Nine Stories Page 10

He opened the package without any interest, without even looking at the return address. He opened it by burning the string with a lighted match. He was more interested in watching a string burn all the way down than in opening the package, but he opened it, finally.

Inside the box, a note, written in ink, lay on top of a small object wrapped in tissue paper. He picked out the note and read it.

17, ----ROAD, -----DEVON JUNE 7, 1944 DEAR SERGEANT X, I hope you will forgive me for having taken 38 days to begin our correspondence but, I have been extremely busy as my aunt has undergone streptococcus of the throat and nearly perished and I have been justifiably saddled with one responsibility after another. However I have thought of you frequently and of the extremely pleasant afternoon we spent in each other's company on April 30, 1944 between 3:45 and 4:15 P. M. in case it slipped your mind.

We are all tremendously excited and overawed about D Day and only hope that it will bring about the swift termination of the war and a method of existence that is ridiculous to say the least. Charles and I are both quite concerned about you; we hope you were not among those who made the first initial assault upon the Cotentin Peninsula. Were you? Please reply as speedily as possible. My warmest regards to your wife.

Sincerely yours, ESMA P. S. I am taking the liberty of enclosing my wristwatch which you may keep in your possession for the duration of the conflict. I did not observe whether you were wearing one during our brief association, but this one is extremely water-proof and shockproof as well as having many other virtues among which one can tell at what velocity one is walking if one wishes. I am quite certain that you will use it to greater advantage in these difficult days than I ever can and that you will accept it as a lucky talisman.

Charles, whom I am teaching to read and write and whom I am finding an extremely intelligent novice, wishes to add a few words. Please write as soon as you have the time and inclination.

HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO LOVE AND KISSES CHALES It was a long time before X could set the note aside, let alone lift Esme's father's wristwatch out of the box. When he did finally lift it out, he saw that its crystal had been broken in transit. He wondered if the watch was otherwise undamaged, but he hadn't the courage to wind it and find out. He just sat with it in his hand for another long period. Then, suddenly, almost ecstatically, he felt sleepy.

You take a really sleepy man, Esme, and he always stands a chance of again becoming a man with all his fac-with all his f-a-c-u-1-t-i-e-s intact.

Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes

WHEN the phone rang, the grayhaired man asked the girl, with quite some little deference, if she would rather for any reason he didn't answer it. The girl heard him as if from a distance, and turned her face toward him, one eye--on the side of the light--closed tight, her open eye very, however disingenuously, large, and so blue as to appear almost violet. The grayhaired man asked her to hurry up, and she raised up on her right forearm just quickly enough so that the movement didn't quite look perfunctory.

She cleared her hair back from her forehead with her left hand and said, <<<God. I don't know. I mean what do you think?>>> The grayhaired man said he didn't see that it made a helluva lot of difference one way or the other, and slipped his left hand under the girl's supporting arm, above the elbow, working his fingers up, making room for them between the warm surfaces of her upper arm and chest wall. He reached for the phone with his right hand. To reach it without groping, he had to raise himself somewhat higher, which caused the back of his head to graze a comer of the lampshade. In that instant, the light was particularly, if rather vividly, flattering to his gray, mostly white, hair. Though in disarrangement at that moment, it had obviously been freshly cut-or, rather, freshly maintained. The neckline and temples had been trimmed conventionally close, but the sides and top had been left rather more than just longish, and were, in fact, a trifle <<<distinguished-looking.>>> <<<Hello?>>> he said resonantly into the phone. The girl stayed propped up on her forearm and watched him. Her eyes, more just open than alert or speculative, reflected chiefly their own size and color.

