I Looked Up From My Writing

lone in the loft of his secluded farmhouse, Arthur Toth was gradually being overwhelmed by a sensation the likes of which he had scarcely imagined. As the shrouded night outside threatened to unleash violent thunderstorms, he pounded furiously on his typewriter with a distinct, dizzying euphoria swirling in his head. Deep sweat broke along his graying hairline, on his palms, behind his knees, and on the back of his neck.

Toth understood what he was on the verge of accomplishing: the production of a story, of The Story, that would, once and for all, obliterate human apathy--the final, irrefutable reading experience that would motivate a true and total peace among people. He struggled to repress the significance of such a thing in order to have it done. The writer typed on relentlessly, completely oblivious to the hours streaming past his work and unaware he had not eaten, relieved himself, or rested in any way since he began.

As Toth worked toward the conclusion of his complex web of words, he managed to examine the state of his ecstasy. It was by no means immaculate: lurking within was a distinct, growing fear he would discover certain heretics justified in their belief that the pinnacle of human experience is found in the anticipation of revelation, disavowing any end in itself. Perhaps there was no discovery that could equal his current sensation; perhaps revelation was by definition anticipation of revelation, and there could be no end to his work without abject disappointment. Perhaps he would have to type until he died to avoid it. So be it, he resolved. Moments later though, Toth refused to accept such a blasphemous conjecture and, with renewed vigor, pushed onward toward the completion of what he knew the world would consider the most impossible, inevitable story in history. Arthur Toth was not given to delusions of grandeur; he was not an arrogant man. He simply recognized that he stood on the edge of something new. Toth was on the verge of using mere words to make manifest the full spectrum of human emotion, wisdom, and potential. His fingers were growing stiff now and salty water stained his eyes.

Arthur did not waver in his physical exertion, but it soon became clear his fears were being realized. The exhilaration he felt was inexplicably waning, and he had not yet found the words to resolve his tale. A panic took shape in his gut and a different, more acidic sweat secreted from his pores. Outside, the clouds dispersed for the first time, permitting a crescent moon to shine through the loft�s three adjacent windows. Hairline cracks in the center window, just above the writer�s desk, produced criss-crossing scratches that fell on a page as it clawed its way over the typewriter�s roller. Toth glanced down at the peculiar pattern it cast and suddenly lost his concentration. After more than seventeen hours of sustained work Arthur stopped typing, and it was not the agonizing fear of failure or a collapse of stamina that finally forced him to pause; it was nothing but the simple, distracting dance of light and shadow.

Toth glanced at the window and up curiously toward the moon. The hazy yellow form held his eyes for a moment, and, briefly, he fancied it meditating on his work, but he quickly became uncomfortable in the orb�s critical glare. Arthur was struggling to tear his concentration away from the tired old symbol when a noise outside caused him to look down at the dilapidated well in front of the farmhouse. He stared vacantly at the circle of decaying stones and the world went dark around him.

The shattering crash of a thunderclap startled Toth, alerting him to a thick fog of grogginess slicking his eyes and mind. It took several moments for him to realize he was on the floor splayed out across his overturned chair. Confused, Arthur rose carefully, wondering at his apparent fall. He noticed immediately that there was no page in the typewriter. Toth snatched at the top page of the pile stacked neatly on the table-side. On it, he saw six letters set off from the last line: �The End,� they spelled. Utterly bewildered now, and completely forgetting his strange overthrow, Toth lifted the next page and skimmed its contents. He did not recognize the words, and an intermingled sense of dread and excitement clenched him. Toth flipped over one page at a time searching for the last one he recognized. He turned over twenty-six pages before he found it.

Gathering up the unfamiliar pages, Toth, face crimson with confusion, moved to the window left of his desk. Rain was falling in heavy waves and nothing was visible outside. He slid the window open to cool his face, searching for a moment of clarity in the midst of the hurtling raindrops and snaps of electricity. Toth found a certain calm with his face close to the outside air, relishing the peace one finds on a threshold. It had been longer than he cared to remember since he ventured past one. Arthur had resigned himself to the whims of his impenetrable unconscious and ceased his struggle with it when he moved to this nowhere place nine months ago. Now he was willing to take comfort where he found it.

