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EXHIBITS Though never completed, Zampanô left the following instructions for a series of plates he planned to include at the end of The Navidson Record. — JT.

ONE Instructions: § Provide pictorial examples of architecture ranging from early Egyptian, Mycenaean, Greek, and Roman to Gothic, early Renaissance, Baroque, Neoclassical, and the present. § Emphasize floor plans, doorways, pecliments, gables, columns, capitals, entablatures, and windows. § Also create a timeline indicating general dates of origin for developing styles. § For references see bibliography in Chapter IX.

TWO Instructions: § Provide examples of hand shadows ranging from crabs, snails, rabbits, and turtles to dragons, panthers, tigers, and kangaroos. Also include hippos, frogs, elephants, birds of paradise, dogs, cockatoos, and dolphins. § Supply diagrams detailing light and display requirements. § See Phila H. Webb and Jane Corby’s The Little Book of Hand Shadows (Philadelphia: Running Press, 1990) as well as Sati Achath and Bala Chandran’s Fun With Hand Shadows: Step-By-Step Instructions for More Than 70 Shadows—From Cud-Chewing Cows and Dancing Elephants to Margaret Thatcher and Michael Jackson (NTC/Contemporary Publishing, 1996).

THREE Instructions: § Illustrate date determination techniques utilizing potassium-40/argon- 40, rubidium- 87/strontium-87, and samarium- 147/neodymium- 143. § Provide table for uranium-235 and -238 found in lead isotopes. § Include all data in Zero Folder. [428—Missing. — Ed.]

FOUR Instructions: § Reproduce all facsimiles of The Reston Interview and The Last Interview. [429— Missing. — Ed.]

FIVE Instructions: § Duplicate page 2-33 in Air Force Manual 64-5 (15 August 1969) [430—See Appendix IT-C. — Ed.]

SIX Instructions: § Reproduce Karen’s completed Sheehan Clinician Rated Anxiety Scale as well as her Marks and Mathews Phobia Scale. [431—See Appendix IT-C. — Ed.] § Highlight the following information: Project ID: 87852341. Date of Birth: July 24th Patient ID: 002700 § For interpretation and examples see Isaac M. Marks’ Living with Fear (McGraw-Hill, 1978); Isaac M. Marks’ Fears, Phobias, and Rituals: Panic, Anxiety, and Their Disorders (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987) and The Encyclopedia of Phobias, Fears, and Anxieties by Ronald M. Doctor, Ada P. Kahn, Ronald D. Doctor and Isaac M. Marks (New York: Facts on File, 1989).

Appendix Zampanô produced a great deal of material outside of The Navidson Record. Here’s a selection of journal entries, poems and even a letter to the editor, all of which I think sheds a little more light on his work as well as his personality. — JT.

A. Outlines & Chapter Titles

The Navidson Record Intro 1/4” Tom The Five and a Half Minute Hallway Exploration A (Navidson’s Visit) Exploration #1 (Across the Anteroom) Exploration #2 (To the Great Hall) Exploration #3 (Seven hours down the Spiral Staircase) Exploration #4 SOS Into The Maze Rescue (Tom’s Story) The Falling Quarter The Holloway Tape Evacuation “What Some Have Thought” [*—Not included in final release.] “A Brief History Of How [sic] I Love” The Reston Interview The Last Interview Exploration #5 The End Release History 1990 — “The Five and a Half Minute Hallway” (VHS Short) 1991 — “Exploration #4” (VHS Short) 1993 — The Navidson Record