A man's voice--stone dead, yet somehow rudely, almost obscenely quickened for the occasion--came through at the other end: <<<Lee? I wake you?>>>

The grayhaired man glanced briefly left, at the girl. <<<Who's that?>>> he asked. <<<Arthur?>>>

<<<Yeah--I wake you?>>>

<<<No, no. I'm in bed, reading. Anything wrong?>>>

<<<You sure I didn't wake you? Honest to God?>>>

<<<No, no--absolutely," the grayhaired man said. <<<As a matter of fact, I've been averaging about four lousy hours-->>>

<<<The reason I called, Lee, did you happen to notice when Joanie was leaving? Did you happen to notice if she left with the Ellenbogens, by any chance?>>>

The grayhaired man looked left again, but high this time, away from the girl, who was now watching him rather like a young, blue-eyed Irish policeman. <<<No, I didn't, Arthur," he said, his eyes on the far, dim end of the room, where the wall met the ceiling. <<<Didn't she leave with you?>>>

<<<No. Christ, no. You didn't see her leave at all, then?>>>

<<<Well, no, as a matter of fact, I didn't, Arthur," the grayhaired man said. <<<Actually, as a matter of fact, I didn't see a bloody thing all evening. The minute I got in the door, I got myself involved in one long Jesus of a session with that French poop, Viennese poop--whatever the hell he was. Every bloody one of these foreign guys keep an eye open for a little free legal advice. Why? What's up? Joanie lost?>>>

<<<Oh, Christ. Who knows? I don't know. You know her when she gets all tanked up and rarin' to go. I don't know. She may have just-->>>

<<<You call the Ellenbogens?>>> the grayhaired man asked.

<<<Yeah. They're not home yet. I don't know. Christ, I'm not even sure she left with them. I know one thing. I know one goddam thing. I'm through beating my brains out. I mean it. I really mean it this time. I'm through. Five years. Christ.>>>

<<<All right, try to take it a little easy, now, Arthur," the grayhaired man said. <<<In the first place, if I know the Ellenbogens, they probably all hopped in a cab and went down to the Village for a couple of hours. All three of 'em'll probably barge-->>>

<<<I have a feeling she went to work on some bastard in the kitchen. I just have a feeling. She always starts necking some bastard in the kitchen when she gets tanked up. I'm through. I swear to God I mean it this time. Five goddam->>>

<<<Where are you now, Arthur?>>> the grayhaired man asked. <<<Home?>>>

<<<Yeah. Home. Home sweet home. Christ.>>>

<<<Well, just try to take it a little--What are ya--drunk, or what?>>>

<<>>

<<<All right, now, listen. Relax. Just relax," the grayhaired man said. <<<You know the Ellenbogens, for Chrissake. What probably happened, they probably missed their last train. All three of 'em'll probably barge in on you any minute, full of witty, night-club-->>>

<<<They drove in.>>>

<<<How do you know?>>>

<<<Their baby-sitter. We've had some scintillating goddam conversations. We're close as hell. We're like two goddam peas in a pod.>>>

<<<All right. All right. So what? Will ya sit tight and relax, now?>>> said the grayhaired man. <<<All three of 'em'll probably waltz in on you any minute. Take my word. You know Leona. I don't know what the hell it is--they all get this god-awful Connecticut gaiety when they get in to New York. You know that.>>>

<<<Yeah. I know. I know. I don't know, though.>>>

<<<Certainly you do. Use your imagination. The two of 'em probably dragged Joanie bodily-->>>

<<<Listen. Nobody ever has to drag Joanie anywhere. Don't gimme any of that dragging stuff.>>>

<<<Nobody's giving you any dragging stuff, Arthur," the grayhaired man said quietly.

<<>>

<<<I'd tell you if you had,
Arthur," the grayhaired man said. Absently, he took his left hand out from between the girl's upper arm and chest wall. <<<Look, Arthur. You want my advice?>>> he said. He took the telephone cord between his fingers, just under the transmitter. <<>>

<<<Yeah. I don't know. Christ, I'm keeping you up. Why don't I just go cut my-->>>

<<<Listen to me a minute," the grayhaired man said. <<<First--I mean this, now--get in bed and relax. Make yourself a nice, big nightcap, and get under the-->>>

<<<Nightcap! Are you kidding? Christ, I've killed about a quart in the last two goddam hours. Nightcap! I'm so plastered now I can hardly-->>>

<<<All right. All right. Get in bed, then," the grayhaired man said. <<<And relax--ya hear me? Tell the truth. Is it going to do any good to sit around and stew?>>>

<<<Yeah, I know. I wouldn't even worry, for Chrissake, but you can't trust her! I swear to God. I swear to God you can't. You can trust her about as far as you can throw a--I don't know what. Aaah, what's the use? I'm losing my goddam mind.>>>

