dare take her eyes from the upside down L in the corner of the door. If
she closed her eyes the light would go out. Behind the bed, out of the
windowcurtains, out of the closet, from under the table shadows nudged
creakily towards her. She held on tight to her ankles, pressed her chin
in between her knees. The pillow bulged with shadow, rummaging shadows
were slipping into the bed. If she closed her eyes the light would go
out.
Black spiraling roar outside was melting through the walls making the
cuddled shadows throb. Her tongue clicked against her teeth like the
ticking of the clock. Her arms and legs were stiff; her neck was stiff;
she was going to yell. Yell above the roaring and the rattat outside,
yell to make daddy hear, daddy come home. She drew in her breath and
shrieked again. Make daddy come home. The roaring shadows staggered and
danced, the shadows lurched round and round. Then she was crying, her
eyes were full of safe warm tears, they were running over her cheeks
and into her ears. She turned over and lay crying with her face in the
pillow.
* * * * *
The gaslamps tremble a while down the purplecold streets and then go
out under the lurid dawn. Gus McNiel, the sleep still gumming his eyes,
walks beside his wagon swinging a wire basket of milkbottles, stopping
at doors, collecting the empties, climbing chilly stairs, remembering
grades A and B and pints of cream and buttermilk, while the sky behind
cornices, tanks, roofpeaks, chimneys becomes rosy and yellow. Hoarfrost
glistens on doorsteps and curbs. The horse with dangling head lurches
jerkily from door to door. There begin to be dark footprints on the
frosty pavement. A heavy brewers’ dray rumbles down the street.
“Howdy Moike, a little chilled are ye?” shouts Gus McNiel at a cop
threshing his arms on the corner of Eighth Avenue.
“Howdy Gus. Cows still milkin’?”
It’s broad daylight when he finally slaps the reins down on the
gelding’s threadbare rump and starts back to the dairy, empties
bouncing and jiggling in the cart behind him. At Ninth Avenue a train
shoots overhead clattering downtown behind a little green engine that
emits blobs of smoke white and dense as cottonwool to melt in the raw
air between the stiff blackwindowed houses. The first rays of the sun
pick out the gilt lettering of DANIEL McGILLYCUDDY’S WINES AND LIQUORS
at the corner of Tenth Avenue. Gus McNiel’s tongue is dry and the
dawn has a salty taste in his mouth. A can o beer’d be the makin of
a guy a cold mornin like this. He takes a turn with the reins round
the whip and jumps over the wheel. His numb feet sting when they hit
the pavement. Stamping to get the blood back into his toes he shoves
through the swinging doors.
“Well I’ll be damned if it aint the milkman bringin us a pint o cream
for our coffee.” Gus spits into the newly polished cuspidor beside the
bar.
“Boy, I got a thoist on me....”
“Been drinkin too much milk again, Gus, I’ll warrant,” roars the
barkeep out of a square steak face.
The saloon smells of brasspolish and fresh sawdust. Through an open
window a streak of ruddy sunlight caresses the rump of a naked lady who
reclines calm as a hardboiled egg on a bed of spinach in a giltframed
picture behind the bar.
“Well Gus what’s yer pleasure a foine cold mornin loike this?”
“I guess beer’ll do, Mac.”
The foam rises in the glass, trembles up, slops over. The barkeep cuts
across the top with a wooden scoop, lets the foam settle a second, then
puts the glass under the faintly wheezing spigot again. Gus is settling
his heel comfortably against the brass rail.
“Well how’s the job?”
Gus gulps the glass of beer and makes a mark on his neck with his flat
hand before wiping his mouth with it. “Full up to the neck wid it....
I tell yer what I’m goin to do, I’m goin to go out West, take up free
land in North Dakota or somewhere an raise wheat.... I’m pretty handy
round a farm.... This here livin in the city’s no good.”
“How’ll Nellie take that?”
“She wont cotton to it much at foist, loikes her comforts of home an
all that she’s been used to, but I think she’ll loike it foine onct
she’s out there an all. This aint no loife for her nor me neyther.”
