I am advised by your office that arrangements are now under way to award me the sum of two hundred and three dollars and seventy-eight cents, spent by myself to proceed, upon your invitation, to the city of Los Angeles. I find this gesture most generous, but am compelled to inform you that this money was spent to no purpose to which you are member. Thank you all the same.
I am further instructed that arrangements are also under way to compensate me, at the rate of thirty-five dollars per diem, for listening to the expression of certain thoughts, after a manner of speaking, by yourself. These occurred between January 27th and 31st inclusively. But since these were all, like the novel about which you wove them, the property of other persons living or dead, I cannot in conscience honor them by acceptance of such compensation. Again I am grateful. And again I am instructed that a check for the sum of seven hundred and fifty dollars, in addition to the above items, is due me from yourself. I assume this may well be an effort to repay me for some twelve pages of double-spaced typing I achieved in an effort to discover what in God’s name you were talking about. Since these pages served only to confuse you further, no moneys are rightfully due me. Yet your thoughtfulness does not cease to move me.
Should this concern for me derive from a simple and heartfelt gratitude for a diversion afforded you for a full week by “an interesting person,” as you so happily put it when the moment came for parting, I do not feel you are so much indebted. Although I did not find in you an interesting person, I did discover one of arrogance approaching the uncanny. Upon the basis of mutual amusement, therefore, I am the debtor. And since you are decidedly more uncanny than I am interesting, I must at a rough estimate, owe you close to forty dollars.
And forward this sum confident of your satisfaction in alms from any quarter, however small, and remain
your obedient servant
Nelson Algren
“He jests at scars who never felt a wound.”
5
The Day My Accountant Cried
I dislike being interrupted when I am interesting someone in a book. One late afternoon while I was engaged in making a sale, my accountant tiptoed over and stood close to me. I moved away, but he came close again. I frowned; generally that was enough to frighten him. But not this time.
“I must speak with you,” he said. “It’s very important.”