The Whole Wide World Page #4

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with Novalyne's writing hopes.

Well, I been holding it out,

but so far she ain't

took hold of it.

That is not true.

I listen to every word you say,

Bob.

Well, your ears

must be keeping it a secret,

because your hands

ain't been typing it out.

I think Novalyne

should teach.

That's what she's good at.

Well, maybe I'll do both.

Well, it don't work that way.

Hey, something smells

good in here.

Good deeds in this house

do not go unrewarded.

Yes.

Thank you for bringing Novalyne

home, Bob.

Come on. Wake up.

Come on, hard head. Wake up.

Dr. Howard?

How's Mrs. Howard?

She's holding her own.

Robert will be

all right now.

Has he been sick too?

No. No, he hasn't.

You really like my son,

don't you?

Yeah.

But Bob, he...

Robert's real close to...

to his mother.

We're all real close

to our mothers...

but we manage to get along

without them eventually.

We do.

Robert's a stranger to me,

Miss Price.

He's in his own little world

most of the time,

and I'm not privy to it.

Not like you.

Hello, honey.

How you doing?

You feel all right?

Hi.

My throat's a little sore.

Goddamn it.

If you'd stayed home

like I told you,

you'd be feeling

fine now.

When will you be up and around?

By Saturday, I hope.

What happens then?

Mayor Adams is throwing

a Christmas party,

and Bob,

I want you to come with me.

I'm sorry. I can't go.

Why not?

I don't have time

for some tea-drinking,

cookie-pushing party.

That's not what

it is, you bastard.

A bastard?

You call me a bastard

after everything

I've done for you?

Don't I wear a tie

and that goddamn fool hat

every time we go out?

Bob, you're going to have

to learn

how to mix with people.

You can't just--

If I listened to you,

my writing would go to hell.

It would not.

Sure it would.

You're not a writer.

If I wrote like you,

I'd be wasting my time

scribbling down conversations

with every Tom, Dick,

and jackass I met.

That ain't writing.

That's copying.

I still want you to go with me.

Aw, Christ!

I'll see those sons of b*tches

in hell

before I make

one of their parties.

You want to learn

to be a writer?

I'll show you what it takes!

[ENGINE FAILS TO TURN OVER]

Mama, the car won't start!

Goddamn bastard!

[SILENT NIGHT PLAYING]

BOB:
Dear Novalyne,

the French have one gift:

the ability to gild decay

and change

the maggots of corruption

to the hummingbirds of poetry,

as demonstrated by this volume.

Hey, what you

got there?

It's a book.

Bob sent it to me.

Next time I see him,

I'm going to kill him.

[BOB'S VOICE, DISTORTED]

...swear it!

Why you sacrilegious

little hussy,

do you not fear God's...

craw?

Is there no honesty anywhere?

And she danced...

just like the spin

of a desert whirlwind,

like the leaping

of a quenchless flame.

The white feet spurned

the blood-stained deck.

"Sweat beaded the forehead

of the man facing her,

"and his eyes

were like burning coal.

"Smite as he would,

"he could not break past

or beat down her guard.

"She stepped back

to draw him out,

"felt her thighs lock

in an iron grip.

His breath came in gusty gulps."

Bob?

You have

a phone call.

Hi, it's me.

Novalyne. Are you back?

No, I'm still at home.

Merry Christmas, by the way.

Merry Christmas to you too.

Are you still mad at me?

Yes, but not as much.

Hey, Bob, the

Pierre Louis book--

What are you doing now?

Well, not much.

I'm coming over.

Oh, Bob, you don't have to--

Now, you read that book.

No. That book

is horrendous.

I can't imagine

the fool who wrote it.

The fool?

My Conan yarns

are full of sex.

They are?

Hell, yeah.

That's what he did.

Drinking, whoring,

fighting.

What else is there

to do in life?

I'm sorry, but I don't

see anything sexy

about a naked woman

dancing around

a pirate ship.

You don't?

No.

Well, for God's sakes,

she was dancing

the mating dance.

What could be

more sexy than that?

I thought she was

crazy, like you.

Then what do you think

would make a sexy story?

Naked women aren't sexy.

What is? Naked men?

I'd look the other way.

You probably would.

A few years ago,

I had a hard time

selling sex yarns.

Now I got to work

double time

just to keep up

with the market.

Before long, there won't

be nothing held back.

Sex will infest

everything...

Books, radio.

[YELLING]

Newspapers!

Everything.

Hell, yes.

That's the way it was

when Rome fell.

Rape and murder took

place on the stage.

Damn people loved it.

I'm sorry

I can't come in.

My mother's...

Expecting her medicine.

I know.

Here's another

Christmas present.

Thank you.

I hope you don't

stick this one

under the house.

This one

went smooth as silk.

Hell, I can write

shoot-'em-ups.

I got a hankering to

write something bigger.

Yeah. A novel, maybe.

Hey, girl.

Let me

walk ahead here.

Why?

I got to keep an eye

out for rattlesnakes.

Rattlesnakes?

Yes.

Don't worry.

I can handle reptiles,

especially the giant

diamond-back rattlers.

Two-foot fangs

dripping with poison.

Oh!

Oh, yes.

That is a--

Oh!

Oh!

Ah, just joking,

that's all.

That's enough.

Robert E., you lead on,

and keep quiet.

It's beautiful.

You can see the whole world

from up here.

And others as well.

There you are.

Why don't you tell me

about that novel?

Set in Texas.

It's going to be

about the hardships

of the early pioneers,

and their conflict

with the Indians

who were trying to save

the land they loved.

I figure it'll be

the best damn book

ever written

about frontier life.

It sounds fascinating.

I know what I can do.

No one can write about

this country

like I can.

I'll be nicer to the

Indians in this novel.

Thank you.

I'll have this beautiful,

fully-dressed Indian girl.

The hero will fall

in love with her.

He'll be this morose,

ungainly misfit

among men.

Why does he have

to be a misfit?

Why can't he be

handsome and kind?

You're still

a dreamer, girl.

He's got

to be handsome, huh?

Well, to hell with it.

He'll be the most handsome man

in the west,

with the fastest gun.

Boom, boom, boom!

Christ Almighty,

slow down, girl.

If you were Mojave,

I'd have to shoot you

for wasting water.

You'd shoot your best girl

for that?

I can't help it.

That's the law of the desert.

I swear.

Why do I go out with you?

You got me there.

I was you, I'd have

high-tailed it away from me

a long time ago.

You don't give yourself

enough credit.

You have

some wonderful qualities.

Is that so?

Yeah.

Like what?

Well, your thoughtfulness,

your loyalty,

your intelligence,

humor, imagination.

I could go on and on.

If you don't think

a woman is attracted to that,

you're mistaken.

That's what I see in you.

Well, I...

appreciate it, girl.

Don't be fooled.

I'm the kind of man

that needs to be free.

I can't be tied down.

The road I walk, I walk alone.

It's funny

how women are attracted

to that quality as well.

[COUGHING]

Hi. I'm here

to pick up a package.

The name's Truett Vinson.

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