He won’t harm you, I said reassuringly.
What’s the matter…? cried Osiecki. What did I do?
Sheldon promptly rose to his feet, threw out his chest, frowned, then assumed his most striking histrionic pose.
Sheldon is not afraid, he said, sucking in air with each word he hissed. Sheldon does not wish to speak to a Polok. Here he paused and without moving the rest of his body, turned his head around as far as it would go, then back again, exactly like a mechanical doll. In doing this he half closed his eyelids, thrust forward his under lip, and, coming to Eyes Front! slowly raised his hand, the forefinger extended—like Dr. Munyon about to prate of liver pills.
Shhhhhh! from O’Mara.
S-HHHHHHH! And Sheldon lowered his hand to place the forefinger over his lips.
What is this? cried Osiecki, thoroughly elated by the performance.
Sheldon will speak. Afterwards the Poloks may speak. This is not the place for hooligans. Am I right, Mr.
Miller? Quiet, please! Again he twisted his head around, like a mechanical doll. There has happened once a very terrible thing. Excuse me if I must mention such things in the presence of ladies and gentlemen. But this man—he glowered fiercely at Osiecki—has asked me if I am a Pole. Pfui!—(He spat on the floor.) That I should be a Pole—pfui! (He spat again.) Excuse me, Madame Mrs. Miller—he made an ironic little bow—but when I hear the world Pole I must spit. Pfui! (And he spat a third time.)
He paused, taking a deep breath in order to inflate his chest to the proper degree. Also to gather up the venom which his glands were secreting. His lower jaw trembled, his eyes darted black rays of hate. As if made of compression rings, his body began to tighten: he had only to uncoil himself to spring to the other side of the street.
He’s going to throw a fit, said Osiecki in genuine alarm.
O’Mara jumped to his feet to offer Sheldon a glass of Sherry. Sheldon knocked it out of his hand, as if brushing away a fly. The Sherry spilled over Louella’s beautiful Nile green gown. She took no notice of it whatever. Osiecki was getting more and more agitated. In distress he turned to me imploringly.
Tell him I didn’t mean anything by what I said, he begged.
A Pole never apologizes, said Sheldon, looking straight ahead. He murders, he tortures, he rapes, he burns women and children—but he never says ‘I am sorry.’ He drinks blood, human blood—and he prays on his knees, like an animal. Every word from his mouth is a lie or a curse. He eats like a dog, he makes caca in his pants, he washes with filthy rags, he vomits in your face. Sheldon prays every night that God should punish them. As long as there is one Pole alive there will be tears and misery. Sheldon has no mercy on them. They must all die, like pigs … men, women and children. Sheldon says it … because he knows them.
His eyes, which were half-closed when he began, were now shut tight. The words escaped his lips, each one pressed forth as if by a bellows. At the corners of his mouth the saliva had collected, giving him the appearance of an epileptic.
Stop him, Henry, please, begged Osiecki. Yes, Val, please do something, cried Mona. This has gone far enough.
Sheldon! I yelled, thinking to startle him. He remained impassive, eyes front! as if he had heard nothing.
I got up, took him by the arms, and shook him gently. Come, Sheldon, I said quietly, snap out of it! I shook him again, more vigorously.
Sheldon’s eyes opened slowly, flutteringly; he looked around as if he had just come out of a trance.
A sickly smile now spread over his face, as though he had succeeded in sticking his finger down his throat and vomiting up a poisonous dose.
You’re all right now, aren’t you? I asked, giving him a sound thwack on the back.
Excuse me, he said, blinking and coughing, it’s those Poloks. They always make me sick.
There are no Poloks here, Sheldon. This man—pointing to Osiecki—is a Kanuck. He wants to shake hands with you.
Sheldon stuck out his hand as if he had never seen Osiecki before, and making a low bow, he said: Sheldon!
Glad to know you, said Osiecki, also making a slight bow. Here, have a drink, won’t you? and he reached for a glass.
Sheldon held the glass to his lips and sipped slowly, cautiously, as if not quite convinced it was harmless.
Good? beamed Osiecki.
Ausgezeichnet! Sheldon smacked his lips. He smacked them not from genuine relish but to show his good manners.