Possible Chapter Titles Chapter I . . . . . . . . . . The Film Chapter II . . . . . . . . . . 1/4” Chapter III . . . . . . . . . . Outpost Chapter IV . . . . . . . . . . Navidson Chapter V . . . . . . . . . . Echo Chapter VI . . . . . . . . . . Animals Chapter VII . . . . . . . . . . Holloway Chapter VII . . . . . . . . . . SOS Chapter IX . . . . . . . . . . The Labyrinth Chapter X . . . . . . . . . . The Rescue (Part One) Chapter XI . . . . . . . . . . Tom’s Story Chapter XII . . . . . . . . . . The Rescue (Part Two) Chapter XIII . . . . . . . . . . The Minotaur Chapter XIV . . . . . . . . . . Infidelity Chapter XV . . . . . . . . . . Karen Chapter XVI . . . . . . . . . . Science Chapter XVII . . . . . . . . . . Reasons Chapter XVIII . . . . . . . . . . Ftaires! or De la Waif or The History of Ash Tree Lane Chapter XIX . . . . . . . . . . Delial Chapter XX . . . . . . . . . . The Return Chapter XXI . . . . . . . . . . Nightmares Chapter XXII . . . . . . . . . . Faith Chapter XXIII . . . . . . . . . . Passion

B. Bits

[Original ] [432—Presumably “Original” indicates an entry written in Zampanô’s own hand, while “A” “B” “C” etc., etc. indicate entries written by someone else. — Ed.] January 18, 1955 I do not know anything about Art with a capital A. What I do know about is my art. Because it concerns me. I do not speak for others. So I do not speak for things which profess to speak for others. My art, however, speaks for me. It lights my way. [Original] April 17, 1955 Then are inhabited by history? [Original] September 4, 1955 Light dawns and marble heads. What the hell does this mean? [Original] June 3, 1959 This terror that hunts. [Typed] August 29, 1960 Captain Kittinger, you brought us an early fall this year. [Typed] October 31, 1968 I have no words. The finest cenotaph.

[Typed] November 1, 1968 (o) (n) A sun to read the dark. [Typed] November 2, 1968 Tirer comme des lapins. [433— “Shot like rabbits.” — Ed.] [Original] December 8, 1968 God grant me distraction. [B] March 14, 1969 Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share. [C] September 10, 1970 Nothing to share with.

[Typed] September 21, 1970 Perhaps in the margins of darkness, I could create a son who is not missing; who lives beyond even my own imagination and invention; whose lusts, stupidities, and strengths carry him farther than even he or I can anticipate; who sees the world for what it is; and consequently bears the burden of everyone’s tomorrow with unprecedented wisdom and honor because he is one of the very few who has successfully interrogated his own nature. His shields are instantly available though seldom used. And those who value him shall prosper while those who would destroy him shall perish. He will fulfill a promise I made years ago but failed to keep. [Typed ] December 15, 1974 As often as I have lingered on Hudson in his shallop, I have in the late hours turned my thoughts to Quesada and Molino’s journey across those shallow waters, wondering aloud what they said, what they thought, what gods came to keep them or leave them, and what in those dark waves they finally saw of themselves? Perhaps because history has little to do with those minutes, the scene survives only in verse: The Song of Quesada and Molino by [XXXX]. I include it here in its entirety. [D] April 29, 1975 Mother wants you to call home STOP It is 105 degrees and rising STOP White Christmas indeed! Bada-Bing, Bada-Bang, Bada-Gone! Bing! Bang! Booooom! [Typed] February 11, 1984 Is it possible to love something so much, you imagine it wants to destroy you only because it has denied you?

[E] August 4, 1985 I dream of vampires. I dream of god. I dream of no vampires. I dream of no god. I dream of nothing. And yet that too is still my dream. [F] May 2, 1988 The angel of his youth became the devil of his maturity. He went out with women when he was young, always holding something in reserve. There would always be a reason to break it off, which opened the door to a multitude of relationships. Heaven. Or so he thought. As age encroached upon his sensibilities and form, he longed for something with enough vitality to endure. But the covering cherub of his Lothario days had stayed with him and was no longer so angelic. It haunted him, guarded him, kept him from intimacy, promising the ash dry glory of so many toppling relationships, toppling like dominos, one after another, ad infinitum, or at least until he died. [G] August 30, 1988 “He wanted to go to bed with her immediately, pull the sheets around them, dig his toes into the mattress, her heals pushing against his calves, her fingers running rivers along his sides. But these days fantasies flourish and die like summer flies.” [Typed] March 18, 1989 A maze. Amazing maze. A maze meant.. . What did it mean? A May zing perhaps. M.A.s in the bush or amidst the maize. Quite amazing huh? Not to wony I am not that impressed either but grant an old man a chance to play. [H] February 8, 1990