The serenity Arthur cultivated was encroached upon by a quiet thumping slowly distinguishing itself from the sounds of the storm. Tilting his head, Arthur held it motionless for long while, hoping to elude the oncoming headache. The thumping increased and faded intermittently before fading back into the rhythm of the rain. As Toth remained still, all of his thoughts, even those of the mysterious new pages, evaporated slowly from his boiling mind.

Startled again, this time by a harsh pounding on the front door, Toth�s eyes snapped open and the painful thumping returned. He knew immediately he had seen no lights on the darkened serpentine road that led up to the farm, but it was so dark outside in the storm, and he didn�t know how long he had been standing at the window in a daze. He put the twenty-six pages back on the desk and hurried downstairs to see who could possibly be calling. A glance at the clock on the way down showed it was four a.m.

A police officer ducked in behind the opened door out of the downpour. He was tall and lanky, with a round, pock-marked face, and though heavy around the middle, he looked like he possessed tremendous strength. He spoke when Arthur turned around. �You all right there? Nasty storm, I�d say,� he said cheerfully. �After all the wet last week, waters rising in the creeks--I don�t like the looks of it. You�re Toth, the writer, right?� Though his tone was jovial, the cop was looking at Arthur curiously as he spoke, like he was wary of something, or angry. But Toth was in no condition to speculate.

�Yes, I am. Is something wrong?� The annoying thumping in Arthur�s ears intensified. He shut the door behind him loudly, trying to force his head clear.

�My name is Sheriff James Wheeler. Don�t mean to disturb you. Saw your light in the window upstairs.�

�Oh?� said Arthur, trying to look as un-welcoming as humanly possible.

�Is something wrong?� asked Wheeler.

Toth was annoyed at the way Wheeler was regarding him with narrowed eyes, but he managed a detached reply, �No, not at all. I was just upstairs�in the loft�looking out at the moon, and you��

The officer began laughing an open-mouthed, wide and toothy grin at the exhausted writer. �Thought the man in the moon came down for visit, eh?� he chuckled amiably, but without loosening his scrutinizing glare. Wheeler was looking around the room when he continued, apparently searching for something. �Well, don�t feel too bad, I�ve been compared to a lot worse in my day. Looks like you�re in some serious need of sleep my friend. You got insomnia or something? You should try boiled lettuce.�

The unsolicited advice nudged Toth back into focus, and he stiffened his tone. �Look, is there something�?�

�Something serious, yes. Don�t get alarmed, though. We�re looking for Old Laibe Persey.�

�I don�t know who that is. I don�t know anyone around here,� replied Toth, growing more and more irritated and uncomfortable.

�Well, I didn�t really think you did. I know you�re not much of an outdoorsman.� Toth thought he detected in this comment the faintest tone of sarcasm. He shifted angrily on his feet. Wheeler continued: �The thing is, you see, he found out this morning about his kid, Laibe, Jr.--nineteen years old--son from a previous marriage, you know. A messy affair, really, but I won�t get into that. Anyway, he was driving drunk last night, and damn if he didn�t nose-dive right into the ravine over yonder when I tried to pull �im over. Nothin� left but scrap.

�That�s terrible,� Arthur mumbled, upset with the news, but almost certain now that Wheeler wasn�t listening to his responses, only looking, searching for something in him or in the house. The annoying pounding in his head was becoming unbearable.

