Part 1 of The Camel's Back. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden. The Camel's Back by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Part 1. Introduction. I suppose that of all the stories I have ever written, this one cost me the least travail and perhaps gave me the most amusement. As to the labour involved, it was written during one day in the city of New Orleans with the express purpose of buying a platinum and diamond wristwatch which cost $600. I began it at seven in the morning and finished it at two o'clock the same night. It was published in the Saturday Evening Post in 1920 and later included in the O. Henry Memorial Collection for the same year. I like at least of all the stories in this volume. My amusement was derived from the fact that the camel part of the story is literally true. In fact, I have a standing engagement with the gentlemen involved to attend the next fancy dress party to which we are mutually invited, attired as the latter part of the camel. This is a sort of atonement for being his historian. End of the Introduction. The Camel's Back. The glazed eye of the tired reader resting for a second on the above title will presume it to be merely metaphorical. Stories about the cup and the lip and the bad penny and the new broom rarely have anything to do with cups or lips or pennies or brooms. This story is the exception. It has to do with a material, visible and large as life camels back. Starting from the neck, we shall work toward the tail. I want you to meet Mr. Perry Parkhurst, 28, lawyer, native of Toledo. Perry has nice teeth, a Harvard diploma, parts his hair in the middle. You have met him before in Cleveland, Portland, St. Paul, Indianapolis, Kansas City, and so forth. Baker Brothers, New York, pause on their semi-annual trip through the West to clothe him. Montmorency and company dispatch a young man post-haste every three months to see that he has the correct number of little punctures on his shoes. He has a domestic roadster now, will have a French roadster if he lives long enough, and doubtless a Chinese tank if it comes into fashion. He looks like the advertisement of the young man rubbing his sunset-colored chest with liniment and goes east every other year to his class reunion. I want you to meet his love. Her name is Betty Medill, and she would take well in the movies. Her father gives her three hundred a month to dress on, and she has tawny eyes and hair and feather fans of five colors. I shall also introduce her father, Cyrus Medill. Though he is to all appearances flesh and blood, he is, strange to say, commonly known in Toledo as the aluminum man.  Now, during the Christmas holidays of 1919, there took place in Toledo, counting only the people with the italicized thee, forty-one dinner parties, sixteen dances, six luncheons, male and female, twelve teas, four stag dinners, two weddings, and thirteen bridge parties. It was the cumulative effect of all this that moved Perry Parkhurst on the 29th day of December to a decision. This Medill girl would marry him, and she wouldn't marry him. She was having such a good time that she hated to take such a definite step. Meanwhile, their secret engagement had got so long that it seemed as if any day it might break off of its own weight.  So he presented himself, his heart, his license, and his ultimatum. And within five minutes they were in the midst of a violent quarrel, a burst of sporadic open fighting such as occurs near the end of all long wars and engagements. It brought about one of those ghastly lapses in which two people who are in love pull up sharp, look at each other coolly, and think it's all been a mistake. Afterward they usually kiss wholesomely and assure the other person it was all their fault. Say it was all my fault. Say it was. I want to hear you say it. But while reconciliation was trembling in the air, while each was, in a measure, stalling it off, so that they might the more voluptuously and sentimentally enjoy it when it came, they were permanently interrupted by a twenty-minute phone call for Betty from a garrulous aunt. At the end of eighteen minutes, Perry Parkhurst, urged on by pride and suspicion and injured dignity, put on his long fur coat, picked up his light brown, soft hat, and stalked out the door. It's all over, he muttered brokenly as he tried to jam his car into first.  This last to the car which had been standing some time and was quite cold. He drove downtown, that is, he got into a snow rut that led him downtown. He sat slouched down very low in his seat, much too dispirited to care where he went. In front of the Clarendon Hotel he was hailed from the sidewalk by a bad man named Bailey, who had big teeth and lived at the hotel and had never been in love. Perry, said the bad man softly, when the roadster drew up beside him at the curb, I've got six quarts of the dog-ondiced still champagne you ever tasted. A third of it's yours, Perry, if you'll come upstairs and help Martin Macy and me drink it. Bailey, said Perry, tensely, I'll drink your champagne. I'll drink every drop of it. I don't care if it kills me.  They don't put wood alcohol in champagne. This is the stuff that proves the world is more than six thousand years old. It's so ancient that the cork is petrified, you'll have to pull it with a stone drill. Take me upstairs, said Perry moodily. If that cork sees my heart it'll fall out from pure mortification.  The other decorations were neckties and a pink man reading a pink paper devoted to ladies in pink tights. When you have to go into the highways and byways, said the pink man looking reproachfully at Bailey and Perry. Hello, Martin Macy, said Perry shortly. Where's this stone-aid champagne? What's the rush? This isn't an operation, understand? This is a party. Perry sat down dully and looked disapprovingly at all the neckties. Bailey leisurely opened the door of a wardrobe and brought out six handsome bottles. Take off that darn fur coat, said Martin Macy to Perry. Or maybe you'd like to have us open all the windows. Give me champagne, said Perry. Going to the town's circus ball tonight? Am not...vided? Uh-huh. Why not go?   I've been to so many that I'm sick of them. Maybe you're going to the Howard Tates party.  Well, said Macy consolingly, the Tates is just for college kids anyways. I tell you, I thought you'd be going to one of them anyways. I see by the papers you haven't missed a one this Christmas. Hmm, grunted Perry morosely. He would never go to any more parties. Classical phrases played in his mind. That side of his life was closed, closed. Now, when a man says, closed, closed like that, you can be pretty sure that some woman has double-closed him, so to speak. Perry was also thinking that other classical thought about how cowardly suicide is. A noble thought that one, warm and inspiring. Think of all the fine men we should lose if suicide were not so cowardly. An hour later was six o'clock, and Perry had lost all resemblance to the young man in the liniment advertisement. He looked like a rough draft for a riotous cartoon. They were singing an impromptu song of Bailey's improvisation. One lump Perry, the parlor snake, famous through the city for the way he drinks his tea, plays with it, toys with it, makes no noise with it, balanced on a napkin on his well-trained knee. Trouble is, said Perry, who had just banged his hair with Bailey's comb and was tying an orange tie around it to get the effect of Julius Caesar. That you, fellas, can't sing worth a damn. As soon as I leave the air and start singing tenor, you start singing tenor too. I'm a natural tenor, said Macy gravely. Voice lacks cultivation, that's all. Got a natural voice, my aunt used to say. Naturally good singer. Singers, singers, all good singers. Remarked Bailey, who was at the telephone. No, not the cabaret, I want night egg. I mean some dog-on-clerk that's got food. Food, I won't. Julius Caesar, announced Perry, turning round from the mirror. Man of iron will and stern termination.  Says Mr. Bailey, sent up enormous supper. Use your own judgment, right away. He connected the receiver in the hook with some difficulty, and then with his lips closed and an expression of solemn intensity in his eyes went to the lower drawer of his dresser and pulled it open. Look it, he commanded. In his hands he held a truncated garment of pink gingham. Pants, he exclaimed gravely. Look it. This was a pink blouse, a red tie, and a buster brown collar. Look it, he repeated. Costume for the Townsend Circusfall. I'm little boy, carry his water for the elephants. Perry was impressed in spite of himself. I'm going to be Julius Caesar, he announced after a moment of concentration. Thought you weren't going, said Macy. Me? Sure I'm going, never miss a party. Good for the nerves, like celery. Caesar, scoffed Bailey. Can't be Caesar. He is not about a circus. Caesar's Shakespeare. Go as a clown. Perry shook his head. Nope, Caesar. Caesar? Sure, chariot. Light dawned on Bailey. That's right, good idea. Perry looked round the room, searchingly. You lend me a bathrobe and this tie, he said finally. Bailey considered. No good. Sure, that's all I need. Caesar was a savage, they can't kick if I come as Caesar if he was a savage. No, said Bailey, shaking his head slowly. Get a costume over at a costumers, over at Nolax. Closed up. Find out. After a puzzling five minutes at the phone a small, weary voice managed to convince Perry that it was Mr. Nolax speaking and that they would remain open until eight because of the Townsend's ball. Thus assured Perry ate a great amount of filet mignon and drank his third of the last bottle of champagne. At eight-fifteen the man in the tall hat, who stands in front