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 The Archduke, pouting like a child whose mischief has been interrupted, did not offer comment.

* * * * * * * * * *

The stinger on the entire episode, painting Archduke like the babysittee he's been this whole time. Maybe this entire scene was a parody of Adventures in Babysitting that I didn't recognize because it's been way too long since I've seen the movie. Or maybe now I'm just making connections between various words that I've used in sentences previous because I don't have much to say about any of this! Or maybe I've just been traumatized by knowing and hanging out with a guy just like the Archduke! A guy who, every time you turned around to see what he was up to, you'd wind up muttering, "For fuck's sake." The kind of friend you've never actually punched but fucking hell it was a close call at times! And the worst part is that all those feelings of fun with that guy tinged with feelings of annoyance and irritation and anger are now stained with grief as well since he killed himself about a year ago! Fucking hell, Larry. You were a wild ride of a human being.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 49: Line 79 (872)

 "Soon's I learn to waltz, I'm on my way."

* * * * * * * * * *

This could be Lew's way of saying, "Don't hold your breath." Or it's his way of saying, "Sure, I'll take you up on that, though I'm not sure I'm fancy enough for Vienna." Or it could be any number of other meanings I'm not smart enough or imaginative enough to come up with!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Pages 48-49: Line 78 (871)

 As they were speeding along dodging grip cars, private carriages, police patrol wagons with their gongs banging, and so forth, Khäutsch casually offered, "If you're ever in Vienna, and for any reason need a favor, please do not hesitate."

* * * * * * * * * *

Are we almost done with this section? It's my least favorite section. It must be satirizing some genre of story telling of which I'm not a fan. Noir detective stories, maybe? Although I do like the sort of interdimensional, science fiction, Philip K. Dick weirdness of Lew's life. Maybe if I were a bigger fan of world history and World War I, I'd be really into it. I'd probably be all, "Yeah! Teach that arrogant bastard Ferdinand a lesson! Man, I wish I didn't already know he dies in 1917 because I want him to die so badly in this story! At least I know he'll eventually get his comeuppance! Good riddance!"

But this story might be really important! Because Lew has become close with an assassin who now owes him a favor! And since this novel is going to span a couple of decades, Lew has plenty of time to wind up in Vienna and finding he needs somebody killed!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 77 (870)

 Outside they found Trabant Khäutsch ready with a two-horse hack poised for instant departure, and the Archduke's own double-barreled Mannlicher resting nonchalantly but visibly on one shoulder.

* * * * * * * * * *

Obviously the Archduke is known for the violent troubles he starts among his own people. He's the kind of guy you have to pay people to protect him because if he even had any friends, they'd all just let him get his ass kicked rather than have his back. I've mentioned it before because it sometimes needs saying. Friendship and loyalty only go so far. They aren't a free pass to have somebody defend you when you act like a complete asshole. A good friend shrugs and thinks, "You reap what you sow," preferably in a Maine accent while sort of miming Herman Munster. A bad friend thinks, "Oh boy! I get to beat up on some people who are totally within their rights at being angry with the moron I'm backing up!" I guess, in this world, there are more bad friends than good ones.

At least the assassin Khäutsch seems to be on Lew's side in trying to keep violence to a minimum. Otherwise he wouldn't have pulled up just displaying the rifle, he would have tossed it to the Archduke and cheered him on as he went on a shooting spree. Which he'd totally be forgiven for in 1893. Hell, Stand Your Ground Laws being the horrendous thing they are, he'd get away with it today. Get a bunch of people angry at you and then you get to shoot them in the face if they approach you because you can declare that you feared for your life. And white on black murders like this are what cops call "Open and shut stand your ground cases" because they're mostly racist pieces of garbage.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 76 (869)

 Sure enough, just before sliding out the door, Der F.F. with a demonic grin screamed, "And when Franz Ferdinand pays, everybody pays!" whereupon he disappeared, and it was a near thing that Lew got out with his keester intact.

* * * * * * * * * *

What did Thomas Pynchon have against Franz Ferdinand that he would libel him so? Being that I'm not one of those people who pretends to do their own research in the belief that it will make their subjective opinions seem more authoritative, I'm going to simply assume that Pynchon read a biography of Ferdinand and realized, at the core of the book, was the revelation that Franz Ferdinand was a gigantic asshole. Which then allows Pynchon to portray him, in a speculative fictional piece, in a way that says to the reader, "This never happened. Don't even for a second imagine this ever happened. But knowing Franz Ferdinand and how huge an asshole he was, it could have happened!"

At least this final sentence to the scene puts all of my confusion about Franz's previous actions to rest. He never intended to make peace with the locals. He never intended to make a gesture of goodwill. He never intended to do anything except be a huge disruptive prick.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 75 (868)

 Lew, however, noticing the way the Archduke seemed to keep inching stealthily but unmistakably toward the street door, thought it wise to do the same.

* * * * * * * * * *

Looks like the Archduke is still interested in causing trouble; he just didn't want to cause trouble around his bodyguards or his American watchers. Now that everybody seems to have forgotten his upsetting behavior, he's off to find another bar in which to start a fight.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 74 (867)

 After a while somebody started singing, "All Pimps Look Alike to Me," and half the room joined in.

