit The New York Times bestseller list-probably not-and yet I think we all felt that sense of something actually happening. Before we were done, half the people in the pub were contributing jokes, my favorite being the above-referenced about what you call a leper in a hot tub (Stu, of course). If it's any consolation, Sandra and Bill both finished up drunker than me, Roger perhaps a shade less so. Herb Porter doesn't drink. I believe he's got a problem with it, and goes to those meetings where you introduce yourself by your first name.

Weird, weird meeting. But not as weird as the letter I found waiting for me in my mailbox when I finally swam home. I'm too headachey to write much more tonight, all I want is to eat something non-contentious and go to bed, but I will clip Ms. Barfield's letter to this page of my diary, and take it in to the office tomorrow. Perhaps by then the nagging chill I feel running up my back will be gone.

Roger will know what to do. At least I hope so. And perhaps he'll know something else as well: how a woman who runs a flower shop and greenhouse in Central Falls, Rhode Island could have known my address. My home address.

And Kevin.

How in G.o.d's name could she had known about Kevin? Not just Kevin, either. Kevin Anthony, she writes.

Kevin Anthony, 7/7/67.She also says she doesn't like Carlos Detweiller-that she's afraid of him-and there's that much to be grateful for, but I find I'm not much comforted.

After all, she could be lying.

f.u.c.k this, I'm going to bed. With luck, they'll all stay out of my dreams. Ruth Tanaka most of all. Something odd: at one point during our time in Flaherty's, I went into the bathroom. While I was standing at the urinal, Ruth's name popped into my mind. Her name but not her face. For a couple of seconds there I couldn't see her face at all. What came instead was the last of the "sakrifice photos." Carlos Detweiller, his face in the shadows, holding up a dripping heart.

Christ.

letter to john kenton from ms. tin a b arfield

Mar 28 '81 Dear Mr John Kenton, Dear Mr John Kenton,

You don't know me from Eve the First Mother but I know you. Also we have Carlos in common and you know exactly who I mean. I am Tina Barfield the Carlos in common and you know exactly who I mean. I am Tina Barfield the prop of the Central Falls House of Flowers. You think you are thru with Carlos prop of the Central Falls House of Flowers. You think you are thru with Carlos but Carlos is not thru with you. You are in danger. I am in danger. Everyone at but Carlos is not thru with you. You are in danger. I am in danger. Everyone at the publishing house where you work is in danger. But also you have great the publishing house where you work is in danger. But also you have great opportunity. The Dark Powers must give before they can take. There are things opportunity. The Dark Powers must give before they can take. There are things I can tell you. Come and see me as soon as you get this letter. As soon as you get I can tell you. Come and see me as soon as you get this letter. As soon as you get it. My time here must end soon. Some of the Tongues have begun to wag. it. My time here must end soon. Some of the Tongues have begun to wag.

Do you think I am crazy. Answer is yes you do. But I can help you find the one you're looking for. It has been in that room all the time. Why do I do this. one you're looking for. It has been in that room all the time. Why do I do this. Partly because my soul, although mortgaged to the Goat, may still be Partly because my soul, although mortgaged to the Goat, may still be redeemable. Mostly because I fear & loathe Carlos Detweiller. Hate that son of redeemable. Mostly because I fear & loathe Carlos Detweiller. Hate that son of a b.i.t.c.h! Would do anything to see his plans brought to Wrack and Ruin. Believe a b.i.t.c.h! Would do anything to see his plans brought to Wrack and Ruin. Believe me when I say reports of his death will be greatly exaggerated. Like the General. me when I say reports of his death will be greatly exaggerated. Like the General.

Come Tuesday if you can. Bring the Water-Boy if you want. You can do

more than sidestep Carlos's revenge, Mr. John Kenton. With my help you can use him to achieve your dream. If you doubt me think of this: Kevin Anthony use him to achieve your dream. If you doubt me think of this: Kevin Anthony 7/7/67. I am sorry if this upsets you but there's no time to spend convincing you 7/7/67. I am sorry if this upsets you but there's no time to spend convincing you that I know what I know. that I know what I know.

