A Picture History of the War

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    Kellerman, gigantic with gin, runs through the park at noon with his naked father slung under one arm. Old Kellerman covers himself with both hands and howls iearing wind, although sometimes he sings in the bursting sunlight. Where there is tearing wind he howls, and where there is bursting sunlight he sings. The park is empty except for a pair of young mothers icoats who stand, pressed together in a rapturous embraear the fountain, "What are those mothers doing there," cries the general, "he fountain?" "That is love," replies the son, "which is found everywhere, healing aiful." "Oh what a desire I have," cries the general, "that there might happen some great dispute among nations, some great anger, so that I might be myself again!" "Think of the wrack," replies the son. "Empty saddles, boots re?versed iirrups, tasteful eulogies --" "I want to tell you something!" shrieks the general. "On the field where this battle was fought, I saw a very wonderful thing which the natives pointed out to me!"

    On the night of the sixteenth, Wellington lin?gered until three in the m in Brussels at the Duchess of Rids ball, sitting in the front row. "Showing himself very cheerful," acc to Muffling. Then with Muffli out for the windmill at Brye, where they found Marshal Bliicher and his staff. Kellerman, followed by the young mothers, runs out of the park and into a bar.

    "Eh, hello, Mado. A Beaujolais."

    "Eh, hello, Tris-Tris," the barmaid replies. She is wiping the zinc with a dirty handkerchief. "A Beaujolais?"

    "Cut the seality, Mado," Kellerman says. "A Beaujolais. Listen, if anybody asks for me --"

    "You havent been in."

    "Thanks, Mado. Youre a good sort."

    Kellerman knocks back the Beaujolais, tucks his naked father under his arm, and runs out the door.

    "You were rude with that woman!" the general cries. "What is the rationale?"

    "Its a vention," Kellerman replies. The Bel?gian regiments had been tampered with. In the melee, I was almost instantly disabled in both arms, losing first my sword, and then my reins, and fol?lowed by a few men, who were presently cut down, no quarter being asked, allowed, iven, I was carried along by my horse, till, receiving a blow from a sabre, I fell senseless on my face to the ground. Kellerman runs, reading an essay by Paul Goodman in entary. His eye, caught by a line in the last paragraph ("In a viable stitu?tion, every excess of power should structurally gee its own antidote"), has wandered back up the n of type to see what is being talked about ("I have discussed the matter with Mr. and Mrs. Beck of the Living Theatre and we agree that the followihods are tolerable").

    "Whats that?" calls the first mother. "On the bench there, covered with the overcoat?"

    "Thats my father," Kellerman replies cour?teously. "My dad."

    "Isnt he cold?"

    "Are you cold?"

    "He looks cold to me!" exclaims the one in the red er. "Theyre funny-looking, arent they, when they get that old? They look like radishes."

    "Something like radishes," Kellerman agrees. "Dirty in the viity of the roots, if thats what you mean."

    "What does he do?" asks the one in the blue boots. "Or, rather, what did he do when he was of an age?"

    Kellerman falls to his knees in front of the bench. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I itted endoarchy two times, melanicity four times, encropatomy seven times, and preprocity with ig?neous i, pretolemicity, and overt ialism once each."

    "Within how long a period?"

    "Since Monday."

    "Did you enjoy it?"

    "Which?"

    "Any of it."

    "Some of it. Melanicity iernoon pro?motes a kind of limited joy."

    "Have you left anything out?"

    "A great deal." On the field where this battle was fought I saw a very wonderful thing which the natives pointed out to me. The bones of the slain lie scattered upon the field in two lots, those of the Persians in one place by themselves, those of the Egyptians in another place apart from them. If, then, you strike the Persian skulls, even with a pebble, they are so weak, that you break a hole in them; but the Egyptian skulls are s, that you may smite them with a stone and you will scarcely break them in.

    "Oh what a desire I have," cried the general, "that my son would, like me, jump out of airplanes into aggressor terrain and find farmers with pitch?forks poised to fork him as he drifts into the trees! And the farmers dog, used for chivying sheep usually -- how is it possible that I have a son who does not know the farmers dog? And then calling out in the night to find the others, voices in the night, its incredibly romantic. I gave him a D-ring for a teething toy and threw him up in the air, higher than any two-year-old had ever been, and put him on the mantel, and said, Jump, you little bastard, and he jumped, and I caught him -- this when I was only a captain and chairman of the Mae Gun ittee at Benning. He had ex?pensive green-gold grenadiers from F.A.O. Schwarz and a garrote I made myself from the E flat on his mothers piano. Firefights at dusk on the back lawn at Leonard Wood. Superior numbers in the shower room. Give them a little mrape, Captain Gregg, uhe autumnal moon."