It stinks here. I know what stink is and it stinks here. Cat piss, rotting fruit, moldy bread. Something. I am certain that girl is at fault. She must not have taken the garbage out. She can read (I will find out soon if she can transcribe) and she can flirt. But I wager she has failed to take the garbage out. I should get rid of her. I should take it out myself. I hate garbage. It stinks. I should throw it out myself. I should throw it all out. [I] October 11, 1990 Incomplete. Syllables to describe a life. Any life. I cannot even discuss Günter Nitschke or Norberg-Schulz. I merely wanted Glas (Paris: Editions Galilee, 1974). That is all. But the bastards reply it is unavailable. Swine. All of them. Swine. Swine. Swine. Mr. Leavey, Jr. and of course Mr. Rand will have to do. [I] April 22, 1991 An atrocity sinking into waters of darkness; without order or bars of earth; where light must mean shadow and reason dies in the hold: ((((((((((((Jonah in the belly of the beast)))))))))))) [I] May 3, 1991 Stars to live by. Stars to steer by. Stars to die by. [I] May 26, 1991 Kutch Dekta? Kutch Nahin, Sahib.

[I] May 30, 1991 Do not wake me from this slumber, but be assured that just as I have wept much, I have also wandered many roads with my thoughts. Reminiscent of another film by my eye fell in. Aye. [J ] June 30, 1991 Goddamn! Goddamn, Goddamn it! Goddamn! Goddamn! God Damn! Yes, of course write it down! Write all of it down! Everything I say! Every goddamn word! Goddamn! Capital 0! Goddamn it all! All of it, every last word. Goddamn her wrong! [J] July 27, 1991 Make no mistake, those who write long books have nothing to say. Of course those who write short books have even less to say. [K] August 7, 1992 How did I end up here? I know of course. I am referring to the itinerary I followed. But that hardly helps me understand the whys any better. I still walk out into that dusty courtyard and stand amazed, amazed that I should have ended up stuck in such a shithole, then I think to myself “Not only did you end up here, you are going to die here too!” Of course Hollywood is the land of the blind with churches for the blind so in my case it makes a certain sense. You think I am bitter about being here, yes? You think I am bitter about this grave I live in and that bed of weeds I scratch around in? You think I am bitter about dying? What do you know? You know nothing about bitterness because you know nothing about love. Get out. Get out! No, stay. Please stay. Let us read something. Forget everything I just said. It is not so bad. I am just old and you know a good deal about love and I would like to think I know something more because of my age. Let us read something.

[M] April 3, 1992 Walls black like black waters when they are heavy and seem to belong to other seas. [M] December 3,1992 Why can I sleep no more? [N] May 7, 1993 The house is history and history is uninhabited. [O] June 19, 1994 Prometheus, thief of light, giver of light, bound by the gods, must have been a book. [O] November 11, 1994 Defend a stray’s hun? Never used the word. Never will. [P: Written in the margin of the December 15, 1974 entry.] April 3, 1995 “Forgive me please for including this. An old man’s mind is just as likely to wander as a young man’s, but where a young man will forgive the stray, an old man will cut it out. Youth always tries to fill the void, an old man learns to live with it. It took unlearn the fortunes found in a swerve. Perhaps this is no news to you-but then I have killed many men and I have both legs and I don’t think I ever quite equaled the-bald gnome Error who comes from his cave with featherless ankles to feast on the mighty dead. [173]

