From Here to Eternity (41 page)

curb. "Now thats funny," he said. "Whats funny, Angelo?" "If I hadnt of heard that guy talk so, I'd swear that driver was a queer. I can spot them a mile away." Prew laughed. "Maybe thats why he hates them. Maybe thats what he's afraid of." "I dont know. But I can sure spot them any more." The Waikiki Tavern was crowded, too. A little less raucously, a little more refinedly, but crowded just the same. "I'll wait out here," Prew said. "Till you seef they there." "Hell. You been here before, aint you? Come on in." "Sure I been here. But I aint goin in broke." "You aint broke." "I aint got enough to buy a drink, have I? To just walk in and walk through and walk right back out, if they aint there. Not me. I'll wait out here." "Okay. Have it your way. You know what? That cab ride sobered me almost up." Angelo went on in through the crowded door. Prew stood out on the sidewalk and leaned against a lamp post, his hands in his pockets, watching the people pass. In the lounge next to the bar proper, under colored light and conversation and clinking glass, the lushhead piano player was playing something classical. It was something he had heard before. He had never heard the name. Several well dressed, cool looking white women passed him, talking excitedly to obviously younger men who looked like doggies. Thats what you ought to have, Prewitt, he told himself. One of them rich tourist dames. Thats better than these tight-fisted queens. All the money in the world they've got. And dont mind spending it. The thought made a small hard excitement in his belly. Then he remembered Lorene down at the New Congress. The small hard excitement turned into a small tight sour knot. I guess that cab ride sobered you up too, he thought, goddam it. He was considering the question of whether it was legitimate to step out on a woman you loved if she was a whore, provided you only went with tourist women for their money, and if not, whether going out with a queen would be considered the same as going out with a woman - theres one for you, Prewitt, you must look that up in a etiquette book some time - when Angelo came to the door and motioned for him. "He's here," he said. "And he's already got one for you." Prew followed him inside, into the subdued atmosphere of richness with the pyramids of glasses doubling themselves in the mirror and the smooth-spoken barmen that always made you feel low class, and on through out onto the terrace. The two men were sitting in a booth for four with the sea rising dark behind them, beyond the light. One was tall and very slender with a tiny grey moustache and close clipped grey hair and very bright eyes. The other was a big man, over two hundred, with the beginning of a double chin and shoulders almost as wide as the table. "This is Prewitt," Angelo said, "that I been telling you about. My buddy. And thats Hal," pointing to the thin one, "about whom I've been telling you about. And this is Tommy." "Hello," Hal said, in a clipped voice that sounded foreign. "Hello, Prew," Tommy said, in a deep bass voice from down in his barrel chest. "You dont mind if we call you Prew?" "Thats all right," Prew said. He put his hands in his pockets. Then he took them out. Then he leaned against the booth. Then he stood up straight again. "Come on, you dears," Hal said in his accented voice. "Sit down." Here it comes, Prew thought. He sat down beside the big man, Tommy. "You know Tommy," Angelo said to Prew. "He's the one I told you about was Bloom's girl friend." "Well," Tommy smiled smugly. "I do declare. I am acquiring a reputation." "But they've busted up now," Angelo said. "Yes," Tommy said stiffly. "Everyone makes mistakes. That bitch. He is not only a pig, but he's as queer as a fruit cake." Hal laughed delightedly. "What will you have to drink?" "Champagne cocktail," Maggio said. Hal laughed. "Darling Tony and his champagne cocktails. I had to buy champagne and learn to make them for him. He has an artist's stomach. Saint Anthony Maggio, of the champagne cocktails." "Nuts," Tommy said. "Horse nuts." Hal laughed delightedly. "Our friend dislikes the Catholics. He used to be one. Personally, I have no more against the Catholics than any one else." "I hate them," Tommy said. "I hate the Americans," Hal smiled. "I used to be one of them." "Why do you live here then?" Prew asked. "Because, sadly enough, dear, I have to make a living. Isnt it disgusting? But then I do not consider Hawaii exactly American. Like so many other places, it is not American by choice so much as by necessity. The necessity of armed force. Like all the pagans they were doomed from the start to be converted to our particularly morbid type of Christianity." "What do you want to drink, Prew?" Tommy put in. "Champagne cocktail," Maggio said. Tommy gave Maggio a withering look and then