of the Clarendon, found him trying to start his roadster. Froze up, said Perry wisely. The cold froze it. The cold air. Froze, eh? Yes, cold air froze it. Can't start it? Nope, let it stand here till summer. One of those hot old August days will thaw it out all right. Go and let it stand? Sure, let her stand. Take a hot thief to steal it. Give me taxi. The man in the tall hat summoned a taxi. Where to, mister? Go to Nolax, costume fella. Chapter 2 Mrs. Nolax was short and ineffectual looking and on the cessation of the World War had belonged for a while to one of the new nationalities. Owing to unsettled European conditions she had never since been quite sure what she was. The shop in which she and her husband performed their daily stint was dim and ghostly and peopled with suits of armor and Chinese mandarins and enormous papier-mâché birds suspended from the ceiling. In a vague background many rows of masks glared eyelessly at the visitor and there were glass cases full of crowns and sceptres and jewels and enormous stomachers and paints and crepe hair and wigs of all colors. When Perry ambled into the shop Mrs. Nolax was folding up the last troubles of a strenuous day so she thought in a drawer full of pink silk stockings. Something for you? She queried pessimistically. What costume of Julius Hur or the charioteer? Mrs. Nolax was sorry but every stitch of charioteer had been rented long ago. Was it for the town's circus spa? It was. Sorry, she said but I don't think there's anything left that's really circus. This was an obstacle. Hmm, said Perry. An idea struck him suddenly. If you've got a piece of canvas I could go as a tent. Sorry but we haven't anything like that. A hardware store is where you'd have to go. A very nice Confederate soldiers. No, no soldiers. And I have a very handsome king. He shook his head. Several of the gentlemen, she continued hopefully are wearing stovepipe hats and swallowtail coats and going as ringmasters but we're all out of tall hats. I can let you have some crepe hair for a mustache. Want something distinctive? Something, let's see.  Camel? The idea seized Perry's imagination, gripped it fiercely. Yes but it needs two people. Camel, that's the idea, let me see it. The camel was produced from his resting place on a top shelf. At first glance he appeared to consist entirely of a very gaunt, cadaverous head and a sizable hump On being spread out he was found to possess a dark brown, unwholesome looking body made of thick cottony cloth. You see it takes two people, explained Mrs. Nolak, holding the camel in frank admiration. If you have a friend he could be part of it. You see there's sort of pants for two people. One pair is for the fella in front and the other pair for the fella in back. The fella in front does the looking out through these here eyes and the fella in back. He just got a stoop over and follow the front fell around. Put it on, commanded Perry. Obediently Mrs. Nolak put her tabby cat face inside the camel's head and turned it from side to side ferociously. Perry was fascinated. What noise does a camel make? What? asked Mrs. Nolak as her face emerged somewhat smudgy. Oh, what noise? What, he sort of braze. Let me see it in a mirror. Before a wide mirror Perry tried on the head and turned from side to side appraisingly. In the dim light the effect was distinctly pleasing. The camel's face was a study in pessimism, decorated with numerous abrasions and it must be admitted that his coat was in that state of general negligence peculiar to camel's. In fact he needed to be cleaned and pressed. But distinctive he certainly was. He was majestic. He would have attracted attention in any gathering if only by his melancholy cast of feature and the look of hunger looking round his shadowy eyes. You see you have to have two people, said Mrs. Nolak again. Perry tentatively gathered up the body and legs and wrapped them about him, tying the hind legs as a girdle round his waist. The effect on the hole was bad. It was even irreverent, like one of those medieval pictures of a muck changed into a beast by the ministrations of Satan. At the very best the ensemble resembled a humpbacked cow sitting on her haunches among blankets. Don't look like anything at all, objected Perry gloomily. No, said Mrs. Nolak. You see you got to have two people. A solution flashed upon Perry. You got a date tonight? Oh, I couldn't possibly. Oh, come on, said Perry encouragingly. Sure you can. Here be good sport and climb into these hind legs. With difficulty he located them and extended their yawning depths ingratiatingly. But Mrs. Nolak seemed loathe. She backed perversely away.  Make it worth your while. Mrs. Nolak set her lips firmly together. Now you just stop, she said with no coyness implied. None of the gentlemen ever acted up this way before. My husband. You got a husband? demanded Perry. Where is he? He's home. What's telephone number? After considerable parly he obtained a telephone number pertaining to the Nolak Pinates and got into communication with that small, weary voice he had heard once before that day. But Mr. Nolak, though taken off his guard and somewhat confused by Perry's brilliant flow of logic, stuck staunchly to his point. He refused firmly but with dignity to help out Mr. Parkhurst in the capacity of back part of a camel. Having rung off, or rather having been rung off own, Perry sat down on a three-legged stool to think it over. He named over to himself those friends on whom he might call and then his mind paused as Betty Madill's name hazily and sorrowfully occurred to him. He had a sentimental thought. He would ask her. Their love affair was over but she could not refuse this last request. Surely it was not much to ask to help him keep up his end of social obligation for one short night. And if she insisted she could be the front part of the camel and he would go as the back. His magnanimity pleased him. His mind even turned to rosy-colored dreams of a tender reconciliation inside the camel, there hidden away from all the world. Now you'd better decide right off. The bourgeois voice of Mrs. Nolak broke in upon his mellow fancies and roused him to action. He went to the phone and called up the Madill house. Miss Betty was out, had gone out to dinner. Then when all seemed lost the camel's back wandered curiously into the store. He was a dilapidated individual with a cold in his head and a general trend about him of downwardness. His cap was pulled down low on his head and his chin was pulled down low on his chest. His coat hung down to his shoes. He looked run down, down at the heels and, Salvation Army to the contrary, down and out. He said that he was the taxicab driver that the gentleman had hired at the Clarendon Hotel. He had been instructed to wait outside but he had waited some time and a suspicion had grown upon him that the gentleman had gone out the back way with purpose to defraud him. Gentleman sometimes did. So he had come in. He sank down onto the three-legged stool. Want to go to a party? Demanded Perry sternly. I got a work. Answered the taxi driver lugubriously. I got to keep my job. It's a very good party. It's a very good job. Come on, urged Perry. Be a good fella. See, it's pretty. He held the camel up and the taxi driver looked at it cynically. Ha! Perry searched feverishly among the folds of the cloth. See, he cried enthusiastically, holding up a selection of folds. This is your part. You don't even have to talk. All you have to do is to walk and sit down occasionally. You do all the sitting down. Think of it. I'm on my feet all the time and you can sit down some of the time.  See? What's that thing? Demanded the individual dubiously. A shroud? Not at all, said Perry indignantly. It's a camel. Huh? Then Perry mentioned a sum of money and the conversation left the land of grunts and assumed a practical tinge. Perry and the taxi driver tried on the camel in front of the mirror. You can't see it, explained Perry, peering anxiously out through the eye holes. But honestly, old man, you look simply great. Honestly. A grunt from the hump acknowledged this somewhat dubious compliment. Honestly, you look great, repeated Perry enthusiastically. Move round a little. Behind legs moved forward, giving the effect of a huge cat camel hunching his back preparatory to a spring. No, move sideways. The camel's hips went neatly out of joint. A hula dancer would have writhed in envy. Good, isn't it? Demanded Perry, turning to Mrs. Nolak for approval. It looks lovely, agreed Mrs. Nolak. We'll take it, said Perry. The bundle was stowed under Perry's arm and they left the shop.  What party? Fancy dress party. Whereabouts is it? This presented a new problem. Perry tried to remember, but the names of all those who had given parties during the holidays danced confusedly before his eyes. He could ask Mrs. Nolak, but on looking out the window he saw that the shop was dark. Mrs. Nolak had already faded out, a little black smudge far down the snowy street. Drive up town, directed Perry with fine confidence. If you see a party, stop. Otherwise I'll tell you when we get there. He fell into a hazy daydream and his thoughts wandered again to Betty. He imagined vaguely that they had had a disagreement because she refused to go to the party as the back part of the camel. He was just slipping off into a chilly dose when he was wakened by the taxi driver opening the door and shaking him by the arm. Here we are, maybe. Perry looked out sleepily. A striped awning led from the curb up to a spreading gray stone house from which issued the low, drummy whine of expensive jazz. He recognized the Howard Tate House. Sure, he said emphatically. That's it. Tate's party tonight. Sure, everybody's going. Say, said the individual anxiously after another look at the awning. You sure these people ain't gonna romp on me for coming here? Perry drew himself up with dignity.  