[U] April 9, 1996 Paralipomena. n. From ME f. ecci. L f. GK paraleipomena f. PARA (It. imper. of parare defend) (leipo leave) omit. [X] October 2, 1996 All of which is pretty senseless without the beautiful light of Ruskin’s Seven Lamps of Architecture. Oh, what is the use? [Typed] December 18, 1996 The cats have been dying and everyone wonders why. I can hear my neighbors murmur. They murmur all the time: “It’s strange. Some cats die, some just disappear. No one knows why...” Redwood. I saw him once a long time ago when I was young. I ran away and luckily, or no luck at all, he did not follow me. But now I cannot run and anyway this time I am certain he would follow. [Typed] December 21, 1996 Explanation is not half as strong as experience but experience is not half as strong as experience and understanding. [Original] December 23, 1996 I took my morning walk, I took my evening walk, I ate something, I thought about something, I wrote something, I napped and dreamt something too, and with all that something, I still have nothing because so much of sum’things has always been and always will be you.

I miss you.

C. . . . and Pieces









D. Letter to the Editor

“Seeing’s Believing But Feeling’s Probably Best!” September 17, 1978 In last week’s article on collectibles, you reported that a man by the name of Kuellster had several World War II Ithaca Model 37 Trench guns for sale. As shotgun aficionados are well aware, this weapon is a rare find as only 1,420 were ever produced. Fortunately, the WWII Model 37 offers several distinguishing characteristics, including bottom loading, handy shell ejection similar to the Remington Model 10, a commercial blue finish, and standard sling swivels. It also bears some important martial markings: a small “p” on the left side of the barrel; a flaming bomb and the letters RLB (inspector Lt. Col. Roy L. Bowlin’s initials) on the left side of the receiver. Kuellster’s guns, however, all have a parkerized finish, lack swing swivels, and while there is a small letter proof “p” on the barrel, there is also one printed on the receiver. All of which proves that Kuellster’s shotguns, while Ithaca 37s, were produced long after the World War 11 Trench guns he is currently and falsely selling them as. On a personal note, I wish to add that as I have been blind for over two decades, I had to determine most of this by feel. Unfortunately when I presented my conclusion to Kuelister, he demonstrated his unparalleled probity by ordering a security guard to escort “this intoxicated indigent” from his store. I suppose in his world if a recently manufactured Ithaca 37 is the same as the WWII model, gingerale must pass for bourbon. Sincerely, Zampanô Venice, CA Our apologies to Mr. Zampanô and all other collectors who due to our article visited Mr. Kuellsrer ‘s store. Mr. Kuellster no longer claims to have any WWII Ithaca Model 37s for sale and refuses to comment on anything he might have previously suggested to our reporters. — The Los Angeles Herald-Examiner



E. The Song of Quesada and Molino

The Song of Quesada and Molino [434—Missing. — Ed.]

F. Poems

That Place Summer broke on the backs of children, even though swings performed miracles and breezes sang psalms. For that summer, from the outskirts of some far off even whimsical place came the low resolute moo of a dragon. A child, of course, could not recognize that fabled moo or the serpentine tail close to her feet, wound up among the thistle and milkweed like a hose. Nor for that matter could she recognize the starry white bone left upright in the sandbox like some remarkable claw or shovel. Not when the sun was out and games continued. Certainly not when there was summer love and rootbeer. But at dusk when the fog crept in, thick and sweating, suggesting some kind of burning far off, down over there, (where someone once saw two eyes — pale as October moons — blink) a child could know the meaning of fall. And that August, two weeks before school began, some children went down to that place

and they never came back. The Panther The panther paces. Waiting reminds him that clarity is painful but his pain is unreadable, obscure, chiaroscuro to their human senses. In time they will misread his gait, his moon mad eyes, the almost gentle way his tail caresses the bars. In time they will mistake him for something else— without history, without the shadow of being, a creature without the penance of living. They will read only his name. They will be unable to perceive what strangeness lies beneath his patience. Patience is the darkest side of power. He is dark. He is black. He is exquisitely powerful. He has made pain his lover and hidden her completely. Now he will never forget. She will give birth to memories

they believe he has been broken of. He smells the new rain, tastes its change. His claw skates along the cold floor. Love curled up and died on such a floor. He blinks. Clarity improves. He hears other creatures scream and fade. But silence is his. He knows. In time the gates will open. In time his heart will open. Then the shadows will bleed and the locks will break. Love At First Sight Natasha, I love you despite knowing love is more than seeing you. (Untitled Fragment) The angles of your wrists preserve a certain mystery, unknown by any lips or written down in history.