“You’re right there. This town’s goin to hell.... Me and the misses’ll
sell out here some day soon I guess. If we could buy a noice genteel
restaurant uptown or a roadhouse, that’s what’d suit us. Got me eye on
a little property out Bronxville way, within easy drivin distance.” He
lifts a malletshaped fist meditatively to his chin. “I’m sick o bouncin
these goddam drunks every night. Whade hell did I get outen the ring
for xep to stop fightin? Jus last night two guys starts asluggin an I
has to mix it up with both of em to clear the place out.... I’m sick o
fighten every drunk on Tenth Avenoo.... Have somethin on the house?”
“Jez I’m afraid Nellie’ll smell it on me.”
“Oh, niver moind that. Nellie ought to be used to a bit o drinkin. Her
ole man loikes it well enough.”
“But honest Mac I aint been slopped once since me weddinday.”
“I dont blame ye. She’s a real sweet girl Nellie is. Those little
spitcurls o hers’d near drive a feller crazy.”
The second beer sends a foamy acrid flush to Gus’s fingertips. Laughing
he slaps his thigh.
“She’s a pippin, that’s what she is Gus, so ladylike an all.”
“Well I reckon I’ll be gettin back to her.”
“You lucky young divil to be goin home to bed wid your wife when we’re
all startin to go to work.”
Gus’s red face gets redder. His ears tingle. “Sometimes she’s abed
yet.... So long Mac.” He stamps out into the street again.
The morning has grown bleak. Leaden clouds have settled down over the
city. “Git up old skin an bones,” shouts Gus jerking at the gelding’s
head. Eleventh Avenue is full of icy dust, of grinding rattle of wheels
and scrape of hoofs on the cobblestones. Down the railroad tracks comes
the clang of a locomotive bell and the clatter of shunting freightcars.
Gus is in bed with his wife talking gently to her: Look here Nellie,
you wouldn’t moind movin West would yez? I’ve filed application for
free farmin land in the state o North Dakota, black soil land where we
can make a pile o money in wheat; some fellers git rich in foive good
crops.... Healthier for the kids anyway.... “Hello Moike!” There’s
poor old Moike still on his beat. Cold work bein a cop. Better be a
wheatfarmer an have a big farmhouse an barns an pigs an horses an cows
an chickens.... Pretty curlyheaded Nellie feedin the chickens at the
kitchen door....
“Hay dere for crissake....” a man is yelling at Gus from the curb.
“Look out for de cars!”
A yelling mouth gaping under a visored cap, a green flag waving.
“Godamighty I’m on the tracks.” He yanks the horse’s head round. A
crash rips the wagon behind him. Cars, the gelding, a green flag, red
houses whirl and crumble into blackness.
III. Dollars
_All along the rails there were faces; in the portholes
there were faces. Leeward a stale smell came from the tubby
steamer that rode at anchor listed a little to one side
with the yellow quarantine flag drooping at the foremast._
_“I’d give a million dollars,” said the old man resting on
his oars, “to know what they come for.”_
_“Just for that pop,” said the young man who sat in the
stern. “Aint it the land of opportoonity?”_
_“One thing I do know,” said the old man. “When I was a boy
it was wild Irish came in the spring with the first run of
shad.... Now there aint no more shad, an them folks, Lord
knows where they come from.”_
_“It’s the land of opportoonity.”_
A leanfaced young man with steel eyes and a thin highbridged nose
sat back in a swivel chair with his feet on his new mahogany-finish
desk. His skin was sallow, his lips gently pouting. He wriggled in the
swivel chair watching the little scratches his shoes were making on the
veneer. Damn it I dont care. Then he sat up suddenly making the swivel
shriek and banged on his knee with his clenched fist. “Results,” he
shouted. Three months I’ve sat rubbing my tail on this swivel chair....
What’s the use of going through lawschool and being admitted to the
bar if you cant find anybody to practice on? He frowned at the gold
lettering through the groundglass door.
