Page 60

Very sincerely,

Mrs. Fitz Poole

Dear Fitzy & Irene:

[Garp shot right back]

Fuck you.

Thus was his sense of humor lost, and his sympathy taken from the world.

In "The Pension Grillparzer" Garp had somehow struck the chord of comedy (on the one hand) and compassion (on the other). The story did not belittle the people in the story--either with forced cuteness or with any other exaggeration rational ized as necessary for making a point. Neither did the story sentimentalize the people, or otherwise cheapen their sadness.

But the balance of this power in storytelling felt lost to Garp now. His first novel, Procrastination--in his opinion--suffered from the pretentious weight of all that fascist history he had taken no real part in. His second novel suffered his failure at imagining enough--that is, he felt he had not imagined far enough beyond his own fairly ordinary experience. Second Wind of the Cuckold came off rather coldly to him; it seemed just another "real" but rather common experience.

In fact, it seemed to Garp now that he was too full of his own lucky life (with Helen and their children). He felt he was in danger of limiting his ability as a writer in a fairly usual way: writing, essentially, about himself. Yet when he looked very far outside himself, Garp saw there only the invitation to pretention. His imagination was failing him--"his sense a dim rushlight." When anyone asked him how his writing was coming, he managed only a short, cruel imitation of poor Alice Fletcher.

"I've thtopped," Garp said.

9

THE ETERNAL HUSBAND

In the Yellow Pages of Garp's phone directory, Marriage was listed near Lumber. After Lumber came Machine Shops, Mail Order Houses, Manholes, Maple Sugar, and Marine Equipment; then came Marriage and Family Counselors. Garp was looking for Lumber when he discovered Marriage; he had some innocent questions to ask about two-by-fours when Marriage caught his eye and raised more interesting and disturbing questions. Garp had never realized, for example, that there were more marriage counselors than lumberyards. But this surely depends on where you live, he thought. In the country, wouldn't people have more to do with lumber?

Garp had been married nearly eleven years; in that time he had found little use for lumber, still less for counsel. It was not for personal problems that Garp took an interest in the long list of names in the Yellow Pages; it was because Garp spent a lot of time trying to imagine what it would be like to have a job.

There was the Christian Counseling Center and the Community Pastoral Counseling Service; Garp imagined hearty ministers with their dry, fleshy hands constantly rubbing together. They spoke round, moist sentences, like soap bubbles, saying things like, "We have no illusions that the Church can be of very much assistance to individual problems, such as your own. Individuals must seek individual solutions, they must retain their individuality; however, it is our experience that many people have identified their own special individuality in the church."

There sat the baffled couple who had hoped to discuss the simultaneous orgasm--myth or reality?

Garp noticed that members of the clergy went in for counseling; there was a Lutheran Social Service, there was a Reverend Dwayne Kuntz (who was "certified") and a Louise Nagle who was an "All Souls Minister" associated with something called the United States Bureau of Marriage & Family Counselors (who had "certified" her). Garp took a pencil and drew little zeroes beside the names of the marriage counselors with religious affiliations. They would all offer fairly optimistic counsel, Garp believed.

He was less sure of the point of view of the counselors with more "scientific" training; he was less sure of the training, too. One was a "certified clinical psychologist," another simply followed his name with "M.A., Clinical"; Garp knew that these things could mean anything, and that they could also mean nothing. A graduate student in sociology, a former business major. One said "B.S."--perhaps in Botany. One was a Ph.D.--in marriage? One was a "Doctor"--but a medical doctor or a Doctor of Philosophy? At marriage counseling, who would be better? One specialized in "group therapy"; someone, perhaps less ambitious,

promised only "psychological evaluation."

Garp selected two favorites. The first was Dr. O. Rothrock--"self-esteem workshop; bank cards accepted."

The second was M. Neff--"by appointment only." There was just a phone number after M. Neff's name. No qualifications, or supreme arrogance? Perhaps both. If I needed anybody, Garp thought, I would try M. Neff first. Dr. O. Rothrock with his bank cards and his self-esteem workshop was clearly a charlatan. But Mr. Neff was serious; M. Neff had a vision, Garp could tell.

Garp wandered a bit past Marriage in the Yellow Pages. He came to Masonry, Maternity Apparel, and Mat Refinishing (only one listing, an out-of-town, Steering phone number: Garp's father-in-law, Ernie Holm, refinished wrestling mats as a slightly profitable hobby. Garp hadn't been thinking about his old coach; he passed over Mat Refinishing to Mattresses without recognizing Ernie's name). Then came Mausoleums and Meat Cutting Equipment--"See Saws." That was enough. The world was too complicated. Garp wandered back to Marriage.

Then Duncan came home from school. Garp's older son was now ten years old; he was a tall boy with Helen Garp's bony, delicate face and her oval yellow-brown eyes. Helen had skin of a light-oak color and Duncan had her wonderful skin, too. From Garp he had gotten his nervousness, his stubbornness, his moods of black self-pity.

"Dad?" he said. "Can I spend the night at Ralph's? It's very important."

"What?" Garp said. "No. When?"

"Have you been reading the phone book again?" Duncan asked his father. Whenever Garp read a phone book, Duncan knew, it was like trying to wake him up from a nap. He read the phone book often, for names. Garp got the names of his characters out of the phone book; when his writing was stuck, he read the phone book for more names; he revised the names of his characters over and over again. When Garp traveled, the first thing he looked for in the motel room was the phone book; he usually stole it.

"Dad?" Duncan said; he assumed his father was in his phone book trance, living the lives of his fictional people. Garp had actually forgotten that he had nonfictional business with the phone book today; he had forgotten about the lumber and was thinking only about the audacity of M. Neff and what it would be like to be a marriage counselor. "Dad!" Duncan said. "If I don't call Ralph back before supper, his mother won't let me come over."

"Ralph?" said Garp. "Ralph isn't here." Duncan tipped his fine jaw up and rolled his eyes; it was a gesture Helen had, too, and Duncan had her same lovely throat.

"Ralph is at his house," Duncan said, "and I am at my house and I would like to go spend the night at Ralph's house--with Ralph."

"Not on a school night," Garp said.