    "Now, Agnes, dont start g! We better go see Uncle Rene all together right away, and hell ex?plain anything you o know."

    "Iing point of view," the ladies remarked. "Does he know anything about skin?"

    "Everything."

    Touched by the wind, the general howls.

    "He was a jumping general," Kellerman explains to the ladies, "who jumped out of airplanes with his men to fall on the aggressor rear with sudden surprise and great hurt to that rear. He jumped in Sicily with the One-Oh-Bloody-One Airborhe Germaery at Pomezia has twenty-seven thousand four hundred graves," Kellerman de?clares. "What could he have been thinking of, on the way down? pare if you will the se with the se at the battle of Borodino, at the battle of Arbela, at the battle of Metaurus, at the battle of Chalons, at the battle of Pultowa, at the battle of Valmy --"

    "Eh, hello, Mado. A Beaujolais."

    "Eh, hello, Tris-Tris. A Beaujolais?"

    "Listen, Mado, if anybody asks for me --"

    "You havent been in."

    "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I wao say a certain thing to a certain man, a certain true thing that had crept into my head. I opened my head, at the place provided, and proceeded to pronouhe true thing that lay languishing there -- that is, proceeded to propel that trueness, that felicitous trularity, from its plaside my head out into world life. The certain man stood waiting to receive it. His face reflected an eager acceptingness. Everything was right. I propelled, using my mind, my mouth, all my muscles. I propelled. I propelled and propelled. I felt that trularity inside my head moving slowly through the passage pro?vided (stained like the caves of Lascaux with gar?litihistamines, Berlioz, a history, a history) to?ward its debut on the world stage. Past my teeth, with their little browers knitted of gin and cigar smoke, toward its leap to critical scrutiny. Past my lips, with their tendency to flake away in cold weather --

    "Father, I have a few questions to ask you. Just a few questions about things that have been both?eriely." In the melee, I was almost in?stantly disabled in both arms. Losing first my sword, and then my reins. And followed by a few men, who were presently cut down, no quarter being asked, allowed, iven, I was carried along by my horse, till -- "Who is fit for marriage? What is the art of love? hysiental ail?ments  be hereditary? What is the best age for marriage? Should marriage be postponed until the husband alone  support a family? Should a per?son who is sterile marry? What is sterility? How do the male reproductive ans work? Is a human egg like a birds? What is a false pregnancy? What is artificial insemination? What happens if the sex glands are removed? In the male? In the female? Is it possible to tell if a person is emotionally fit for marriage? remarital medical exami?nations important? What is natural childbirth? What is the best size for a family?  interfaith marriages be successful?  a couple know in advance if they  have children? Are there any physical standards to follow in choosing a mate? How soon after ception  a woman tell if she is pregnant? What is the special fun of the sex hormones? What are the causes of barrenness? How reliable are the various traceptive devices? If near relatives marry will their children be abnor?mal? Do the first sex experiences have a really im?portant bearing upon marital adjustment?  im?potence be cured?  the sex of a child be pre?dicted? How often should intercourse be practiced? How long should it last? Should you turn out the lights? Should music be played? Is our culture sick? Is a human egg like a birds?"

    Kellerman stops at the ginstore. "We t use any of those," the ginstoreman says. "Those what-ever-it-ises youve got under your arm there."

    "Thats my dad," Kellerman says. "Formerly known as the Hammer of Thor. Now in reduced circumstances."

    "I thought it was radishes," the ginstoreman says. "A bunch of radishes."

    Kellerman kneels on the floor of the ginstore. "Bless me, Father, for I have sihat one was venial. But in respeortal sins, I would annouhe following sins. Their mortalaciousness will not disappoint, is in fact so patent, so demonstrable, that the mea fessor would, with a shy wave of the hand, accept and five them, in the manner of a s ior running his hand generously, fivingly around the inside of a Valpak presented by a pretty girl."

    "What do you do?" the mothers ask. "You your?self."

    "Im a bridge expert," Kellerman says kindly. "The father of a book on the subject, Greater Bridge, which attempts to make plex the simple, so that we will not be bored. A Bible e, if you take my meaning. Some of our boys carried it in the pockets over their hearts during the war. As they dropped through the air. Singing Johnny Got a Zero. " All deliriously pretty and sexy mothers in brawny el tweeds. Blad-white hounds-tooth checks, say; blad-white silk Paisley blouses; gleaming little pairs of white kidskin gloves. Very correct hang to the jackets. Short skirts with a clochelike slide over the hip, lots of a at the hemline -- couldter. Cafe-ed mouths, shiny e-brown cheeks, rib?bons of green enamel eye makeup. Mrs. Subways.

