Read The Annotated Archy and Mehitabel Page 6

hot night like this then said henry it

  is cracking with the heat i tell you

  she said that is the typewriter clicking well

  he said you saw for yourself the room was

  empty and the door was locked it can t

  be the typewriter to prove it to you

  i will bring it in here he did so the

  machine was set down

  in the moonlight which came in one of

  the windows with the key side in the

  shadow there he said look at it and see

  for yourself it is not being operated by any one

  just then i began to write the foregoing

  lines hopping from key

  to key in the shadow and being anxious

  to finish my

  god my god cried henry losing his nerve

  the machine is writing all by itself it

  is a ghost and threw himself face

  downward on the bed and hid his face in the

  pillow and kept on saying my god my

  god it is a ghost and the woman screamed

  and said it is

  tom higginbotham s ghost that s whose ghost

  it is oh i know whose

  ghost it is my conscience tells me i

  jilted him when we were studying

  stenography together

  at the business college and he went into

  a decline and died and i have always

  known in my heart that he

  died of unrequited love o what a

  wicked girl i was and he has come

  back to haunt me

  i have brought a curse upon you henry chase

  him away says henry trembling so the bed

  shook chase him away mable you coward you

  chase him away yourself says mable and both

  lay and recriminated and recriminated

  with their heads under the covers hot

  night though it was while i wrote

  the foregoing lines but after

  a while it came out henry had a

  stenographer on his conscience too and

  they got into a row and got so

  mad they forgot to be scared i will

  close now this house is easily seen from the

  railroad station and the woman sits in

  the window and writes i will be behind the waste

  paper receptacle outside the station door

  come and get me i am foot sore and weary

  they are still quarreling as i

  close i can do no less than

  say thank you mable and henry in

  advance for mailing this

  JULY 25

  We Rushed Forward and Swatted

  We are something of a fly-swatter.1 We took it up seriously as a duty some weeks ago; later it became a pleasure; now it is a habit.

  All the flies have long since been slain in the house in which we live, all the flies that used to loaf around the front porch have been slain; we have even killed the flies in the garage, where the lawn mower is kept.

  By the time the flies began to disappear, fly-swatting had become a sport with us. Others develop their golf and their tennis and all that sort of thing, but we rejoiced in our skill as a fly-swatter. We got so that we scorned to kill a fly sitting; we would take him as he went humming and whirling through the air. Flies began to give out, and at night we would go out after lightning bugs. The necessity to swat something grew upon us; it became a sort of monomania. The joy of swatting vanished, so that we no longer felt happy when we swatted, but we felt unhappy if we were not swatting.

  We were sitting on the veranda on Sunday wishing that a fly or insect of some sort would come along and grieving for new insects to conquer when we saw coming up the gravelled drive-way, which reaches all the way from the garage to the hold in which they are going to put gas pipes some day, an insect. Our heart bounded with the passion of the chase. A speckled hen of a phlegmatic disposition cut her eye at him as he went by; she strolled along after him for two or three yards; we thought every moment that she would make a dash at him and we would be robbed of our prey. But perhaps she was too lazy; perhaps she recognized him as belonging to a species that she had eaten of before and found to disagree with her; at any rate she let him go by unscathed.

  The insect moved as if he had sore feet. We are no entomologist; we can’t tell a rod away what brand an insect belongs to, except in a very rough, general sort of fashion. But this varmint was brown, and it was easy to see that he was sad. He moved gingerly, he came along cater-cornered, like a lame pup; we could not see his face; his head hung down dejectedly. Evidently he was an insect who had just suffered some discouraging experience. This, no doubt, should have moved us to pity. But when the mania for swatting grips a man he forgets pity. We rushed forward and swatted.

  He died, and as he was dying we recognized him. He strove to speak, his lips moved feebly: we hope that they moved with a murmur of forgiveness, for it was Archy.2

  We buried him among the roots of a rosebush. It would scarcely be in good taste to express our grief publicly—unless we did it in verse. And we do not feel like verse today. Some people may be able to hic jacet one of their best friends and then go about their business as usual, talking of it the while, but these things cut deeper with us. He had come out to see us; it had taken him weeks to make the trip; weeks of toil and trouble and even danger, and just as he was crawling to our feet we slew him.

