A POOR MAN'S LOVE POEM
You once accused me of stealing from us.
“Peter robbing Paul to pay Peter and Paul?” I ask.
“Your thrust is unjust. I’ve been fishing.”
Simon said
He found a coin in a miracle fish’s mouth worth
Twice the temple tax.
I’ll wait for Dawn and, the Dawn, it shall come, when
The rod and the reel, upon rows of cast steel, first feel the fish tug as real.
Then, like the fish pot with gold coins and seaweed, stirred and stewed,
Your meddling, muddling mind has melded with mine.
Where the water is fine, and the peaches divine
With chocolaty wine and yoga mat spine,
I”ll teach Peter to lend and Paul to spend
All the days of our lives in a world without end,
And the bells will all peal
For the fish tug is real!
Joy is almond.
Amen.
THE CLOCK PARADE
We are
Trapped in Prague
without passports
No hope of escape from this cage with no bars
We fend for ourselves, but mostly each other.
Huff to the top of Petrin Tower – Hitler dreamt of imploding it.
The Josevof, pristine, crumbling cemetery
Where the sons and daughters of Moses, piled upon one another, aspire for eternity.
Hitler spared that, too.
White asparagus and white cheese rolled up in cottage ham,
Broken clocks reflected on our plates.
Jazz mystics, puppets tangled by alchemists, crystalline Mozart on folding chairs,
Gun battle church basements, walking ghosts, arm in arm.
Beloved infanta, the clock parade.
Garish, weathered puppets of death and resurrection
Christ and apostles glide by on the gears.
The everlasting covenant will dong each half-past hour.
We are
Trapped in Prague
without passports
No hope of escape from this bed without bars
We’re fond of ourselves, but mostly each other.
MEMORY AND RICE
I purged your cache in Scotland
To keep you running smooth.
I purged the things we searched for
So your memories could move.
Our memories are not stockpiled
Like burlap sacks of rice.
Don't turn them into grains of rice.
They cluster 'round the sensories
In our electric mind.
Manifold marigold magnolia mason mind
Each one, a moment where attention paid the mind.
In reward for past sorrows, I shall BLOOM into health again. Breath of life, SUNSHINE you'll be to me, All the years to come will smile on us.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
9:45 a.m.
I’m at the Cleveland loony bin, about to talk to a dangerous mental patient. I take an urgent dump in a clean bathroom, thanks to the kindness of a shuffling, limping hospital staffer. A black man in his sixties. Morgan Freeman in the movie. I pace behind him as he slowly keys through door after metal door until we reach the Cuckoo’s nest.
“How is Mr. Zeppinger these days?” I ask. I know that he has threatened to kill judges and doctors and cops, that he has been wrestled to the ground in court by six burly bailiffs. I know that he’s as high and drunk and crazy and violent and dumb as can be.
“Aw, he O.K. He’ll be happy to see you, though,” says Mulney as he turns another key down this corridor to my client.
“Oh, he doesn’t know I’m coming,” I say.
“Yeah, but you gettin’ him outta group. He’s in group right now and he’ll be all happy as a sissy in Boy’s Town to get a visitor during group.”
“Francis Assisi?”
“Huh?”
“Nevermind.”
We arrive at the end of the corridor in a wide ward with chairs around televisions and chalkboards. “Zeppinger! Got a visitor!” A man with his head down on his folded arms on the table looks up at Mulney. “Zeppinger. Lawyer’s here.”
Zeppinger speaks: “HE CAN SHA-ZIZZLE MY PUH-ZIZZLE!”
“I’m Bloomsday, from the public defender’s office. I have some important legal matters to discuss with you.” He caught my eyes and I smiled. He stood up and politely walked around the remaining group members toward me and Mulney. I shook his hand hard, like he’d just won an election. Mulney slowly, almost processional in his limp Kevin Spacey way, led us to a “media room,” stuffed with televisions on push carts, two computer terminals, DVD and stereo players, and even a digital camera on a tri-pod. We sat at ends of a small wooden table in the center of all this technology. Mulney left and locked us in.
“Good morning, Mr. Zeppinger. My name is Ulysses Bloomsday. I am the attorney assigned to defend those who cannot afford to hire counsel. I have now been appointed to your case. I want to, first, so that we are on the same page, explain where your case is at. You are at an unusual point in the context of criminal proceedings, and you may want to take advantage of that. You were arrested and charged with assault and aggravated disorderly conduct, each charge a misdemeanor of the first degree, punishable up to six months in jail and a thousand dollar fine. Do you remember getting arrested?”