The visualization of himself as a thing rather than a person seemed to reassure the individual. All right, he said reluctantly. Perry stepped out under the shelter of the awning and began unrolling the camel. Let's go, he commanded. Several minutes later a melancholy, hungry-looking camel emitting clouds of smoke from his mouth and from the tip of his noble hump might have been seen crossing the threshold of the Howard Tate residence passing a startled footman out so much as a snort and heading directly for the main stairs that led up to the ballroom. The beast walked with a peculiar gate which varied between an uncertain lockstep and a stampede but can best be described by the word halting.  End of part one. Part two of the camel's back. Chapter three. The Howard Tates are, as everyone who lives in Toledo knows, the most formidable people in town. Mrs. Howard Tate was a Chicago Todd before she became a Toledo Tate and the family generally affect that community and that community. So, I think it's important to remember that when you were in Toledo and the family generally affect that conscious simplicity which has begun to be the earmark of American aristocracy. The Tates have reached the stage where they talk about pigs and farms and look at you icy-eyed if you are not amused. They have begun to prefer retainers rather than friends as dinner guests, spend a lot of money in a quiet way and having lost all sense of competition are in process of growing quite dull. The dance this evening was for little Millicent Tate and though all ages were represented the dancers were mostly from school and college. The younger married crowd was at the Townsend Circus Ball up at the Tally Ho Club. Mrs. Tate was standing just inside the ballroom following Millicent round with her eyes and beaming whenever she caught her eye. Beside her were two middle-aged sycophants who were saying what a perfectly exquisite child Millicent was. It was at this moment that Mrs. Tate was grasped firmly by the skirt and her youngest daughter, Emily, aged eleven, hurled herself with an oof into her mother's arms. Why, Emily, what's the trouble? Mama said Emily, wild-eyed but valuable. There's something out on the stairs. What? There's a thing out on the stairs, Mama. I think it's a big dog, Mama, but it doesn't look like a dog. What do you mean, Emily? The sycophants waved their heads sympathetically. Mama, it looks like a... like a camel. Mrs. Tate laughed. You saw a mean old shadow, dear. That's all. No, I didn't. No, it was some kind of thing, Mama. Big. I was going downstairs to see if there were any more people and this dog or something he was coming upstairs. Kind of funny, Mama, like he was lame. And then he saw me and gave a sort of growl and then he slipped at the top of the landing and I ran. Mrs. Tate's laugh faded. The child must have seen something, she said. The sycophants agreed that the child must have seen something and suddenly all three women took an instinctive step away from the door as the sounds of muffled steps were audible just outside. And then three startled gasts rang out. There's a dark brown form round at the corner and I saw what was apparently a huge beast looking down at them, hungrily. Oof! cried Mrs. Tate. Oooo! cried the ladies in a chorus. The camel suddenly humped his back and the gas turned to shrieks. Oh, look! What is it? It stopped, but the dancers hurrying over got quite a different impression of the invader. In fact, the young people immediately suspected that it was a stunt, a hired entertainer come to amuse the party. The boys in long trousers looked at it rather disdainfully and sauntered over with their hand in their pockets, feeling that their intelligence was being insulted. But the girls uttered little shouts of glee. It's a camel. Well, if he isn't the funniest. The camel stood there uncertainly, swaying slightly from side to side and seeming to take in the room in a careful, appraising glance. Then as if he had come to an abrupt decision he turned and ambled swiftly out the door. Mr. Howard Tate had just come out of the library on the lower floor and was standing chatting with a young man in the hall. Suddenly they heard the noise of shouting upstairs and almost immediately a succession of bumping sounds followed by the precipitous appearance at the foot of the stairway of a large brown beast that seemed to be going somewhere in a great hurry. Now what the devil said Mr. Tate starting. The beast picked itself up not without dignity and affecting an air of extreme nonchalance as if he had just remembered an important engagement started at a mixed gate toward the front door. In fact his front legs began casually to run. See here now, said Mr. Tate sternly. Here, grab it Butterfield, grab it. The young man enveloped the rear of the camel in a pair of compelling arms and realizing that further locomotion was impossible the front end submitted to capture and stood resignedly in a state of some agitation. By this time a flood of young people was pouring downstairs and Mr. Tate suspecting everything from an ingenious burglar to an escaped lunatic gave crisp directions to the young man. Hold him, lead him in here, we'll soon see. The camel consented to be led into the library and Mr. Tate, after locking the door took a revolver from a table drawer and instructed the young man to take the things head off. Then he gassed and returned the revolver to its hiding place. Well, Perry Parkhurst he exclaimed in amazement. Got the wrong party, Mr. Tate, said Perry sheepishly. Hope I didn't scare you. Well, you gave us a thrill, Perry. Realization dawned on him. You're bound for the town's in circus ball. That's the general idea. Let me introduce Mr. Butterfield, Mr. Parkhurst. Then turning to Perry, Butterfield is staying with us for a few days. I got a little mixed up, mumbled Perry. I'm very sorry. Perfectly all right, most natural mistake in the world. I've got a clown rig and I'm going down there myself after a while. He turned to Butterfield. Better change your mind and come down with us. The young man demurred. He was going to bed. Have a drink, Perry? Suggested Mr. Tate. Thanks, I will. And say, continued Tate quickly, I'd forgotten all about your friend here. He indicated the rear part of the camel. I didn't mean to seem discourteous. Is it anyone I know? Bring him out. It's not a friend, explained Perry hurriedly. I just rented him. Does he drink? Do you? demanded Perry, twisting himself torturously round. There was a faint sound of ascent. Sure he does, said Mr. Tate heartily. A really efficient camel ought to be able to drink enough so it'd last him three days. Tell ya, said Perry anxiously. He isn't exactly dressed up enough to come out. If you give me the bottle I can hand it back to him and he can take his inside. From under the cloth was audible the enthusiastic smacking sound by this suggestion. When a butler had appeared with bottles, glasses and siphon, one of the bottles was handed back. Thereafter the silent partner could be heard imbibing long potations at frequent intervals. Thus passed a benign hour. At ten o'clock Mr. Tate decided that they'd better be starting. He donned his clown's costume. Perry replaced the camel's head and side by side they traversed on foot the single block between the Tate House and the Tally Ho Club. The circus ball was in full swing. A great tent fly had been put up inside the ballroom and round the walls had been built rows of booths representing the various attractions of a circus side show. But these were now vacated and over the floor swarmed a shouting, laughing medley of youth and color. Clowns, bearded ladies, acrobats, bearback riders, ringmasters, tattooed men, and charioteers. The townsens had determined to assure their party of success so a great quantity of liquor had been surreptitiously brought over from their house and was now flowing freely. A green ribbon ran along the wall completely round the ballroom with pointing arrows alongside and signs which instructed the uninitiated to follow the green line. The green line led down to the bar where waited pure punch and wicked punch and plain dark green bottles. On the wall above the bar was another arrow red and very wavy and under it the slogan now follow this. But even amid the luxury of costume and high spirits represented there the entrance of the camel created something of a stir and Perry was immediately surrounded by a curious laughing crowd attempting to penetrate the identity of this beast that stood by the wide doorway eyeing the dancers of the Catholic gaze.  