�Old Laibe lost his first son--also from that first wife I was tellin� you about--nine, ten months ago, just �round time you moved into these parts, I figure. The boy drowned over at Lake Karl--nobody there to help the poor dope--wasn�t the brightest kid, that one. I�ll tell you one thing though, that man got reason to renounce if you ask me. And, poor, sweet Carol.�

Wheeler took off his coat, casually, handed it to Toth, and took a seat in the living room on a couch. Arthur, still unsure of what was going on, carried the sheriff�s heavy jacket into the kitchen and draped it on a high-backed wooden chair. He returned with two glasses of water and a bottle of aspirin and took a seat facing the sheriff across the antique oak coffee table. Wheeler struck up the conversation again, startling Toth. �Thank you. Thirsty as hell. You sick? �

�Just a headache. You were explaining��

�Well, I�m glad they�re keeping you well supplied out here with medicine and food and what-all. Not having any problems with the deliveries, are you? I try to remind people down there about your condition, though I can�t say I know exactly what��

Arthur interrupted Wheeler this time, �You were explaining about Laibe Persey.�

�Yes, I guess I was. So, the old man didn�t take the news too well. You see, he never was tied up all that tight anyways--made a few backward choices, like the first wife I was tellin� you about. No surprise his kids was so strange. Anyways, he went haywire downtown this evening down in Louise�s theater-- guess he thought he�d take his mind off it for a time. He up and started screaming he was gonna kill himself half-way through the picture--it wasn�t the picture mind you, I seen it. He ran straight out, jumped in his truck and started driving like a maniac. Kerb and his buddies were there and the bunch of �em started chasing the old man to make sure he didn�t do anything stupid--which is pretty damn funny if you know Kerb.� Wheeler paused a moment, then continued in a slightly different tone. He was looking hard at the stairway leading upstairs. �They chased him out to these parts.�

�Really? When was this?�

�All started about eleven o�clock.� Wheeler narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. �You�re saying you don�t know anything about this?�

Toth, suppressing real anger now, got up and walked quickly to the window. It was still pouring and nothing could be seen outside the glass. He started to snap a comment back at Wheeler to the effect that he was offended by the question when the sheriff continued. �So, when Laibe turned and made a run at Kerb, they hightailed back to get me.� Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated. He needed to get all of this confusion out of his head, out of his way. He needed to get to his work. The thumping in his head receded and encroached. Hadn�t he made it clear he couldn�t help?

Wheeler spoke again conversationally. �So, you�re a writer?�

�Yes.� Toth�s head dropped in less than subtle exasperation.

�Anything I�ve heard of?�

�I seriously doubt it,� responded Arthur. The noise in his head was crushing him.

Wheeler, seemingly oblivious to Arthur�s souring mood, kept up his chatty tone. �Your name sounds familiar, you know? I remember my wife reading this one book--I think by a guy with your name. I guess it was one hell of a story--didn�t read it myself--but, she could not put it down. Said it was the greatest thing she ever read. I�m telling you, she was addicted to it. She lived that book for two weeks. I remember, she got the book just after we had our first kid. I�m there trying to get the baby changed-- yeah, I do my part that way--so, the kid�s hollering, I�m hollering �cause I need some help keeping him still, and she�s yelling, �hold on!, hold on!� She just would not put that sucker down. She just had to finish that book. World could�ve gone straight to hell in hand basket and she would have just sat there until she got to that last page. Reads like a fish that woman--Roth! The guy�s name was Roth. Guess it�s not you.�

�No, it�s not me,� Toth responded blankly. He was marshaling every bit of energy to control himself. The incompatible way Wheeler was speaking and looking at him as they talked was causing a welling rage to rise within him. Arthur was sure he looked like hell, but he couldn�t help thinking the conversation was a charade. He had the distinct feeling Wheeler was toying with him. Toth rubbed his temples and sat back down. �Look��

�You must have just finished having this old place fixed up, eh?�

�Yes. A couple of months ago.�

�The seclusion--kind of a therapy for you?�

�What is it you want to know, Sheriff Wheeler?�

�Nothing, really. Just curious. Us never seeing you in all this time you�ve been living nearby town�.� Wheeler kept talking, but his voice was drowned out by the pounding in Toth�s head. Arthur was furious, and suddenly, he heard himself screaming, �What do you want from me? I�m trying to get work done! Get the hell out of here!� He didn�t hear Wheeler�s response, but, looking at the sheriff, he saw the pale face�s decidedly unsympathetic gaze passing repeatedly across his line of vision. It was condescending, accusatory, and it kept flashing before him. Arthur was dizzy and weak now. He staggered around the room bellowing. �Leave me the hell alone! alone! Get out! Get the hell out!�

�I do have a few questions.�

�What? Do you think the poor sap is hiding in here? My god! Look around, please! Pull up the floorboards, go dig in the basement. Just let me get back to my work!� Toth continued to stagger around, his head reeling with searing pain and vertigo.

