on the radio. I knew it was Dean’s high-eternity-in-the-afternoon Proust. As in a dream I saw him tiptoe in from the dark hall in his stocking feet. He couldn’t talk any more. He hopped and laughed, he stuttered and fluttered his hands and said, “Ah—ah—you must listen to hear.” We listened, all ears. But he forgot what he wanted to say. “Really listen—ahem. Look, dear Sal—sweet Laura—I’ve come—I’m gone—but wait—ah yes.” And he stared with rocky sorrow into his hands. “Can’t talk no more—do you understand that it is—or might be—But listen!” We all listened. He was listening to sounds in the night. “Yes!” he whispered with awe. “But you see—no need to talk any more—and further.”
“But why did you come so soon, Dean?”
“Ah,” he said, looking at me as if for the first time, “so soon, yes. We—we’ll know—that is, I don’t know. I came on the railroad pass—cabooses—old hard-bench coaches—Texas—played flute and wooden sweet potato all the way.” He took out his new wooden flute. He played a few squeaky notes on it and jumped up and down in his stocking feet. “See?” he said. “But of course, Sal, I can talk as soon as ever and have many things to say to you in fact with my own little bangtail mind I’ve been reading and reading this gone Proust all the way across the country and digging a great number of things I’ll never have TIME to tell you about and we STILL haven’t talked of Mexico and our parting there in fever—but no need to talk. Absolutely, now, yes?”
“All right, we won’t talk.” And he started telling the story of what he did in LA on the way over in every possible detail, how he visited a family, had dinner, talked to the father, the sons, the sisters—what they looked like, what they ate, their furnishings, their thoughts, their interests, their very souls; it took him three hours of detailed elucidation, and having concluded this he said, “Ah, but you see what I wanted to REALLY tell you—much later—Arkansas, crossing on train—playing flute—play cards with boys, my dirty deck—won money, blew sweet-potato solo—for sailors. Long long awful trip five days and five nights just to SEE you, Sal.”
“What about Camille?”
“Gave permission of course—waiting for me. Camille and I all straight forever-and-ever ...”
“And Inez?”
“I—I—I want her to come back to Frisco with me live other side of town—don’t you think? Don’t know why I came,” Later he said in a sudden moment of gaping wonder, “Well and yes, of course, I wanted to see your sweet girl and you—glad of you—love you as ever.” He stayed in New York three days and hastily made preparations to get back on the train with his railroad passes and again recross the continent, five days and five nights in dusty coaches and hard-bench crummies, and of course we had no money for a truck and couldn’t go back with him. With Inez he spent one night explaining and sweating and fighting, and she threw him out. A letter came for him, care of me. I saw it. It was from Camille. “My heart broke when I saw you go across the tracks with your bag. I pray and pray you get back safe.... I do want Sal and his friend to come and live on the same street.... I know you’ll make it but I can’t help worrying—now that we’ve decided everything.... Dear Dean, it’s the end of the first half of the century. Welcome with love and kisses to spend the other half with us. We all wait for you. [Signed] Camille, Amy, and Little Joanie.” So Dean’s life was settled with his most constant, most embittered, and best-knowing wife Camille, and I thanked God for him.
The last time I saw him it was under sad and strange circumstances. Remi Boncœur had arrived in New York after having gone around the world several times in ships. I wanted him to meet and know Dean. They did meet, but Dean couldn’t talk any more and said nothing, and Remi turned away. Remi had gotten tickets for the Duke Ellington concert at the Metropolitan Opera and insisted Laura and I come with him and his girl. Remi was fat and sad now but still the eager and formal gentleman, and he wanted to do things the right way, as he emphasized. So he got his bookie to drive us to the concert in a Cadillac. It was a cold winter night.