The hallway was deserted, I noticed. I made for the door, some yards away. Jim remained at his post, as if nothing had ever happened. At least, I felt that that was his attitude. Half-way to the door I turned, on the impulse, and headed back. The inscrutable expression on Jim’s face told me that he had expected me to do just that. Coming closer I saw that his face was truly a blank. Had he retired into his stone-like self—or was he lying in ambush?
Why do you hate me? I said, and I looked him square in the eye.
I don’t hate anybody, was the unexpected answer. Nothing but the muscles of his mouth had moved; even his eyeballs were fixed.
I’m sorry, I said, and made a half turn as if to march away.
I don’t hate you, he said, suddenly coming to life. I pity you! You don’t fool me. Nobody does.
An inner terror gripped me. How do you mean? I stammered.
Don’t give me words, he said. You know what I mean.
A cold shiver now ran up and down my spine. It was as if he had said: I have second sight, I can read your mind like a book.
So what? I said, amazed at my impudence.
Go home and put your mind in order, that’s what!
I was stunned. But what followed, as Mr. Larrabee had put it, was absolutely unpredictable.
Hypnotized, I watched him pull up his sleeve to reveal a horrible scar; he pulled up his pant’s leg and there were more horrible scars; then he unbuttoned his shirt. At the sight of his chest I almost fainted.
It took all that, he said, to open my eyes. Go home and set your mind straight. Go, before I strike you dead!
I turned at once and started for the door. It took all my courage not to break into a run. Some one was coming from the street. He wouldn’t strike me now—or would he? I moved at the same pace, quickening it as I neared the door.
Whew! Outside I dropped the brief case and lit myself a cig. The sweat was oozing from all pores. I debated what to do. It was cowardly to run off with my tail between my legs. And it was suicidal to return. Veteran or not, crazy or not, he meant what he said. What’s more, he had my number. That’s what burned me up. I moved away, mumbling to myself as I trudged along. Yeah, he had me dead to rights: a time waster, a faker, a glib talker, a no good son of a bitch. No one had ever brought me so low. I felt like writing Mr. Larrabee a letter telling him that no matter how my words had impressed him everything about me was false, dishonest, worthless. I became so indignant with myself that my whole body broke out in a rash. Had a worm appeared before me and repeated Jim’s words, I would have bowed my head in shame and said: You’re absolutely right, Mr. Worm. Let me get down beside you and grovel in the earth.
At Borough Hall I grabbed a coffee and sandwich, then made instinctively for The Star, an old time burlesque house that had seen better days. The show had already started but no matter: there was never anything new either in the way of jokes or in the way of ass. As I entered the theatre the memory of my first visit to it came back. My old friend Al Burger and his bosom pal, Frank Schofield, had invited me to go with them. We must have been nineteen or twenty at the time. What I particularly recollected was the warmth of friendship which this Frank Schofield exuded. I had met him only two or three limes before. To Frank I was something very very special. He loved to hear me talk, hung on every word I uttered. In fact, everything I said fascinated him for some reason. As for Frank, he was one of the world’s most ordinary fellows, but brimming with affection. He had a mammoth figure—weighed then almost three hundred pounds—drank like a fish and was never without a cigar in his mouth. He laughed easily, and when he did his stomach shook like jello. Why don’t you come and live with us? he used to say. We’ll take care of you. It makes me feel good just to look at you. Simple words, but honest and sincere. Not one of my boon companions at that time possessed his homely qualities. No worm had eaten into his soul yet. He was innocent, tender, generous to a fault.
But why was he so fond of me? That’s what I asked myself as I groped my way to a seat in the pit. Rapidly I went over the roster of my bosom friends, asking myself what each and every one of them really thought of me. And then I thought of a school mate, Lester Faber, whose lips would curl into a sneer each time we met, which was every day. No one in the class liked him, nor the teachers either. He was born sour. Fuck him! I thought. Wonder what he does for a living now? And Lester Prink, what had become of him? Suddenly I saw the whole class, as we looked in that photo taken on graduation day. I could recall every one of them, their names, height, weight, standing, where they lived, how they spoke, everything about them. Strange that I never ran into any of them…
The show was frightful; I almost fell asleep in the middle of it. But it was warm and cosy. Besides, I was in no hurry to get anywhere. There were seven, eight or nine hours to kill before the two of them would return.
The cold had moderated when I stepped out of the theatre. A light flurry of snow was falling. Some inexplicable urge directed my steps toward a gun shop up the street. There was one revolver in the window which I invariably stopped to look at when passing. It was a thoroughly murderous looking weapon.
In customary fashion I stopped and pressed my nose against the show window. A hearty slap on the back made me jump. I thought a gun had gone off. As I turned round a hearty voice exclaimed: What in the devil are you. doing here? Henry, my boy, how are you?
It was Tony Marella. He had a long extinct cigar in his mouth, his soft hat was jauntily pitched, and his small beady eyes were twinkling as of old.
Well, well, and all that. The usual exchanges, a few tender reminiscences, then the question: And what are you doing now?
In a few words I emptied my bag of woes.
That’s too bad, Henry. Jesus, I never suspected you were up against it. Why didn’t you let me know? I’m always good for a touch, you know. He put an arm around me. What do you say we have a little drink? Maybe I can be of help.
I tried to tell him that I was beyond helping. You’d only be wasting your time, I said.
Come, come, don’t give me that, said he. I know you from way back. Don’t you know that I always admired you—and envied you? We all have our ups and downs. Here, here’s a friendly little joint. Let’s go in and get something to eat and drink.
It was a bar (hidden from the street) where he was evidently well known and in good standing. I had to be introduced all around, even to the shoeshine boy. An old school-mate, he said, as he presented me to one after another. A writer, by God! What do you know? He hands me a champagne cocktail. Here, let’s drink on it! Joe, what about a nice roastbeef sandwich, with lots of gravy … and some raw onions. How does that sound, Henry? Christ, you don’t know how glad I am to see you again. I’ve often wondered about you, what you were doing. Thought maybe you had skipped to Europe. Funny, eh? And you’ve been hiding out right under my nose.
He went on like this, happy as a lark, passing out more drinks, buying cigars, inquiring about the racing results, greeting newcomers and introducing me afresh, borrowing cash of the bartender, making telephone calls, and so on. A little dynamo. A good egg, any one could see that at a glance. The friend of every man, and bubbling over with joy and kindness.
Presently, with one elbow on the bar and an arm around my shoulder, he said, dropping his voice: Listen, Henry, let’s get down to brass tacks. I’ve got a cushy job now. If you like, I could make a place for you. It’s nothing to get steamed up about but it may do to tide you over. Till you find something better,! mean. What do you say?
Sure, I said. What is it?
A job in the Park Department, he explained. He was secretary to the Commissioner. Which meant that he, Tony, took care of the routine while the big shot made the rounds. Politics. A dirty game, he confided. Some one always waiting to stab you in the back.
It won’t be to-morrow or the next day, he continued. I have to play the game, you know. But I’ll put you on the list immediately. It may take a month before I send for you. Can you hold