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm surprised that's a name of a song from 1893. But what's more surprising is the rabbit hole it leads to. Pynchon is an expert at dropping a reference that will mean practically nothing to a modern audience but if they dig into it, they're usually well rewarded. In this case, evidence for the song "All Pimps Look Alike to Me" doesn't seem to exist on the Internet. It may not have even been a song. But it was a line from a song which Ernest Hogan, a Black American songwriter, heard one evening in a back room bar in Chicago in the 1890s (perhaps this very one on this very night!), which he used to create a song of his own. Being that "pimp" was a bit too harsh and derogatory, Ernest decided to change the song to "All Coons Look Alike." In one fell swoop, he pretty much invented the horrible practice of coon songs and ragtime. It was a curse on him for the rest of his life, and one of his greatest regrets. Not because of the ragtime! He was elated about the ragtime and seemed to forgive himself for the negative aspect of his song and what it created because it brought ragtime to the masses.
    That's a pretty short synopsis of this history, mostly because anybody can find lengthy discussions of Ernest Hogan online. I just want to point out Pynchon's control of cultural references from the past and how he seeds them subtly into his narrative for anybody wishing to dig a little deeper. I'm not sure how deep he'll get into, plot and theme-wise, race relations in America in this novel. But he'll always have time for a little nudge of the elbow. He just makes a slight nod to the tiny rock about to start an avalanche of racist pop culture and says, "See that rock? Follow it if you want. Watch how it cascades into more and more boulders over time. It's gonna be a fucking disaster. Or, you know, just keep reading."

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 73 (866)

 Which helped to restore a level of civility in the room, and soon even of cheer, as smart neckties were soaked in suds, the piano player came back out from under the bar, and people in the room resumed dancing syncopated two-steps.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Alcohol heals all wounds" is a saying, right? Or is it "Alcohol has charms to soothe the savage breast"? Maybe "An alcohol in time saves nine"? These all seem pretty apt for this moment so maybe they're all sayings, probably by Benjamin "I Love Alcohol" Franklin.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 72 (865)

 Turning to the room, "When Franz Ferdinand drinks," he cried, "everybody drinks!"

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm not sure why the Archduke went so quickly from wanting to start some shit to trying to smooth everything over. Maybe the Archduke was insulting a little guy and the large, dangerous-looking man took the brunt of the insult, causing Ferdinand to back down when he realized he actually could get killed. Starting shit with everybody in a bar is a bit different than shooting a rifle at unarmed workers just getting off their shift at the Stockyards.

I must say, after the way the Archduke has been acting, I'm kind of seeing Gavrilo Princip's side of things.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 71 (864)

 "Ah, I understand," murmured the imperial scapegrace.

* * * * * * * * * *

"scapegrace"
"A mischievous or wayward person, especially a young person or child; a rascal." "Mischievous" is being kind. "Wayward," definitely. "A young person or child," no . . . but, as I kept pointing out, outrageously immature. "Racist," yes, but that wasn't part of the definition.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 70 (863)

 "Hopelessly insane," he announced, waving a thumb F.F.'s way, "escaped in his time from some of the fanciest bughouses of Europe, very little remaining of the brains he was born with, except possibly," lowering his voice, "how much money you bring with you, there, Highness?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Whenever a white guy displays terrible social skills or goes on dangerous rants or just makes a complete and utter ass of himself, he's always got a Get Out of Jail Free card (that he doesn't even have to play; it just gets played for him by all the other white guys defending him): mental illness! But God forbid you're a Black American who once got caught shoplifting when you were eight years old because that shit will be with you for the rest of your life to prove what a burden you were on society, and it'll be used to justify any violence perpetrated on you by some GD cop.
    And, of course, if the "This guy is crazy!" bit doesn't get Franz out of trouble, there's always the second option for rich folk, which Lew partakes in here: buy your way out of trouble! If you're a rich white guy, the only time you're going to pay for your crimes is if you might implicate other rich white guys. And then you won't see justice in the courts; you'll be swinging from your jail cell.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 69 (862)

 Lew, supposed to be disciplined in the ways of the East, would not allow himself the luxury of panic, but at times, like now, could've used maybe a homeopathic dose, just to keep his immunity up.

* * * * * * * * * *

What would a homeopathic dose of Eastern philosophy look like? Just kidding! It would look like every other homeopathic dose: non-existent except for whatever the imbiber decides to imagine. I imagine a homeopathic dose of Eastern philosophy would feel like the fluttering of a moth's wings. It would cause you to take a deep and steady breath and raise one hand up to your chest, flat, palm facing the opposite side of your body. Then you'd exhale slowly and crane kick some motherfucker in the face.

Should I be apologetic that my only knowledge of Eastern philosophy comes from The Karate Kid, both the original and the sequel?

Actually, that's not true. It's a dumb joke. I also learned all about Taoism from Steinbeck's Tortilla Flats. And I probably learned a bunch about the I Ching from reading nearly every Philip K. Dick book but in a way where I didn't realize I was learning about it at all. Kind of like a homeopathic dose of the I Ching, I suppose.

