change. I’m all wringing wet every night after that last act.”
“We got to get along anyway ... do you understand?... Mind if I use
your bathroom a sec?”
Milly stood in front of the bathroom door. Ellen caught the jetty
glance of her eyes far apart in her blank white face. “I’m afraid you
cant Harry, it’s out of order.”
“I’ll go over to Charley’s.... I’ll tell Thompson to have a plumber
come and look at it.... Well good night kid. Be good.”
“Good night Miss Oglethorpe,” said Mr. Fallik creakily, “and if you
cant be good be careful.” Milly closed the door after them.
“Whee, that’s a relief,” cried Ellen and stretched out her arms.
“I tell you I was scared deary.... Dont you ever let any feller like
that come to the theater with ye. I’ve seen many a good trouper ruined
by things like that. I’m tellin ye because I’m fond of you Miss Elaine,
an I’m old an I know about the showbusiness.”
“Of course you are Milly, and you’re quite right too ... Lets see if we
can wake him up.”
“My God Milly, look at that.”
Stan was lying as they had left him in the bathtub full of water. The
tail of his coat and one hand were floating on top of the water. “Get
up out of there Stan you idiot.... He might catch his death. You fool,
you fool.” Ellen took him by the hair and shook his head from side to
side.
“Ooch that hurts,” he moaned in a sleepy child’s voice.
“Get up out of there Stan.... You’re soaked.”
He threw back his head and his eyes snapped open. “Why so I am.”
He raised himself with his hands on the sides of the tub and stood
swaying, dripping into the water that was yellow from his clothes and
shoes, braying his loud laugh. Ellen leaned against the bathroom door
laughing with her eyes full of tears.
“You cant get mad at him Milly, that’s what makes him so exasperating.
Oh what are we going to do?”
“Lucky he wasnt drownded.... Give me your papers and pocketbook sir.
I’ll try and dry em with a towel,” said Milly.
“But you cant go past the doorman like that ... even if we wring you
out.... Stan you’ve got to take off all your clothes and put on a dress
of mine. Then you can wear my rain cape and we can whisk into a taxicab
and take you home.... What do you think Milly?”
Milly was rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she wrung out Stan’s
coat. In the washbasin she had piled the soppy remains of a pocketbook,
a pad, pencils, a jacknife, two rolls of film, a flask.
“I wanted a bath anyway,” said Stan.
“Oh I could beat you. Well you’re sober at least.”
“Sober as a penguin.”
“Well you’ve got to dress up in my clothes that’s all....”
“I cant wear girl’s clothes.”
“You’ve got to.... You havent even got a raincoat to cover that mess.
If you dont I’ll lock you up in the bathroom and leave you.”
“All right Ellie.... Honest I’m terribly sorry.”
Milly was wrapping the clothes in newspaper after wringing them out
in the bathtub. Stan looked at himself in the mirror. “Gosh I’m an
indecent sight in this dress.... Ish gebibble.”
“I’ve never seen anything so disgusting looking.... No you look very
sweet, a little tough perhaps.... Now for God’s sake keep your face
towards me when you go past old Barney.”
“My shoes are all squudgy.”
“It cant be helped.... Thank Heaven I had this cape here.... Milly
you’re an angel to clear up all this mess.”
“Good night deary, and remember what I said.... I’m tellin ye that’s
all....”
“Stan take little steps and if we meet anybody go right on and jump in
a taxi.... You can get away with anything if you do it quick enough.”
Ellen’s hands were trembling as they came down the steps. She tucked
one in under Stan’s elbow and began talking in a low chatty voice....
“You see dear, daddy came round to see the show two or three nights
ago and he was shocked to death. He said he thought a girl demeaned
herself showing her feelings like that before a lot of people.... Isn’t
it killing?... Still he was impressed by the writeups the _Herald_ and
_World_ gave me Sunday.... Goodnight Barney, nasty night.... My God....