NIWDLAB EGROEG
WAL-TA-YENROTTA
Niwdlab, Welsh. He jumped to his feet. I’ve read that damn sign
backwards every day for three months. I’m going crazy. I’ll go out and
eat lunch.
He straightened his vest and brushed some flecks of dust off his shoes
with a handkerchief, then, contracting his face into an expression of
intense preoccupation, he hurried out of his office, trotted down the
stairs and out onto Maiden Lane. In front of the chophouse he saw the
headline on a pink extra; JAPS THROWN BACK FROM MUKDEN. He bought the
paper and folded it under his arm as he went in through the swinging
door. He took a table and pored over the bill of fare. Mustn’t be
extravagant now. “Waiter you can bring me a New England boiled dinner,
a slice of applepie and coffee.” The longnosed waiter wrote the order
on his slip looking at it sideways with a careful frown.... That’s the
lunch for a lawyer without any practice. Baldwin cleared his throat
and unfolded the paper.... Ought to liven up the Russian bonds a bit.
Veterans Visit President.... ANOTHER ACCIDENT ON ELEVENTH AVENUE
TRACKS. Milkman seriously injured. Hello, that’d make a neat little
damage suit.
Augustus McNiel, 253 W. 4th Street, who drives a milkwagon
for the Excelsior Dairy Co. was severely injured early this
morning when a freight train backing down the New York
Central tracks ...
He ought to sue the railroad. By gum I ought to get hold of that man
and make him sue the railroad.... Not yet recovered consciousness....
Maybe he’s dead. Then his wife can sue them all the more.... I’ll go
to the hospital this very afternoon.... Get in ahead of any of these
shysters. He took a determined bite of bread and chewed it vigorously.
Of course not; I’ll go to the house and see if there isn’t a wife or
mother or something: Forgive me Mrs. McNiel if I intrude upon your deep
affliction, but I am engaged in an investigation at this moment....
Yes, retained by prominent interests.... He drank up the last of the
coffee and paid the bill.
Repeating 253 W. 4th Street over and over he boarded an uptown car on
Broadway. Walking west along 4th he skirted Washington Square. The
trees spread branches of brittle purple into a dovecolored sky; the
largewindowed houses opposite glowed very pink, nonchalant, prosperous.
The very place for a lawyer with a large conservative practice to make
his residence. We’ll just see about that. He crossed Sixth Avenue and
followed the street into the dingy West Side, where there was a smell
of stables and the sidewalks were littered with scraps of garbage
and crawling children. Imagine living down here among low Irish and
foreigners, the scum of the universe. At 253 there were several
unmarked bells. A woman with gingham sleeves rolled up on sausageshaped
arms stuck a gray mophead out the window.
“Can you tell me if Augustus McNiel lives here?”
“Him that’s up there alayin in horspital. Sure he does.”
“That’s it. And has he any relatives living here?”
“An what would you be wantin wid ’em?”
“It’s a little matter of business.”
“Go up to the top floor an you’ll foind his wife there but most likely
she cant see yez.... The poor thing’s powerful wrought up about her
husband, an them only eighteen months married.”
The stairs were tracked with muddy footprints and sprinkled here and
there with the spilling of ashcans. At the top he found a freshpainted
darkgreen door and knocked.
“Who’s there?” came a girl’s voice that sent a little shiver through
him. Must be young.
“Is Mrs. McNiel in?”
“Yes,” came the lilting girl’s voice again. “What is it?”
“It’s a matter of business about Mr. McNiel’s accident.”
“About the accident is it?” The door opened in little cautious jerks.
She had a sharpcut pearlywhite nose and chin and a pile of wavy
redbrown hair that lay in little flat curls round her high narrow
forehead. Gray eyes sharp and suspicious looked him hard in the face.
“May I speak to you a minute about Mr. McNiel’s accident? There are
certain legal points involved that I feel it my duty to make known to
you.... By the way I hope he’s better.”
“Oh yes he’s come to.”
“May I come in? It’s a little long to explain.”