  We buried him in a little golden casket that used to be the case of a safety razor; no marauding chicken there idly scratching there shall find and desecrate his remains.

  AUGUST 2

  My Naked Soul

  well boss here i

  am a cockroach still boss

  i have often been disgusted

  with life but now i am

  even more disgusted

  with death and transmigration i

  would rather not inhabit

  any body at all than

  inhabit a cockroachs

  body but it seems i

  cant escape it that

  is my destiny my doom my

  punishment

  when you struck me that

  terrific blow a few

  days ago and i

  died there at

  your feet my first

  sensation was one of glad

  relief what body will

  the soul of archy transmigrate

  into now i asked

  myself will i go

  higher in the scale of

  life and inhabit the

  body of a butterfly

  or a dog or a

  bird or will i sink

  lower and go into the

  carcase of a poison

  spider or a politician

  i sat on a blade of

  grass and waited and wondered

  what it would be i

  hoped it wouldnt be

  anything at all too soon

  because if you remember

  it was a hot

  day and as i sat

  on that blade of grass

  in my naked soul and

  let my feet hang over i

  was deliciously

  cool try it some of

  these hot nights leave

  your body in the

  bed and go up on the

  roof in your

  spirit and float around

  like a toy balloon its

  great stuff well while

  i was sitting there

  thinking what i

  would inhabit next if

  it was up to me

  personally i had

  a swooning sensation

  and when i came

  to i was in the

  flesh again dad gum

  it i lifted first

  one leg and then

  another to see what i

  was this time and

  imagine my chagrin and

  disappo
intment when i

  found myself inside

  another cockroach the

  exact counterpart of the

  one you smashed whats

  the use of dying if

  it dont get you

  anywhere i was so

  sore i went and

  murdered a tumblebug i

  suppose as a cockroach

  i was not good enough

  to be promoted

  and not bad enough to

  be set back boss a

  thing like that makes a

  fellow feel awful humble i

  came back to town in

  that special delivery letter i

  would rather dodge

  the thing

  they cancel stamps with

  all day than walk again

  say boss

  please thank my friends

  for all the kind

  words and flowers i

  must close in haste there

  is a new rat

  in your office since i

  was here last i

  wish you would sprinkle a

  little cereal in the

  bottom of the waste paper

  basket

  AUGUST 4

  On My Recent Demise

  ive been looking at

  some of the letters

  received on my recent demise

  they reconcile me

  to my fetters

  i am typing with tears

  in my eyes

  it is worth an

  occasional parting

  even death at the hand

  of a friend

  to return and find

  hearts that are smarting

  at the thought

  of ones untimely end

  AUGUST 5 Ballade of the Under Side

  by archy

  the roach that scurries

  skips and runs

  may read far more than those

  that fly

  i know what family skeletons

  within your closets

  swing and dry

  not that i ever

  play the spy

  but as in corners

  dim i bide

  i can t dodge knowledge

  though i try

  i see things from

  the under side

  the lordly ones the

  haughty ones

  with supercilious

  heads held high

  the up stage stiff

  pretentious guns

  miss much that meets

  my humbler eye

  not that i meddle

  perk or pry

  but i m too small

  to feel great pride

  and as the pompous world

  goes by

  i see things from

  the under side

  above me wheel

  the stars and suns

  but humans shut

  me from the sky

  you see their eyes as pure

  as nuns

  i see their wayward

  feet and sly

  i own and own it with

  a sigh

  my point of view

  is somewhat wried1

  i am a pessimistic

  guy

  i see things from the

  under side

  1 envoi2

  prince ere you pull a bluff

  and lie

  before you fake

  and play the snide

  consider whether

  archy s nigh

  i see things from

  the under side

  AUGUST 12

  Aeroplane1

  well boss i have had

  some experiences you know that

  fellow with the teeth that glitter

  and the eyes that glitter who

  comes in to see you and

  who has been talking about his aeroplane

  for six months you thought he

  was always a liar and

  so did i he is the kind of a liar who

  looks so much like a liar no one

  believes him when he tells the

  truth i thought i would call

  his bluff so i crawled into

  his outside breast pocket the other day

  and went out to a place near mineola

  with him he really has an aeroplane he

  went up in it the next morning and

  i went along boss i must have

  picked out the wrong position i sat

  on top of one of the planes thinking i would see