“Yeah, that was all bullshit, though. I talked back. I talked back and they pushed me around and arrested me. I ain’t do shit.”
“I have no reason to doubt you. I know cops can be assholes, even liars. But you are no stranger to aggressive behavior. Didn’t you threaten to kill the judge the last time you were in court?”
“Yeah, but that lady rub me the wrong way. She like an evil voodoo priestess.”
“O.K., that comment brings me to my next point. The judge ordered you be held to determine your competence to stand trial. Do you remember talking to a doctor about that?”
“Yeah.”
“And then, the doctor decided that you were not competent, but that they would try to restore you to competence here, at the Cleveland Behavioral Center. But then you threatened to kill the doctors and even pushed one up against a wall here. So the doctors now say that you are incompetent, non-restorable. They say you will never be competent enough to stand trial. That means they can’t prosecute you. The criminal charges will be dismissed and the county probate system will handle the matter. The law requires you reside in the least restrictive setting, which, given your past behavior, means Western Reserve Mental Hospital, where you’ll undergo 90-day reviews to determine when they cut you loose.
“You know, your momma’s out there, writing letters to the judge, begging her to get you help. You’re momma thinks you gonna get killed in here. She thinks this hospital is filled with crazy violent people who may threaten your safety.”
Zeppinger rolls his eyes. “My momma. She don’t understand shit. So you sayin’ I don’t ever have to see the voodoo priestess again?”
“Yes.”
“You sayin’ I’m going to Western Reserve instead of city jail?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I just got moved from coach to first class. Thank you, Mr. Bloomsday.”
“My pleasure, but I hardly did anything. I’m just the messenger.”
“Don’t kill the messenger?” Zeppinger smiles.
“Correct. Do not, under any circumstances, kill the messenger.” I stand and shake his hand. “Any questions?”
He looks at the Styrofoam cup in my hand, and asks, “Can I have the rest of your coffee?”
I’m at the Cleveland loony bin, about to talk to a dangerous mental patient. I take an urgent dump in a clean bathroom, thanks to the kindness of a shuffling, limping hospital staffer. A black man in his sixties. Morgan Freeman in the movie. I pace behind him as he slowly keys through door after metal door until we reach the Cuckoo’s nest.
“How is Mr. Zeppinger these days?” I ask. I know that he has threatened to kill judges and doctors and cops, that he has been wrestled to the ground in court by six burly bailiffs. I know that he’s as high and drunk and crazy and violent and dumb as can be.
“Aw, he O.K. He’ll be happy to see you, though,” says Mulney as he turns another key down this corridor to my client.
“Oh, he doesn’t know I’m coming,” I say.
“Yeah, but you gettin’ him outta group. He’s in group right now and he’ll be all happy as a sissy in Boy’s Town to get a visitor during group.”
“Francis Assisi?”
“Huh?”
“Nevermind.”
We arrive at the end of the corridor in a wide ward with chairs around televisions and chalkboards. “Zeppinger! Got a visitor!” A man with his head down on his folded arms on the table looks up at Mulney. “Zeppinger. Lawyer’s here.”
Zeppinger speaks: “HE CAN SHA-ZIZZLE MY PUH-ZIZZLE!”
“I’m Bloomsday, from the public defender’s office. I have some important legal matters to discuss with you.” He caught my eyes and I smiled. He stood up and politely walked around the remaining group members toward me and Mulney. I shook his hand hard, like he’d just won an election. Mulney slowly, almost processional in his limp Kevin Spacey way, led us to a “media room,” stuffed with televisions on push carts, two computer terminals, DVD and stereo players, and even a digital camera on a tri-pod. We sat at ends of a small wooden table in the center of all this technology. Mulney left and locked us in.
“Good morning, Mr. Zeppinger. My name is Ulysses Bloomsday. I am the attorney assigned to defend those who cannot afford to hire counsel. I have now been appointed to your case. I want to, first, so that we are on the same page, explain where your case is at. You are at an unusual point in the context of criminal proceedings, and you may want to take advantage of that. You were arrested and charged with assault and aggravated disorderly conduct, each charge a misdemeanor of the first degree, punishable up to six months in jail and a thousand dollar fine. Do you remember getting arrested?”
