Page:Fire!! - 1926.djvu/36

Page Thirty-four cloud of smoke blue smoke  when they had taken his father from the vault three weeks later  he had grown beautiful  his nose had become perfect and clear  his hair had turned jet black and glossy and silky  and his skin was a transparent green  like the sea only not so deep  and where it was drawn over the cheek bones a pale beautiful red appeared  like a blush  why hadn't his father looked like that always  but no  to have sung would have broken the wondrous repose of his lips and maybe that was his beauty  maybe it was wrong to think thoughts like these  but they were nice and pleasant and comfortable  when one was smoking a cigarette thru an ivory holder  inlaid with red jade and green

he wondered why he couldn't find work a job  when he had first come to New York he had  and he had only been fourteen then was it because he was nineteen now that he felt so idle  and contented  or because he was an artist  but was he an artist  was one an artist until one became known  of course he was an artist  and strangely enough so were all his friends  he should be ashamed that he didn't work  but  was it five years in New York  or the fact that he was an artist  when his mother said she couldn't understand him  why did he vaguely pity her instead of being ashamed  he should be  his mother and all his relatives said so  his brother was three years younger than he and yet he had already been away from home a year  on the stage  making thirty-five dollars a week  had three suits and many clothes and was going to help mother  while he  Alex  was content to lay and smoke and meet friends at night  to argue and read Wilde  Freud  Boccacio and Schnitzler  to attend Gurdjieff meetings and know things  Why did they scoff at him for knowing such people as Carl  Mencken  Toomer  Hughes  Cullen  Wood  Cabell  oh the whole lot of them  was it because it seemed incongruous that he  who was so little known  should call by first names people they would like to know  were they jealous  no mothers aren't jealous of their sons  they are proud of them  why then  when these friends accepted and liked him  no matter how he dressed  why did mother ask  and you went looking like that  Langston was a fine fellow  he knew there was something in Alex  and so did Rene and Borgia  and Zora and Clement and Miguel  and  and  and all of them  if he went to see mother she would ask  how do you feel Alex with nothing in your pockets  I don't see how you can be satisfied  Really you're a mystery to me  and who you take after  I'm sure I don't know  none of my brothers were lazy and shiftless  I can never remember the time when they weren't sending money home and your father was your age he was supporting a family  where you get your nerve I don't know  just because you've tried to write one or two little poems and stories that no one understands  you seem to think the world owes you a living  you should see by now how much is thought of them  you can't sell anything  and you won't do anything to make money  wake up Alex  I don't know what will become of you

it was hard to believe in one's self after that did Wildes' parents or Shelly's or Goya's talk to them like that  but it was depressing to think in that vein  Alex stretched and yawned  Max had died  Margaret had died  so had Sonia  Cynthia  Juan-Jose and Harry  all people he had loved  loved one by one and together  and all had died  he never loved a person long before they died  in truth he was tragic  that was a lovely appellation  The Tragic Genius  think  to go thru life known as The Tragic Genius  romantic  but it was more or less true  Alex turned over and blew another cloud of smoke  was all life like that  smoke  blue smoke from an ivory holder  he wished he were in New Bedford  New Bedford was a nice place  snug little houses set complacently behind protecting lawns  half open windows showing prim interiors from behind waving cool curtains  inviting  like precise courtesans winking from behind lace fans  and trees  many trees  casting lacey patterns of shade on the sun dipped sidewalks  small stores  naively proud of their psuedo grandeur  banks  called institutions for saving  all naive  that was it  New Bedford was naive  after the sophistication of New York it would fan one like a refreshing breeze  and yet he had returned to New York  and sophistication  was he sophisticated  no because he was seldom bored  seldom bored by anything  and weren't the sophisticated continually suffering from ennui  on the contrary  he was amused  amused by the artificiality of naivety and sophistication alike  but may be that in itself was the essence of sophistication or  was it cynicism  or were the two identical  he blew a cloud of smoke  it was growing dark now  and the smoke no longer had a ladder to climb  but soon the moon would rise and then he would