<<<All right. Forget it, now. Forget it, now. Will ya do me a favor and try to put the whole thing out of your mind?>>> the grayhaired man said. <<<For all you know, you're making--I honestly think you're making a mountain-->>>

<<<You know what I do? You know what I do? I'm ashameda tell ya, but you know what I very nearly goddam do every night? When I get home? You want to know?>>>

<<<Arthur, listen, this isn't--->>>

<<<Wait a second--I'll tell ya, God damn it. I practically have to keep myself from opening every goddam closet door in the apartment--I swear to God. Every night I come home, I half expect to find a bunch of bastards hiding all over the place. Elevator boys. Delivery boys. Cops-->>>

<<<All right. All right. Let's try to take it a little easy, Arthur," the grayhaired man said.

He glanced abruptly to his right, where a cigarette, lighted some time earlier in the evening, was balanced on an ashtray. It obviously had gone out, though, and he didn't pick it up. <<<In the first place," he said into the phone, <<<I've told you many, many times, Arthur, that's exactly where you make your biggest mistake. You know what you do?

Would you like me to tell you what you do? You go out of your way--I mean this, now--you actually go out of your way to torture yourself. As a matter of fact, you actually inspire Joanie->>> He broke off. <<<You're bloody lucky she's a wonderful kid. I mean it. You give that kid absolutely no credit for having any good taste--or brains, for Chrissake, for that matter-->>>

<<<Brains! Are you kidding? She hasn't got any goddam brains! She's an animal!>>>

The grayhaired man, his nostrils dilating, appeared to take a fairly deep breath.

<<<We're all animals," he said. <<<Basically, we're all animals.>>>

<<<Like hell we are. I'm no goddam animal. I may be a stupid, fouled-up twentiethcentury son of a bitch, but I'm no animal. Don't gimme that. I'm no animal.>>>

<<<Look, Arthur. This isn't getting us-->>>

<<<Brains. Jesus, if you knew how funny that was. She thinks she's a goddam intellectual. That's the funny part, that's the hilarious part. She reads the theatrical page, and she watches television till she's practically blind--so she's an intellectual. You know who I'm married to? You want to know who I'm married to? I'm married to the greatest living undeveloped, undiscovered actress, novelist, psychoanalyst, and allaround goddam unappreciated celebrity-genius in New York. You didn't know that, didja? Christ, it's so funny I could cut my throat. Madame Bovary at Columbia Extension School. Madame-->>>

<<<Who?>>> asked the grayhaired man, sounding annoyed.

<<<Madame Bovary takes a course in Television Appreciation. God, if you knew how-->>>

<<<All right, all right. You realize this isn't getting us anyplace," the grayhaired man said. He turned and gave the girl a sign, with two fingers near his mouth, that he wanted a cigarette. <<<In the first place," he said, into the phone, <<<for a helluvan intelligent guy, you're about as tactless as it's humanly possible to be.>>> He straightened his back so that the girl could reach behind him for the cigarettes. <<>>

<<<Brains. Oh, God, that kills me! Christ almightyl Did you ever hear her describe anybody--some man, I mean? Sometime when you haven't anything to do, do me a favor and get her to describe some man for you. She describes every man she sees as `terribly attractive.' It can be the oldest, crummiest, greasiest-- <<<All right, Arthur," the grayhaired man said sharply. <<<This is getting us nowhere. But nowhere.>>> He took a lighted cigarette from the girl. She had lit two. <<<Just incidentally,"

he said, exhaling smoke through his nostrils, <<<how'd you make out today?>>>

<<<What?>>>

<<<How'd you make out today?>>> the grayhaired man repeated. <<<How'd the case go?>>>

<<<Oh, Christ! I don't know. Lousy. About two minutes before I'm all set to start my summation, the attorney for the plaintiff, Lissberg, trots in this crazy chambermaid with a bunch of bedsheets as evidence--bedbug stains all over them. Christ!>>>

<<<So what happened? You lose?>>> asked the grayhaired man, taking another drag on his cigarette.

<<<You know who was on the bench? Mother Vittorio. What the hell that guy has against me, I'll never know. I can't even open my mouth and he jumps all over me. You can't reason with a guy like that. It's impossible.>>>

The grayhaired man turned his head to see what the girl was doing. She had picked up the ashtray and was putting it between them. <<<You lose, then, or what?>>> he said into the phone.