“Yeah, that was all bullshit, though. I talked back. I talked back and they pushed me around and arrested me. I ain’t do shit.”
“I have no reason to doubt you. I know cops can be assholes, even liars. But you are no stranger to aggressive behavior. Didn’t you threaten to kill the judge the last time you were in court?”
“Yeah, but that lady rub me the wrong way. She like an evil voodoo priestess.”
“O.K., that comment brings me to my next point. The judge ordered you be held to determine your competence to stand trial. Do you remember talking to a doctor about that?”
“Yeah.”
“And then, the doctor decided that you were not competent, but that they would try to restore you to competence here, at the Cleveland Behavioral Center. But then you threatened to kill the doctors and even pushed one up against a wall here. So the doctors now say that you are incompetent, non-restorable. They say you will never be competent enough to stand trial. That means they can’t prosecute you. The criminal charges will be dismissed and the county probate system will handle the matter. The law requires you reside in the least restrictive setting, which, given your past behavior, means Western Reserve Mental Hospital, where you’ll undergo 90-day reviews to determine when they cut you loose.
“You know, your momma’s out there, writing letters to the judge, begging her to get you help. You’re momma thinks you gonna get killed in here. She thinks this hospital is filled with crazy violent people who may threaten your safety.”
Zeppinger rolls his eyes. “My momma. She don’t understand shit. So you sayin’ I don’t ever have to see the voodoo priestess again?”
“Yes.”
“You sayin’ I’m going to Western Reserve instead of city jail?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I just got moved from coach to first class. Thank you, Mr. Bloomsday.”
“My pleasure, but I hardly did anything. I’m just the messenger.”
“Don’t kill the messenger?” Zeppinger smiles.
“Correct. Do not, under any circumstances, kill the messenger.” I stand and shake his hand. “Any questions?”
He looks at the Styrofoam cup in my hand, and asks, “Can I have the rest of your coffee?”
Another Posterity Post, or "Bloomsday May Be Through With The Past, But The Past Ain't Through With Bloomsday..."
One of the central mysteries of magnolia involves the three “unbelievable coincidence” tales that bracket the rest of the action. The film reveals to the audience these three bizarre stories in its prologue, suggesting that they will, somehow, inform us of a subtext for the plot to come: emotional breakdowns during a freak frog rain in the San Fernando Valley. But this has always been an unsatisfactory, if not dubious, explanation for the placement of the three coincidental tales. First, while a frog rain may be bizarre, it is not, strictly speaking, a coincidence. There is no meaningful or ironic intersection of events, unless you make some stretches, such as Dixon’s “good Lord bring the rain in” rap or the myriad Exodus 8:2 references coinciding with the frog rain later that day. But those are really products of Anderson’s narrative structure, and not integral to the tale of a frog rain, itself. We can say the same of similar coinciding events, such as Earl’s death, Linda’s foiled suicide, Donnie’s secret mission and Stanley’s epiphany. To call these events “coincidence” misapplies the term; they just all happen to happen at the same time. If these vignettes serve as more than a merely disorienting teaser for the strange story to come, do they offer clues to another cinematic agenda? What do the three urban legends actually mean, anyway? In a film dense with rich, novel symbols, these three tall tales, dissected like lab frogs, offer not only a Rosetta Stone for the ultimate meaning of magnolia, but also provide the most ambitious prologue in film history.
A clear understanding of this theory requires a segregation of the prologue into three distinct short films. Once interpreted individually, the three tales may then be conceptually reintegrated in a manner that explains their own presence, as well as the three-hour opus to come.