Wheeler rose. Arthur dimly perceived an incomprehensible expression, a mixture of derision and amusement, pass over the sheriff�s features. �All right, Mr. Toth. I just hope old Laibe is okay.�

�What?!� Arthur screamed in a garbled, hysterical cry. �Am I a suspect in this poor sap�s rampage? This is absurd. This is insane!� The pounding in his head was overwhelming now. He flew around the room, ramming hips and kneecaps into end tables and couches, blind with rage and confusion. Toth was swearing, screaming, crying. The sheriff watched warily as Arthur stumbled to the center of the room and stabilized himself by sitting on the coffee table and clenching his eyes shut by jamming the heels of his hands into their sockets. The dizziness withdrew slightly. Somehow Wheeler had his jacket. �Artists,� the sheriff chuckled as he walked by Toth and out of the house.

Arthur stood glowering at the door as it clicked shut, trying to catch his breath. He was certain something had just taken place he utterly failed to comprehend, but he didn�t care. He was only concerned with getting back to his masterpiece. Toth made his way up along the oak banister quickly toward his loft, realizing gratefully along the way that the noise in his head was diminishing rapidly. Reaching his desk, Toth grabbed the pile of papers pushed aside from the larger stack and sat down heavily in his chair.

It was slow reading, but as he turned over each page, Arthur grew increasingly numb, his headache was subsumed as the feeling spread. What became undeniably clear as he turned over each strange page was that he had succeeded. He had produced something the world had never known. Arthur Toth realized he had engaged in the impossible: creation. He put his head down on his arms and began to sob.

When Toth�s shuttering frame relaxed, he sat up and opened his tear- stained eyes. It was then he realized the night was over. The morning sun was just coming up; it shone through the loft�s center window warming Toth�s face. He grinned confidently, wickedly at the distraction and leaned toward the window to get a closer look at the shining sphere. A movement in the front of the house caught his attention. It was Wheeler, outside, by the well. He was leaning against it finishing off a cigarette. The sheriff took a final casual puff and turned away, flicking the butt over his shoulder into the well.

Seeing the tiny ember arc out of sight into the darkened shaft jolted Toth. A wave of heat swarmed across his skin and his forehead broke out in cold sweat. Arthur moved clumsily to the window left of the desk and desperately looked around the property. It was then he saw the damage. Everything was torn up. Tracts of grass were strewn about violently, the garden was obliterated, the fences had been destroyed and scattered.

Still clenching the twenty-six pages in his hands, Toth turned from the window and raced downstairs. Images suddenly bombarded his mind from the night before, beginning just after the moonlight distracted him from his writing: a truck hurtling across the passive garden, a man scrambling over rocks and shattered stone walls, a man standing by the well rending his clothing and ripping his hair. Without a thought, Toth flung open the front door and sprinted to the well. He was delirious, leaping upon the well�s broken edge as another image exposed itself: the same man, howling--howling in the most mellifluous, incomprehensible language--baying, barking, screaming, articulating an unknown voice. Arthur allowed himself to remember the moment he heard it. The din of the man�s wailing had rescued the writer�s fading rapture and propelled him into that strange state in which he finished his masterpiece. Toth saw himself now, gape-mouthed in the loft�s center window watching the man tottering where he stood now, on the edge of the stone well, weeping a frenzied tattle.