To measure their degree would solve the oldest questions — providence and alchemy answered in your gestures. But god and gold will never rival the way your fingers curl. They hold my breath’s arrival like a rare and undiscovered pearl. (Untitled Fragment) There is only a black fence and a wide field and a barn of Wyeth red. The smell of anger chokes the air. Ravens of September rain descend. Some say a mad mad hermit man lived here talking to himself and the woodchuck. But he’s gone. No reason. No sense. He just wandered off one day, past the onions, past the fence. Forget the letters. Forget love. Troy is nothing more than a black finger of charcoal frozen in lake ice. And near where the owl watches and the old bear dreams, the parapet of memory burns to the ground taking heaven with it.

(Untitled Fragment) Little solace comes to those who grieve when thoughts keep drifting as walls keep shifting and this great blue world of ours seems a house of leaves moments before the wind. La Feuille Mes durs réves formels sauront te chevaucher Mon destm au char d’or sera ton beau rocher Qui pour rênes tiendra tendus a frénéie Mes vers, les parangons de toute poesie. —Apollinaire C’etait l’automne. C’était l’automne et c’était la saison de la guerre. Te souviens-tu de la guerre? Moi, de moms en moms. Mais je me souviens de l’automne. Je vois encore les brouillards sur les prés a côté de la maison, et, au-delà, les chênes silencieux dans le crépuscule. Les feuilles étaient tombées depuis septembre. Elles brunissaient et m’évocaient alors l’esprit de ma jeunesse, et aussi I’esprit du temps. Souventj’allais au bois. Je traversais les prés et je me perdais pour longtemps au-dessous des branches, dans les ombres, parmi les feuilles. Une fois, avant d’entrer dans le bois, je me souviens qu’il y avait un cheval noir qui me fixait de loin. II était au fond du petit champ. J’imaginais qu’il me regardait, alors que probablement il dormait. Pourquoi pense-je maintenant a ce cheval? Je ne sais pas. Peut-être pour Ia même raison je pense a tous ces mots j’ai écrit au même temps. J’ai garde la feuille oü j’avais note tout ce qui m’etait venu a l’esprit. A l’époque, je croyais qu’ils m’appartenaient, mais maintenant je sais que j’avais tort. A chaque fois que je les relis, je vois que je copiais seulement ce que quelqu’un m’avait raconté. —N’aie pas peur. Je ne m’arrêterai pas. Je dois découvrir cette clairière. Et je ne m’arrêterai pas tant que je ne l’aurais pas trouvée. Sais-tu ce qui me pousse a la chercher? Eh bien... personne. Ma femme est morte. Ma femme, ma flue et mon fils sont tous morts. Te

souviens-tu comment us sont morts? Moi, de moms en moms. Je ne me souviens que du temps. Mes blessures ne sont plus mortelles, mais j’ai peur. J’ai peur de ne pas trouver cette clairière. Je suis resté quelque temps a regarder les ombres, les feuilles et les branches. Ensuite, quand j’ai quitté le bois, je ne voyais que le brouillard autour de moi. Je ne pouvais voir ni la maison, ni les prés, seulement le brouillard. Et bien sür, le cheval noir avait disparu. — [illegible] You Shall Be My Roots You shall be my roots and I will be your shade, though the sun burns my leaves. You shall quench my thirst and I will feed you fruit, though time takes my seed. And when I’m lost and can tell nothing of this earth you will give me hope. And my voice you will always hear. And my hand you will always have. For I will shelter you. And I will comfort you. And even when we are nothing left, not even in death, I will remember you.