“I guess you can.” Her pouting lips flattened into a wry smile. “I
guess you wont eat me.”
“No honestly I wont.” He laughed nervously in his throat.
She led the way into the darkened sitting room. “I’m not pulling up the
shades so’s you wont see the pickle everythin’s in.”
“Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. McNiel.... George Baldwin, 88
Maiden Lane.... You see I make a specialty of cases like this.... To
put the whole matter in a nutshell.... Your husband was run down and
nearly killed through the culpable or possibly criminal negligence
of the employees of the New York Central Railroad. There is full and
ample cause for a suit against the railroad. Now I have reason to
believe that the Excelsior Dairy Company will bring suit for the losses
incurred, horse and wagon etcetera....”
“You mean you think Gus is more likely to get damages himself?”
“Exactly.”
“How much do you think he could get?”
“Why that depends on how badly hurt he is, on the attitude of the
court, and perhaps on the skill of the lawyer.... I think ten thousand
dollars is a conservative figure.”
“And you dont ask no money down?”
“The lawyer’s fee is rarely paid until the case is brought to a
successful termination.”
“An you’re a lawyer, honest? You look kinder young to be a lawyer.”
The gray eyes flashed in his. They both laughed. He felt a warm
inexplicable flush go through him.
“I’m a lawyer all the same. I make a specialty of cases like these.
Why only last Tuesday I got six thousand dollars for a client who was
kicked by a relay horse riding on the loop.... Just at this moment as
you may know there is considerable agitation for revoking altogether
the franchise of the Eleventh Avenue tracks.... I think this is a most
favorable moment.”
“Say do you always talk like that, or is it just business?”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Poor old Gus, I always said he had a streak of luck in him.”
The wail of a child crept thinly through the partition into the room.
“What’s that?”
“It’s only the baby.... The little wretch dont do nothin but squall.”
“So you’ve got children Mrs. McNiel?” The thought chilled him somehow.
“Juss one ... what kin ye expect?”
“Is it the Emergency Hospital?”
“Yes I reckon they’ll let you see him as it’s a matter of business.
He’s groanin somethin dreadful.”
“Now if I could get a few good witnesses.”
“Mike Doheny seen it all.... He’s on the force. He’s a good frien of
Gus’s.”
“By gad we’ve got a case and a half.... Why they’ll settle out of
court.... I’ll go right up to the hospital.”
A fresh volley of wails came from the other room.
“Oh, that brat,” she whispered, screwing up her face. “We could use the
money all right Mr. Baldwin....”
“Well I must go.” He picked up his hat. “And I certainly will do my
best in this case. May I come by and report progress to you from time
to time?”
“I hope you will.”
When they shook hands at the door he couldn’t seem to let go her hand.
She blushed.
“Well goodby and thank you very much for callin,” she said stiffly.
Baldwin staggered dizzily down the stairs. His head was full of blood.
The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life. Outside it had begun
to snow. The snowflakes were cold furtive caresses to his hot cheeks.
The sky over the Park was mottled with little tiptailed clouds like a
field of white chickens.
“Look Alice, lets us go down this little path.”
“But Ellen, my dad told me to come straight home from school.”
“Scarecat!”
“But Ellen those dreadful kidnappers....”
“I told you not to call me Ellen any more.”
“Well Elaine then, Elaine the lily maid of Astalot.”
Ellen had on her new Black Watch plaid dress. Alice wore glasses and
had legs thin as hairpins.
“Scarecat!”
“They’re dreadful men sitting on that bench. Come along Elaine the
fair, let’s go home.”
“I’m not scared of them. I could fly like Peter Pan if I wanted to.”
“Why dont you do it?”
“I dont want to just now.”
Alice began to whimper. “Oh Ellen I think you’re mean.... Come along
home Elaine.”
“No I’m going for a walk in the Park.”
Ellen started down the steps. Alice stood a minute on the top step
balancing first on one foot then on the other.
“Scaredy scaredy scarecat!” yelled Ellen.