Arthur, in the present, terrified, peered meekly into the darkness below him. Nothing was visible. He could see no part of the broken man he knew lay below him. Another disturbing sensation surfaced. Toth felt he had not recalled everything he witnessed from the window, that something still lurked in his memory. He was certain of it but could not concentrate. A nausea welled within him distracting him from everything whirring in his mind, including the recognition that he had left his house for the first time in over nine months.

Toth slumped off of the lip of the well and lay retching like a poisoned man. There was nothing to purge and the pain was intense as he looked down at the crumpled pages in his fist. When he finished, Toth looked up to find Sheriff Jim Wheeler towering over him like a monument. Arthur stared up at him dumbly.

�Are you crazy, Toth?� the sheriff asked plainly.

�Maybe,� was all Arthur mumbled in response. Then, all at once, Toth was crying. He clutched at Wheeler�s boots and began begging him for forgiveness. �I saw it! I saw it all,� he sobbed.

Wheeler looked down on him coldly. �What did you see?!� he demanded.

�I saw the poor man out here. He was anguished! Suffering! I watched his pathetic sunken soul snuff itself out! I watched! I watched! Forgive me, please, forgive me!� Toth looked again at the mangled papers he held in his hand and screamed. �No! It can�t be! It can�t be this way!� He lurched toward the well to cast them in, but fell to the ground again.

�Well,� said Wheeler, pausing to watch Toth�s spasmodic behavior and to contemplate something. �I see no crime here--man lost his mind is all--and you need some serious R and R. What could you do in your condition anyway? We�ll get some people out here right away to pull him out.�

Toth was struggling to rise and toss the papers into the well when the realization hit him. �Pull him out of where?� he managed to ask from his knees.

Wheeler smiled, showing his huge set of teeth again. �From the well. From the bottom of the well, man.� Wheeler�s grin wavered as he tried to hold it. Finally, it disappeared all together, replaced by a blank, stony glare.

Toth�s mind closed in on him again. His limbs went numb and that familiar constriction in his lungs he felt whenever leaving the confines of four solid walls returned. He fell again, paralyzed on the stones by the foot of the well as the rest of the events of the night before unfolded in his mind.

The storm had returned as the man on the well tore at himself and howled his strange call. Jarring sensations coursed through Toth as he stood listening and darkness enveloped the tortured visitor. Lightening sliced through the sky over and over revealing and concealing the man as he tottered on the brink of the stone well. And there was a second figure there--Wheeler. The officer was standing, arms outstretched to the wretch on the ledge, light careening from his bald head. Wheeler beckoned to him, waved him into his arms. But, the policeman stood across the lip of the well and when his prey stepped toward him, he fell. Still frozen at Wheeler�s feet, Toth remembered all this and screamed.

Wheeler was still looming above Arthur, staring down at him viciously. �You did see, didn�t you Toth. You stupid jerk. I was doing everything I could to let you out of this, you crazy bastard.�

Toth couldn�t speak any longer. His was beginning to hyperventilate. Wheeler�s hands were suddenly on him. They were like vices, pulling him to the edge of the well. �Well, I couldn�t pass up this chance Toth--too perfect,� he said in a frighteningly relaxed voice. �Didn�t even have to touch the bastard. Easier than both his dumbshit sons.� Wheeler had Toth up and leaning dangerously into the mouth of the well. Nothing but blackness faced the writer as he struggled for breath. Arthur�s fingers loosened and the twenty-six pages he had been trying to dispose of fluttered down into the darkness below. Toth could hear Wheeler still talking has the cop gripped his belt loops from behind. �Well, two lunatics in a well ain�t much different than one,� he muttered. �Just be that much longer for Carol and me.� Sheriff Wheeler grunted as he lifted Toth�s legs over the edge of the well and, without another sound, dropped him.

Toth didn�t fall far or long, but his mind had time enough to conjure up the odd, criss-crossing image of moonlight that fell through his cracked window onto his typing paper the night before. He made one last, desperate effort to interpret it, as if it were not simply one more of the strange and indecipherable patterns that ornament the fabric of the universe.

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