Appointment in Samarra (3 page)

Hagemann, said Ed. Oh, no he isn t, Al said, and told Ed why Hagemann wasn t going to shoot off his mouth. And was Ed pleased! He went to Hagemann s office and he said to him something like this: Mr. Hagemann, you re a great Church man and you represent the good element in this town and all that, so if it gets around that you ve been going places with a certain lady about thirty years old that wears glasses. & And Ed didn t have to say any more. Hagemann just got up and shut the door and when Ed left they were the best of friends and still were. Ed even arranged it that Hagemann could get away with cheating on the one with glasses. Oh, in this business you had to look for all the angles. Al Grecco stepped on it to keep up with English, who now had the accelerator down to the floor, and was keeping it there. You could tell that that was what he was doing, because when the wheels of the sedan got out of the tracks the car would leap up to the side of the road, slapping the long pile of snow. Al noticed that Mrs. English, who had her fur collar turned up higher than her ears, did not turn on English. That meant she was mad. Any woman ordinarily would be sitting up on the seat and bawling her husband out. But if he was any judge, Al was sure she was not saying a word. He began to wonder about this English dame. He just had a feeling, that was all, but he went back in his memory and tried to recollect something, anything at all, that fitted in with the idea he was beginning to get about her. The idea he was beginning to get about her was that she might be a cheater herself. But he could not remember anything. He knew she never had been to any of the country hotels. She got loud once in a while at the Stage Coach, but no worse than a lot of others, and English was always there when she was. No, it was just one of those things. You got an idea about some person and you didn t have any reason for it; but Al Grecco in his twenty-six years had learned one thing, namely, that if you had a hunch about a person, a real hunch that kept bothering you, something usually happened to prove that your hunch was either dead wrong or dead right. It was seven miles and just a little over from the country club to the Gibbsville Bank & Trust Building, and practically all of the last three miles was a new and nearly straight stretch of road, which had been easier to clear; it was protected from winds by a railroad embankment on one side. Al Grecco had to step on it some more when English hit the stretch, because English was letting it out for all the sedan would take. Al kept his mind on the driving now. He did not want to get too close to English, and make English sore; but he did not want to lose him; he wanted to be close by if English got into trouble. But English was all right. One of those guys that can drive when they re drunk or sober, the only difference being that when they re drunk they have no consideration for what they might be doing to the car. When the two cars reached Gibbsville Al Grecco made up his mind that he would best please Ed Charney by following English all the way home, so he turned up Lantenengo Street after the sedan. He followed about a block behind the sedan, all the way out Lantenengo Street to Twentieth Street. The Englishes had their house on Twin Oaks Road, but you could see all of Twin Oaks Road from Twentieth and Lantenengo. Al stopped. English had shifted into second for the uphill grade and the snow of Twentieth Street. He made the turn all right, and in a few seconds he stopped in front of the house. The lights of the car went out, and then the porch light went on, and Al could see Mrs. English on the porch, opening the door, the light on in one of the rooms of the downstairs floor. Then English himself on the porch, the downstairs light snapped out just as a light was turned on in a bedroom upstairs. English was leaving the car out all night. He must be cockeyed. Well, that was his business. Al Grecco put his car in reverse and backed into Twentieth Street and then turned the car and drove down Lantenengo Street. He would go right to the Apollo, the all-night restaurant where you usually looked for Ed Charney. But suddenly he realized he wouldn t find Ed there. This was the one night of the year you wouldn t find Ed there. Jesus Christ, said Al Grecco. Me forgetting it was Christmas. He lowered the window of the car and addressed the darkened Lantenengo Street homes that he was passing Merry Christmas, you stuck-up bastards! Merry Christmas from Al Grecco!

CHAPTER 2 JULIAN ENGLISH snapped awake, and knew that he had beaten the arrival of Mary, the maid, by one step. He was correct. Mary appeared in the doorway and said: Mrs. English says it s eleven o clock, Mr. English. In a lower key she said: Merry Christmas, Mr. English.

Merry Christmas, Mary. Did you get your envelope?