Sincerely yours,

Tina Barfield

From John Kenton's diary

March 31, 1981

This has been a long day-a terrible day-a wonderful day-an I-don'tknow-what day. All I know for sure is that I'm shaken to my heels. To my very soul. You can blithely quote Hamlet-"more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy"-and never think about what the words mean. And then maybe s.h.i.t happens, like the kind of s.h.i.t that happened to Roger and me today. And the floor you have so confidently spent your life walking on suddenly turns transparent and you realize there's a horrible gulf below it. And the worst thing is the gulf isn't empty. There are things in it. I don't know what those things are, but I have an idea they're hungry. I'd like to be out of this. And yet there is something to what Roger says. I feel some of the crazy excitement I saw in his eyes. I- Oh man, this is no good. I'm all over the map. Time to take a deep breath, settle down, and start from the beginning. I'll get this down even if it takes me all night. I have an idea that I wouldn't be able to sleep much, anyway. And do you know what haunts me? What keeps going through my head like some kind of crazy mantra? The Dark Powers must give before they can take. The possibilities in such a simple statement! If such a simple statement could ever be true!

Okay. From the beginning.

Usually it takes the alarm five minutes of uninterrupted braying to get me up, but this morning my eyes popped open all on their own at 6:58 AM, two minutes before I'd set it to go off. My head was clear, my stomach settled, not so much as a trace of a hangover, but when I got up I left my own dark silhouette behind me on the sheet; I must have sweat out a pint of mingled booze and salt water in the night. I had ugly, tangled dreams; in one of them I was chasing Ruth with some sort of poisonous plant, yelling after her that if she ate the leaves, she'd live forever.

"You know you want to, you b.i.t.c.h!" I was yelling at her. "Smell the leaves! Like cookies in your grandma's kitchen! How can something that smells like that be bad for you?"

I grabbed a quick shower, a few mouthfuls of juice right from the carton, and then out the door I went. Roger always gets in early, but this morning I meant to beat him.

On the bus I read through the Barfield woman's letter again. Last night, fuzzy with drink and about two thousand jokes concerning lesbians, black people, and deaf nuns, all I could see was my dead brother's name. In the flat gray light of an overcast New York morning, sitting amidst the last wave of blue-collars and the first wave of white- and pink-collars-strangely serene in that uneasy mixture of Posts and Wall Street Journals-I read the letter again, this time better able to appreciate its multi-layered weirdness. Yet it was my brother's name my eyes kept returning to.

I stepped off the elevator and onto the fifth floor of 409 Park Avenue South at 7:50 AM, sure I must have beaten Roger by at least half an hour...but the lights in his office were already on, and I could hear his IBM clacking away. He was transcribing jokes, it turned out. And although his eyes were a trifle bloodshot, he didn't look any more hungover than I felt. Looking at him sitting there, I felt a kind of dull hate for Harlow Enders and all the suits above him, guys who-I'd bet on it-have never read a single one of the books they publish. Their idea of a page-turner is a profit-heavy annual report.

"They don't deserve you," I said.

He looked up, startled, then smiled. "You're here early. But I'm glad. I've got something to show you, John."

"I've got something to show you, too."

"All right." He pushed back from the typewriter, then looked at it with distaste. "The book about General Hecksler is going to be unpleasant, but the joke-book...man, this stuff is ugly." He looked at his current copy and read: "'How many starving Biafarans can you get in an elevator car?'"

"All of them," I said. Now that we were out of the smoke and laughter and yelled drink orders and the blaring juke that combine to make Flaherty's Flaherty's, the joke really wasn't funny at all. It was sad and ugly and dangerous. The fact that people would laugh at it was the worst thing about it.

"All of them," he agreed softly. "f.u.c.king all of them."

"We don't have to do the book," I said. "There's no paper on it yet except for a couple of memos, and those could disappear."

"If we don't do it, someone else will," Roger said. "It's an idea whose time has come. It is, in its own stinky way, brilliant. You know that?"

I nodded.

"You want to know something else? I think it is going to be a bestseller. And I think the dozen or so sequels we'll do are going to be bestsellers. I think that for the next two years, jokes about n.i.g.g.e.rs, kikes, blindmen, and dying minorities are going to have a...a vogue." His mouth gave a revolted downward twitch...and then he laughed. It was horrible, that laugh. Outraged and yet greedy. Then I heard myself laughing, too, and that was even more horrible.

"What did you want to show me, John?"

"This." I handed him the letter. His eyes went to the signature first, then widened. He looked up at me and I nodded. "Carlos's boss in Central Falls. Maybe we're not through with him after all."

"How did she get your address?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you think she could have gotten it from Detweiller?"

"She says she hates him."

"Doesn't mean she does. Who's Kevin Anthony? Any idea?""Kevin Anthony was my brother. When he was ten, he started losing the sight in one eye. It was a tumor. They took the eye, but the cancer had already gotten into his brain. He was dead within six months. My mother and father never got over it."

The color left Roger's face. "G.o.d, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No, you didn't. No one in New York does, so far as I know. Let alone Central Falls. I hadn't even gotten around to telling Ruth."