When was Lew disciplined in the ways of the East? Was this part of his training while gaining redemption with Drave and his cult? Hopefully it wasn't something that was mentioned previously or else I'm in serious trouble reading Against the Day one line at a time. I can't be 48 pages into it and already forgetting things I've read!

Is it racist to assume that people born in the Eastern part of the world are always calm and collected? Isn't that Orientalism? Was Mr. Miyagi a racist stereotype or just a terrific character? I enjoyed how angry he would get at the stupid teenagers when he was named Arnold and ran a malt shop.

I've never been disciplined in the ways of the East but I still rarely panic. I've just got a naturally Taoist attitude. It's probably part nature and part growing up on the beaches of California nurture. Sort of the Jeff Spicoli version of Taoism.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Lines 64-68 (857-861)

 "It is all right! I know how to talk to these people! I have studied their culture! Listen—'st los, Hund? Boogie-boogie, ja?"

* * * * * * * * * *

This sounds more racist than it actually is (which is very racist). But I think Archduke is saying, in his attempt at Black American vernacular (again, quite a racist attempt. I'm not defending this jerk! We established he was a racist monster a few pages ago. This is just racist icing on his racist cake), "How is going, dog? Are you dancing?"

I mean, maybe I'm wrong about the translation of "boogie-boogie, ja" to "Are you dancing?" He might simply be voicing gibberish in his attempt to mimic some tribal language.

I mean, what am I even doing?! Discussing the degrees of racism of the Archduke Ferdinand? A man who, by the way, is a known racist monster and 19th century hipster, according to all of the historical documents I've read on him (this one. Against the Day. It's the only one I've read. And, again, I know it's historical fiction. But it's Pynchon which means anything he says must be proven untrue after I've already accepted it as fact. Which means I probably won't be convinced. It's how human logic works. He got to me first so I'm more apt to believe him than some Johnny-Come-Lately supposedly trumpeting the truth. I'm sorry. It's just the rules of American rationalization).

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 63 (856)

 "Um, Your Royal Highness?" Lew murmured, "if we could just have a word—"

* * * * * * * * * *

It's Lew's job to protect the Archduke so I get why he's trying to calm the situation. But if this were a friend of mine (and he wouldn't be a friend of mine after this, I assure you), I would just sit back and chalk this beating up to "He deserved it." When people say they have somebody's back no matter what, it usually means they value loyalty over justice. Fuck that. Loyalty is like faith: its worth is only in how people can use it to control other people.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 62 (855)

 "Whatchyou doin, you fool, you can get y'ass killed talking like that, what are you, from England or some shit?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Even though the Archduke is purposefully trying to anger this man by insulting him in the most immature and hostile way, he still realizes, as I noted before I knew he would actually think this way, this guy is a foreigner and, first and foremost, tries to help him out. "You can't act like that in America, buddy." I mean, people can and still do. But we all know they're assholes. And while they probably won't get killed for it, it's likely they'll kill somebody because they feel threatened by anybody not like them and our country has decided that stupid ideals like killing somebody you think was threatening before they kill you is some kind of defense. Actually, it's the perfect defense because the defender is dead and can't defend themselves so I sort of see why the worst assholes in America are for that kind of law. If they assault somebody, they have to face them in court and the jury might be sympathetic to the victim's story. But if they kill that person, they completely control the narrative! And when you're spewing that narrative to a bunch of racist assholes, it's pretty easy to get away with murdering the right people in America. Especially if you're a dumb jerk violent cop.

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 "Something about . . . your . . . wait . . . deine Mutti, as you would say, your . . . your mama, she plays third base for the Chicago White Stockings, nicht wahr?" as customers begin tentatively to move toward the egresses, "a quite unappealing woman, indeed she is so fat, that to get from her tits to her ass, one has to take the 'El'! Tried once to get into the Exposition, they say, no, no, lady, this is the World's Fair, not the World's Ugly!"

* * * * * * * * * *

How'd Archduke Ferdinand become familiar with the game of dozens? He pulls some pretty standard dozens insults here: your mom has a masculine job, your mom is fat, your mom is ugly.

I never understood that this sort of adolescent behavior was a contest so I always lost because I'd walk away upset after being insulted. Here are a few that were used on me in junior high school:

"Your mother wears combat boots." (Pretty standard in the era in which I grew up. I don't think it was just a local Bay Area traditional dozens move to indicate your mom was a lesbian. But maybe?)
"Your sister jerked me off in the bushes behind the school." (This one was too specific to be a random insult and maybe it was just some kid my sister jerked off catching me up on some local facts.)
"How many skinny people can fit in a shower? I don't know; they keep slipping down the drain." (No, wait. That was a Garfield strip.)
"Your cousin Jason is the son I never had." (I don't know why my mother wanted to play the dozens with me but it kind of hurt.)