Here’s a taxi, get in. Where are you going?” Out of the dark of the
taxi, out of his long face muffled in the blue hood, his eyes were so
bright black they frightened her like coming suddenly on a deep pit in
the dark.
“All right we’ll go to my house. Might as well be hanged for a
sheep.... Driver please go to Bank Street. The taxi started. They were
jolting through the crisscross planes of red light, green light, yellow
light beaded with lettering of Broadway. Suddenly Stan leaned over her
and kissed her hard very quickly on the mouth.
“Stan you’ve got to stop drinking. It’s getting beyond a joke.”
“Why shouldn’t things get beyond a joke? You’re getting beyond a joke
and I dont complain.”
“But darling you’ll kill yourself.”
“Well?”
“Oh I dont understand you Stan.”
“I dont understand you Ellie, but I love you very ... exordinately
much.” There was a broken tremor in his very low voice that stunned her
with happiness.
Ellen paid the taxi. Siren throbbing in an upward shriek that burst and
trailed in a dull wail down the street, a fire engine went by red and
gleaming, then a hookandladder with bell clanging.
“Let’s go to the fire Ellie.”
“With you in those clothes.... We’ll do no such thing.”
He followed her silent into the house and up the stairs. Her long room
was cool and fresh smelling.
“Ellie you’re not sore at me?”
“Of course not idiot child.”
She undid the sodden bundle of his clothes and took them into the
kitchenette to dry beside the gas stove. The sound of the phonograph
playing _He’s a devil in his own home town_ called her back. Stan had
taken off the dress. He was dancing round with a chair for a partner,
her blue padded dressingown flying out from his thin hairy legs.
“Oh Stan you precious idiot.”
He put down the chair and came towards her brown and male and lean in
the silly dressingown. The phonograph came to the end of the tune and
the record went on rasping round and round.
V. Went to the Animals’ Fair
_Red light. Bell._
_A block deep four ranks of cars wait at the grade
crossing, fenders in taillights, mudguards scraping
mudguards, motors purring hot, exhausts reeking, cars from
Babylon and Jamaica, cars from Montauk, Port Jefferson,
Patchogue, limousines from Long Beach, Far Rockaway,
roadsters from Great Neck ... cars full of asters and wet
bathingsuits, sunsinged necks, mouths sticky from sodas
and hotdawgs ... cars dusted with pollen of ragweed and
goldenrod._
_Green light. Motors race, gears screech into first. The
cars space out, flow in a long ribbon along the ghostly
cement road, between blackwindowed blocks of concrete
factories, between bright slabbed colors of signboards
towards the glow over the city that stands up incredibly
into the night sky like the glow of a great lit tent, like
the yellow tall bulk of a tentshow._
Sarajevo, the word stuck in her throat when she tried to say it....
“It’s terrible to think of, terrible,” George Baldwin was groaning.
“The Street’ll go plumb to hell.... They’ll close the Stock Exchange,
only thing to do.”
“And I’ve never been to Europe either.... A war must be an
extraordinary thing to see.” Ellen in her blue velvet dress with a buff
cloak over it leaned back against the cushions of the taxi that whirred
smoothly under them. “I always think of history as lithographs in a
schoolbook, generals making proclamations, little tiny figures running
across fields with their arms spread out, facsimiles of signatures.”
Cones of light cutting into cones of light along the hot humming
roadside, headlights splashing trees, houses, billboards, telegraph
poles with broad brushes of whitewash. The taxi made a half turn and
stopped in front of a roadhouse that oozed pink light and ragtime
through every chink.
“Big crowd tonight,” said the taximan to Baldwin when he paid him.
“I wonder why,” asked Ellen.
“De Canarsie moider has sumpen to do wid it I guess.”
“What’s that?”
“Sumpen terrible. I seen it.”
“You saw the murder?”
“I didn’t see him do it. I seen de bodies laid out stiff before dey
took em to de morgue. Us kids used to call de guy Santa Claus cause he
had white whiskers.... Knowed him since I was a little feller.” The
cars behind were honking and rasping their klaxons. “I better git a
move on.... Good night lady.”