    "Im cold," old Kellerman says.

    "Cold," the ladies remark, pointing.

    Kellerman pulls out his flask. "Winter gin," he says, "it absumeth the geniture."

    "Say something professional," the ladies request.

    "?6   ?K Q J 9 4   ?A K 8 5   ?K Q 2," Kellerman says.

    Ohird, Hoods main army was in the neighborhood of Lost Mountain. Stewarts Corps was sent to strike the railway north of Marietta and to capture, if possible, Allatoona. Steward, on the m of the fifth, rejoined Hood, haviroyed two small posts on the railroad and hav?i Frenchs division to capture Allatoona aroy the Etowah Bridge. The Army of the Cum?berlahe pursuit, and on the evening of the fourth it was bivouag at the foot of Kenesaw Mountain. "And many others," Kellerman says. "Just as steamy and sordid as that one. Each sin preserved in amber in the vaults of the Library of gress, uhe ma of the Registrar of Chts."

    "With all the sticky details?"

    "Rife with public hair," Kellerman says, "just to give you a whiff of the sordidness possible sihe perfe of modern high-speed offset lithog?raphy."

    "O sin," exclaims the general from his bench, "in which fear and guilt endulate (or are endulated by) each other to mess up the real world of objects with a film of nastiness and dirt, how well I uand you! Standing there! How well I uand your fual motifs! How ill I uand my fual motifs! Why are ob?jects preferable to parables? How did I get so old so suddenly? In what circumstances is fusion a virtue? Why have I never heard of Yusef Lateef? 1. On flute, Lateef creates a pletely distinctive sound -- sensitive, haunting, but filled with a firm and passiorength unequalled among jazz flut?ists. 2. On tenor saxophone, Yusef is again thhly aingly individual, bining bril?liantly modern ception with a big, deep, pellingly full-throated tone. 3. The oboe, as played by Lateef, undergoes a startling transformation into a valid jazz instrument, wailing with a rid fer?vently funky blues quality. 4. What is wailing? What is funky? Why does language subvert me, subvert my seniority, my medals, my oldness, whe gets a ce? What does language have against me -- me that has been good to it, re?speg its little peculiarities and nicilosities, for sixty years? 5. What do years have against me? Why have they stuck stones in my kidneys, devalu?ated my tumulosity, retracted my hair? 6. Where does hair go when it dies?"

    Kellerman is eating one of his fifty-two-t lunches: a 4 1/2 oz.  of Sells Liver Pate (thirty-os) and a box of Nabisco Saltiwenty-os), washed down with the last third of a bottle of leftover Chablis. He lifts the curiously ugly e wineglass, one of four (the fourth de?stroyed in the dishwasher) sent to Noelie at Christ?mas by her on aunt. He is reading an essay by Paul Goodman in entary. His eye, caught by a line in the last paragraph ("In a viable stitu?tion, every excess of power should structurally gee its own antidote"), has wandered back up the page to see what is being talked about ("I have discussed the matter with Mr. and Mrs. Beck of the Living Theatre and we agree that the followihods are tolerable"). He nicks the little hump of pate with the sharp edge of a Saltine. He ?gratulates himself on the eical elegance of the meal. Gregg meantime has attacked Fitzhugh Lee on the Louisa Courthouse road and has driven him bae distance,?９９ｌｉｂ? pursuing until nightfall. Near one of the hedges of the Hougoumont farm, without even a drummer to beat the rappel, we succeeded in rallying uhe enemys fire 300 men; I made a villager act as uide, and bound him by his arm to my stirrup.

    Kellerman stands before a chalkboard with a long wooden pointer in his hand. The general has been folded into a schoolchilds desk, sitting in the front row. On the board, in chalk, there is a dia?grammatic sketch of a suit of armor. Kellerman points.

    "A.: Palette."

    "Palette," the old mas.

    "Covers the shoulder joint," Kellerman says.

    "The armpit?" the old man suggests.

    "The shoulder joint," Kellerman says.

    "Are you certain?"

    "Absolutely."

    The general writes in his tablet.

    Kellerman points. &quot;B.: Breastplate.&q<bdo></bdo>uot;

    His father scribbles.

    &quot;Covers the --&quot;

    &quot;Breast,&quot; old Kellerman says.

    &quot;Chest,&quot; Kellerman says.