Normally, a game of dozens takes place between two people who understand that they're engaging in some mutual ball busting. What Archduke Ferdinand is doing here isn't really a game of dozens. It's being a racist asshole. He's being the guy at the bar who purposefully bumps into other guys so that when they mouth off, he feels he has an excuse to beat their ass. Archduke is just looking for an excuse to kill somebody, and he's doing it among the local Black population because the Chicago police probably won't give a shit.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 59 (852)

 His mouth began to open slowly as the Austrian prince continued—

* * * * * * * * * *

As Huckleberry Finn once said, "As long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog." Which maybe isn't an apt quote to use on a man who is going whole hog in being racist where as Huck Finn was kind of doing the opposite. He was going against what he had been told was right (being a racist prick), presuming he'll go to Hell for his actions, to do a thing that was actually just. But see, the point is that he did the right thing not because he thought it was the right thing but that he did the right thing thinking that doing that thing would condemn him to Hell. See how that's more important? A whole lot of people who claim they're patriots should maybe take a long weekend to read Twain's book. Although they'll probably just take the opportunity to read it out loud so they can justify saying that one word. You know the word. You're thinking it right now, you monster.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 58 (851)

 The insultee, a large and dangerous-looking individual, could not believe he was hearing this.

* * * * * * * * * *

Even living in a country full of racist pricks, it's probably still surprising to hear somebody actually give voice to a stupid stereotype. Also, can I point out, Pynchon, that one of the systemic problems we have in this country is cultivating this idea that large black men are "dangerous-looking." I don't want to suggest that you're part of the problem, Mr. Pynchon, so I'll assume the man being insulted is wearing a huge chain around his arm with a large hook dangling from the end and one knee pad shaped like a skull and huge biker boots and long hair and face make-up like a clown. And for some reason, he's surrounded by penguins and telling somebody about his pet space dolphin.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 57 (850)

 "Ooooo," went several folks in earshot.

* * * * * * * * * *

Pretty standard reaction to a 7th grade level insult. If the Archduke wasn't being cut some slack because he's so obviously a foreigner, he probably would have gotten his face punched. Maybe he'll still get his face punched. Lew's got to be in this scene to drag him out of a scrape, after all.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 56 (849)

 "What here are you looking at, you wish to steal eine . . . Wassermelone, perhaps?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Oh shit. Where did my opinions about soda go?! I wasn't expecting the Archduke, no matter how racist and sociopathic he's been described up until this point, to go so hard so fast! I mean, technically, it's not the worst thing he could have said. It's a pretty immature stereotype. It's also kind of dumb because doesn't everybody love watermelon? I suppose like the story I once heard about a mother who refused to buy their child a rainbow sticker because rainbows mean gay, there must be racist assholes out there who refuse to eat a delicious watermelon because of this dumb stereotype. I can't imagine how hard it must be for a Black American to simply enjoy some watermelon in public without a bunch of stupid assholes making some kind of racist joke about it. I'm white and I bet even if I were eating some watermelon in public, some stupid asshole would make a racist joke about it. And that stupid asshole might be my father! And probably just two minutes after going on some rant about not being able to make jokes anymore!
    Anyway, the point is that Archduke Ferdinand is a racist asshole looking for trouble. You might have learned that earlier if you'd been paying attention to how he wanted to hunt Hungarian immigrants for sport.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 55 (848)

 Something about the neighborhood drew him, maybe the food—surely the only place in Chicago a man could find a decent orange phosphate—although right at the moment you could not call the atmosphere welcoming.

* * * * * * * * * *

Is saying the Black neighborhood has the only decent orange phosphate racist? Or, being that Pynchon has written it, so obviously true that I can't believe I hadn't realized it before. My belief that Pynchon time travels to write his novels makes me believe that Pynchon experienced the orange phosphates from the south side of Chicago in 1893. I can practically taste it myself right now even though I don't exactly understand what a phosphate is. I think it just means carbonated beverage. So he's basically talking about Orange Crush. That was always my uncle's favorite soda to get at McDonald's and I used to think, "Gross! That's like the worst choice!" But I've come to decide it's actually a really good choice. Not at McDonald's, mind you! The only real choice there is the Coke because McDonald's Coke is better than all the other Cokes somehow. But if you're at a truck stop or something, Orange Crush is a great choice.

See how good I am at ignoring racial tension in the text? All I have to do is discuss soda instead! I bet I'd make a good Republican!

Ouch. Why'd I have to insult myself like that?

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 54 (847)

 Lew kind of enjoyed it himself in this part of town, unlike some of the ops at White City, who seemed skittish around Negroes, who'd been arriving lately in ever-increasing numbers from down South.

* * * * * * * * * *

Uh oh. This is getting into discussions of race relations in America! Being a dumb white guy living in Portland, Oregon, I don't have the sensitivity, historical understanding, cultural awareness, or—let's face it—intellect to discuss this stuff. But I do know that cops are worse than I am at this kind of thing and Pynchon sort of points out one of the problems with why cops are so terrible at it (other than the outright racism). I mean, "seemed skittish" really is about the kindest euphemism you can use for a person not comfortable with leaving the bubble of their world in an effort to understand some of their fellow American citizens who maybe haven't lived the same American experience that you've lived for, being blunt, some seriously fucked up systemic reasons. Not that I'm suggesting their American experience is negative simply because it began as completely racist! Black Americans created their own culture outside white American culture because they absolutely had to; what else were they going to do? Whites wouldn't let them experience "American culture." So if somebody feels "skittish" around Black culture, the cure for that skittishness isn't by avoiding it; it's by immersing yourself in it and learning about it. The cure is leaving your bubble rather than suggesting everybody who has left your bubble to actually live in a multicultural America is living in a bubble.
    Dammit! I already admitted I don't have the elegance to discuss race in America! But being a white guy in Portland, I just can't help myself! I have mediocre opinions that I have to share!

