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DN4
Christian
on Lyle Saxon
& the History Manuscript
November
10, 1943, 12:30 p.m.
I
have been taking time to revise and gather new notes. Now I have
begun to write the final copy. I am making the chapters much
shorter than they were before. Understand? He said, unh-hunh,
yes. I said that when I finish the first three chapters that I
am working on now, would it be all right to send it to him and
then let him read them for me. Yes he would be glad to do it.
Then
I said, I could mail them to him. But why not bring them down to
the hotel one day, say tomorrow? No, I said because I want to
have the typing in the best condition, and I go so slowly that I
only type about five finished pages a day. I tear up so many of
those even while I am typing them. He said that is not bad.
Saxon doesn't do much better himself, or maybe not as
good. That's fairly good five pages a day.
Well,
I said, I would like for him to read through the chapters, as
these first chapters are my hardest ones, and after I see how
they stand, I shall go fairly fast. So he could make a few
notes on a separate sheet of paper, and just clip it to the
manuscript and mail it back to me. And he broke in to say that
it would be better to bring it down to him, and you see,
this is one of those things that I hate to do, so you'd better
stay with me until it's done. So just come down to the
hotel and I am really sorry that you will have to use that damn
freight elevator, and you just can let me read it while
you're here.
Well
then, I said, we'll make it say one day next week, say Wednesday
or something. And he says, well, make it as early as you
can Christian, because like I'm feeling I'm not sure now
if I'll be living very long. Honestly, I'm feeling bad.
Feel as if I were going to die, so don't be long doing it.
What's the matter, I asked, surely you're not going to croak on
me? He said what did you say, and I said, surely you're not
going to die on me. He said, well like I feel anything might
happen, that's why I tell you make it soon. . . .
And
he says, sure, you're not going to die, you're all right, and
you're happily married--and I broke in and said, yes, but let me
tell you something, I was not fooled about the marriage thing--I
did not go into it thinking that it was a bed of roses and it
isn't, but I'm satisfied. He was silent. Anyway, I said, I tell
you what I'm going to do, I am going to come down sometime
between Tuesday and Thursday--I think Wednesday, but I'm not
sure. Anyway, when I'm ready to come down, I'll phone you
and tell you that I'm coming -- remember now, I'll be
ready and on my way when I phone. And he said good, but
make it soon, because I'm not feeling well at all. And I said
that he must take care of himself, and that I would call
him next week when I start out, and we both said good-bye.
I
noticed, that he said, rather slowly and reflectively, and a
little sadly, 'good-bye, boy'. I was just thinking. Roark
Bradford wrote long ago--and it does seem ages ago, although it
is only a year or two--that Mr. Saxon never called you boy.
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