Yes, sir. Mrs. English give it to me. Thank you very kindly, and my mother says to tell you she made a novena for you and Mrs. English. Shill I close the windows?

Yes, will you please? He lay back until Mary left the room. Such a pretty day. Bright; and there were icicles, actually icicles, hanging in the middle of the windows. With the holly wreath and the curtains they made you think of a Christmas card. It was quiet outside. Gibbsville, the whole world, was resting after the snow. He heard a sound that could mean only one thing; one of the Harley kids next door had a new Flexible Flyer for Christmas, and was trying it out belly-bumpers down the Harley driveway, which was separated from the English driveway only by a two-foot hedge. It would not take long for the room to get warm, so he decided to lie in bed for a few minutes. There ought to be more days like this, he thought. Slowly, without turning his head, he pulled himself up to a half sitting position and reached out for the package of Lucky Strikes on the table between his bed and Caroline s bed. Then he remembered to know better than to look in the direction of Caroline s bed and looked. He was right again: Caroline had not slept in her bed. Everything returned to him then, as though in a terrible, vibrating sound; like standing too near a big bell and having it suddenly struck without warning. His fingers and his mouth lit a cigarette; they knew how. He was not thinking of a cigarette, for with the ringing of that bell came the hangover feeling and the remorse. It took him a little while, but eventually he remembered the worst thing he had done, and it was plenty bad. He remembered throwing a drink at Harry Reilly, throwing it in his fat, cheap, gross Irish face. So now it was Christmas and peace on earth. He got out of bed, not caring to wait for warmth and luxury. His feet hit the cold hardwood floor and he stuck his toes in bedroom slippers and made for the bathroom. He had felt physically worse many times, but this was a pretty good hangover. It is a pretty good hangover when you look at yourself in the mirror and can see nothing above the bridge of your nose. You do not see your eyes, nor the condition of your hair. You see your beard, almost hair by hair; and the hair on your chest and the bones that stick up at the base of your neck. You see your pajamas and the lines in your neck, and the stuff on your lower lip that looks as though it might be blood but never is. You first brush your teeth, which is an improvement but leaves something to be desired. Then you try Lavoris and then an Eno s. By the time you get out of the bathroom you are ready for another cigarette and in urgent need of coffee or a drink, and you wish to God you could afford to have a valet to tie your shoes. You have a hard time getting your feet into your trousers, but you finally make it, having taken just any pair of trousers, the first your hands touched in the closet. But you consider a long, long time before selecting a tie. You stare at the ties; stare and stare at them, and you look down at your thighs to see what color suit you are going to be wearing. Dark gray. Practically any tie will go with dark gray suit. Julian finally chose a Spitalsfield, tiny black and white figure, because he was going to wear a starched collar. He was going to wear a starched collar because it was Christmas and he was going to have Christmas dinner with his father and mother at their house. He finally finished dressing and when he saw himself in a full length glass he still could not quite look himself in the eye, but he knew be looked well otherwise. His black waxed-calf shoes gleamed like patent leather. He put the right things in the right pockets: wallet, watch and chain and gold miniature basketball and Kappa Beta Phi key, two dollars in silver coins, fountain pen, handkerchiefs, cigarette case, leather key purse. He looked at himself again, and wished to God he could go back to bed, but if he should go back to bed he would only think, and he refused to think until after he had had some coffee. He went downstairs, holding on to the banister on the way down. As he passed the living-room he saw a piled row of packages, obviously gifts, on the table in the middle of the room. But Caroline was not in the room, so he did not stop. He went back to the dining-room and pushed open the swinging door to the butler s pantry. Just some orange juice and coffee, Mary, please, he said. The orange juice is on the table, Mr. English, she said. He drank it. It had ice, glorious ice, in it. Mary brought in the coffee and when she had gone he inhaled the steam of it. It was as good as drinking it. He drank some of it black, without sugar, first. He put one lump of sugar in it and drank some more. He put some cream in it and lit a cigarette. I d be all right if I could stay here, he thought. If I could just stay here for the rest of my life and never see another soul. Except Caroline. I d have to have Caroline.