"some of the ops at White City, who seemed skittish around Negroes"
Look at how perfect that statement is. Pynchon's pretty good at this writing thing.
    Imagine being one of my professors in college having to read this kind of explication from me. They loved scribbling all over my essays: "How so? Expound on your thoughts?" And I'd just read those notes and think, "How?! It's all right there in the text! Does 'expound your thoughts' simply mean 'rewrite in your own words what Pynchon just said so eloquently'?!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Lines 52-53 (845-846)

 "Squalid!" screamed the Archduke. "I love it!"

* * * * * * * * * *

Apparently Archduke Ferdinand was a hipster. This is the kind of Pynchonian historical fiction revelation which I instantly incorporate into actual history. From this day forward, whenever I see a picture of Archduke Ferdinand with that huge hipster mustache, I'll think about what a scenester he was based on actual historical evidence. You can try to tap me on the shoulder and clear your throat and say, "You do remember Pynchon writes fiction, don't you?" But I'll only slap your hand away and scream, "I live in my own reality just as we all do but the only difference is that I embrace it, you fool of a Took!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 51 (844)

 Barrelhouse piano, green beer, a couple of pool tables, girls in rooms upstairs, smoke from two-for-a-penny cigars.

* * * * * * * * * *

For a modern audience reading this and thinking, "What a terrific bar in Portland, Oregon! I can't wait to see all of my other fellow citizens dying to be seen in a bar like this!", you should try to remember that this story takes place in 1893. This is scandalous! A piano?! Playing live music composed by Black Americans?! Pool tables?! With a capital P! Prostitutes! Cheap cigars! Beer that's green on a day that's not the one that racistly celebrates Irish history by everybody getting completely shitfaced! In 2021, this sounds like a great time! But in 1893 . . . well, it still sounds like a great time! Plus it's way more authentic in 1893 Chicago. If this bar were in 2021 Portland, it would be appropriative and gentrifying and full of truly terrible people.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 50 (843)

 After a lengthy search including obvious favorites like the Silver Dollar and Everleigh House, Lew found the Archduke at last in the Boll Weevil Lounge, a Negro bar down on South State in the Thirties, the heart of the vaudeville and black entertainment district in those days, hollering his way into an evening which promised at least a troublesome moment or two.

* * * * * * * * * *

Being that this is a Pynchon novel and I'm extremely lazy, I'm not going to research 1893 establishments only to discover that the Silver Dollar and Everleigh House were a famous saloon and a famous brothel, both frequented by Mark Twain and Anna Elizabeth Dickinson. I'm especially not going to try to research the Boll Weevil Lounge only to have to scroll through dozens of Internet search results that simply refer back to Against the Day. One thing I've learned after 49 years of existing is that existing itself is hard enough. Why bother making it harder?

We've already learned the Archduke is a racist sociopath. And now he's ditched his bodyguards and wound up in a Black bar on the south side of Chicago? That's trouble brewing!

This is the kind of astute explication of literature that I learned to do in college. And you can bet this was A+ material being that half of the other students were dumber than me. That's not called being smart. It's called being average! And I fucking excelled at it!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 49 (842)

 "I'll go have a look," said Lew.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew's going to go have a look. Unless there's some kind of lookie loo joke here, I think it's a pretty straightforward line.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 48 (841)

 One night when it seemed Franz Ferdinand had dropped off the map of greater Chicago, Khäutsch got on the telephone and began calling around town, eventually reaching White City Investigations.

* * * * * * * * * *

It's sometimes difficult to follow Pynchon's narrative, at least in a linear manner. So far, Against the Day is easier to follow than Gravity's Rainbow because it has, so far, confined itself to reality (or near enough to reality). Without warning, Gravity's Rainbow would skew into somebody's fantasy or dream or the narrative would sidestep through time or be taken over by an outside perspective of the book as seen through some other medium, like a musical or comic book or news reel. Then you'd have to re-read that section two or three times to figure it out. I imagine some people, being against re-reading the same book they're currently reading, just powered through until they felt they understood it again. Maybe that's a good recommendation to feel you've gotten a foothold on the narrative but I'm completely against it. Don't move on until you feel you've got a grasp on what just happened! Except that bit where Slothrop climbs into the toilet and winds up in some world where there's only one of everything and some cowboy with his sidekick. That was weird.