I. The Greenberry Hill Murder: “The three vagrants whose motive was simple robbery” attack a well-respected chemist. Ignorant of, or unconcerned with, his status and appreciable wisdom, Green, Berry and Hill murder Sir Godfrey beneath the storefront which proclaims his now-lost art of optical-chemical analysis. The black and white and rotoscopic effects, cropped within a small, square view, drive home the antiquity of the event. While Ricky Jay’s narration relies upon an article that dates the event in 1911, a more ancient date is referenced by the Greenberry Hill, London sign: AD. 1356.The most striking feature of the first minute of magnolia is not the corny name coincidence, but it’s parallels to the central initiation myth of American Freemasonry. New initiates to the Masonic order are subjected to a re-enactment of the death of another wise man felled by the hands of “three vagrants whose motive was simple robbery.” For masons, the legendary Hiram Abiff, architect of the temple of King Solomon, represents the hidden wisdom of the ages, lost to the simpleminded greed of his aggressors: Jubelo, Jubela, and Jubelum. The death, burial and rebirth of Hiram Abiff are the metaphorical touchstones for the Masonic initiate, leading to subsequent grander insights about the human condition as he proceeds through the path of enlightenment from Entered Apprentice to Master Mason. (An aside on the notion of “rebirth”: curiously, Sir Edmund Godfrey is reincarnated later in the film, when the same actor plays the concerned young pharmacist during Linda’s breakdown.)The Masonic connection in magnolia is hardly speculation. From Ricky Jay’s Masonic ring and “meet upon the level, part upon the square” comment, to the placement of Albert Mackey’s “The History of Freemasonry” tome on Stanley’s cluttered library table, to Donnie Smith’s infiltration of Solomon Solomon’s “temple,” the film is cluttered with masonica. The first minute of magnolia serves as both an imprimatur on the film as a Masonic document and, perhaps, as a shorthand “initiation ceremony” for each of its viewers.
Equal scrutiny of the remaining coincidental prologue tales yields no less surprising results. Though both devoid of Masonic reference, the second and third tales, examined individually, reveal an agenda of an even higher order.
II. The Frogman: Delmer Darion’s tragicomic fate at the unwitting hands of his troubled nemesis is certainly the most fanciful and amusing of the three tales. But the most potent aspect of this short film – its grandiose visuals – is distinct from the story, itself. From the first transitional shot of flames “licking over” the edges of the Greenberry Hill tale, Anderson frames this vignette amidst the essential natural elements of fire, earth, air and water. The Frogman sequence contains underwater shots, shots of fire, shots of planes soaring through the air, and shots of scorched and pristine earth. One complex shot, in particular, verifies this elemental agenda: an “earth’s eye” view, looking straight up, as a plane passes through a blue sky, dumping water upon fire clinging to tall trees. Frozen in view, this symbolic logos reveals a second magnolia imprimatur: the eastern way. This natural/elemental theory, like the Masonic one of the first tale, is borne out significantly throughout the rest of magnolia. The film we will soon see documents a world beyond Judeo-Christian spirituality, beyond western morality, a world characterized by the interconnectivity of all things, a karmic/Zen alchemical recipe of eastern mysticism and western absurdity. Yet, it is also a very natural world, characterized by clouds and 82% chances of rain.
DIXON: When the sun don’t shine, the good Lord bring the rain in.
The only other character in the balance of magnolia to come to recognize this natural order of things is Stanley, diligent in his studies of natural (and Masonic) phenomena, and curious of the mechanics behind weather forecasting at the WDKK? studios:
STANLEY: I was wondering about the weather department. I was wondering whether or not the weather people have outside meteorological services or if they had in-house instruments.
CYNTHIA: Um, I can check on that for you. Maybe later we can take a tour…You asked about that because it’s raining outside?
STANLEY: I guess.
CYNTHIA: So what do you do? Whatever’s happening, that’s what you look into? Something like that?
STANLEY: I don’t know.
CYNTHIA: You don’t know? Well, it’s not a bad way to be…interested in everything that’s going around.
Stanley is the culmination of eastern and western intellectual traditions. In a crucial moment, Stanley succumbs to “the call of nature” during the gameshow. Later, his frog rain epiphany, that “this is something that happens,” evinces his passage to a new level of elemental and natural awareness. The Frogman sequence serves as a sort of “cinematic feng shui,” reminding the viewer that all the elements are represented here, and that conditions are right for the evolution of consciousness.
Combined, the first two-thirds of the prologue provide substantial ballast to raise the curtain on the human drama to come: the dysfunctional Barringer Family.