turned to Prew again. "Sure," Prew said. "Thats okay, I guess." "You must excuse me," Hal smiled. "When I get to discussing things I forget everything. Sometimes I even forget to eat." Hal motioned for the waiter and gave the orders and then turned back to Prew. "You are the type of mentality I like to talk to. It reaffirms my somewhat threadbare faith in the human race. You have an inquiring mind and all it needs is the proper direction." "I dont need any direction," Prew said. "I make up my own mind. About everything. Including queers." Across the table Maggio shook his head warningly and scowled. Tommy was looking away at the time. Hal was sighing heavily. "That is a harsh word to use. But then we are used to that. And of course, you are slightly ill at ease now, your first time meeting us and all." Prew shifted in his seat and looked up at the blank-faced waiter who was setting the drinks before them. "Yes," he said. "Thats true. I am. But I just wanted to have it straight. I never like to have people tell me how to make up my mind." "Ah," Hal said. "A man after my own heart." "Listen," Tommy said abruptly. "Whose date is he, anyway? Yours or mine?" "Yours of course, dear," Hal smiled. "It is just that I like to talk to new people." "Okay," Tommy said. "But for Christ's sake quit making a play for him. He's not the intellectual type. Are you, Prew dear?" "Probably not," Prew said. "Since I never finished the seventh grade." "Hal's a French teacher," Maggio put in. "He works in a sort of private school, for rich men's kids. "Tommy's got a job someplace downtown. He never talks about it. Where do you work, Tommy, anyway?" Maggio said. He shook his head again, vigorously, and winked at Prew. "I'm a writer," Tommy said. "Sure," Maggio said. "But you work too, dont you?" Hal laughed delightedly. "At present," Tommy said stiffly, "I am holding down a job. But its only until I get enough money ahead to devote all my time to my art. And as far as my job goes, I'd rather not talk about it. I dont like it anyway." "Even I dont know where he lives," Hal said. "He wont tell me anything. Personally, I dont care who knows about me. In fact, its almost expected of a French teacher. Thats one of the reasons I like being one. "And incidentally, I am a private tutor. I hold private classes and tutor individuals, but not at any school. Or any 'sort of school." He smiled at Angelo. "But as I said, as long as I do not mix business with pleasure, these horrible missionaries' descendants dont bother me. In fact, I think they rather like the idea, secretly. Its supposed to be wordly and sophisticated, you see. And of course, I'm not an Oscar Wilde; I dont have a yen for hairless infants; so that they neednt fear for their offspring." "Lets have another drink," Maggio said. "We walked all the way out here from town." "Why didnt you call me up?" Hal said. "I would have come after you." "We wanted to walk," Maggio said. "To get up a thirst." Hal motioned for the waiter. "Garcon. Another round, please. Sometimes, Tony, I think you are only playing me for what you can get out of me." He turned to Maggio with a sweet almost boyish smile. "Sometimes I think if I didnt buy you things you would drop me like a hot rock. Perhaps that is why I love you so." "Ah, you know that aint so, Hal," Maggio said. "Hey, look," he said. "Theres Bloom and Andy, Prew. I told you the Compny'd all be down here." "Not so many today," Hal smiled, "as in the middle of the month." Prew looked over where Angelo was pointing. Bloom and Andy in slacks and gook shirts had just come in with five other men, none of whom Prew knew. They took a big table in a corner of the terrace, Bloom holding forth loudly, his big arms waving when he talked, him leaning tensely across the table toward another man. "Dear Bloom," Hal said. "He's dropping down the ladder rung by rung. I shouldnt be surprised if he committed suicide one day." "He's too much of a pig," Tommy said. "He's not that sensitive. But I love that cute little guitar player he drags around with him. He's really sweet, but Bloom wont let any one get near him." "Bloom's dating Flora now," Hal said sadly. "See that big effeminate blond across the table? Thats Flora." He turned to smile at Prew with his bright excited eyes. "I imagine you had some such female conception of us before you met us, did you not?" Prew watched the blond run his hands carefully over his marcelled hair and then, moving his hands, his big white fluttering hands, elaborately, get up and walk lumpily, swaying big-hippily, to the men's room. "Yes," he said. "I did." "I suspected as much," Hal smiled. "Well, we are not actors. We do not have to get our kicks out of acting like women. In fact, the less I see and hear of women the better. Of all the things I dislike, I hate women worst." "But why hate women so much?" Prew