(7:39 PM) | Brad:

A Dedication

Oh, said the yellow paper when Kleinzeit picked it up. Oh, oh, oh, I'm so glad you're back. It clung to him sobbing.

What's all this then, said Kleinzeit. Did you really miss me?

You'll never know, said the yellow paper.

Kleinzeit read his three pages, started writing, wrote one, two, three more pages.

It's like magic with you, said the yellow paper.

There's no magic in it, said Kleinzeit. It's simple heroism, that's all that's required. Like the Athenians and the Spartans, you know, all those chaps. Thin red line of hoplites, that sort of thing.

Yes, said the yellow paper, I believe you. You're a hero.

One does one's possible, said Kleinzeit modestly. That's all.

Death came in, sat down in a corner.

Where've you been? said Kleinzeit.

I have my work too, you know, said Death.

Oh, said Kleinzeit. He started a fourth page, got tired, stopped, got out of his chair, walked slowly through the flat. In the kitchen were spices, pots and pans, authoritative new things brought by Sister. Clothes of Sister's hanging in the wardrobe. She was out shopping for dinner now. Next week she'd be taking some of her holiday time so she could stay with him. He stretched, sighed, felt easy. No pain.

He went back to the plain deal table, patted it, looked fondly at the yellow paper, patted it as well.

You and me, he said.

Fool, said the yellow paper.

What'd you say? asked Kleinzeit.

Cool, said the yellow paper. I said be cool.

Why?

You'll last longer that way.

You don't sound the way you did a little while ago, said Kleinzeit. You sound funny.

Do I, said the yellow paper.

Yes, said Kleinzeit. You do.

The yellow paper shrugged.

Kleinzeit read the three pages he had written today and the three pages he had written before. Now as he read them the words lay on the paper like dandruff. He shook the paper, brushed it off. Nothing there. Black marks, oh yes. Ink on the paper right there. Nothing else.

What's happening? he said.

Nothing's happening, said the yellow paper. Why don't you make something happen. Hero.

That was what he'd called it: HERO. There was the ink on the first page spelling HERO. Ridiculous. Kleinzeit crossed it out.

What is it? said Kleinzeit.

No answer from the yellow paper.

Damn you, said Kleinzeit. What is it? Why'd my words fall off the paper like dandruff? Tell me!

There aren't any 'your' words, said the yellow paper.

Whose then? said Kleinzeit. I wrote them.

'I,' said the yellow paper. That's a joke, that is. 'I' can't write anything that'll stay on the paper, stupid.

Who can, then? said Kleinzeit.

You're being tiresome, said the yellow paper.

Goddam it, said Kleinzeit, are you my yellow paper or not?

Not, said the yellow paper.

Whose then? said Kleinzeit.

Word's.

What happens now?

Whatever can.

HOW - CAN - I - MAKE - WORDS - STAY - ON - THE - PAPER? said Kleinzeit very slowly, as if talking to a foreigner.

They'll stay if you don't put them there, said the yellow paper.

How do I do that?

You don't do it, it happens.

How does it happen?

You simply have to find what's there and let it be, said the yellow paper.

Find what's where? said Kleinzeit.

Here, said the yellow paper. Now.

Kleinzeit took a blank sheet, stared at it. Nothing, he said. Absolutely nothing.

What's all the fuss about? said Death looking over his shoulder.

I can't anything in this paper, said Kleinzeit.

Nonsense, said Death. It's all there. I can see it quite clearly.

What does it say? said Kleinzeit.

Death read something aloud very softly.

What's that? said Kleinzeit. Speak up, can't hear you.

Death said something a little louder.

I still can't understand a word you're saying, said Kleinzeit. He felt an overpowering regret for the shimmering sea-light and the smile of the china mermaid in the aquarium that was gone. Then he felt suddenly like a glove with the hand inside it slipping away. Quite empty, as everything smoothly disappeared in silence. (Russell Hoban, Kleinzeit, 166-68)

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