Alice ran off blubbering. “I’m goin to tell your mommer.”
Ellen walked down the asphalt path among the shrubbery kicking her toes
in the air.
Ellen in her new dress of Black Watch plaid mummy’d bought at Hearn’s
walked down the asphalt path kicking her toes in the air. There was
a silver thistle brooch on the shoulder of the new dress of Black
Watch plaid mummy’d bought at Hearn’s. Elaine of Lammermoor was going
to be married. The Betrothed. Wangnaan nainainai, went the bagpipes
going through the rye. The man on the bench has a patch over his eye.
A watching black patch. A black watching patch. The kidnapper of the
Black Watch, among the rustling shrubs kidnappers keep their Black
Watch. Ellen’s toes dont kick in the air. Ellen is terribly scared of
the kidnapper of the Black Watch, big smelly man of the Black Watch
with a patch over his eye. She’s scared to run. Her heavy feet scrape
on the asphalt as she tries to run fast down the path. She’s scared to
turn her head. The kidnapper of the Black Watch is right behind. When I
get to the lamppost I’ll run as far as the nurse and the baby, when I
get to the nurse and the baby I’ll run as far as the big tree, when I
get to the big tree.... Oh I’m so tired.... I’ll run out onto Central
Park West and down the street home. She was scared to turn round. She
ran with a stitch in her side. She ran till her mouth tasted like
pennies.
“What are you running for Ellie?” asked Gloria Drayton who was skipping
rope outside the Norelands.
“Because I wanted to,” panted Ellen.
* * * * *
Winey afterglow stained the muslin curtains and filtered into the blue
gloom of the room. They stood on either side of the table. Out of a pot
of narcissus still wrapped in tissue paper starshaped flowers gleamed
with dim phosphorescence, giving off a damp earthsmell enmeshed in
indolent prickly perfume.
“It was nice of you to bring me these Mr. Baldwin. I’ll take them up to
Gus at the hospital tomorrow.”
“For God’s sake dont call me that.”
“But I dont like the name of George.”
“I dont care, I like your name, Nellie.”
He stood looking at her; perfumed weights coiled about his arms. His
hands dangled like empty gloves. Her eyes were black, dilating, her
lips pouting towards him across the flowers. She jerked her hands up to
cover her face. His arm was round her little thin shoulders.
“But honest Georgy, we’ve got to be careful. You mustn’t come here so
often. I dont want all the old hens in the house to start talkin.”
“Dont worry about that.... We mustn’t worry about anything.”
“I’ve been actin’ like I was crazy this last week.... I’ve got to quit.”
“You dont think I’ve been acting naturally, do you? I swear to God
Nellie I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not that kind of
a person.”
She showed her even teeth in a laugh. “Oh you kin never tell about men.”
“But if it weren’t something extraordinary and exceptional you dont
think I’d be running after you this way do you? I’ve never been in love
with anybody but you Nellie.”
“That’s a good one.”
“But it’s true.... I’ve never gone in for that sort of thing. I’ve
worked too hard getting through lawschool and all that to have time for
girls.”
“Makin up for lost time I should say.”
“Oh Nellie dont talk like that.”
“But honestly Georgy I’ve got to cut this stuff out. What’ll we do when
Gus comes out of the hospital? An I’m neglectin the kid an everythin.”
“Christ I dont care what happens.... Oh Nellie.” He pulled her face
round. They clung to each other swaying, mouths furiously mingling.
“Look out we almost had the lamp over.”
“God you’re wonderful, Nellie.” Her head had dropped on his chest, he
could feel the pungence of her tumbled hair all through him. It was
dark. Snakes of light from the streetlamp wound greenly about them. Her
eyes looked up into his frighteningly solemnly black.
“Look Nellie lets go in the other room,” he whispered in a tiny
trembling voice.
“Baby’s in there.”
They stood apart with cold hands looking at each other. “Come here an
help me. I’ll move the cradle in here.... Careful not to wake her or
she’ll bawl her head off.” Her voice crackled huskily.