Appendix II Due to the unexpected number of inquiries regarding the first edition, Mr. Truant agreed for this edition to provide the following additional material. — The Editors

A. Sketches & Polaroids









B. The Pelican Poems

A Palimpsest of Austere Pelican Jake Prospero dreams ‘twixt green sea and azur’d vault setting war while the corner clock ticks in the evening den. “Charlotte. Charlotte. The moments here are short and I am mad.” (mutinous waves usurp the land) dear God here? and raising a sun struck hand — yes here again. — For Claudia. New Haven. May 26, 1988 Pelican Considers a Cha-Cha with a Long Island Ice Tea In Hand Mr. Jake misplaced his armor. And how the wind whistles through, “A swell of thought, the tumescence of a moment, only that, but...?” A father tossed in that storm with iron cufflinks cut by Cain. “We hesitate in chance” But Pelican’s begun now —Avatar Pelican’s begun his occluded dance. — Left at Klub Restauracja. Warsaw. July 6, 1988

Pelican Jake on the Eurydice School Bus — For the waitress at Cafe We hold our dreams Wilanowska. Warsaw July 7, 1988 in lost dreams and tear our hearts out — For Marek. Warsaw. over chance. July 7, 1988 “She carried the songs of centuries” and in her passing my madness passed. Pelican’s Pen A jinx of ink, Lo the star! All is chance, nothing planned— only the will these words command. Pelican’s Juvenile Metempsychosis Will you steal from this blind man When I would give you all. I stumbled when I saw, but Gloucester was never this far gone. I see feelingly and at this height there is only so much fall. Alex brought him back with a light tap on the glass

and then lighting a match, — Left at another Warsaw cafe. “Romeo or is it Lear tonight” July 8, 1988 Pelican’s Cocktail Mythology — For a beautiful three at a Warsaw hostel. Three muse July 8, 1988 over an elegant ruse concerning a lingual wall — [illegible) Warsaw. which only I can pass July 9, 1988 over. Their eyes are beautiful and plans wild and laughter unconcerned. “You’re at it again” “Yes, on a high sea wall, yes at it again.” Pelican’s Religious Ruminations One forgets that one is one. I rnust try to remember this. Pelican’s Promontory Dance Hyperion curls have you consulted the plans for these whirls? We seldom know the pattern.

though that never matters, not if you know the notes. I’ve forgotten. I can’t hear. — On behalf of a Warsaw Lady who showed me I couldn’t dance. July 10, 1988 Pelican Misunderstanding a Portentous Sign — For Anna. Krakow Future pens July 10, 1988 and wars with feathered knights, The drumming thunder, the azured lights, rising In these eyes. Do you hear? “It’s Patter Sir. He’s in the back, knocking at the gate.” And the warlord’s fatter (Pelican’s cat) mewing for his milk. And all now is thunder for the lightning has passed. Pelican’s Worrisome Wake A semiotic Eliotic dream with Proust bumbling around unread —an intuitive guess commands awake. Sledgehammer harmony played deceptively right in this non cadence. “They’ve taken the beat away” And Patter and Quisling said she’d raise the union from the sea

and be Hawthorne bread. This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but an alarm clock. The mewer lands with a comforting glance: There now you know this game. — For Zbyszek. Poland. July 15, 1988 On the Lining Brim of Being Brow Shy In a rage of questions again this preponderance over a dumb show and Quisling and Easle peckering it out over their own running conversation, he found this at Petitgas 1857 in the lock of a heart and a disabled cardboard box. There’s the chance of the thing. There’s the design. “Fashion I believe is only right when meant for the right time.” — For the owner of the Pentgas hat store. Copenhagen. July 20, 1988 The Still Concordance of a Summertime Memory or Gaze—Whatever You Will Easle, clairvoyant, intruding with rapacious gab harkens nevertheless with a pique ear on Pelican’s semanteme arrangement: It’s a colored chord (not necessarily a mauve word) ‘A flute piping on a Hamburg corner and tarnished slightly too.” Pelican admires the