The red hallway smelt of lobster and steamed clams and cocktails.
“Why hello Gus!... Elaine let me introduce Mr. and Mrs. McNiel.... This
is Miss Oglethorpe.” Ellen shook the big hand of a rednecked snubnosed
man and the small precisely gloved hand of his wife. “Gus I’ll see you
before we go....”
Ellen was following the headwaiter’s swallowtails along the edge of the
dancefloor. They sat at a table beside the wall. The music was playing
_Everybody’s Doing It_. Baldwin hummed it as he hung over her a second
arranging the wrap on the back of her chair.
“Elaine you are the loveliest person ...” he began as he sat down
opposite her. “It seems so horrible. I dont see how it’s possible.”
“What?”
“This war. I cant think of anything else.”
“I can ...” She kept her eyes on the menu. “Did you notice those two
people I introduced to you?”
“Yes. Is that the McNiel whose name is in the paper all the time? Some
row about a builders’ strike and the Interborough bond issue.”
“It’s all politics. I bet he’s glad of the war, poor old Gus. It’ll
do one thing, it’ll keep that row off the front page.... I’ll tell you
about him in a minute.... I dont suppose you like steamed clams do you?
They are very good here.”
“George I adore steamed clams.”
“Then we’ll have a regular old fashioned Long Island shore dinner. What
do you think of that?” Laying her gloves away on the edge of the table
her hand brushed against the vase of rusty red and yellow roses. A
shower of faded petals fluttered onto her hand, her gloves, the table.
She shook them off her hands.
“And do have him take these wretched roses away George.... I hate faded
flowers.”
Steam from the plated bowl of clams uncoiled in the rosy glow from the
lampshade. Baldwin watched her fingers, pink and limber, pulling the
clams by their long necks out of their shells, dipping them in melted
butter, and popping them dripping in her mouth. She was deep in eating
clams. He sighed. “Elaine ... I’m a very unhappy man.... Seeing Gus
McNiel’s wife. It’s the first time in years. Think of it I was crazy in
love with her and now I cant remember what her first name was ... Funny
isn’t it? Things had been extremely slow ever since I had set up in
practice for myself. It was a rash thing to do, as I was only two years
out of lawschool and had no money to run on. I was rash in those days.
I’d decided that if I didn’t get a case that day I’d chuck everything
and go back to a clerkship. I went out for a walk to clear my head and
saw a freightcar shunting down Eleventh Avenue run into a milkwagon. It
was a horrid mess and when we’d picked the fellow up I said to myself
I’d get him his rightful damages or bankrupt myself in the attempt.
I won his case and that brought me to the notice of various people
downtown, and that started him on his career and me on mine.”
“So he drove a milkwagon did he? I think milkmen are the nicest people
in the world. Mine’s the cutest thing.”
“Elaine you wont repeat this to anyone.... I feel the completest
confidence in you.”
“That’s very nice of you George. Isn’t it amazing the way girls are
getting to look more like Mrs. Castle every day? Just look round this
room.”
“She was like a wild rose Elaine, fresh and pink and full of the Irish,
and now she’s a rather stumpy businesslike looking little woman.”
“And you’re as fit as you ever were. That’s the way it goes.”
“I wonder.... You dont know how empty and hollow everything was before
I met you. All Cecily and I can do is make each other miserable.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s up at Bar Harbor.... I had luck and all sorts of success when I
was still a young man.... I’m not forty yet.”
“But I should think it would be fascinating. You must enjoy the law or
you wouldn’t be such a success at it.”
“Oh success ... success ... what does it mean?”
“I’d like a little of it.”
“But my dear girl you have it.”
“Oh not what I mean.”
“But it isn’t any fun any more. All I do is sit in the office and
let the young fellows do the work. My future’s all cut out for me. I
suppose I could get solemn and pompous and practice little private
vices ... but there’s more in me than that.”