She was dressed in the costume of an Egyptian snake charmer. Her tawny hair was braided and drawn through brass rings the effect crowned with a glittering oriental tiara. Her fair face was stained to a warm olive glow and on her arms and the half-moon of her back writhed painted serpents with single eyes of venomous green. Her feet were in sandals and her skirt was slit to the knees so that when she walked one caught a glimpse of other slim serpents painted just above her bare ankles. Wound about her neck was a glittering cobra. Altogether a charming costume one that caused the more nervous among the older women to shrink away from her when she passed and the more troublesome ones to make great talk about shouldn't be allowed and perfectly disgraceful. But Perry, peering through the uncertain eyes of the camel, saw only her face radiant, animated and glowing with excitement and her arms and shoulders whose mobile expressive gestures made her always the outstanding figure in any group. He was fascinated and his fascination exercised a sobering effect on him. With a growing clarity the events of the day came back. Rage rose within him and with a half-formed intention to take her away from the crowd he started toward her or rather he elongated slightly for he had neglected to issue the preparatory command necessary to locomotion. But at this point Fickle Kismet, who for a day had played with him bitterly and sardonically decided to reward him in full for the amusement he had afforded her. Kismet turned the tawny eyes of the snake-chammer to the camel. Kismet led her to lean toward the man-decider and say who's that, that camel? Darned if I know. But a little man named Warburton who knew it all found it necessary to hazard an opinion. It came in with Mr. Tate I think part of it's probably Warren Butterfield, the architect from New York, who's visiting the Tates. Something stirred in Betty Madill that age-old interest of the provincial girl in the visiting man. Oh, she said casually after a slight pause. At the end of the next dance Betty and her partner finished up within a few feet of the camel. With the informal audacity that was the keynote of the evening she reached out and gently rubbed the camel's nose. Hello, old camel. The camel stirred uneasily. You afraid of me? said Betty, lifting her eyebrows in reproof. Don't be. You see I'm a snake-traumer but I'm pretty good at camels, too. The camel bowed very low and someone made the obvious remark about beauty and the beast. Mrs. Townsend approached the group. Well, Mr. Butterfield, she said helpfully, I wouldn't have recognized you. Perry bowed again and smiled gleefully behind his mask. And who is this with you? she inquired. Oh, said Perry, his voice muffled by the thick cloth and quite unrecognizable. He isn't a fellow, Mrs. Townsend. He's just part of my costume. Mrs. Townsend laughed and moved away. Perry turned again to Betty. So, he thought, this is how much she cares. On the very day of our final rupture she starts a flirtation with another man, an absolute stranger. On an impulse, he gave her a soft nudge with his shoulder and waved his head suggestively toward the hall, making it clear that he desired her to leave her partner and accompany him. Bye-bye, Russ, she called to her partner. This old camel's got me. Where are we going, Prince of Beasts? The noble animal made no rejoinder, but stalked gravely along in the direction of a secluded nook on the side stairs. There she seated herself and the camel, after some seconds of confusion which included gruff orders and sounds of a heated dispute going on in his interior, placed himself beside her, his hind legs stretching out uncomfortably across two steps. Well, old egg, said Betty cheerfully, how do you like our happy party? The old egg indicated that he liked it by rolling his head ecstatically with a gleeful kick with his hoofs. This is the first time that I ever had a tet-a-tet with a man's valet round, she pointed to the hind legs, or whatever that is. Oh, mumbled Perry, he's deaf and blind. I should think you'd feel rather handicapped. You can't very well toddle even if you want to. The camel hung his head lagoobriously. I wish you'd say something, continued Betty, sweetly. Say you like me, camel. Say you think I'm beautiful. Say you'd like to belong to a pretty snake-charmer. The camel would. Will you dance with me, camel? The camel would try. Betty devoted half an hour to the camel. She devoted at least half an hour to all visiting men. It was usually sufficient. When she approached a new man, she was accustomed to scatter right and left, like a close column deploying before a machine-gun. And so, to Perry Parkhurst was awarded the unique privilege of seeing his love as others saw her. He was flirted with violently. Chapter 4 This paradise of frail foundation was broken into by the sounds of a general ingress to the ballroom the cattillion was beginning. Betty and the camel joined the crowd, resting lightly on his shoulder, defiantly symbolizing her complete adoption of him. When they entered, the couples were already seating themselves at tables round the walls, and Mrs. Townsend, resplendent as a super bearback writer with rather two rotund calves, was standing in the center with the ringmaster in charge of arrangements. At a signal to the band, everyone rose and began to dance. Isn't it just slick, side Betty? Do you think you can possibly dance? Perry nodded enthusiastically. He felt suddenly exuberant. After all, he was here incognito talking to his love. He could wink patronizingly at the world. So Perry danced the cattillion. I say danced, but that is stretching the word far beyond the wildest dreams of the jazziest Terpsichorean. He suffered his partner to put her hands on his helpless shoulders and pull him here and there over the floor, while he hung his huge head docilely over her shoulder and made futile dummy motions with his feet. His hind legs danced in a manner all their own, chiefly by hopping first on one foot and then on the other. Never being sure whether dancing was going on or not, the hind legs played safe by going through a series of steps whenever the music started playing. So the spectacle was frequently presented of the front part of the camel standing and the rear keeping up a constant energetic motion calculated to rouse a sympathetic perspiration in any soft-hearted observer. He was frequently favored. He danced first with a tall lady covered with straw, who announced jovially that she was a bale of hay and coily begged him not to eat her. I'd like to your so sweet, said the camel gallantly. Each time the ringmaster shouted his call of, men up, he lumbered ferociously for Betty with the cardboard wienerwurst or the photograph of the bearded lady or whatever the favor chance to be. Sometimes he reached her first, but usually his rushes were unsuccessful and resulted in intense interior arguments. For heaven's sake, Perry would snarl fiercely between his clenched teeth. Get a little pep. I could have gotten her that time if you'd picked your feet up. Well, give me a little warning. I did, darn you. I can't see a doggone thing in here. All you have to do is follow me.  Maybe you want to try back here.  If these people found you in this room, they'd give you the worst beating you ever had. They'd take your taxi license away from you. Perry surprised himself by the ease with which he made this monstrous threat, but it seemed to have a soporific influence on his companion, for he gave out an all go on, and subsided into abashed silence. The ringmaster mounted to the top of the piano and waved his hand for silence. Prizes, he cried, gather round. Yay, prizes! Self-consciously the circle swayed forward. The rather pretty girl who had mustered the nerve to come as a bearded lady trembled with excitement, thinking to be rewarded for an evening's hideousness. The man who had spent the afternoon having tattoo marks painted on him sculpt on the edge of the crowd, blushing furiously when anyone told him he was sure to get it. Lady and gent performers of this circus announced the ringmaster jovially. I am sure we will all agree that a good time has been had by all. We will now bestow honour where honour is due by bestowing the prizes. Mrs. Townsend has asked me to bestow the prizes. Now, fellow performers, the first prize is for that lady who has displayed this evening the most striking becoming, at this point the bearded lady sighed resignedly, and original costume. Here the bale of hay pricked up her ears. Now I am sure that the decision which has been agreed upon will be unanimous with all here present. The first prize goes to Miss Betty Madill, the charming Egyptian snake charmer. There was a burst of applause, chiefly masculine, and Miss Betty Madill, blushing beautifully through her olive paint, was passed up to receive her award. With a tender glance the ringmaster handed down to her a huge bouquet of orchids. And now he continued looking round him. The other prize is for that man who has the most amusing and original costume. This prize goes without dispute to a guest in our midst, a gentleman who is visiting here but who's stay we all hope will be long and merry. In short to the noble camel who has entertained us all by his hungry look and his brilliant dancing throughout the evening. He ceased and there was a violent clapping and yaying, for it was a popular choice. The prize, a large box of cigars, was put aside for the camel as he was anatomically unable to accept it in person. And now, continued the ringmaster, we will wind up the cattillion with the marriage of Myrth to Folly. Form for the grand wedding march the beautiful snake-trauma and the noble camel in front. Betty skipped forward cheerily and wound an olive arm round the camel's neck. Behind them formed the procession of little boys, little girls, country jakes, fat ladies, thin men, sword swallowers, wild men of Borneo, and armless wonders, many of them well in their cups, all of them excited and happy, and dazzled by the flow of light and color round them, and by the familiar faces, strangely unfamiliar under bizarre wigs and barbaric paint. The voluptuous cords of the wedding march done in blasphemous syncopation issued in a delirious blend from the trombones and saxophones, and the march began. Aren't you glad, camel? demanded Betty sweetly as they stepped off. Aren't you glad we're going to be married and you're going to belong to the nice snake-trauma ever afterward? The camel's front legs pranced, expressing excessive joy. Minister! Minister! Where's the minister? cried voices out of the revel. Who's going to be the clergyman? The head of Jumbo, obese negro, waiter at the Tally Ho Club for many years, appeared rashly through a half-opened pantry door. Oh, Jumbo! Get old Jumbo. He's the fella. Come on, Jumbo. How about marrying us a couple? Yay! Jumbo was seized by four comedians, stripped of his apron, and escorted to a raised dais at the head of the ball. There his collar was removed and replaced back-side-forward with ecclesiastical effect. The parade separated into two lines leaving an aisle for the bride and groom. Laudy man! roared Jumbo. I got old Bible and everything show enough. He produced a battered Bible from an interior pocket. Yay! Jumbo's got a Bible. Razor, too, I'll bet.  