Sleep a while, they said, we’ll call for you later. We’ll have dinner for you when you wake up.
I closed my eyes. The room spun round even faster now.
We’ll look after you, said the one.
We’ll take good care of you, said the other.
They tiptoed out of the room.
It was in the wee hours of the morning that I awoke. I thought the church bells were ringing. (Exactly what my mother said when trying to recall the hour of my birth.) I got up and read the note again. By now they were well out on the high seas. I was hungry. I found a piece of the cheese cake on the floor and gulped it down. I was even thirstier than I was hungry. I drank several glasses of water one after the other. My head ached a bit. Then I crept back to bed. But there was no more sleep in me. Toward daybreak I rose, dressed, and sallied out. Better to walk than lie there thinking. I’ll walk and walk, thought I, until I drop.
It didn’t work the way I thought. Fresh or fatigued, the thinking never stops. Round and round one goes, always over the same ground, always returning to the dead center: the unacceptable now.
How I passed the rest of the day is a complete blank. All I remember is that the heart-ache grew steadily worse. Nothing could assuage it. It wasn’t something inside me, it was me. I was the ache. A walking, talking ache. If only I could drag myself to the slaughter-house and have them fell me like an ox—it would have been an act of mercy. Just one swift blow—between the eyes. That, and only that, could kill the ache.
Monday morning I reported for work as usual. I had to wait a good hour before Tony showed up. When he did he took one look at me and said—What’s happened?
I told him briefly. All kindness, he said: Let’s go and have a drink. There’s nothing very pressing. His nibs won’t be in to-day, so there’s nothing to worry about.
We had a couple of drinks and then lunch. A good lunch followed by a good cigar. Never a word of reproach for Mona.
Only, as we were walking back to the office, did he permit himself a harmless observation. It beats me, Henry. I have plenty of troubles but never that kind.
At the office he outlined my duties once again. I’ll introduce you to the boys to-morrow, he said. (When you have a grip on yourself, is what he meant.) He added that I would find them easy to get along with.
Thus that day passed and the next.
I became acquainted with the other members of the office, all time servers, all waiting for that pension at the foot of the rainbow. Nearly all of them were from Brooklyn, all ordinary blokes, all speaking that dreary-bleary Brooklynese. But all of them eager to be of assistance.
There was one chap, a bookkeeper, to whom I took a fancy immediately. Paddy Mahoney was his name. He was an Irish Catholic, narrow as they make ‘em, argumentative, pugnacious, all the things I dislike, but because I hailed from the 14th Ward—he had been born and raised in Greenpoint—we got on famously. As soon as Tony and the Commissioner were gone he was at my desk ready to chew the rag the rest of the day.
Wednesday morning I found a radiogram on my desk. Must have fifty dollars before landing. Please cable immediately.
I showed the message to Tony when he appeared. What are you going to do? he said.
That’s what I want to know, I said.
You’re not going to send them money, are you … after what they did to you?
I looked at him helplessly. I’m afraid I’ll have to, I replied.
Don’t be a chump, he said. They made their bed, let them lie in it.
I had hoped that he would tell me I could borrow in advance on my salary. Crestfallen, I went back to my work. While working I kept wondering how and where I could raise such a sum. Tony was my only hope. But I didn’t have the heart to press him. I couldn’t—he had already done more for me than I deserved.
After lunch, which he usually shared with his political cronies at a bar in the Village nearby, he blew in with a big cigar in his mouth and smelling rather heavily of drink. He had a big smile on his face, the sort he used to wear at school when he was up to some devilment.
How’s it going? he said. Getting the hang of it, are you? Not such a bad place to work in, is it?
He tossed his hat over his shoulder, sank deep into his swivel chair and put his feet on the desk. Taking a good long pull on his cigar and turning slightly in my direction, he said: I guess I don’t understand women much, Henry. I’m a confirmed bachelor. You’re different. You don’t mind complications, I guess. Anyway, when you told me about the cable this morning I thought you were a fool. Right now I don’t think that way. You need help, and I’m the only one who can help you, I guess. Look, let me lend you what you need. I can’t get you an advance on your salary … you’re too new here for that. Besides, it would raise a lot of unnecessary questions. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad. You can pay me back five bucks a week, if you like. But don’t let them bleed you for morel Be tough!
A few more words and he made ready to leave. Guess I’ll be off now. My work is finished for the day. If you run into a snag call me. Where? I said. Ask Paddy, he’ll tell you.
As the days passed the pain eased up. Tony kept me busy, purposely, no doubt. He also saw to it that I became acquainted with the head gardener. I would have to write a booklet one day about the plants, shrubs and trees in the park, he said. The gardener would wise me up.
Every day I expected another cablegram. I knew a letter wouldn’t reach me for days. Already in the hole, and hating to return each day to the scene of my distress, I decided to ask the folks to take me in. They agreed readily enough, though they were mystified by Mona’s behavior. I explained, of course, that it had been planned this way, that I was to follow later, and so on. They knew better, but refrained from humiliating me further. So I moved in. The Street of Early Sorrows. The same desk to write at which I had as a boy. (And which I never used.) Everything I owned was in my valise. I didn’t bring a single book with me.
It cost me another few dollars to cable Mona regarding the change of address and to warn her to write or wire me at the office.
As Tony had surmised, it wasn’t long before another cable arrived. This time they needed money for food and lodging. No jobs in sight as yet. On the heels of it came a letter, a brief one, telling me that they were happy, that Paris was just marvelous, and that I must find a way to join them soon. No hint of how they were managing.
Are they having a good time over there? Tony asked one day. Not asking for more dough, are they?
I hadn’t told him about the second cablegram. It was my uncle, the ticket speculator, who coughed up for that sum.
Sometimes, said Tony, I feel as if I’d like to see Paris myself. We might have a good time there together, eh?
Mixed in with the office routine were all sorts of odd jobs. There were the speeches, for example, which the Commissioner had to prepare for this or that occasion, and which he never had time to do himself. It was Tony’s job to write these speeches for him. When Tony had done his best I would add a few touches.
Dull work, these speeches. I much preferred my talks with the gardener. I had already begun making notes for the arboricultural booklet, as I called it.
After a time the work slackened. Sometimes Tony didn’t show up at the office at all. As soon as the Commissioner had gone all work ceased. With the place to ourselves—there were only about seven of us—we passed the time playing cards, shooting crap, singing, telling dirty stories, sometimes playing hide and seek. To me these periods were worse than being suffocated with work. It was impossible to hold an intelligent conversation with any of them except Paddy Mahoney. He was the only one with whom I enjoyed holding speech. Not that we ever talked about anything edifying. Mostly it was about life in the 14 th Ward where he went to shoot pool with the boys, to drink and to gamble. Maujer, Teneyck, Conselyea, Devoe, Humboldt streets … we named them all, lived them all, played again the games we had played as youngsters in the broiling sun, in cool cellars, under the soft glow of gas lights, on the docks by the swift flowing river…
What inspired Paddy’s friendship and devotion more than anything was my scribbler’s
