Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathanael West

irritation. He was a gull trying to lay an egg
in the smooth flank of a rock, a screaming, clumsy gull. "There's a game
we want to play and we need you to play it .--Everyman
his own Miss Lonelyhearts .' I invented it, and we
can't play without you."
    Shrike pulled a large batch of
letters out of his pockets and waved them in front of Miss Lonelyhearts .
He recognized them; they were from his office file.
    The rock remained calm and solid.
Although Miss Lonelyhearts did not doubt that it
could withstand any test, he was willing to have it tried. He began to dress.
    They went downstairs, and all six of
them piled into one cab. Mary Shrike sat on his lap, but despite her drunken
wriggling the rock remained perfect.
    The party was in Shrike's apartment.
A roar went up when Miss Lonelyhearts entered and the
crowd surged forward. He stood firm and they slipped back in a futile curl. He
smiled. He had turned more than a dozen drunkards. He had turned them without
effort or thought. As he stood smiling, a little wave crept up out of the
general welter and splashed at his feet for attention. It was Betty.
    "What's the matter with
you?" she asked. "Are you sick again?"
    He did not answer.
    When every one was seated, Shrike
prepared to start the game. He distributed paper and pencils, then led Miss Lonelyhearts to the center of the room and began his spiel.
    "Ladies and gentlemen," he
said, imitating the voice and gestures of a circus barker. "We have with
us to-night a man whom you all know and admire. Miss Lonelyhearts , he of the singing heart--a still more swollen
Mussolini of the soul.
    "He has come here to-night to
help you with your moral and spiritual problems, to provide you with a slogan,
a cause, an absolute value and a raison d'ętre .
    "Some of you, perhaps, consider
yourself too far gone for help. You are afraid that even Miss Lonelyhearts , no matter how fierce his torch, will be
unable to set you on fire. You are afraid that even when exposed to his bright
flame, you will only smolder and give off a bad smell. Be of good heart, for I
know that you will burst into flame. Miss Lonelyhearts is sure to prevail."
    Shrike pulled out the batch of
letters and waved them above his head.
    "We will proceed
systematically," he said. "First, each of you will do his best to
answer one of these letters, then, from your answers, Miss Lonelyhearts will diagnose your moral ills.
Afterwards he will lead you in the way of attainment."
    Shrike went among his guests and
distributed the letters as a magician does cards. He talked continuously and
read a part of each letter before giving it away.
    "Here's one from an old woman
whose son died last week. She is seventy years old and sells pencils for a
living. She has no stockings and wears heavy boots on her torn and bleeding
feet. She has rheum in her eyes. Have you room in your heart for her?
    "This one is a jim-dandy. A
young boy wants a violin. It looks simple; all you have to do is get the kid
one. But then you discover that he has dictated the letter to his little
sister. He is paralyzed and can't even feed himself. He has a toy violin and
hugs it to his chest, imitating the sound of playing with his mouth. How
pathetic! However, one can learn much from this parable. Label the boy Labor,
the violin Capital, and so on..."
    Miss Lonelyhearts stood it with the utmost serenity; he was not even interested. What goes on in the
sea is of no interest to the rock.
    When all the letters had been
distributed, Shrike gave one to Miss Lonelyhearts . He
took it, but after holding it for a while, he dropped it to the floor without
reading it.
    Shrike was not quiet for a second.
    "You are plunging into a world
of misery and suffering, peopled by creatures who are strangers to everything
but disease and policemen. Harried by one, they are hurried by the other...
    "Pain, pain,
pain, the dull, sordid, gnawing, chronic pain of heart and brain. The
pain that only a great spiritual liniment can