What I'm getting at is that this line feels like Max is remembering how he came to be dealing with White City Investigations even though it just pops up as if it's a recent story that goes along with Max's revelation of being too clever to keep an eye on the stupid Archduke. This just seems like the beginning of the origin story of how Max and Lew began working together. Although that theory will probably get blown apart by the next line where Lew covers the call to Max and we already know that Lew learned about the Archduke job when he was given the Austro-Hungarian dossier.
    What this sentence reveals, I think, is Max's hesitancy to admit that he's failed at his only job. Only after he realizes that he's getting nowhere, he calls up his "opposite number" at White City Investigations in the hopes that his familiarity with Chicago will get the job done.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 47 (840)

 "Perhaps I am too clever to deal efficiently with Habsburg stupidity," mused Khäutsch.

* * * * * * * * * *

This is nearly identical to what I think whenever I lose a game of Magic the Gathering in a tournament. "My decks are just designed too cleverly to beat these stupid idiots!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 46 (839)

 Despite young Khäutsch's police skills, somehow the Archduke kept giving him the slip.

* * * * * * * * * *

Earlier, Khäutsch was described as being a skilled assassin. Pynchon didn't really go into much detail about his other skills. So now that Pynchon just casually mentions Max's police skills, in a way that implies they are quite exemptional, I have to assume Pynchon is saying cops are assassins. I know he's not but you can't stop me from inferring what I want to infer! Anyway, if Max is good at policing and protection (and killing!), the Archduke must be even better at giving people the slip. It's a skill that saves his life in twenty years when he gives a bunch of assassins the slip. Except later that same day, he's driven back toward one of his assassins who takes advantage of the traffic mix-up and murders him and his wife. I suppose the ability to give one the slip only works when you actively realize there's somebody nearby who needs to be slipped away from.

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 "So? in Austria it is widely remarked upon."

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The residents of other countries love to categorize the people of other countries by the kinks they're assumed to have. So of course everybody in Austria, whenever they hear somebody mention America, always glance at everybody else around them and smirk and wink and make the international sign of a hot dog going into a doughnut.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 44 (837)

 "Well we . . . we try not to talk about that."

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If Max's statement, "pastry-depravity," was as innocent as I'm assuming it was even though it sounds like American detectives love to stick their dicks into doughnuts then Lew's response (this sentence) politely explains to me that I made a terrible assumption and Max actually was referencing how American detectives love to stick their dicks into doughnuts. If the topic were just about certain people's affection for devouring doughnuts, I'd imagine Lew would readily discuss it. I know I would. If somebody were all, "What do you think about doughnuts? Love them? Hate them?", I would reply, "I rarely eat doughnuts because I find that if I eat one doughnut, I always want a second doughnut. And if I eat two doughnuts, it makes me wish I hadn't eaten any." Then I'd wink flirtatiously at the Boston Cream.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 43 (836)

 "And this might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Basnight, considering the widely known Kuchenteigs-Verderbtheit or pastry-depravity of the American detective. . . ."

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See? They're telling each other stories! Or maybe Max is just introducing Lew to an Austrian doughnut. He's also making a cops love doughnuts joke which is probably the main point of this sentence. The second main point of the sentence is that Lew and Max have regular conversations over coffee and doughnuts at the start of each day. They're becoming quite chummy.

"Kuchenteigs-Verderbtheit"
Pynchon defines it for the reader, this time. He could have used the word for pastry but instead chooses the word for cake batter, I guess? I'm relying on Google translate because the only German part of the phrase I recognize is Kuch and the Non-Certified Spouse, who's practically fluent in German, is currently sleeping. She'd usually give me some insight into the less literal meanings and uses of the German phrases Pynchon loves to stick in his books.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 42 (835)

 They got into the habit of early-morning coffee at the Austrian Pavilion, accompanied by a variety of baked goods.

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"They" being Lew, the disgraced interdimensional hopping private dick, and Max, the young Slavic assassin given an American assignment to get him as far away from Austria as possible. They seem to have hit it off, just one banished Joe to another. Caffeine and baked goods seem to symbolize comfort, camaraderie, and story telling in a Pynchon novel. At least in two Pynchon novels, this one and Mason & Dixon. It's also possible there was a scene with coffee and baked goods in Gravity's Rainbow but it evaded my perception being that it wasn't something that was on my radar while reading it.

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 Lew found him sympathetic . . . the oblique planes of his face revealing an origin somewhere in the Slavic vastnesses of Europe as yet but lightly traveled by the recreational visitor. . . .

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"Lew found him sympathetic."
An ambiguous statement. Was Lew sympathetic toward Max or did he note that Max expressed sympathy toward others? My guess is that Lew felt drawn to Max, probably due to Max being, in a way, banished from his life in Europe, just as Lew had been banished from his past. Both were jettisoned from the previous arc of their life to crash land here in Chicago and had found themselves working security detail on the Archduke Ferdinand.

"Slavic vastnesses of Europe as yet but lightly traveled by the recreational visitor"
Max was born in either a rural or dangerous place, perhaps a bit of both. Anyway, somewhere off the beaten path, some place tourists either wouldn't know about or wouldn't dare wander for safety concerns. As for the "Slavic vastnesses of Europe," I suppose that just means he was born in one of the various Slavic populations spread across Europe. You'd expect the Austro-Hungarian Empire, being that's where he's now employed, but who knows, right?
    Perhaps this mystery of Max's origin, at least to Lew's estimation, also causes Lew sympathy toward Max, being that Lew also comes from a mysterious past, albeit less geographic and more amnesiac.