    &quot;Mustard plaster,&quot; the old man says. &qu to break up the clog in your little lung. Your mother and I. All through the night. Tears in her eyes. The doctor forty miles away.&quot;

    &quot;C.: Tasset.&quot;

    &quot;Semolina pudding you wanted.  No,  I  said. Later, I said. Bad for the gut, I said. You cried and cried.&quot;

    &quot;Tasset,&quot; Kellermas. &quot;For the upper thigh. Suspended from the late by straps.&quot;

    &quot;Strap. Ah, strap!&quot;

    &quot;D.: Cuisse.&quot;

    &quot;I was good with the strap. Fast, but careful. Not too muot too little. Calculating the angles, wind velocity, air-spriy, time of day. My windup a perfect hyperbolic paraboloid.&quot;

    &quot;Covers the thigh proper,&quot; Kellerman says. &quot;Fas?tened by means of --&quot;

    &quot;Strap,&quot; the general says, with satisfa. &quot;Un?pleasant duty. When in the course of humas it bees necessary--&quot;

    &quot;You loved it!&quot; Kellerman says, shouting.

    The Belgian regiments had been tampered with. In the melee, I was almost instantly disabled in both arms, losing first my sword, and then my reins, and followed by a few men, who were presently cut down, no quarter being asked, allowed, iven, I was carried along by my horse, till, receiving a blow<dfn></dfn> from a sabre, I fell senseless on my face to the ground. Germany was unspeakably silly. Teically, I was a radar operator on the guidance system. It was a rotten job. Ten hours a day of solid boredom. I did get orip to the wild Hebrides for the annual firing of the missile (its called a Corporal). fidentially, it doesnt work worth a damn. We have a saying:  Its effective range is thirty-five feet -- its length. If it falls on you, it  be lethal. &quot;There are worms in words!&quot; the general cries. &quot;The worms in words are, like Mexi? jumping beans, agitated by the warmth of the mouth.&quot;

    &quot;Flaming gel,&quot; Kellerman says. &quot;You were fond of flaming gel.&quot;

    &quot;Not overfond,&quot; the general replies. &quot;Not like some of them.&quot;

    &quot;Whats that you have there, under your arm?&quot; asks the bookstoreman.

    &quot;The Blaight,&quot; Kellerman says. &quot;I want one of those Histomaps of Evolution that you have in the window there, showing the swelling of the unsegmented worms -- flatworms, ribbon worms, arrow worms, wheelworms, spring heads, and so forth.&quot;

    &quot;Worms in words,&quot; the general repeats, &quot;agitated by the warmth of the mouth.&quot;

    &quot;Im not accepting any more blame, Papa,&quot; Kel?lerman says finally. &quot;Blame would in my. . .&quot; He hands round the pate. &quot;I love playing with mugged-up cards,&quot; Kellerman says, to the  mother. She is wearing a slim sand-tweed coat with two rows of gilt buttons and carrying a matchbook that says (black lettering, rose-blush ground) &quot;VD Is On the Rise In New York City.&quot; &quot;The four of fans, the twelve of wands, the deuce of kidneys, the Jack of Brutes. And shaved decks and readers of various kinds, they make the game worthy of the name.&quot; And it was true that his wife pulled 1 hair out of his sleeping head eaight, but what if she decided upon 2, or 5, or even 11?

    Of those who remained and fought, none were so rudely handled as the s, who displayed prodigies of valor, and disdaio play the part of cowards. The order and harmony of the uni?verse, what a beautiful idea! He was obsessed by a vision of beauty -- the shimmering, golden Temple, more fasating than a woman, more eternal than love. And because he was ugly, evil, impotent, he determined someday to possess it. . . by destru. He had used the word incorrectly. He had mispronouhe word. He<bdo></bdo> had misspelled the word. It was the wrong word.

    &quot;Eh, hello, Mado. A Beaujolais.&quot;

    &quot;Eh, hello, Tris-Tris. A Beaujolais?&quot;

    Kellerman runs down the avenue, among the cars, in and out. There are sirens, there is a fire. The huge pieces of apparatus clog the streets. Hoses are run this way and that. Hundreds of firemen stand about, looking at each other, asking each other questions. Kellerman runs. There is a fire somewhere, but the firemen do not know where it is. They stand, giganti their black slickers, yellow-liheir black hats c the back of the neck, holding shovels. The street is full of firemen, gigantic, standing there. Kellerman runs up to a group of firemen, who look at him with fright?ened eyes. He begins asking them questions. &quot;Should a person who is sterile marry? What is sterility? What is a false pregnancy? How do the male reproductive ans work? What is natural childbirth?  a couple know in advance if they  have children?  impotence be cured? What are the causes of barrenness? Is a human egg like a birds?&quot;

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