Are you an old friend of Henry’s? asked Osiecki, trying lamely to worm his way into Sheldon’s good graces.
Mister Miller is everybody’s friend, was the answer.
He used to work for me, I explained.
Oh, I see! Now I get it, said Osiecki. He seemed inordinately relieved.
He’s got a business of his own now, I added.
Sheldon beamed and began twiddling the jewelled rings on his fingers.
A legitimate business, said Sheldon, rubbing his hands together like a pawnbroker. Hereupon he slipped one of his rings off and held it under Osiecki’s nose. It held a large ruby. Osiecki examined it appraisingly and passed it over to Louella. Meanwhile Sheldon had slipped another ring off and handed it to Mona to examine. This time it was a huge emerald. Sheldon waited a few moments to observe the effects of this procedure. Then he ceremoniously took two rings off the hand, both diamonds. These he placed in my hand. Then he put his fingers to his lips and went Shhhhh!
While we were exclaiming how wonderful the stones were Sheldon reached into his vest pocket and brought out a little package wrapped in tissue paper. He undid this over the table, opening it out flat in the palm of his hand. Five or six cut stones gleamed forth, all small ones but of extraordinary brilliance. He laid them carefully on the table and reached into his other vest pocket. This time he brought forth a string of tiny pearls, o exquisite pearls, the like of which I had never seen.
When we had feasted our eyes on all these treasures, he again assumed one of his mystifying poses, held it for an impressive length of time, then dove into his inside coat pocket and extracted a long wallet of Moroccan make. He unfolded this in mid air, like a prestidigitator, then, one by one, he drew forth bills of all denominations in about a dozen different currencies. If it was real money, as I had good reason to believe it was, it must have represented several thousand dollars.
Aren’t you afraid to walk around with all this stuff in your pockets? some one inquired.
Fluttering his fingers in the air, as if touching little bells, he replied sententiously: Sheldon knows how to manage.
I told you he was nuts, cackled O’Mara.
Oblivious of the remark, Sheldon continued: In this country no one bothers Sheldon. This is a civilized country. Sheldon always minds his own business … Isn’t that so, Mister Miller? He paused to inflate his chest. Then he added: Sheldon is always polite, even to niggers.
But Sheldon…
Wait! he cried. Quiet, please! And then, with a mysterious twinkle in his gimlet eyes, he unbuttoned his shirt, rapidly retreated a few steps until his back touched the window, dangled a piece of black tape which was slung around his neck, and before we could say Boo! gave a terrific blast from a police whistle attached to the tape. The noise pierced our ear drums. It was hallucinating.
Grab it! I yelled, as Sheldon raised it to his lips again.
O’Mara clutched the whistle tightly. Quick! hide everything! he yelled. If the cops come we’ll have a hell of a time explaining this loot.
Osiecki at once gathered the rings, the bills, the wallet and the jewels together, calmly slipped them in his coat pocket, and sat down with arms folded, waiting for the police to arrive.
Sheldon looked on scornfully and contemptuously. Let them come, he said, his nose in the air, his nostrils quivering. Sheldon is not afraid of the police.
O’Mara busied himself stuffing the whistle back in Sheldon’s bosom, buttoning his shirt, then his vest and coat. Sheldon permitted him to do all this quite as if he were a mannikin being dressed for the show window. He never once took his eyes off Osiecki however.
Sure enough, in a few moment the bell rang. Mona rushed to the door. It was the police all right.
Talk! muttered O’Mara. He raised his voice as though continuing a heated argument. I responded in the same key, not caring what I said. At the same time I signalled Osiecki to join in. All I could get from him was a grin. With arms folded he placidly watched and waited. Between snatches of the mock dispute Mona could be heard protesting that we knew nothing about a police whistle. Hadn’t heard a thing, I could hear her say. O’Mara was chattering away like a magpie, assuming other voices, other intonations now. In deaf-and-dumb code he was frantically urging me to follow suit. Had the police brushed their way in at that moment they would have witnessed a droll piece of business. In the midst of it I broke out laughing, forcing O’Mara to redouble his efforts. Louella, of course, sat like a stone. Osiecki looked upon the performance as if from a stall in the circus. He
