Mason & Dixon

by Thomas Pynchon

qui vive

téton dernier

Loxodrome

Slowcombe had been press’d from a tavern in Wapping where he clearly ought not to’ve been, mischievous Lad,—

Matthew Walker,

Stockholm Tar,

Throat-Seizing

Dead-...

Jewel Block,—

Sal Si Puedes,

Spotted Dick

Herren XVII back in Holland

Nimrods

Hottentot

Until June, most of their obs will be of Jupiter’s Moons playing at Duck and Ducklings, and of fix’d Stars such as Regulus and Procyon, as well as the zenith-Star at the Cape, Shaula, the Sting in the Tail of the Scorpion,— all so as to establish the Station’s Longitude as nearly as possible.

Jemima, Kezia, and Kerenhappuch.” They are, in fact, Jet, Greet, and Els, as he fails, in fact, to be quite Job.

Jet, sixteen, is obsess’d by her Hair,— as if ’twere a conscious Being, separate from her,

Greet having chosen good Sense as a refuge when she was seven,

Rôle as Eternal Mediatrix,

First, no unnatural Activities. Second, no Opium, no Dagga, no Ardent Spirits, no Wine, and so on.

“Attend, Flatteur,—

‘Eyeh asher Eyeh,’

‘I am that which I am,’”

nautical-looking Indiv. with gigantick Fore-Arms, and one Eye ever a-Squint from the Smoke of his Pipe.

“In the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, you see, Jesus as a Boy made small, as you’d say, toy Golems out of Clay,— Sparrows that flew, Rabbits that hopp’d. Golem fabrication is integral to the Life of Jesus, and thence to Christianity.”

Tellurian Scripture,

Mason’s Bap,—

December, and get busy with the Royal Society’s Degree of Latitude. No telling if they’ll ever take the West

Garden, of Dimensions unlimited by neighboring Parcels, tho’ the Topick of Alligators has so far

musket battles with him and his Army of Pennite

Beast of Baltimore.” “That I was and the Maryland Monster

Queues du Rat aux Haricots,

the Mohawk Chiefs Hendricks, Daniel, and Peter, the Onondaga Chiefs Tanadoras, Sachehaandicks, and Tondeghho,— the Warriors Nicholas, Thomas, Abraham, Hanenhereyowagh, John, Sawattiss, Jemmy, and John Sturgeon,— the Women Soceena and Hanna,—

of Guardians. . . .” “Guardians,— of . . . ?” “Helpers. They live. They have Powers.”

sans la voix de la Le More et le Canard de Vaucanson, vous n’auriez rien que fit ressouvenir de la gloire de la France,’

Squirrel Stuffata

Mr. Barnes, Cope, Rob Farlow, the McCleans, Tom Hynes, Boggs Junior, John and Ezekiel Killogh,— and the others of that faithful Core who stay’d across Monongahela, to the Warrior Path,

contrary to Reason, against the Day,

fairly out in the Hundred-League Current of Sha, where ev’ry Step is purchas’d with a further surrender of Ignorance as to what they have finish’d,—

Mason and Dixon look in again at The Rabbi of Prague,

“What he now styles, ‘His Golem,’ does not exist.”

Forest Dithyrambist

Mason can think of no way to ask the obvious Question, as he did of the Learnèd Dog, and has been reluctant to of the Frenchman’s Duck. Now, withal, Time for this grows short,— just outside, in the Forest, articulate as Drumming, can be heard the rhythmick approach of the Kabbalistick Colossus Mr. Tox has summon’d.