The baby was asleep, her little rubbery face tight closed, minute pink
fists clenched on the coverlet.
“She looks happy,” he said with a forced titter.
“Keep quiet cant you.... Here take yer shoes off.... There’s been
enough trampin o men’s shoes up here.... Georgy I wouldn’t do this, but
I juss cant help....”
He fumbled for her in the dark. “You darling....” Clumsy he brooded
over her, breathing crazily deep.
* * * * *
“Flatfoot you’re stringin us....”
“I aint, honest I’d swear by me muder’s grave it’s de trutt....
Latitude toityseven soutt by twelve west.... You go dere an see....
On dat island we made in de second officer’s boat when de _Elliot P.
Simkins_ foundered der was four males and fortyseven females includin
women an children. Waren’t it me dat tole de reporter guy all about it
an it came out in all de Sunday papers?”
“But Flatfoot how the hell did they ever get you away from there?”
“Dey carried me off on a stretcher or I’m a cockeyed lyer. I’ll be a
sonofabitch if I warnt founderin, goin down by de bows like de ole
_Elliot P_.”
Heads tossed back on thick necks let out volleys of laughter, glasses
were banged on the round ringmarked table, thighs resounded with slaps,
elbows were poked into ribs.
“An how many guys was in de boat?”
“Six includin Mr. Dorkins de second officer.”
“Seven and four makes eleven.... Jez.... Four an three-elevenths broads
per capita.... Some island.”
“When does the next ferry leave?”
“Better have another drink on that.... Hay Charlie fill ’em up.”
Emile pulled at Congo’s elbow. “Come outside a sec. J’ai que’quechose a
te dire.” Congo’s eyes were wet, he staggered a little as he followed
Emile into the outer bar. “O le p’tit mysterieux.”
“Look here, I’ve got to go call on a lady friend.”
“Oh that’s what’s eating you is it? I always said you was a wise guy
Emile.”
“Look, here’s my address on a piece of paper in case you forget it: 945
West 22nd. You can come and sleep there if you’re not too pickled, and
dont you bring any friends or women or anything. I’m in right with the
landlady and I dont want to spoil it.... Tu comprends.”
“But I wanted you to come on a swell party.... Faut faire un peu la
noce, nom de dieu!...”
“I got to work in the morning.”
“But I got eight months’ pay in my pocket....
“Anyway come round tomorrow at about six. I’ll wait for you.”
“Tu m’emmerdes tu sais avec tes manières;” Congo aimed a jet of saliva
at the spittoon in the corner of the bar and turned back frowning into
the inside room.
“Hay dere sit down Congo; Barney’s goin to sing de Bastard King of
England.”
Emile jumped on a streetcar and rode uptown. At Eighteenth Street he
got off and walked west to Eighth Avenue. Two doors from the corner
was a small store. Over one window was CONFISERIE, over the other
DELICATESSEN. In the middle of the glass door white enamel letters
read Emile Rigaud, High Class Table Dainties. Emile went in. The bell
jangled on the door. A dark stout woman with black hairs over the
corners of her mouth was drowsing behind the counter. Emile took off
his hat. “Bonsoir Madame Rigaud.” She looked up with a start, then
showed two dimples in a profound smile.
“Tieng c’est comma ça qu’ong oublie ses ami-es,” she said in a booming
Bordelais voice. “Here’s a week that I say to myself, Monsieur Loustec
is forgetting his friends.”
“I never have any time any more.”
“Lots of work, lots of money, heing?” When she laughed her shoulders
shook and the big breasts under the tight blue bodice.
Emile screwed up one eye. “Might be worse.... But I’m sick of
waiting.... It’s so tiring; nobody regards a waiter.”
“You are a man of ambition, Monsieur Loustec.”
“Que voulez vous?” He blushed, and said timidly “My name’s Emile.”
Mme. Rigaud rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “That was my dead
husband’s name. I’m used to that name.” She sighed heavily.
“And how’s business?”
“Comma ci comma ça.... Ham’s gone up again.”