John Kennedy Toole - A Confederacy of Dunces (Chap. 10.1) lyrics

GUS LEVY WAS A NICE GUY. He was also a regular fellow. He had friends among promoters and trainers and coaches and managers across the country. At any arena or stadium or track Gus Levy could count on knowing at least one person connected with the place. He knew owners and ticket sellers and players. He even got a Christmas card every year from a peanut vendor who worked the parking lot across from Memorial Stadium in Baltimore. He was very well liked. Levy's Lodge was where he went between seasons. He had no friends there. At Christmas the only sign of the season at Levy's Lodge, the only barometer of Yuletide spirit was the appearance of his daughters, who descended upon him from college with demands for additional money coupled with threats to disavow his paternity forever if he continued to mistreat their mother. For Christmas, Mrs. Levy always compiled not a gift list but rather a list of the injustices and brutalities she had suffered since August. The girls got this list in their stockings. The only gift Mrs. Levy asked of the girls was that they attack their father. Mrs. Levy loved Christmas. Now Mr. Levy was waiting at the lodge for spring practice to begin. Gonzalez had his reservations to Florida and Arizona in order. But at Levy's Lodge it was like Christmas allover again, and what was going on in Levy's Lodge could have been postponed until he left for the practice camps, Mr. Levy thought. Mrs. Levy had stretched Miss Trixie across his favorite couch, the yellow nylon one, and was rubbing skin cream into the old woman's face. Now and then Miss Trixie's tongue would flap out and sample a bit of cream from her upper lip. “I'm getting nauseous from watching that,” Mr. Levy said. “Can't you take her outside? It's a nice day.” “She likes this couch,” Mrs. Levy answered. “Let her have some enjoyment. Why don't you go outside and wax your sports car?” “Silence!” Miss Trixie snarled with the stupendous false teeth that Mrs. Levy had just bought her. “Listen to that,” Mr. Levy said. “She's really running this place.” "She likes this couch," Mrs. Levy answered. "Let her have some enjoyment. Why don't you go outside ? It's a nice day" "So she's a**erting herself. Does that bother you? The teeth have given her a little self-confidence. Of course, you, you begrudge the woman even that. I'm beginning to understand why she's so insecure. I've found out that Gonzalez ignores her all day, makes her feel unwanted in about a hundred different ways. Subconsciously she hates Levy Pants." “Who doesn't?” said Miss Trixie. “Sad, sad,” was all that Mr. Levy answered. Miss Trixie grunted and some air whistled through her lips. “Now let's cut this out,” Mr. Levy said. “I've let you playa lot of ridiculous games around here. This one doesn't even make sense. If you want to open a funeral parlor, I'll set you up. But not in my rumpus room. Now wipe that goo off her face and let me drive her back to town. Let me have some peace while I'm in this house.” “So. You're angry all of a sudden. At least you're having a normal response. That's unusual for you.” “Are you doing this just to make me angry? You can make me angry without all this. Now let her alone. All she wants is to retire. It's like torturing a dumb animal.” “I am a very attractive woman,” Miss Trixie mumbled in her sleep. “Listen to that!” Mrs. Levy cried happily. “And you want to throw her out in the snow? I'm just getting through to her. She's like a symbol of everything you haven't done.” Suddenly Miss Trixie leaped up, snarling, “Where's my eye-shade?” “This is going to be good,” Mr. Levy said. “Wait till she sinks those five-hundred-dollar teeth in you." “Who took my eyeshade?” Miss Trixie demanded fiercely. “Where am I? Take your hands off me.” “Darling,” Mrs. Levy began, but Miss Trixie had fallen asleep on her side, her creamed face smearing the couch. “Look, Fairy Godmother, how much have you spent on this little game already? I'm not paying to have that couch re-covered.” “That's right. Spend all your money on the horses. Let this human flounder.” “You'd better take those teeth out of her mouth before she bites off her tongue. Then she'll really be stuck.” “Speaking of tongue, you should have heard all that she told me about Gloria this morning.” Mrs. Levy made a gesture that indicated acceptance of injustice and tragedy. “Gloria was the soul of kindness, the first person in years who took an interest in Miss Trixie. Then out of the blue you walk in and kick Gloria out of her life. I think it's given her a very bad trauma. The girls would love to know about Gloria. They'd ask you some questions, believe me.” “I bet they would. You know, I think you're really going out of your mind. There is no Gloria. If you keep on talking to your little protégé there, she's going to take you with her right into the twilight zone. When Susan and Sandra come home for Easter, they'll find you bouncing on that board with a paper bag full of rags in your arms.” “Oh, oh. I see. Mere guilt about this Gloria incident. Fighting, resentment. It's all going to end very badly, Gus. Please skip one of your tournaments and go see Lenny's doctor. The man works miracles, believe me.” “Then ask him to take Levy Pants off our hands. I talked to three realtors this week. Every one of them said it was the most unsalable property they'd ever seen.” “Gus, did I hear correctly? Did I hear you say something about selling your heritage?” Mrs. Levy screamed. “Quiet!” Miss Trixie snarled. “I'll get you people. Wait and see. You'll get it. I'll get even.” “Oh, shut up,” Mrs. Levy shouted at her and pressed her back to the couch, where she promptly dozed off. “Well, one guy,” Mr. Levy continued calmly, “this very aggressive-looking agent, gave me some hope. Like all the others, he said, ‘Nobody wants a clothing factory today. The market's dead. Your place is outmoded. Thousands for repairs and modernization. It's got a railroad switch line, but light goods like clothes are going by truck today, and the place is badly located for trucks. Across town from the highways. Southern garment business folding. Even the land's not worth much. The whole area is becoming a slum.' And on and on. But this one agent said maybe he could interest some supermarket chain in buying the factory for a store. Well, that sounded good. Then the hitch came in. There's no parking area around Levy Pants, the neighborhood's living median or something is too low to support a big market, and on and on again. He said the only hope was renting it out as a warehouse, but again warehouse revenues are not high and the place is badly located for a warehouse. Something about highways again. So don't worry. Levy Pants is still ours, like a chamberpot we inherited.” “A chamberpot? Your father's sweat and blood is a chamberpot? I see your motive. Destroy the last monument to your father's accomplishments.” “Levy Pants is a monument?” “Why I ever wanted to work there I'll never know,” Miss Trixie said angrily from among the pillows where Mrs. Levy had her pinioned. “Thank goodness poor Gloria got out of there in time.” "Pardon me, ladies,” Mr. Levy said, whistling through his teeth. “You two can discuss Gloria alone.” He got up and went into the whirlpool bath. While the water swirled and jetted around him, he wondered how he might somehow be able to dump Levy Pants in the lap of some poor buyer. It must have some uses. A skating rink? A gym? A Negro cathedral? Then he wondered what would happen if he carried Mrs. Levy's exercising table to the seawall and dumped it into the Gulf. He dried himself carefully, put on his terry-cloth robe, and went back into the rumpus room to get his dope sheet. Miss Trixie was sitting up on the couch. Her face had been cleaned. Her mouth was an orange smear. Her weak eyes were accentuated by shadow. Mrs. Levy was adjusting a coiffed black wig over the old woman's thin hair. “What in the world are you doing to me now?” Miss Trixie was wheezing at her benefactress. “You'll pay for this.” “Do you believe it?” Mrs. Levy asked her husband proudly, all traces of hostility gone from her voice. “Just look at that.” Mr. Levy couldn't believe it. Miss Trixie looked exactly like Mrs. Levy's mother.