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 Sending him to America seemed appropriate.

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I don't know if I should feel insulted by this paragraph concluding sentence or I should break out in a patriotic cheer! "This guy is too nuts to keep around but he's also too nuts to get rid of. Where could we send him where he wouldn't stand out?" Um, go America, I guess? It's like if Waldo from Where's Waldo? was just a drooling maniac in a torn up straight jacket with a smoking gun in one hand and a bloody cleaver in the other. You'd need a picture with similar looking people to hide him well. And, apparently, that scene is Chicago, U.S.A.

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 Despite his youth he was said to give an impression of access to resources beyond his own, of being comfortable in the shadows and absolutely unprincipled, with an abiding contempt for any distinction between life and death.

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Max Khäutsch is the Darth Maul of Against the Day. That means he's both a tremendous bad-ass and, I'm predicting, he's defeated in a humiliatingly brief battle.

I'm just talking about The Phantom Menace Darth Maul and not all of Darth Maul's subsequent appearances and build up of his character simply because some marketer was all, "Wait. The most loved character in this movie died immediately? What are we going to do about that." And somebody shrugged and was all, "Not much we can do! Kenobi cut him in half!" And then a mahogany table full of suits sat around brainstorming, mostly going, "Um. Uh. Duh?" Then one of them was all, "Wasn't Darth Vader, like, 85% robot?" And somebody snapped their fingers and was all, "Yes! Darth Maul can be half robot! Now, which half should we make robot?" After that they worked out the details and stuck him in some cartoons.

Just in case my comparison with Darth Maul doesn't mean anything to you, let me say that Max seems like a savant when it comes to criminal activity and assassination. Everybody says, "He's so young! But his contacts with the underground and his knowledge of the 1893 dark web are astounding! Unparalleled! This boy can do anything he wants, especially since he's unconcerned with how many people are standing between his target and the wildly erratic sword he's swinging!"

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 Standard Hapsburg procedure would have been to put him out of the way at some agreed-upon point of diminishing usefulness, but nobody was willing to try.

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If I'm following, Max Käutsch was seen as too dangerous to keep around, based on his deadly assassin abilities, which would normally mean he'd be sentenced to boring bureaucratic jobs far from urban centers of any importance. Perhaps that's the kind of thing you do with a government employee who was used to murder rivals or dissidents, an employee you just can't have in the public eye, or being seen associated now with the heads of government or members of royalty. It would be like if the photographers who chased Diana's car down, causing the crash, had been working for the royal family. They'd immediately want to distance themselves from them, for propriety's sake. Also for the sake of they obviously hired them to hound Princess Diana to death but they didn't want it to seem that way, so best send them to the Isle of Wight to take family portraits of the locals instead.
    More probably, I'm misunderstanding this sentence. Pynchon is sometimes difficult, especially for somebody who has trouble with the concepts in Clifford books. Why is that dog so big? How does the family afford feeding it? Do they need a pick-up truck for his doody when they go for walks? How hard is it to ignore Clifford's lipstick when he's giving himself a good lick?

If I've got the gist of this right then that means I understand the usual procedure for dealing with somebody like Max in your ranks. But since Max is such a scary bad-ass, nobody has had the nerve to push him out of close proximity to the Hapsburg family. And that's why he's become the captain of the unit in charge with keeping Archduke Ferdinand safe during their overseas travel. Sure, this job gets him "out of the way" of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But he's still in close proximity to Ferdinand, and he still retains major responsibilities.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 37 (830)

 Young Max Khäutsch, newly commissioned a captain in the Trabants, was here on his first overseas assignment, as field chief of "K&K Special Security," having already proven himself useful at home as an assassin, an especially deadly one, it seemed.

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Now I'm really confused by what Lew meant by his "opposite"! Maybe he just meant the guy leading the protection detail on the Austrian side, just as he was leading the protection detail on the American side. That take seems to be justified by the evidence here, where Max Khäutsch is the captain of the Trabants. The evidence against Lew looking for somebody like-minded is that Max is a proven assassin who has apparently killed multiple targets. What has Lew done? Divorced his wife and gone through Interdimensional AA? I suppose Lew has done something else super terrible but it's not like Pynchon is ever going to reveal what that was!
    Max being "an especially deadly" assassin probably means he's as excited about hunting Hungarian Stockyard workers as the Archduke and Nate Previtt. Come to think of it, I can't think of a single person in 1893 America who would have been against it aside from the Hungarian Stockyard workers and who was going to listen to them?! Maybe suffragettes? But then they had their own problems!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 36 (829)

 Curious himself about who might be his opposite number on the Austrian side of this exercise, Lew nosed around and picked up an item or two.

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What does Lew mean by his "opposite number"? Does he mean some Trabant on the Archduke's team who thinks like he does? Who thinks this whole "hunting humans" idea is not just grotesque but so absurd that it shouldn't even be regarded? That's my guess. Lew's looking for somebody who isn't completely insane and/or racist to back up him up if the "hunt" should even begin to move forward as a possible thing.