“Why dont you go into politics?”
“Why should I go up to Washington into that greasy backwater when I’m
right on the spot where they give the orders? The terrible thing about
having New York go stale on you is that there’s nowhere else. It’s the
top of the world. All we can do is go round and round in a squirrel
cage.”
Ellen was watching the people in light summer clothes dancing on the
waxed square of floor in the center; she caught sight of Tony Hunter’s
oval pink and white face at a table on the far side of the room.
Oglethorpe was not with him. Stan’s friend Herf sat with his back to
her. She watched him laughing, his long rumpled black head poised a
little askew on a scraggly neck. The other two men she didn’t know.
“Who are you looking at?”
“Just some friends of Jojo’s.... I wonder how on earth they got way out
here. It’s not exactly on that gang’s beat.”
“Always the way when I try to get away with something,” said Baldwin
with a wry smile.
“I should say you’d done exactly what you wanted to all your life.”
“Oh Elaine if you’d only let me do what I want to now. I want you to
let me make you happy. You’re such a brave little girl making your way
all alone the way you do. By gad you are so full of love and mystery
and glitter ...” He faltered, took a deep swallow of wine, went on
with flushing face. “I feel like a schoolboy ... I’m making a fool of
myself. Elaine I’d do anything in the world for you.”
“Well all I’m going to ask you to do is to send away this lobster. I
dont think it’s terribly good.”
“The devil ... maybe it isn’t.... Here waiter!... I was so rattled I
didn’t know I was eating it.”
“You can get me some supreme of chicken instead.”
“Surely you poor child you must be starved.”
“... And a little corn on the cob.... I understand now why you make
such a good lawyer, George. Any jury would have burst out sobbing long
ago at such an impassioned plea.
“How about you Elaine?”
“George please dont ask me.”
* * * * *
At the table where Jimmy Herf sat they were drinking whiskey and
soda. A yellowskinned man with light hair and a thin nose standing
out crooked between childish blue eyes was talking in a confidential
singsong: “Honest I had em lashed to the mast. The police department
is cookoo, absolutely cookoo treating it as a rape and suicide
case. That old man and his lovely innocent daughter were murdered,
foully murdered. And do you know who by...?” He pointed a chubby
cigarettestained finger at Tony Hunter.
“Dont give me the third degree judge I dont know anything about it” he
said dropping his long lashes over his eyes.
“By the Black Hand.”
“You tell em Bullock,” said Jimmy Herf laughing. Bullock brought
his fist down on the table so that the plates and glasses jingled.
“Canarsie’s full of the Black Hand, full of anarchists and kidnappers
and undesirable citizens. It’s our business to ferret em out and
vindicate the honor of this poor old man and his beloved daughter. We
are going to vindicate the honor of poor old monkeyface, what’s his
name?”
“Mackintosh,” said Jimmy. “And the people round here used to call him
Santa Claus. Of course everybody admits he’s been crazy for years.”
“We admit nothing but the majesty of American citizenhood.... But
hell’s bells what’s the use when this goddam war takes the whole front
page? I was going to have a fullpage spread and they’ve cut me down to
half a column. Aint it the life?”
“You might work up something about how he was a lost heir to the
Austrian throne and had been murdered for political reasons.”
“Not such a bad idear Jimmy.”
“But it’s such a horrible thing,” said Tony Hunter.
“You think we’re a lot of callous brutes, dont you Tony?”
“No I just dont see the pleasure people get out of reading about it.”
“Oh it’s all in the day’s work,” said Jimmy. “What gives me gooseflesh
is the armies mobilizing, Belgrade bombarded, Belgium invaded ... all
that stuff. I just cant imagine it.... They’ve killed Jaures.” “Who’s
he?”
“A French Socialist.”
“Those goddam French are so goddam degenerate all they can do is fight
duels and sleep with each other’s wives. I bet the Germans are in Paris
in two weeks.”
