WHAT'S ON YOUR DESK?

DAVE KING

In Brooklyn, there’s a long work surface that runs entirely along one wall of my office. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, this countertop is littered permanently with paper. There are always receipts, business cards, post-its and torn scraps with unidentifiable phone numbers; often a few handwritten lists that have been carried around, then unfolded beside my computer; and multiple piles of books and notebooks as well as the varicolored folders I use for my classes. Amid all this jumble, I keep only two sentimental items: a professional photo of my father as he received an honorary doctorate from the University of Western Ontario; and a silver-framed snapshot of my boyfriend, Frank Tartaglione, stepping from the morning mist in Columbia County, New York. The photo of Dad has a way of finding its way behind the computer screen, but I keep the one of Frank on the right, where I can see it easily when I glance up.

Here in Rome, there’s a large awninged window in my office, and instead of moving the desk to face the window, I’ve set it so the light falls over my left shoulder, as I like it. The desk itself is a smaller surface than I’m used to—an old-fashioned archetype with five drawers and a bit of peeling leather glued down in the center—and the placement of the room’s plugs and my electrical cords dictates that most of its surface will be consumed by laptop, phone, printer, and external hard drive. In fact, I knew instantly upon walking into the room that the only personal thing I wanted on the desk was that silver-framed photo of Frank; but when I unpacked my suitcase I realized I’d left it home. The desk is spare without it, and all business. But here I have something I don’t have in Brooklyn: a large white bulletin board wall above my laptop, and I’m looking forward to the collage I’ll create as I fill up the space over the coming year. Here’s what I’ve accumulated as of day ten of a yearlong fellowship:
• A snapshot of Frank standing in a painting studio he once rented in Brooklyn. More sunny than the other, and discovered (whew!) unexpectedly between the last pages of my journal.
• Three tiny photos of my friend Desi Tomaselli, age eight. Desi is respectively: wearing a soft hat; looking gnomic; and indicating the size of some unrevealed object.
• An antique post card of Rome from the photographer Robert Flynt, who said he wanted to be the first to send coals to Newcastle. Indeed, it was the first mail I received after my arrival.
• A photo of the Villa Aurelia, here at the American Academy. Printed in orange and black, it’s the invitation to an upcoming dinner in the Fellows’ honor.
• An exquisite but unusable map of Rome with all the Borromini sites marked in red and a blue line connecting each one to the next. So small it looks like a circuit board.
• A photo of my friends Fred Tomaselli (artist), Laura Miller (writer), and Desi Tomaselli (see above).
• A photo of a howling coyote pup.

Dave is the author of The Ha-Ha, named one of 2005’s best works of fiction by The Washington Post and The Christian Science Monitor, among others. He is a 2006/07 Literature Fellow at the American Academy in Rome. 

SAY WHAT? Commonly Misused Words

Lightening - to make light or clear.
     By lightening the studio, the photographer practically erased her wrinkles.

Lightning - light produced by a discharge of atmospheric electricity.
     The clouds fought one another with violent bolts of lightning. 

IN THE HISTORY OF WRITING

On August 10, 1949, The Washington Post ran an article titled “Pastor Tells Eerie Tale of ‘Haunted’ Boy.” It was about a local thirteen year old and the strange events that had occurred at his family’s house in Maryland: scratching in the walls, shaking beds, flying objects. The minister, who told this story during a speech before a local meeting of the Society of Parapsychology, had the boy spend a night with him. He saw and heard the same things, but remained highly skeptical. He scolded the boy, “Now, look, this is enough ..." The only thing he knew to do was call in the doctor who prescribed Phenobarbital for the whole family.

A few days later, on August 20, The Washington Post ran another article that dove deeper into the family’s haunting episode. This one revealed that only after twenty to thirty performances of the ancient ritual of exorcism was the evil spirit finally cast out of the boy. During the rite the youngster broke into violent fits, screaming, cursing and shouting Latin phrases. After the last exorcism, the boy became quiet. He later told the priest he saw St. Michael casting out the devil. 

A student attending Georgetown University at the time read these articles. He even heard some details of the exorcism in his New Testament class. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. What a great idea for a book! 

Twenty years later, in 1969, William Peter Blatty finally got around to writing his novel about demon possession. He titled it The Exorcist. When it hit print in 1971, it sold over 13 million copies in the US alone.

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