  more of the country boss

  dont ask me for any sensations the

  only thing i felt was wind i felt

  like a sigh in a cyclone i had

  about as much control of myself as a

  bullet that is going through the

  barrel of an airgun i dont want

  to rub anything in boss but it

  was as hard to hang onto as the water

  wagon2 which is a simile

  you may be able to appreciate i

  dug all my feet and claws

  and teeth in but the wind rushed by

  me like a church scandal going

  through a little village i would have

  felt nausea if

  my stomach hadnt been scared to death

  it was only a question of time before i

  would let loose thank heaven i thought i am

  not an elephant i didnt

  want to die again so soon just because

  i can come to life again is

  no reason for overworking a good thing too

  many deaths and transmigrations look

  vulgar and ostentatious

  and when i did let go i must have

  been two miles high around and

  around i spun whirling like a flake of

  soot that has been flipped

  off of a devils wing between the

  worlds and is spinning back home to

  hell and beneath me it looked

  like hell there was a vast expanse of water

  with the sun making it

  seem like melted metal i suppose i said

  i will get all my feet wet now and

  take my death of cold if a fish

  dont eat me and just then i saw

  beneath me a great fish grinning as if

  he had heard a joke on the

  bottom of the sea and come up to

  laugh at the cosmos get that

  cosmic stuff boss it goes great in some

  circles i lit on one of his great white teeth

  and waited for the gulp that should land

  me in his interior department oh

  lord i said if i ever see dry land i

  will never mock at that jonah story3

  again i dont want to die in

  midocean and be reincarnated as a

  sardine or as an oyster

  a cockroach isnt much but

  he has a look in in society where

  an oyster is never mentioned except as an

  article of food but if it

  must be it must be kismet and karma and

  that bunch of bullies vote us the way they

  please we are only instructed delegates

  in the universal convention every

  time i die it makes me more of a fatalist and

  i waited for him to gulp but

  he didnt gulp i hopped over to

  the next tooth to the right as you go in

  and investigated and finally climbed

  out where his upper lip would have been if he had

  had one and worked up to his eye it was

  glassy in death i was floating on a dead shark

  and it was all the more unpleasant

  because he had not had any dental work done for a

  long time or else he had adenoids or maybe

  he had died of ptomaine poisoning boss what i
am

  delicately trying to convey is

  that he had been dead so long he had a right to

  be ashamed of it just then i

  heard human voices and looking around i saw

  two young men in bathing suits and

  a motor boat a shark a shark cried one

  of them put her about the motor is still

  busted said the other row row for your

  life but wait said the first one this

  shark seems deceased bill lets haul him to land

  and say we slew him right o tom says

  bill it will make a hit with all the girls he

  attacked us says tom and i jumped into the water and

  cut his throat with my jackknife you

  did eh says bill what was i doing then put two

  slashes into him which they did one for each and

  fastened him to the stern of their boat with a

  line and as they towed him to the beach with

  me sitting listening they fixed

  up an awful lie talk about ovations boss when they

  came to the beach they got one the

  more i see of human nature the less i know

  whether to despise it for being so easily

  gulled or for being so ready to

  gull by the time they had told

  that story eight times each believed that

  he was telling the truth although he

  still thought maybe the other one was lying well

  i left those two heroes

  surrounded six deep by girls and came to

  town in a little bunch of dress goods samples a

  commuters wife has been trying to make

  him remember to match my

  sympathies being with the shark poor feeble old

  thing he had likely perished of old age

  to be killed a second time is hard luck but

  this is the truth of a story that you

  may read another version of in

  the news columns

  AUGUST 17

  Back to the Starting Point

  i see where one

  of your correspondents asks how

  does archy get the carriage on his

  typewriter back to the

  starting point again when he

  wants to begin a new

  line i release the spring

  with my left hind

  leg and butt the thing over

  with my head yes i am bald but my

  baldness is on the outside

  of my head not on the inside

  like some i could name

  AUGUST 18