“It couldn’t last long,” said Framingham, a tall ceremonious man with a
whispy blond moustache who sat beside Hunter.
“Well I’d like to get an assignment as warcorrespondent.”
“Say Jimmy do you know this French guy who’s barkeep here?”
“Congo Jake? Sure I know him.”
“Is he a good guy?”
“He’s swell.”
“Let’s go out and talk to him. He might give us some dope about this
here murder. God I’d like it if I could hitch it on to the World
Conflict.”
“I have the greatest confidence,” had begun Framingham, “that the
British will patch it up somehow.” Jimmy followed Bullock towards the
bar.
Crossing the room he caught sight of Ellen. Her hair was very red in
the glow from the lamp beside her. Baldwin was leaning towards her
across the table with moist lips and bright eyes. Jimmy felt something
glittering go off in his chest like a released spring. He turned his
head away suddenly for fear she should see him.
Bullock turned and nudged him in the ribs. “Say Jimmy who the hell are
those two guys came out with us?”
“They are friends of Ruth’s. I dont know them particularly well.
Framingham’s an interior decorator I think.”
At the bar under a picture of the Lusitania stood a dark man in a white
coat distended by a deep gorilla chest. He was vibrating a shaker
between his very hairy hands. A waiter stood in front of the bar with a
tray of cocktail glasses. The cocktail foamed into them greenishwhite.
“Hello Congo,” said Jimmy.
“Ah bonsoir monsieur ’Erf, ça biche?”
“Pretty good ... Say Congo I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is
Grant Bullock of the _American_.”
“Very please. You an Mr. ’Erf ave someting on the ’ouse sir.”
The waiter raised the clinking tray of glasses to shoulder height and
carried them out on the flat of his hand.
“I suppose a gin fizz’ll ruin all that whiskey but I’d like one....
Drink something with us wont you Congo?” Bullock put a foot up on the
brass rail and took a sip. “I was wondering,” he said slowly, “if there
was any dope going round about this murder down the road.”
“Everybody ave his teyorie ...”
Jimmy caught a faint wink from one of Congo’s deepset black eyes. “Do
you live out here?” he asked to keep from giggling.
“In the middle of the night I hear an automobile go by very fast wid de
cutout open. I tink maybe it run into someting because it stopped very
quick and come back much faster, licketysplit.”
“Did you hear a shot?”
Congo shook his head mysteriously. “I ear voices, very angree voices.”
“Gosh I’m going to look into this,” said Bullock tossing off the end of
his drink. “Let’s go back to the girls.”
* * * * *
Ellen was looking at the face wrinkled like a walnut and the dead
codfish eyes of the waiter pouring coffee. Baldwin was leaning back in
his chair staring at her through his eyelashes. He was talking in a low
monotone:
“Cant you see that I’ll go mad if I cant have you. You are the only
thing in the world I ever wanted.”
“George I dont want to be had by anybody.... Cant you understand that a
woman wants some freedom? Do be a sport about it. I’ll have to go home
if you talk like that.”
“Why have you kept me dangling then? I’m not the sort of man you can
play like a trout. You know that perfectly well.”
She looked straight at him with wide gray eyes; the light gave a sheen
of gold to the little brown specks in the iris.
“It’s not so easy never to be able to have friends.” She looked down
at her fingers on the edge of the table. His eyes were on the glint of
copper along her eyelashes. Suddenly he snapped the silence that was
tightening between them.
“Anyway let’s dance.”
* * * * *
J’ai fait trois fois le tour du monde
Dans mes voyages,
hummed Congo Jake as the big shining shaker quivered between his
hairy hands. The narrow greenpapered bar was swelled and warped with
bubbling voices, spiral exhalations of drinks, sharp clink of ice and
glasses, an occasional strain of music from the other room. Jimmy Herf
stood alone in the corner sipping a gin fizz. Next him Gus McNiel was
slapping Bullock on the back and roaring in his ear:
“Why if they dont close the Stock Exchange ... god-amighty ... before
the blowup comes there’ll be an opportunity.... Well begorry dont you
forget it. A panic’s the time for a man with a cool head to make money.”