<<<What?>>>

<<>>

<<<Yeah. I was gonna tell you about it. I didn't get a chance at the party, with all the ruckus. You think Junior'll hit the ceiling? Not that I give a good goddam, but what do you think? Think he will?>>>

With his left hand, the grayhaired man shaped the ash of his cigarette on the rim of the ashtray. <<<I don't think he'll necessarily hit the ceiling, Arthur," he said quietly.

<<<Chances are very much in favor, though, that he's not going to be overjoyed about it.

You know how long we've handled those three bloody hotels? Old man Shanley himself started the whole-->>>

<<<I know, I know. Junior's told me about it at least fifty times. It's one of the most beautiful stories I ever heard in my life. All right, so I lost the goddam case. In the first place, it wasn't my fault. First, this lunatic Vittorio baits me all through the trial. Then this moron chambermaid starts passing out sheets full of bedbug-->>>

<<<Nobody's saying it's your fault, Arthur," the grayhaired man said. <<<You asked me if I thought Junior would hit the ceiling. I simply gave you an honest-->>>

<<>>

The grayhaired man turned his head again toward the girl, perhaps to show her how forbearing, even stoic, his countenance was. But the girl missed seeing it. She had just overturned the ashtray with her knee and was rapidly, with her fingers, brushing the spilled ashes into a little pick-up pile; her eyes looked up at him a second too late. <<<No, you didn't, Arthur," he said into the phone.

<<<Yeah. I may. I don't know yet. I'm not crazy about the idea, naturally, and I won't go if I can possibly avoid it. But I may have to. I don't know. At least, it's oblivion. If they gimme back my little helmet and my big, fat desk and my nice, big mosquito net it might not-->>>

<<<I'd like to beat some sense into that head of yours, boy, that's what I'd like to do," the grayhaired man said. <<<For a helluvan--For a supposedly intelligent guy, you talk like an absolute child. And I say that in all sincerity. You let a bunch of minor little things snowball to an extent that they get so bloody paramount in your mind that you're absolutely unfit for any-->>>

<<>>

<<<Arthur. For Chrissake. This is getting us exactly nowhere.>>>

<<<Wait a second. Lemme tellya why! You want to know why I didn't? I can tellya exactly why. Because I felt sorry for her. That's the whole simple truth. I felt sorry for her.>>>

<<<Well, I don't know. I mean that's out of my jurisdiction," the grayhaired man said. <<<It seems to me, though, that the one thing you seem to forget is that Joanie's a grown woman. I don't know, but it seems to me-->>>

<<<Grown woman! You crazy? She's a grown child, for Chrissake! Listen, I'll be shaving--listen to this--I'll be shaving, and all of a sudden she'll call me from way the hell the other end of the apartment. I'll go see what's the matter--right in the middle of shaving, lather all over my goddam face. You know what she'll want? She'll want to ask me if I think she has a good mind. I swear to God. She's pathetic, I tellya. I watch her when she's asleep, and I know what I'm talkin' about. Believe me.>>>

<<<Well, that's something you know better than--I mean that's out of my jurisdiction,"

the grayhaired man said. <<<The point is, God damn it, you don't do anything at all constructive to-->>>

<<<We're mismated, that's all. That's the whole simple story. We're just mismated as hell. You know what she needs? She needs some big silent bastard to just walk over once in a while and knock her out cold--then go back and finish reading his paper.

That's what she needs. I'm too goddam weak for her. I knew it when we got married--I swear to God I did. I mean you're a smart bastard, you've never been married, but every now and then, before anybody gets married, they get these flashes of what it's going to be like after they're married. I ignored 'em. I ignored all my goddam flashes. I'm weak.

That's the whole thing in a nutshell.>>>

<<<You're not weak. You just don't use your head," the grayhaired man said, accepting a freshly lighted cigarette from the girl.

<<<Certainly I'm weak! Certainly I'm weak! God damn it, I know whether I'm weak or not! If I weren't weak, you don't think I'd've let everything get all--Aah, what's the usea talking? Certainly I'm weak... God, I'm keeping you awake all night. Why don't you hang the hell up on me? I mean it. Hang up on me.>

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