Where's your license, camel? A man nearby prodded Perry. Give him a piece of paper, anything will do. Perry fumbled confusedly in his pocket, found a folded paper and pushed it out through the camel's mouth. Holding it upside down, Jumbo pretended to scan it earnestly. This year's a special camel's license, he said. Get your ring ready, camel. Inside the camel Perry turned round and addressed his worse half. Give me a ring for heaven's sake. I ain't got none, protested a weary voice. You have, I saw it. I ain't going to take it off in my hand.  There was a gasp and Perry felt a huge affair of rhinestone and brass inserted into his hand. Again he was nudged from the outside. Speak up. I do, cried Perry quickly. He heard Betty's responses given in a debonair tone and even in this burlesque the sound thrilled him. Then he had pushed the rhinestone through a tear in the camel's coat and was slipping it on her finger, muttering ancient and historic words after Jumbo. He didn't want anyone to know about this ever. His one idea was to slip away without having to disclose his identity, for Mr. Tate had so far kept his secret well. A dignified young man, Perry, and this might injure his infant law practice. Embrace the bride. Unmask Camel and kiss her. Instinctively his heart beat high as Betty turned to him laughingly and began to stroke the cardboard muzzle. He felt his self-control giving way. He longed to surround her with his arms and declare his identity and kiss those lips that smiled only a foot away, when suddenly the laughter and applause round them died off and a curious hush fell over the hall. Then Betty looked up in surprise. Jumbo had given vent to a huge hello and such a startled voice that all eyes were bent on him. Hello, he said again. He had turned round the camel's marriage license which he had been holding upside down, produced spectacles and was studying it agonizingly. Why, he exclaimed, and in the pervading silence his words were heard plainly by everyone in the room. This year is a show-nuff marriage permit. What? Huh? Say it again, Jumbo. Sure you can read?  Yes, uh, repeated Jumbo. This year is a show-nuff license and the potty's concerned one of them is this year young lady, Miss Betty Medill and the others, Mr. Perry Parkhurst. There was a general gasp and a low rumble broke out as all eyes fell on the camel. Betty shrank away from him quickly, her tawny eyes giving out sparks of fury. Is you Mr. Parkhurst, you camel? Perry made no answer. The crowd pressed up closer and stared at him. He stood frozen, rigid with embarrassment, his cardboard face still hungry and sardonic as he regarded the ominous Jumbo. Y'all better speak up, said Jumbo slowly. This year's a mighty serious matter. Outside my duties at this club I happens to be a show-nuff minister and the first colored Baptist church. It done look to me as though y'all is gone and got married. Chapter 5 The scene that followed will go down forever in the annals of the Tally Ho Club. Stout Matrons fainted. One hundred percent Americans swore. Wild-eyed debitants babbled in lightning groups instantly formed and instantly dissolved. And a great buzz of chatter, virulent yet oddly subdued, hummed through the chaotic ballroom.  And the Baptist preacher was besieged by a tempestuous covey of clamorous amateur lawyers asking questions, making threats, demanding precedents, ordering the bonds annulled and especially trying to ferret out any hint of pre-arrangement in what had occurred. In the corner Mrs. Townsend was crying softly on the shoulder of Mr. Howard Tate who was trying vainly to comfort her. They were exchanging all my faults voluably and voluminously. Outside on a snow-covered walk Mr. Cyrus Medill, the aluminum man was being paced slowly up and down between two brawny charioteers giving vent now to a string of unrepeatables, now to wild pleadings that they'd just let him get at Jumbo. He was facetiously attired for the evening as a wild man of Borneo and the most exacting stage manager would have acknowledged any improvement in casting the part to be quite impossible. Meanwhile the two principals held the real center of the stage. Betty Medill, or was it Betty Parkhurst, storming furiously, was surrounded by the planar girls. All the ones were too busy talking about her to pay much attention to her and over on the other side of the hall stood the camel, still intact except for his headpiece which dangled pathetically on his chest. Perry was earnestly engaged in making protestations of his innocence to a ring of angry, puzzled men. Every few minutes just as he had apparently proved his case someone would mention the marriage certificate and the inquisition would begin again. A girl named Marion Cloud considered the second best bell of Toledo changed the gist of the situation by a remark she made to Betty. Well, she said maliciously, it'll all blow over, dear. The courts will annull it without question.  Her lips shut tight together and she looked stonely at Marion. Then she rose and, scattering her sympathizers right and left, walked directly across the room to Perry, who stared at her in terror. Again silence crept down upon the room. Will you have the decency to grant me five minutes conversation or wasn't that included in your plans? He nodded his mouth unable to form words. Indicating coldly that he was to follow her she walked out into the hall with her chin up tilted and headed for the privacy of one of the little card rooms. He waited after her but was brought to a jerky halt by the failure of his hind legs to function. You stay here, he commanded savagely. I can't, whined a voice from the hump, unless you get out first and let me get out. Perry hesitated but unable any longer to tolerate the eyes of the curious crowd. He muttered a command and the camel moved carefully from the room on its four legs. She was waiting for him. Well, she began furiously. You see what you've done. You and that crazy license. I told you you shouldn't have gotten it. My dear girl, I... Don't say dear girl to me. Save that for your real wife if you ever get one after this disgraceful performance. And don't try to pretend it wasn't all arranged. You know you gave that colored waiter money. You know you did. Do you mean to say you didn't try to marry me? No. Of course. Yes, you'd better admit it. You tried it and now what are you going to do? Do you know my father's nearly crazy?  He'll take his gun and put some cold steel in you. Even if this wet... this thing can be annulled, it'll hang over me all the rest of my life. Perry could not resist quoting softly. Oh, camel, wouldn't you like to belong to the pretty snake-charmer for all your...  There was a pause. Betty, said Perry, finally. There's only one thing to do that will really get us out clear. That's for you to marry me. Marry you? Yes, really it's the only.  I wouldn't marry you if... if... I know if I were the last man on earth. But if you care anything about your reputation. Reputation, she cried.  Why didn't you think about my reputation before you hired that horrible jumbo to... to... Perry tossed up his hands hopelessly. Very well, I'll do anything you want. Lord knows I'll renounce all claims. But, said a new voice. I don't. Perry and Betty started, and she put her hand to her heart. Hey, what was that? It's me, said the camel's back. In a minute Perry had whipped off the camel's skin and a lax, limp object, his clothes hanging on him, damply, his hand clenched tightly on an almost empty bottle, stood defiantly before them. Oh, cried Betty, you brought that object in here to frighten me. You told me he was deaf, that awful person. My back sat down on a chair with a sigh of satisfaction. Don't talk out way about me, lady. I ain't no person. I'm your husband. Husband? The cry was rung simultaneously from Betty into Perry. Why, sure, I'm as much your husband as that gink is. The smoke didn't marry you to the camel's front. He married you to the whole camel. Why, that's my ring you got on your finger. With a little yelp she snatched the ring from her finger and flung it passionately at the floor. What's all this, demanded Perry daisily. Just that you better fix me and fix me right. If you don't, I'ma gonna have the same claim you got to be and married to her. That's big of me, said Perry, turning gravely to Betty. Then came the supreme moment of Perry's evening, the ultimate chance on which he risked his fortunes. He rose and looked first at Betty where she sat weekly, aghast at this new complication, and then at the individual who swayed from side to side on his chair, uncertainly, menacingly. Very well, said Perry, slowly to the individual. You can have her. Betty, I'm going to prove to you that as far as I'm concerned our marriage was entirely accidental.  There was a pause and four horror-stricken eyes returned on him. Good-bye, Betty, he said, brokenly. Don't forget me in your new found happiness. I'm going to leave for the far west on the morning train. Think of me kindly, Betty.  