III. The Suicide/Murder of Sydney Barringer:The third tale of the prologue, more subtly filmed and realistic in its tenor, is also less symbolic than the other two, though it is equally rich in subtext for the remainder of the film. The essential notion of human suffering permeates the short. From Sydney’s lamentable suicide note, to the stunned and maddening grief of his parents, to the creepily anguished, sometimes backward, purgatorial background music, the Barringer sequence is soaked with sorrow and suffering. It begins, however, on a rather clinical note: the forensic conference where the Barringer tale is told. Punctuated with fast and slow motion, the shot’s most important information is provided on the soundtrack, where the only audible word of the coroner’s speech is found: “curiosity,” that euphemistic synonym for original sin. Sydney’s suicide note, visually pieced together with various close-ups and pans across the words of the page reveals the depths of despair:
“I’m sorry/ but I cannot forgive you now/ I have suffered/ so I will go/ and be with God.”
Sydney is the poster child for the poor of heart. And what else is magnolia, if not a meditation on despair? The perplexing Barringer family dynamic is, arguably, beside the point. The real issues addressed in the short are the root causes of human suffering and individual responsibility for it. The sequence awakens us to this central question of human understanding, particularly within the context of parents and children. Who’s culpable for the death of Sydney Barringer? Sidney? His Mother? His Father? Of course, each one is culpable to varying degrees under various standards. Similar questions will be asked of the film’s many characters as magnolia unfolds, and as the transgressions of parents upon children build to life-defining crescendos. The final tale of the prologue trilogy defines the ultimate inquiry of magnolia: human suffering.
So now then
The prologue of magnolia serves as a primer for the rest of the film. It defines the moral, intellectual and spiritual agenda for the next three hours, and provides the informed and open-minded viewer a glimpse of the grand cinematic architecture to come. This is no coincidence. No, this cannot be that.
Now, that shit will help you solve the case.
A clear understanding of this theory requires a segregation of the prologue into three distinct short films. Once interpreted individually, the three tales may then be conceptually reintegrated in a manner that explains their own presence, as well as the three-hour opus to come.
I. The Greenberry Hill Murder: “The three vagrants whose motive was simple robbery” attack a well-respected chemist. Ignorant of, or unconcerned with, his status and appreciable wisdom, Green, Berry and Hill murder Sir Godfrey beneath the storefront which proclaims his now-lost art of optical-chemical analysis. The black and white and rotoscopic effects, cropped within a small, square view, drive home the antiquity of the event. While Ricky Jay’s narration relies upon an article that dates the event in 1911, a more ancient date is referenced by the Greenberry Hill, London sign: AD. 1356.The most striking feature of the first minute of magnolia is not the corny name coincidence, but it’s parallels to the central initiation myth of American Freemasonry. New initiates to the Masonic order are subjected to a re-enactment of the death of another wise man felled by the hands of “three vagrants whose motive was simple robbery.” For masons, the legendary Hiram Abiff, architect of the temple of King Solomon, represents the hidden wisdom of the ages, lost to the simpleminded greed of his aggressors: Jubelo, Jubela, and Jubelum. The death, burial and rebirth of Hiram Abiff are the metaphorical touchstones for the Masonic initiate, leading to subsequent grander insights about the human condition as he proceeds through the path of enlightenment from Entered Apprentice to Master Mason. (An aside on the notion of “rebirth”: curiously, Sir Edmund Godfrey is reincarnated later in the film, when the same actor plays the concerned young pharmacist during Linda’s breakdown.)The Masonic connection in magnolia is hardly speculation. From Ricky Jay’s Masonic ring and “meet upon the level, part upon the square” comment, to the placement of Albert Mackey’s “The History of Freemasonry” tome on Stanley’s cluttered library table, to Donnie Smith’s infiltration of Solomon Solomon’s “temple,” the film is cluttered with masonica. The first minute of magnolia serves as both an imprimatur on the film as a Masonic document and, perhaps, as a shorthand “initiation ceremony” for each of its viewers.
Equal scrutiny of the remaining coincidental prologue tales yields no less surprising results. Though both devoid of Masonic reference, the second and third tales, examined individually, reveal an agenda of an even higher order.
