The Facades: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

next to her chair, was a different-colored version of the
     one Molly had carried her sheet music in. She pointed to McCready’s open door before picking up where she’d left off in
Fear and Trembling
. Inside, McCready was at his desk, exhaling a ragged line of pipe smoke. His appearance had changed. He wore a neat brown
     beard and horn-rimmed glasses. A tweed coat hung over the back of his chair, complementing the framed portrait of Wittgenstein.
     The new look fit him so well that I found it difficult to remember what he’d looked like before.
    “Mr. Norberg,” he said. “I apologize for the long delay. This has been a very vexing case for me. I spent a few days in the
     hospital with a heart murmur, nothing serious. They tell me it was psychosomatic.”
    “I see.” I nodded, coughing. The room was incredibly smoky.
    “Have you met my colleague?”
    A young man with slicked-back blond hair and racer shades rolled out from behind a file cabinet. He wore an unseasonal argyle
     sweater vest and nodded behind a smoldering cigarillo.
    “We call him ‘the Oracle’ around here,” said McCready. “Because he doesn’t talk much. But when he does, you can bet it will
     be profound.”
    The Oracle nodded sagely.
    “Down to business, then,” said McCready. “I’d like to hear your reading of this document.” He handed me a manila folder with
     two typewritten pages inside. The pages were grubby and coffee-stained. Commentary in at least two different illegible hands
     lined the margins.
    CONFESSION OF JIMENEZ
    You ask, why was I pursuing the athletic Lenya Leskovich across the tennis clay. Well, sirs, I answer. I am a major fan of
     hers from long ago. Do I pursue other females? No sirs, I do not. Only she can be saving me
,
my only Lenya Leskovich. You
have troubled me, I will explain
.
    I was dwelling in a number 9 house many miles from your city. I trust you know what I am speaking. My madre, my brothers,
     my sisters and also half-sisters, and also my Uncle Pedro lived in this house. It was very cramping. The ceiling was holy
.
Many other little leaks, yes
.
    I obtained unemployment checks by direct deposit so I had no needing to depart the number 9 house. I sat on the couch and
     became dolorous watching the TV program
Hourglass.
My dolors became deep and I wanted to cry like the females on this program. Then one day I flicked the channel and I witnessed
     Lenya Leskovich swinging the racket. Her tennis costume was inspiring to me. I knew that Lenya was the most beautiful virgin
     I had witnessed
.
    It is no secret that I get busy with many females, and
many other long-legged youths
.
Members of my posse say I am like a Don Giovanni because I shake so many mattresses
.
My organ is large like a yam
.
Let those who have ears to hear, hear
.
    What is so hot about females and virgins swinging the racket?
    When Lenya Leskovich shoots her first and second serves, she makes a very beautiful sound. This sound she makes is like “uhh,”
     but it is also like “Oh, Jimenez! I am enjoying what you do to me very much!” I made records of Lenya’s games with the video
     machine. Yet I remained dolorous. I could not find proper enjoyment of my video records. My life was a
misery of little, lost yearnings
.
    When I learned that Lenya would be swinging the racket in your city, I traveled there on a cramping bus and obtained a ticket
     to Lenya’s tennis game against the old female Katja Bjornsen of Norway
.
    I hoped for my conference with Lenya to be joyful. However, when I ran into the tennis clay, Lenya was ruminating ways to
     defeat the old female from Norway, and she did not spy me
. “My only love, Lenya, you—”
I uttered, but I was muffled by tackling guards, and she did not understand my speaking. I only witnessed Lenya’s ankles from
     the clay. I knew that her ankles were the making of God. Only God can make a beautiful virgin. I will find Lenya again. I
     know this. I will see her, even if I am locked in