Good-bye, he repeated. He turned the door knob. But at this sound the snakes and silk and tawny hair precipitated themselves violently toward him. Oh, Perry, don't leave me. Perry, Perry, take me with you. Her tears flowed damply on his neck. Calmly he folded his arms about her. I don't care, she cried. I love you, and if you can wake up a minister at this hour again, I'll go west with you. Over her shoulder, the front part of the camel looked at the back part of the camel, and they exchanged a particularly subtle, esoteric sort of wink that only true camels can understand. End of The Camel's Back by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button Part 1 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Larry Ann Walden. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Part 1 Introduction This story was inspired by a remark of Mark Twain's to the effect that it was a pity that the best part of life came at the beginning and the worst part at the end. By trying the experiment upon only one man in a perfectly normal world, I have scarcely given his idea a fair trial. Several weeks after completing it, I discovered an almost identical plot in Samuel Butler's notebooks. The story was published in Collier's last summer and provoked this startling letter from an anonymous admirer in Cincinnati. Sir, I have read the story Benjamin Button and Collier's and I wish to say that as a short story writer you would make a good lunatic. I have seen many pieces spelled P-E-I-C-E-S.   End of the Introduction Chapter 1 As long ago as 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. At present, so I am told, the high gods of medicine have decreed that the first cries of the young shall be uttered upon the anesthetic air of a hospital, preferably a fashionable one. So young Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were fifty years ahead of style when they decided, one day in the summer of 1860, that their first baby should be born in a hospital. Whether this anachronism had any bearing upon the astonishing history I am about to set down will never be known. I shall tell you what occurred and let you judge for yourself. Roger Button's held an enviable position, both social and financial, in antebellum Baltimore. They were related to the this family and the that family, which, as every southerner knew, entitled them to membership in that enormous peerage which largely populated the Confederacy. This was their first experience with the charming old custom of having babies. Mr. Button was naturally nervous. He hoped it would be a boy so that he could be sent to Yale College where the institution Mr. Button himself had been known for four years by the somewhat obvious nickname of Cuff. On the September morning consecrated to the enormous event he arose nervously at six o'clock, dressed himself, adjusted an impeccable stock and hurried forth through the streets of Baltimore to the hospital to determine whether the darkness of the night had borne in new life upon its bosom. When he was approximately a hundred yards from the Maryland private hospital for ladies and gentlemen, he saw Dr. Keane, the family physician, descending the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement, as all doctors are required to do by the unwritten ethics of their profession. Mr. Roger Button, the president of Roger Button & Company, wholesale hardware, began to run toward Dr. Keane with much less dignity than was expected from a southern gentleman of that picturesque period. Dr. Keane, he called. Oh, Dr. Keane! The doctor heard him, faced around and stood waiting, a curious expression settling on his harsh, medicinal face as Mr. Button drew near. What happened? demanded Mr. Button as he came up in a gasping rush. What was it? How is she? A boy? Who is it? What? Talk sense! said Dr. Keane sharply. He appeared somewhat irritated. Is the child born? Begged Mr. Button. Dr. Keane frowned. Why, yes, I suppose so, after a fashion. Again he threw a curious glance at Mr. Button. Is my wife all right? Yes. Is it a boy or a girl? Here now, cried Dr. Keane in a perfect passion of irritation. I'll ask you to go and see for yourself, outrageous. He snapped the last word out in almost one syllable, then he turned away muttering. Do you imagine a case like this will help my professional reputation? One more would ruin me, ruin anybody. What's the matter? demanded Mr. Button, appalled. Triplets? No, not triplets, answered the doctor cuttingly. What's more, you can go and see for yourself and get another doctor. I brought you into the world, young man, and I've been physician to your family for forty years, but I'm through with you. I don't want to see you or any of your relatives ever again. Goodbye. Then he turned sharply and without another word climbed into his faton, which was waiting at the curb stone and drove severely away. Mr. Button stood there upon the sidewalk, stupefied and trembling from head to foot. What horrible mishap had occurred! He has suddenly lost all desire to go into the Maryland private hospital for ladies and gentlemen. It was with the greatest difficulty that a moment later he forced himself to mount the steps and enter the front door. A nurse was sitting behind a desk in the opaque gloom of the hall. Swallowing his shame, Mr. Button approached her. Good morning. She remarked, looking up at him pleasantly. Good morning. I am Mr. Button. At this, a look of utter terror spread itself over the girl's face. She rose to her feet and seemed about to fly from the hall, restraining herself only with the most apparent difficulty. I want to see my child, said Mr. Button. The nurse gave a little scream. Oh, of course, she cried hysterically.  She pointed the direction and Mr. Button bathed in a cool perspiration, turned falteringly, and began to mount to the second floor. In the upper hall he addressed another nurse who approached him, Bazin in hand. I am Mr. Button, he managed to articulate. I want to see my... Clank! The Bazin clattered to the floor, enrolled in the direction of the stairs. Clank! Clank! It began a methodical descent of sharing in the general terror which this gentleman provoked. I want to see my child, Mr. Button almost shrieked. He was on the verge of collapse. Clank! The Bazin had reached the first floor. The nurse regained control of herself and threw Mr. Button a look of hearty contempt. All right, Mr. Button! She agreed in a hushed voice. Very well. But if you knew what state it's put us all in this morning, it's perfectly outrageous. The hospital will never have the ghost of a reputation after. Hurry! he cried hoarsely. I can't stand this. Come this way, then, Mr. Button. He dragged himself after her. At the end of a long haul, they reached a room from which proceeded a variety of howls. Indeed, a room which, in later parlance, would have been known as the crying room. They entered. Well, gasped Mr. Button. Which is mine? There, said the nurse. Mr. Button's eyes followed her pointing finger, and this is what he saw. Wrapped in a voluminous white blanket and partially crammed into one of the cribs, there sat an old man apparently about seventy years of age. His sparse hair was almost white, and from his chin dripped a long, smoke-colored beard which waved absurdly back and forth, fanned by the breeze coming in at the window. He looked up at Mr. Button with dim, faded eyes in which lurked a puzzled question. Am I mad? Thundered Mr. Button, his terror resolving into rage. Is this some ghastly hospital joke? It doesn't seem like a joke to us, replied the nurse severely. And I don't know whether you're mad or not, but that is most certainly your child. The cool perspiration redoubled on Mr. Button's forehead. He closed his eyes, and then, opening them, looked again. There was no mistake. He was gazing at a man of three score and ten, a baby of three score and ten, a baby whose feet hung over the sides of the crib in which it was reposing. The old man looked placidly from one to the other for a moment, and then suddenly spoke in a cracked and ancient voice. Are you my father? He demanded. Mr. Button and the nurse started violently. Because if you are, went on the old man querylessly, I wish you'd get me out of this place, or at least get them to put a comfortable rocker in here. Where in God's name did you come from? Who are you? Burst out Mr. Button frantically. I can't tell you whether you're mad or not. I can't tell you exactly who I am, replied the quarrelous whine, because I've only been born a few hours, but my last name is certainly Button.  The old man turned wearily to the nurse. Nice way to welcome a newborn child, he complained in a weak voice. Tell him he's wrong, why don't you? You're wrong, Mr. Button, said the nurse severely. This is your child, and you'll have to make the best of it. We're going to ask you to take him home with you as soon as possible, sometime today. Home, repeated Mr. Button incredulously. Yes, we can't have him here. We really can't, you know. I'm right glad of it, whined the old man. This is a fine place to keep a youngster of quiet tastes. He's yelling and howling. I haven't been able to get a wink of sleep. I asked for something to eat. Hear his voice rose to a shrill note of protest.  