But the word "opposite" could also mean one who has completely contrary thoughts to Lew's. Which could mean he wants to find the guy most gung-ho for this idea so he can beat him to within an inch of his life and leave him in a garbage can in an alley. I'm not sure Lew is capable of that but he's become a noir detective and I'm fairly certain those types are capable of that.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 35 (828)

 "With more them damned anarchistic foreign-born south of Forty-seventh than you could point a Mannlicher at," chuckled Nate, "sure'd be a few less of em to worry about, wouldn't it?"

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This is the kind of thing every conservative American who stridently claims they're not racist when accused of being racist would eagerly say in one of their "safe spaces" (a space with a bunch of other white faces, all of whom they automatically believe are as "not racist" as they are). This quote by Nate could easily have been lifted off of right-wing Twitter just this morning, with a few minor substitutions.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 34 (827)

 "How's that, boss?"

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This is the question more of us should have been asking over the last twenty years to every seemingly coded phrase spoken by a conservative. Get them to state their position as plainly as possible. No more fucking dog whistles, guys. If you're proud of your beliefs and ideas then you should have no qualms stating them plainly!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 33 (826)

 "Well, not that he wouldn't be doing us a favor."

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I think I've covered this elsewhere but for those who may have missed my responses to nearly everything Nate Privett has said: Nate Privett is a complete and utter dickhead.

We know Nate sees his clients at White City Investigations as the rich and powerful and the jobs he does for them mostly oppressing union behavior. He's a union buster so, of course, he sees the murder of exploited laborers, mostly immigrants, as a tool to help his bottom line. He could probably even make double the money letting Ferdinand hunt Chicago's immigrant population: once from Ferdinand himself and once from the industrialists and capitalists who would see it as union busting at its most extreme and, possibly, most effective. Who's going to risk showing up at a picket line when roving bands of rich gun-wielding Austrians are roaming the streets looking for a little immigrant blood?

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 "Like there ain't enough Hungarians back home to keep him busy?" Lew was wondering.

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Come on, Lew! Even you know that's not realistic! If Archduke Ferdinand began hunting Hungarians back home in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, it might cause him to be assassinated by Hungarian malcontents. But if he comes to America to hunt them, nobody is going to bat an eye because if there's one thing America has never actually given a shit about, it's immigrants! Even the Statue of Liberty had nothing to do with immigrants when it was gifted to America but about abolishing slavery. It was only later after it became associated with Emma Lazarus's poem, and because it was pretty much the first thing European immigrants saw upon arriving by ship to the United States, that it was thought of as a symbol for America's willingness to accept foreigners.

Imagine that! People hated immigrants but they hated the abolition of slavery even more so they'd rather think of the Statue of Liberty as a symbol welcoming immigrants rather than a symbol of the freedom of Black Americans.

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 "Gonna be Emperor one of these days, can you beat that!"

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Oh, okay. That's the part Nate found knew-slappingly funny. That the soon-to-be Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Emperor was a homicidal madman with ethnic cleansing tendencies. Now that I get the joke, it is kind of funny!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 30 (823)

 Nate Privett thought this was just a knee-slapper.

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Okay, I was wrong. Lew did tell somebody; he told Nate. But Nate found it just as ridiculous as Lew did. Maybe not "just as ridiculous" in that Lew found the idea insane and Nate found the idea hilarious. So both found it ridiculous but in different ways. One was horrified at the thought of treating other people like game animals and the other thought, "That's a great joke! Ha ha! Hungarians as hunted swine! I've got to remember that one for the boys down at the bar!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 29 (822)

 "Your Royal Highness, I'll sure ask about that, and somebody'll get back to you."

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Lew is not asking anybody and nobody will be getting back to Ferdinand.

In other words, "That's a crazy request but you're too insane to dismiss it outright so I'm just going to let you think the process is in limbo for the moment. At the very least, it will become somebody else's problem."

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 "Hungarians occupy the lowest level of brute existence," Francis Ferdinand declared—"the wild swine by comparison exhibits refinement and nobility—do you think the Chicago Stockyards might possibly be rented out to me and my friends, for a weekend's amusement? We would of course compensate the owners for any loss of revenue."

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I know this isn't a historical novel (sorry, "an historical novel," for all you "an before every single H word no matter how dumb it sounds" freaks) but until somebody proves to me that this isn't an actual quote by Archduke Ferdinand, it's canon, at least in my mind. People in fandoms usually refer to that kind of canon as "head canon," meaning "it's only canon to me, really." But isn't that what all history is? It's all head canon. That's what I'm learning from reading Mason & Dixon which, also, isn't history. But it has a lot to say about history and how we remember things. And now I'm going to remember that Archduke Ferdinand thinks swine are more noble and intelligent than Hungarian immigrants. I mean, it's just a fact! Not that swine are smarter than Hungarians! The fact is the Archduke thinks that! I'm not the racist here! Probably!

"We would of course compensate the owners for any loss of revenue"
Capitalism! Where the industrialists and railroad tycoons own their employees, and where rich people and royalty see those employees as objects to be bought, sold, or destroyed at their whim.