Lexicon

this butler, and in no fucking universe did he allow strangers to insert fluids into his body.
    “There’s Spanish,” said Eliot. He had followed Yeats up the steps and was peering into the house. Butlers navigated around Eliot as if he were a rocky prow in a seething ocean, because he was not wearing a tuxedo. He was in a brown suit and beige coat, which apparently Yeats would need to physically pry from his body if he ever wanted to see Eliot in anything else. There was a code, of course. The organization imposed a ceiling on the quality of dress a poet was permitted to enjoy, commensurate with the poet’s level. The point was to address the situation whereby a newly graduated poet realized there was very little in the world denied to him and began to get about in outrageous suits and three hundred thousand dollar cars, drawing attention. And technically the code applied to Yeats. Technically, his entire ensemble should have cost roughly half the price of his current shoes. But Yeats did not follow the code, because he was not a twenty-year-old idiot who required protection from temptation. He was intelligent enough to respect the intent of the code without slavishly adhering to its letter. Eliot, however. Eliot in his last-century suit, his repulsive department store shoes, his wrinkled coat. The most important thing about Eliot was that he wouldn’t break a rule to save his life.
    “Are you coming in?” Yeats said. “I believe that some of the delegates have brought advisers.”
    “No. I’m not dressed for it,” Eliot said, then realized it wasn’t a real invitation.
    “Then I will see you at the office.”
    “Russian’s not coming. That’s what I came to tell you.”
    Yeats hesitated. The butler with the champagne flute took the opportunity to slide forward and Yeats glanced at him, bestowing upon the butler the terrible shame of having drawn notice. The butler fell away, mortified. “What do you mean?”
    “Russian’s doing it via speakerphone.”
    “You must be joking.”
    Eliot shrugged. “It’s what his people have said.”
    “Well,” Yeats said. He prepared for these meetings carefully. He attempted to consider every eventuality. But a
speakerphone
? Was Russian that afraid of compromise? Was he not aware that employing a
speakerphone
would broadcast his fear, screaming his vulnerability to every delegate in this house? It was ridiculous.
    Eliot was still hanging around, eyeing the swirling gowns and tuxedos inside the room. “Thank you,” Yeats said. Eliot nodded and began to trot down the steps. Yeats felt his mood lifting with each step Eliot took, with each increment of distance added between him and those shoes. Butlers began to swarm, excited by his inattention. Yeats shrugged them off and entered the house.
    • • •
    Just inside the doors was von Goethe, regaling a glittering circle that included, if Yeats was not mistaken, one senator and two congressmen. Goethe was German, short and sharp-nosed with dark, slicked-back hair. He was wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, which Yeats was sure were decorative. His shoes were fine brown soles. Goethe excused himself from the group and clasped Yeats’s hands in both of his. “
Guten Tag, mein Freund
,” said Yeats, which caused Goethe’s face to crumple in disgust. “
Wie geht es Ihnen?”
    “Rather nauseous, after that.”
    “I apologize,” said Yeats. “I do not have the opportunity to practice my German as often as I would like.”
    “You are forgiven.” This exchange established that Goethe didn’t wish to engage Yeats in German, which was sensible, since it was easier to resist compromise in a learned language than a native one, but cowardly, for the same reason. Yeats was happy to roll with it, in the spirit of the occasion. He wasn’t here to compromise anyone. Also, he sincerely doubted Goethe was capable of troubling him in English. “A fine occasion you have arranged. So worthy.”
    “Well,” said Yeats. For the first time he took in the stage, the tables draped in white cloth, the tasteful sign by the podium that declared: A WORLD OF LITERACY . “We do what we can.”
    “I was speaking with one of your politicians and he informed me that your government is investing some hundreds of millions of dollars to teach children across Asia to read.”
    “We do what we can.”
    “Read
English
,” said Goethe.
    “Well,” he said. “You can hardly expect us to teach them German.” He clasped the hand of a