My heavens, he murmured in an ecstasy of horror. What will people say? What must I do? You'll have to take him home, insisted the nurse. Immediately. A grotesque picture formed himself with dreadful clarity before the eyes of the tortured man. A picture of himself walking through the crowded streets of the city with this appalling apparition stalking by his side. I can't. I can't, he moaned. People would stop to speak to him and what was he going to say? The Septuagenarian. This is my son, born early this morning. And then the old man would gather his blanket around him and they would plod on past the bustling stores, the slave market. For a dark instant, Mr. Button wished passionately that his son was black. Past the luxurious houses of the residential district. Past the home for the aged. Come, pull yourself together, commanded the nurse. See here, the old man announced suddenly, if you think I'm going to walk home in this blanket, you're entirely mistaken. Babies always have blankets.  Look, he quabbered. This is what they had ready for me. Babies always wear those, said the nurse, primly. Well, said the old man, this baby's not going to wear anything in about two minutes. This blanket itches. They might at least have given me a sheet. Keep it on, keep it on, said Mr. Button hurriedly. He turned to the nurse. What'll I do?  Mr. Button's son's voice followed him down into the hall. And a cane, father. I want to have a cane. Mr. Button banged the outer door savagely. Chapter 2 Good morning, Mr. Button said nervously to the clerk in the Chesapeake Dry Goods Company. I want to buy some clothes for my child. How old is your child, sir? About six hours answered Mr. Button without due consideration. Baby's supply department in the rear. Why, I don't think I'm not sure that's what I want. He's an unusually large-sized child. Exceptionally large. They have the largest child sizes. Where is the boy's department? inquired Mr. Button, shifting his ground desperately. He felt that the clerk must surely sent his shameful secret. Right here. Well, he hesitated. The notion of dressing his son in men's clothes was repugnant to him. If, say, he could only find a very large boy's suit, he might cut off that long and awful beard, dye the white hair brown, and thus manage to conceal the worst, and to retain something of his own self-respect, not to mention his position in Baltimore society. But a frantic inspection of the boy's department revealed no suits to fit the newborn Button. He blamed the store, of course. In such cases it is the thing to blame the store. How old did you say that boy of yours was? Demanded the clerk curiously. He's sixteen. Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said six hours. You'll find the youth department in the next aisle. Mr. Button turned miserably away. Then he stopped, brightened, and pointed his finger toward a dressed dummy in the window display. There, he exclaimed, I'll take that suit out there on the dummy. The clerk stared. Why, he protested, that's not a child suit. At least it is, but it's for fancy dress. You could wear it yourself. Wrap it up, insisted his customer nervously. That's what I want. The astonished clerk obeyed. Back at the hospital Mr. Button entered the nursery and almost threw the package at his son. Here's your clothes. He snapped out. The old man untied the package and viewed the contents with a quizzical eye. They looked sort of funny to me, he complained. I don't want to be made a monkey of. You've made a monkey of me, retorted Mr. Button fiercely. Never you mind how funny you look. Put them on or I'll spank you. He swallowed uneasily at the penultimate word, feeling nevertheless that it was the proper thing to say. All right, father. This with a grotesque simulation of filial respect. You've lived longer, you know best, just as you say. As before, the sound of the word father caused Mr. Button to start violently. And hurry. I'm hurrying, father. When his son was dressed, Mr. Button regarded him with depression. The costume consisted of dotted socks, pink pants, and a belted blouse with a wide white collar. Over the ladder waved the long whitish beard, drooping almost to the waist. The effect was not good. Wait! Mr. Button seized a hospital shears and with three quick snaps amputated a large section of the beard. With this improvement, the ensemble fell far short of perfection. The remaining brush of scraggly hair, the watery eyes, the ancient teeth, seemed oddly out of tone with the gaiety of the costume. Mr. Button, however, was obdurate. He held out his hand. Come along, he said sternly. His son took the hand trustingly. What are you going to call me, dad? He quabbered as they walked through the nursery. Just baby for a while, till you think of a better name? Mr. Button grunted. I don't know, he answered harshly. I think we'll call you Methuselah. CHAPTER III Even after the new addition to the Button family had had his hair cut short and then died to a sparse unnatural black, had had his face shaved so close that it glistened and had been attired in a small boy a flabbergasted tailor, it was impossible for Mr. Button to ignore the fact that his son was a poor excuse for a first family baby. Despite his aged stoop, Benjamin Button, for it was by this name they called him, instead of by the appropriate but invidious Methuselah, was five feet eight inches tall. His clothes did not conceal this, nor did the clipping and dying of his eyebrows disguise the fact that the eyes underneath were faded and watery and tired. In fact the baby nurse who had been engaged in advance left the house after one look in a state of considerable indignation. But Mr. Button persisted in his unwavering purpose. Benjamin was a baby and a baby he should remain. At first he declared that if Benjamin didn't like warm milk he could go without food altogether but he was finally prevailed upon to allow his son bread and butter and even oatmeal by way of a compromise. One day he brought home a rattle and, giving it to Benjamin, insisted in no uncertain terms that he should play with it, whereupon the old man took it with a weary expression and could be heard jingling it obediently at intervals throughout the day. There can be no doubt though that the rattle bored him and that he found other and more soothing amusements when he was left alone. For instance, Mr. Button discovered one day that during the preceding week he had smoked more cigars than ever before.  This of course called for a severe spanking but Mr. Button found that he could not bring himself to administer it. He merely warned his son that he would stunt his growth. Nevertheless he persisted in his attitude. He brought home lead soldiers he brought toy trains he brought large pleasant animals made of cotton and to perfect the illusion which he was creating, for himself at least he passionately demanded of the clerk and the toy store whether the paint would come off the pink duck if the baby put it in his mouth. But despite all his father's efforts Benjamin refused to be interested. He would steal down the back stairs and return to the nursery with a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica over which he would pour through an afternoon while his cotton cows and his Noah's Ark were left neglected on the floor. Against such a stubbornness Mr. Button's efforts were of little avail. The sensation created in Baltimore was at first prodigious. What the mishap would have cost the buttons and their kinsfolk socially cannot be determined for the outbreak of the Civil War drew the city's attention to other things. A few people who were unfailingly polite racked their brains for compliments to give to the parents and finally hit upon the ingenious device of declaring that the baby resembled his grandfather a fact which, due to the standard state of decay common to all men of seventy, could not be denied. Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were not pleased and Benjamin's grandfather was furiously insulted. Benjamin, once he left the hospital took life as he founded. Several small boys were brought to see him and he spent a stiff jointed afternoon trying to work up an interest in tops and marbles. He even managed, quite accidentally to break a kitchen window with a stone from a slingshot, a feat which secretly delighted his father. Thereafter Benjamin contrived to break something every day, but he did these things only because they were expected of him and because he was by nature obliging. When his grandfather's initial antagonism wore off Benjamin and that gentleman took enormous pleasure in one another's company. They would sit for hours, these two so far apart in age and experience, and like old cronies discuss with tireless monotony the slow events of the day. Benjamin felt more at ease in his grandfather's presence than in his parents. They seemed always somewhat in awe of him and despite the dictatorial authority they exercised over him they addressed him as Mr. He was as puzzled as anyone else at the apparently advanced age of his mind and body at birth. He read up on it in the medical journal but found that no such case had been previously recorded. At his father's urging he made an honest attempt to play with other boys and frequently he joined in the milder games. Football shook him up too much and he feared that in case of a fracture his ancient bones would refuse to knit. When he was five he was sent to kindergarten where he was initiated into the art of pasting green paper on orange paper, of weaving colored maps, and manufacturing eternal cardboard necklaces. He was inclined to drow's off to sleep in the middle of these tasks a habit which both irritated and frightened his young teacher. To his relief she complained to his parents and he was removed from the school. The Roger Buttons told their friends that they felt he was too young. By the time he was twelve years old his parents had grown used to him. Indeed so strong is the force of custom that they no longer felt that he was different from any other child except when some curious anomaly reminded them of the fact. But one day a few weeks after his 12th birthday while looking in the