The Human Stain Page #2

How's that grab you, Zuckerman?

That good enough to

get your juices flowing?

I'm not sure I understand.

Those sons of b*tches

killed my wife, Nathan.

They killed my wife as if they'd taken

a gun and fired it into her heart.

Yeah. Who would've thought

Iris couldn't take it

as strong as she was,

brave as she was? But, uh

yeah, their kind of stupidity was too

much even for a juggernaut like my Iris.

Massive embolism.

Pow! I got her to the hospital,

but it was too late.

The point is they meant to kill me

but they got her instead.

All in the name of

political correctness.

There's an oxymoron

if ever I heard one.

So, there's your book, Nathan.

You mind if I call you Nathan?

- Look, Dean...

- Just Coleman.

All my other titles

I have given away.

Coleman. Look, I'm sorry but I write

fiction, and at the moment I'm...

Believe methis thing will read

like The Manchurian Candidate.

They murdered the wrong person,

for Christ's sakes!

For one word! Spooks!

Spooks! It's unbelievable.

Let me tell you something, Nathan.

My father was a

saloonkeeper in New Jersey.

Yeah, he was the only Jewish

saloonkeeper in East Orange.

He only got as far as

the seventh grade.

But he insisted on

the precision of words.

And I have kept faith with him.

I have kept faith with him.

If you don't mind a suggestion

maybe you ought to write

this book yourself.

Yeah.

Maybe I ought to.

Yeah.

I guess I ought to go.

Let me ask you something

Why are you hiding out here,

in the middle of the woods?

- Hiding out?

- Yeah. Isn't that what you're doing?

What's the moment

called in Greek tragedy,

you know, the one where the hero

learns that everything he knows is wrong?

It's called peripeteio or peripetia.

Take your choice.

Yeah. That's me.

Hey. You by any chance

play gin rummy?

And this was how my friendship

with Coleman Silk began.

And how I came out from

my reclusive life,

living alone in

a cabin by a lake.

You're divorced, huh?

Does it show?

Yeah, you have the look about

you of a man at loose ends.

Takes one to know one.

Why did your wife leave you?

Which one?

The first or the second?

Several years ago,

I had been diagnosed

with prostate cancer.

Although the treatment

was successful,

I had nevertheless withdrawn

to my cabin in the woods,

away from the expectations and

entanglements of modern life.

In the year that

followed my meeting Coleman,

the time it took him

to write his book,

we had dinner together

several times a week.

Sometimes playing penny

a point gin rummy,

sometimes listening to music that came

from a small FM station in Springfield

that played big band hits from

the forties and fifties.

It was during that time

that Coleman dragged me back to life,

much as he had Athena College.

- What's with the book?

- The book has come and gone.

- Meaning?

- Meaning it's worthless.

Yeah.

You can't make a college

without breaking eggheads,

and, I couldn't write

a book called Spooks

that didn't sound like

the ravings of a lunatic.

So... all this is useless.

Unless you count the dubious thrill

of re-reading old love letters.

Who's the girl?

- That's Steena Paulsson.

- Very pretty.

- Yeah.

- This you?

Yeah, that's me.

I met her

when I was at N.Y.U.

And, it was in 1948 and I was on

the GI Bill with the Navy behind me.

At that time I used to live

in the Village in those days,

and I used to go into the library.

It was just like fishing. I'd go into

the stacks and come out with a girl.

Steena Paulsson.

Yeah, I almost married her.

Hi.

Hi.

This book will

change your life, I promise.

I can't stay long.

Come on in. Just take me

a minute to find it.

Oh, this is beautiful.

I have two roommates

and we live in this dungeon at the bottom

of an air shaft on West 26th Street.

- Would you like some coffee?

- No. Thank you. I should get back.

It's just one cup.

That's all, I promise.

And the, uh, the library

stays open until ten.

- Sure. Why not?

- Good.

- How do you take it?

- Black is fine, thanks.

- So "Steena Paulsson." That's,

- what is that Swedish?

Close.

It's Danish and Icelandic.

- So you're not from New York?

- How could you tell?

Fergus Falls, Minnesota.

Well Miss Steena Paulsson

from Fergus Falls, Minnesota

this is my gift for you.

Tender is the Night.

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He's from the Midwest, too.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

The coffee?

Coffee.

What happened?

- To what?

- The cut over your eye.

Oh uh, boxing.

It's just a hobby.

You like that sort of thing?

Yes, I do.

I mean, don't get the wrong idea.

It's not about strength.

It's really all about

how smart you are.

Are you smart. Miss Paulsson?

What do you think, Mr. Silk?

I think you'd make a great boxer.

Good answer.

Well, come on.

Let's see.

- See what?

- Show me.

- Show you what?

- Show me how good you are.

Okay.

- Okay. You're right-handed?

- Yes.

All right. Put your left leg forward,

your right leg back.

Bend at the knees.

Okay?

Two fists.

Bring your right one back by

your chin. Keep it cocked here.

Left one comes out in front of you.

That's what you jab with.

All right. And your thumbs

are on the outside,

yeah? Okay. It's like this

- Jab. Jab. Jab.

- Jab. Jab. Jab.

That's pretty good for starters.

Um, your right hand,

throw that in once in a while.

Just to mix the other guy up.

It's a right cross. Like this

- Jab. Jab right.

- Jab. Jab right.

- That's good.

- Jab. Jab right.

- All right. The hands.

- Okay. I'm getting hot.

Jab. Jab right.

Jab. Jab right.

Nice. Keep the right

back by your chin.

Okay. Jab. Jab right.

Jab. Jab right.

- Watch the hands.

- Stop moving! Jab. Jab right.

- Jab. Jab right.

- That's good.

Jab. Jab right.

Jab. Jab right!

Did I hurt you?

No.

Your heart's beating fast.

I can't believe this.

Me neither.

I guess we do things

a little differently back home.

Yes, I can imagine.

First, first we'd be eyeing each

other in church, on Sundays, right?

And then as fall slipped into winter

and the air turned cold,

there'd be sleigh rides

skating on frozen lakes

singing carols around

the yuletide.

You forgot logrolling

and dunking for apples.

Go on, then.

Give me the straight dope.

- Tell me about real American courtship.

- You're American. Jews are American.

Now listen.

That's Irving Berlin.

I hear that and everything in me

just sort of unclenches, and the

the wish not to die

never to die

becomes almost too great to bear.

Come on, dance with me.

Come on, dance with me!

- I'm not making a pass at you. Come on.

- No-No-No.

Loosen up. Live a little!

Take it easy. Come on,

loosen up, relax!

Just don't sing in my ear,

all right?

- All right, all right.

- Come on.

This is good.

It's good for you.

Turn around. Beautiful.

Good. A little spin.

Away!

Get away!

Really good. You're really good!

I'm having an affair, Nathan.

I'm having an affair with

a thirty-four year-old woman

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