He finished his coffee, took a sip of ice water, and left the dining-room. He was standing in front of the table, with its pile of gifts, when he heard someone stamping on the porch, and almost immediately the door opened and it was Caroline. Hello, she said. Hello, he said. Merry Christmas.

Yeah, she said. I m sorry, he said. Where ve you been?

Took some things to the Harley kids, she said. She hung up her camel s hair coat in the closet under the stairs. Bubbie said to wish you a Merry Christmas and he told me to ask you if you wanted to ride on his new Flexie. I told him I didn t think you would, this morning. She sat down and began to unbuckle her arctics. She had beautiful legs that not even the heavy woolen plaid stockings could distort. Look, she said. I m looking, he said. Don t be funny, she said, and pulled her skirt down. I want you to listen. This is what I want to say: I think you d better take that bracelet back to Caldwell s.

Why? Don t you like it?

I like it all right. It s one of the most beautiful things I ve ever seen, but you can t afford it. I know how much it cost.

So what? he said. Well, just this. I think we ll probably need every cent we can save from now on.

Why?

She lit a cigarette. Well, you fixed it last night. No point in going into why you threw that drink at Harry, but I just want to tell you this much, you ve made an enemy for life.

Oh, no. Naturally he s sore, but I ll be able to fix it. I can handle that.

That s what you think. I ll tell you something. Have you any idea how news travels in this town? Maybe you think you have, but listen to me. I just came from the Harleys , the only people I ve seen except Mary since last night, and almost the first thing Herbert Harley said when I got in the house was, Well, I m glad somebody put Harry Reilly in his place at last. Of course I tried to laugh it off as if it were just a joke between you and Harry, but do you realize what that means, Herbert Harley s knowing about it so soon? It means the story s got all over town already. Somebody must have told the Harleys over the phone, because I know Herbert hasn t had his car out. There aren t any tracks in their driveway.

Well, what of it?

What of it? You stand there and ask me what of it? Don t you realize what that means, or are you still drunk? It just means that the whole town knows what you did, and when Harry realizes that, he ll do anything short of murder to get even with you. And I don t have to tell you that he won t have to commit murder to get even with you. She stood up and smoothed her skirt. So I think you d better take the bracelet back to Caldwell s.

But I want you to have it. I paid for it.

They ll take it back. They know you.

I can afford it, he said. No, you can t, she said. Besides, I don t want it.

You mean you don t want to take it from me?

She hesitated a moment, and bit her lip and nodded. Yes. I guess that s what I mean.

He went to her and put his hands on her arms. She did not move except to turn her head away from him. What s the matter? he said. Reilly doesn t mean anything to you, for God s sake, does he?

No. Not a thing. But you d never believe that.

Oh, ridiculous, he said. I never thought you were having an affair with him.

Didn t you? Are you sure you didn t? she freed herself. Maybe you didn t actually think I was having an affair with him, but part of the time you wondered whether I was. That s just as bad. And that s the real reason why you threw the drink in his face.

I might have thought you kissed him, but I never thought you were having an affair with him. And the only real reason why I threw a drink in his face was I just happen to dislike him. I can t stand his stupid Irish face, that s all. And those stories.

His face looked pretty good last summer when you needed money, and by the way, here s something you d better not overlook. Perhaps you think people are going to be on your side if it comes to the point where people take sides in this. Perhaps you think all your friends will stick by you, and maybe you think that s going to frighten him because he wants to run the Assembly. Well, just don t count too much on that, because practically every single one of your best friends, with one or two exceptions, all owe Harry Reilly money.

How do you know?

He told me, she said. Maybe Jack and Carter and Bob and the rest would like to be on your side, and maybe in any other year they would stick by you, but I don t have to tell you there s a depression in this country, and Harry Reilly s practically the only man around here with any money.

I ll bet he comes to our party, said Julian. If he does you can thank me. I ll do my best, but my heart won t be in the work. She looked at him. Oh, God, Ju, why did you do it? Why do you do things like that? She began to cry, but when he went to her she held him away. It s all so awful and I used to love you so.