mirror Minjaman made, or thought he made an astonishing discovery. Did his eyes deceive him or had his hair turn in the dozen years of his life from white to iron gray under its concealing dye? Was the network of wrinkles on his face becoming less pronounced? Was his skin healthier and firmer with even a touch of ruddy winter color? He could not tell. He knew that he no longer stooped and that his physical condition had improved since the early days of his life. Can it be, he thought to himself or rather, scarcely dared to think? He went to his father. I am grown," he announced determinately. I want to put on long trousers. His father hesitated. Well, he said finally. I don't know. 14 is the age for putting on long trousers and you are only 12. But you'll have to admit, protested Minjaman, that I am big for my age. His father looked at him with illusory speculation. Oh, I'm not so sure of that," he said. I was as big as you when I was 12. This was not true. It was all part of Roger Button's silent agreement with himself to believe in his son's normality. Finally, a compromise was reached. Minjaman was to continue to dye his hair. He was to make a better attempt to play with boys of his own age. He was not to wear his spectacles or carry a cane in the street. In his first concessions he was allowed his first suit of long trousers. Chapter 4 Of the life of Minjaman Button between his 12th and 21st year, I intend to say little. Suffice to record that they were years of normal, ungrowth. When Minjaman was 18 he was erect as a man of 50. He had more hair and it was of a dark gray. His step was firm, his voice had lost its cracked quaver and descended to a healthy baritone. Minjaman's father sent him up to Connecticut to take examinations for entrance to Yale College. Minjaman passed his examination and became a member of the freshman class. On the third day following his matriculation he received a notification from Mr. Hart the college registrar to call at his office and arrange his schedule. Minjaman, glancing in the mirror, decided that his hair needed a new application of its brown dye. But an anxious inspection of his bureau drawer disclosed that the dye bottle was not there. Then he remembered he had emptied it the day before and thrown it away. He was in a dilemma. He was due at the registrars in five minutes. There seemed to be no help for it. He must go as he was. He did. Good morning, said the registrar politely. You've come to inquire about your son. Why, as a matter of fact, my name's Button began Minjaman and Mr. Hart cut him off. I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Button. I'm expecting your son here any minute. That's me, burst out, Benjamin. I'm a freshman. What? I'm a freshman. Surely you're joking. Not at all. The registrar frowned and glanced at a card before him. Why, I have Mr. Benjamin Button's age down here as 18. That's my age, asserted Benjamin, flushing slightly. The registrar eyed him wearily. Now surely, Mr. Button, you don't expect me to believe that. Benjamin smiled wearily. I am 18, he repeated. The registrar pointed sternly to the door. Get out, he said.   I am 18. Mr. Hart opened the door. The idea, he shouted, a man of your age trying to enter here as a freshman. 18 years old are you. I'll give you 18 minutes to get out of town.   I am 18 years old. To a chorus of titters which went up from the group of undergraduates, Benjamin walked away. But he was not fated to escape so easily. On his melancholy walk to the railroad station, he found that he was being followed by a group, then by a swarm, and finally by a dense mass of undergraduates. The word had gone, that a lunatic had passed the entrance examinations for Yale and attempted to palm himself off as a youth of 18. A fever of excitement permeated the college. Men ran hatless out of classes. The football team abandoned its practice and joined the mob. Professors' wives with bonnets awry and bustles out of position ran shouting after the procession from which proceeded a continual succession of remarks aimed at the tender sensibilities of Benjamin Button. He must be the wandering Jew. He ought to go to prep school at his age. Look at the infant prodigy. He thought this was the old man's home. Go up to Harvard. Benjamin increased his gate and soon he was running. He would show them. He would go to Harvard and then they would regret these ill-considered taunts. Safely on board the train for Baltimore, he put his head from the window. You'll regret this, he shouted. Ha ha! The undergraduates laughed. Ha ha ha! It was the biggest mistake that Yale College had ever made. End of Part One.


One day, when a zen monk, Tanzan, and another young monk were travelling. They happened upon a beautiful young lady, unable to cross a deep stream in full flow. Tanzan offered to help and carried her across the stream. He bade farewell to the lady, and the monks continued on their journey. After a few days of travel, the younger monk turned to Tanzan and in a very disturbed voice asked, I thought we monks were supposed to avoid women. Why did you pick her up like that? Tanzan replied, What woman? You mean the woman way back there? I put her down long ago. Are you still carrying her? What does Tanzan mean when he says is the young monk still carrying her? The nature of the mind is such. The reason why people are struggling in their life is, they have not made any effort to understand the nature of their mind. One fundamental aspect of the mind is, what you say as I don't want, that becomes the nature of your mind. That becomes the main content of your mind. If you say I don't want to think about monkeys, you take a vow, from now on I will not think about monkeys. Whole day you will be thinking about monkeys only. If you did not take such a vow, probably you will never think about monkeys unless you see them.  You have taken a certain commitment to achieve something higher in your life, to touch something another dimension where mundane things will be meaningless to you. But if that has not happened, you are trying to do it as a rigid vow. You think by not touching a woman you will become a brahmachari or you will become a monk, that's not it. By aspiring for something higher you will become a monk. You're constantly aspiring for something high, so you did not look at what's around you, that's different. But you saying I will not look at this, will fill your mind with that. So some woman needs some help, he helped her, he left her there and went on. This one did not touch the woman, but now it's going on in his mind for two days. He can't keep her down. So the one who did what is needed, he left the woman there. The one who is trying to avoid the woman is full of that all the time. So this is not about the woman, this is not about something, this is about understanding the nature of your mind. If you say I don't want something, only that will happen. Because in this mind there is no subtraction or division. Forcefully you cannot take out a single thought from your mind. Whatever you try to do, there is only plus one. Addition and multiplication will happen. There is no subtraction and division in your mind. So you cannot forcefully take away a particular thought. It is just that if your aspiration is something else, all these things may evaporate. You want to go to the top of the mountain, you're very focused on that. What is at the foothills is not your concern. If you're trying to dodge the foothill, how will you go to the peak? You will never go. Isn't it? If you avoid the foothills, how will you reach the top of the mountain? You will never reach. You're focused on top of the mountain, you will cross the foothill and not even notice it. So he helped the woman, it was not a big issue. Probably he didn't even bother with the manner of a woman. Somebody asked for help, he just helped and went on. But this man was trying to avoid the woman, his mind is full of that. There was a great Zen master whose name was Nanen. One day a butcher came to him seeking enlightenment.  How much as me? He went on telling everybody, I don't care what's on God's mind, I know what's on my mind. You learn to be straight with yourself and don't try to go anywhere it will happen because there is nowhere to go.


I'd like to introduce you to Dr. and Mrs. Ossoli. They are Pennsylvanians. They have been living in Allentown for decades. Mrs. Ossoli is one of her brothers, is a 25-year veteran of the US Army, fought in Desert Storm. Dr. Ossoli's brother and sister-in-law have been working for an immigration visa for the last 13 years, since 2003. And yesterday, we're denied permission to enter the United States here in the airport in Philadelphia. This is not who we are. Pennsylvania is a place of welcome. The United States was set up to be a place where people could escape oppression. This is not a place that people come to, to experience oppression. And that's what their family members experience. I, for one, as an American, as a Pennsylvanian, Pennsylvanian, and I'm outraged. This family has done great things in Allentown, for Pennsylvania. And I think it's a dark day for all of us. I've been here for many, many years. And I am devastated what happened to our family. We've done everything by the book and by the rules. And America wanted us. We always lived by the rules all our lives. And I was saddened and I'm heartbroken because they had to be sent back to the war zone. And we were so excited to have them. They were only an hour away to be put on the same plane and sent back after 18 hours of flight and a long, long road of traveling. I'm glad that they are safe at this point. And I hope that this doesn't stay because they don't deserve this.