II. The Frogman: Delmer Darion’s tragicomic fate at the unwitting hands of his troubled nemesis is certainly the most fanciful and amusing of the three tales. But the most potent aspect of this short film – its grandiose visuals – is distinct from the story, itself. From the first transitional shot of flames “licking over” the edges of the Greenberry Hill tale, Anderson frames this vignette amidst the essential natural elements of fire, earth, air and water. The Frogman sequence contains underwater shots, shots of fire, shots of planes soaring through the air, and shots of scorched and pristine earth. One complex shot, in particular, verifies this elemental agenda: an “earth’s eye” view, looking straight up, as a plane passes through a blue sky, dumping water upon fire clinging to tall trees. Frozen in view, this symbolic logos reveals a second magnolia imprimatur: the eastern way. This natural/elemental theory, like the Masonic one of the first tale, is borne out significantly throughout the rest of magnolia. The film we will soon see documents a world beyond Judeo-Christian spirituality, beyond western morality, a world characterized by the interconnectivity of all things, a karmic/Zen alchemical recipe of eastern mysticism and western absurdity. Yet, it is also a very natural world, characterized by clouds and 82% chances of rain.
DIXON: When the sun don’t shine, the good Lord bring the rain in.
The only other character in the balance of magnolia to come to recognize this natural order of things is Stanley, diligent in his studies of natural (and Masonic) phenomena, and curious of the mechanics behind weather forecasting at the WDKK? studios:
STANLEY: I was wondering about the weather department. I was wondering whether or not the weather people have outside meteorological services or if they had in-house instruments.
CYNTHIA: Um, I can check on that for you. Maybe later we can take a tour…You asked about that because it’s raining outside?
STANLEY: I guess.
CYNTHIA: So what do you do? Whatever’s happening, that’s what you look into? Something like that?
STANLEY: I don’t know.
CYNTHIA: You don’t know? Well, it’s not a bad way to be…interested in everything that’s going around.
Stanley is the culmination of eastern and western intellectual traditions. In a crucial moment, Stanley succumbs to “the call of nature” during the gameshow. Later, his frog rain epiphany, that “this is something that happens,” evinces his passage to a new level of elemental and natural awareness. The Frogman sequence serves as a sort of “cinematic feng shui,” reminding the viewer that all the elements are represented here, and that conditions are right for the evolution of consciousness.
Combined, the first two-thirds of the prologue provide substantial ballast to raise the curtain on the human drama to come: the dysfunctional Barringer Family.
III. The Suicide/Murder of Sydney Barringer:The third tale of the prologue, more subtly filmed and realistic in its tenor, is also less symbolic than the other two, though it is equally rich in subtext for the remainder of the film. The essential notion of human suffering permeates the short. From Sydney’s lamentable suicide note, to the stunned and maddening grief of his parents, to the creepily anguished, sometimes backward, purgatorial background music, the Barringer sequence is soaked with sorrow and suffering. It begins, however, on a rather clinical note: the forensic conference where the Barringer tale is told. Punctuated with fast and slow motion, the shot’s most important information is provided on the soundtrack, where the only audible word of the coroner’s speech is found: “curiosity,” that euphemistic synonym for original sin. Sydney’s suicide note, visually pieced together with various close-ups and pans across the words of the page reveals the depths of despair:
“I’m sorry/ but I cannot forgive you now/ I have suffered/ so I will go/ and be with God.”
Sydney is the poster child for the poor of heart. And what else is magnolia, if not a meditation on despair? The perplexing Barringer family dynamic is, arguably, beside the point. The real issues addressed in the short are the root causes of human suffering and individual responsibility for it. The sequence awakens us to this central question of human understanding, particularly within the context of parents and children. Who’s culpable for the death of Sydney Barringer? Sidney? His Mother? His Father? Of course, each one is culpable to varying degrees under various standards. Similar questions will be asked of the film’s many characters as magnolia unfolds, and as the transgressions of parents upon children build to life-defining crescendos. The final tale of the prologue trilogy defines the ultimate inquiry of magnolia: human suffering.
So now then
The prologue of magnolia serves as a primer for the rest of the film. It defines the moral, intellectual and spiritual agenda for the next three hours, and provides the informed and open-minded viewer a glimpse of the grand cinematic architecture to come. This is no coincidence. No, this cannot be that.
Now, that shit will help you solve the case.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The 20th Century Ends At Noon Today
" For the love of God, Montressor ! "
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God !"
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud -
"Fortunato !"
No answer. I called again -
"Fortunato !"
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick - on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labor. I forced the last stone into its position ; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat !
Poe, A Cask of Amontillado
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God !"
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud -
"Fortunato !"
No answer. I called again -
"Fortunato !"
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick - on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labor. I forced the last stone into its position ; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat !
Poe, A Cask of Amontillado