Agnes Among the Gargoyles Read Online Free PDF

something wrong between us?"
    Â Â Â Agnes and Barbara sit in the front room of Barbara's apartment. Octagonal in shape, with six windows, it is the perfect place to watch the winter sunsets. Agnes and Barbara can see all the way to the water, to the ghostly trellis of the Coney Island Parachute Jump. The mayor, a tireless booster of the city, never wearies of calling it "The Eiffel Tower of Brooklyn."
    Â Â Â Barbara is morose. "He was supposed to call me. We haven't even finished breaking up."
    Â Â Â "No one ever finishes. He's probably having too good a time with his brother."
    Â Â Â "I doubt it. His brother works for IBM. He bowls."
    Â Â Â "So they have a lot in common."
    Â Â Â "I mean he really bowls. In a league."
    Â Â Â "I don't know what to tell you," says Agnes. "You handled the whole thing badly."
    Â Â Â Barbara doesn't hide her annoyance. "What would you have done?"
    Â Â Â "I wouldn't have been so eager. I'd have let him come to me."
    Â Â Â "You always say that," says Barbara, fed up with Agnes's self-righteousness. "What if everyone waited for the other person to do the pursuing? Things would grind to a dead halt. The species would die out in a generation."
    Â Â Â The next morning, a postcard arrives from Jack the Pinboy.

    Babs,
    Â Â Â Just sitting here in desolate Binghamton, listening to the factories padlocking their doors and thinking of you.
    Â Â Â I feel real bad about our last conversation. I think that things were said that weren't meant.
    Â Â Â When I get back to the city I think we should talk again.
    Â Â Â I want to see you.
    Â Â Â Peace,
    Â Â Â Jack

    Â Â Â You are so lucky," says Agnes, handing the postcard back to Barbara. "I can't believe it."
    Â Â Â "What?"
    Â Â Â "You've been given a second chance. He wants to get back with you. Now you can really make him eat shit."
    Â "Really, Agnes. Control yourself. Tell me something constructive."
    Â Â Â "I am."
    Â Â Â "No. Tell me what you think. What you seriously think."
    Â Â Â Agnes snatches the postcard back and takes a second look. "I think if he wrote it in Binghamton it shouldn't be postmarked Ansonia Station."
    Â Â Â "I noticed that too, but I'm not troubled," says Barbara. "I always write my postcards before I actually leave the city. It's the one area where I'm brutally organized."
    Â Â Â "I give up," says Agnes.
    Â Â Â "What do you think of the style?"
    Â Â Â "I don't get you."
    Â Â Â "It's nicely abject, isn't it?"
    Â Â Â "He never actually apologizes," says Agnes. "He never says he was wrong. Look here where he takes a swan dive into the passive voice: 'things were said that weren't meant—give me a break."
    Â Â Â "But he also writes that he feels 'real bad.' That 'real' is interesting, don't you think? Why 'real' and not 'really?' The effect is very emotional, very passionate."
    Â Â Â "Very illiterate."
    Â Â Â "And I'm completely blown away by that 'I want to see you,'" says Barbara. "I don't know what to make of it. Does he want to see me just to talk, or does he want to see me—is the resumption of our relationship a foregone conclusion?"
    Â Â Â "Your textual analysis is brilliant. I think you're having some kind of fit."
    Â Â Â Barbara collapses on the sofa. "You may be right."
    Â Â Â "I don't know where you got the idea that men are cryptic. They tell you they love you or they tell you to fuck off. They're hopelessly screwed up in a million ways, but they are direct."
    Â Â Â "So what do you think he's saying?"
    Â Â Â Agnes makes two more drinks. "He's lonely, he's horny, he's bored."
    Â Â Â "You're very harsh," says Barbara.
    Â Â Â "I take that as a compliment. At least I'm not in tears over his choice of commemorative stamp."
    Â Â Â That angle had never occurred to Barbara. She rolls off the