“There have been some big failures already and this is just the first
whiff....”
“Opportunity knocks but once at a young man’s door.... You listen to
me when there’s a big failure of one o them brokerage firms honest men
can bless themselves.... But you’re not putting everythin I’m tellin
ye in the paper, are you? There’s a good guy.... Most of you fellers
go around puttin words in a man’s mouth. Cant trust one of you. I’ll
tell you one thing though the lockout is a wonderful thing for the
contractors. Wont be no housebuildin with a war on anyway.” “It wont
last more’n two weeks and I dont see what it has to do with us anyway.”
“But conditions’ll be affected all over the world.... Conditions....
Hello Joey what the hell do you want?”
“I’d like to talk to you private for a minute sir. There’s some big
news....”
The bar emptied gradually. Jimmy Herf was still standing at the end
against the wall.
“You never get drunk, Mr. ’Erf.” Congo Jake sat down back of the bar to
drink a cup of coffee.
“I’d rather watch the other fellows.”
“Very good. No use spend a lot o money ave a eadache next day.”
“That’s no way for a barkeep to talk.”
“I say what I tink.”
“Say I’ve always wanted to ask you.... Do you mind telling me?... How
did you get the name of Congo Jake?”
Congo laughed deep in his chest. “I dunno.... When I very leetle I
first go to sea dey call me Congo because I have curly hair an dark
like a nigger. Den when I work in America, on American ship an all zat,
guy ask me How you feel Congo? and I say Jake ... so dey call me Congo
Jake.”
“It’s some nickname.... I thought you’d followed the sea.”
“It’s a ’ard life.... I tell you Mr. ’Erf, there’s someting about me
unlucky. When I first remember on a peniche, you know what I mean ...
in canal, a big man not my fader beat me up every day. Then I run away
and work on sailboats in and out of Bordeaux, you know?”
“I was there when I was a kid I think....”
“Sure.... You understand them things Mr. ’Erf. But a feller like
you, good education, all ’at, you dont know what life is. When I was
seventeen I come to New York ... no good. I tink of notten but raising
Cain. Den I shipped out again and went everywhere to hell an gone. In
Shanghai I learned spik American an tend bar. I come back to Frisco an
got married. Now I want to be American. But unlucky again see? Before I
marry zat girl her and me lived togedder a year sweet as pie, but when
we get married no good. She make fun of me and call me Frenchy because
I no spik American good and den she kick no out of the house an I tell
her go to hell. Funny ting a man’s life.”
J’ai fait trois fois le tour du monde
Dans mes voyages....
he started in his growling baritone.
There was a hand on Jimmy’s arm. He turned. “Why Ellie what’s the
matter?”
“I’m with a crazy man you’ve got to help me get away.”
“Look this is Congo Jake.... You ought to know him Ellie, he’s a fine
man.... This is une tres grande artiste, Congo.”
“Wont the lady have a leetle anizette?”
“Have a little drink with us.... It’s awfully cozy in here now that
everybody’s gone.”
“No thanks I’m going home.”
“But it’s just the neck of the evening.”
“Well you’ll have to take the consequences of my crazy man.... Look
Herf, have you seen Stan today?”
“No I haven’t.”
“He didn’t turn up when I expected him.”
“I wish you’d keep him from drinking so much, Ellie. I’m getting
worried about him.”
“I’m not his keeper.”
“I know, but you know what I mean.”
“What does our friend here think about all this wartalk?”
“I wont go.... A workingman has no country. I’m going to be American
citizen.... I was in the marine once but....” He slapped his jerking
bent forearm with one hand, and a deep laugh rattled in his throat....
“Twentee tree. Moi je suis anarchiste vous comprennez monsieur.”
“But then you cant be an American citizen.”
Congo shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh I love him, he’s wonderful,” whispered Ellen in Jimmy’s ear.