said. Hal made a face. "They're evil. So domineering. And so sickeningly confident. Did you know this country is a true matriarchy? Evil," he said, "evil as sin. And nasty. So wet and soppy and nasty. God," he said. "If you hate religion, how come you believe in sin?" Prew said. "I'd think it'd be just the opposite." Hal looked at him and raised his brows. "I did not say I believed in sin. I think you misunderstood me. I only used that as an expression. A simile. As a matter of fact, I do not believe in the conception of sin. It is asinine, and I deny it completely. Do you think I could be what I am, and believe in sin?" "I dont know. Maybe." Hal smiled. "I thought you said you werent intellectual?" "I aint," Prew said. "I told you I never finished the seventh grade. But I can see how that might be possible, about sin." "Listen," Hal smiled. "I take it you have never studied the rise of the Industrial Revolution and its effect upon humanity, have you?" "No," Prew said. "If you had, you would understand the fallacy of sin. In a mechanistic universe, how can there be sin? In this age of the machine human society is also a machine, and if you look at it objectively you will see that Sin, per se, is not a self-evident phenomenon but a thing deliberately constructed for the mechanical control of society. Also, if you can be objective, you will be forced to see that Sin differs with the temperaments and opinions of different individuals, so that Sin is obviously relative to the man, and not a universal attribute." "Whew!" Maggio said. He drained his fresh drink. "But thats just what makes sin," Prew said; "the individual man's idea of it. If each man didnt have his idea of sin, there wouldnt be any sin at all. But as long as you think women are sinful, for you they are. Although that dont affect them any, or affect my idea of women. But if you believe women are evil, then you must believe in sin. Right?" "I explained to you," Hal smiled, "that I only used that as a simile." He looked away, back at Bloom, and changed the subject. "Tommy was in love with that Bloom character, can you imagine that? They had quite an affair, for a while. I never could see it, myself." "I was not," Tommy said, "ever in love with Bloom. I didnt even have an 'affair' with him, as you put it. I went out with him a few times. Thats all. Hes too crude, too ignorant, and too Stupid for anyone of my sensibilities to ever fall in love with." Hal laughed, delighted. "I was only saying what I heard. And I do know you used to want to bring him up to my apartment." He turned to Prew. "Tommy uses my apartment for his loves, whenever I will let him. With Bloom I wouldnt let him. Otherwise, he takes them out in Kapiolani Park, or else he borrows my car. I think he drives them out to Blowhole. For atmosphere, you understand." "You bitch," Tommy said heatedly in his deep bass voice. Prew looked at the big man, suddenly remembering something, some familiar quality in his long thin-nosed face, something he knew well, but he could not get it. Then he remembered it. When he was at Ft Slocum waiting shipment he had gone on pass to New York and picked up an artistic broad down in Greenwich Village in one of those Third Street bars with queer waiters and queer floor shows, bistros she called them, and next morning this broad had taken him to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where just inside the main door high up on one wall was a marble statue of a nude Greek boy from the knees up that she had pointed out to him especially and this statue had the same look, no dent in the nose bridge and high cheekbones with softness under them, inbred looking, with over all the face that air of softness, of proud pain, and of conscious aimless beauty. In a word, he thought, decadent. Is America going to go decadent in the next election? "What a you say we have another drink?" Angelo said. "I would like a champagne cocktail." "Simply because you happen to have money," Tommy said to Hal. "And I dont. I dont have to take your nasty digs." "Hey, waiter," Maggio said. "What I love about you," Hal said to Maggio, ignoring Tommy, "is your wonderful simplicity. You are as clear as glass. Lets break this disgusting party up and go up to my apartment. I have a new case of French champagne that ought to tempt you. Have you ever drunk French champagne?" "Aint this French champagne?" Maggio said. "No, this is domestic. Made in America." "Hell," Maggio said disappointedly. "I thought this was French champagne." "And," Hal said, "in spite of what Somerset Maugham says, I say domestic champagne cant touch the French. And I ought to know." "Hal lived in France for a long time," Angelo said to Prew. "Is that right?" Prew said. "Yes," Hal said. "Remind me to tell you about it sometime. Come on, lets go. I bought this champagne especially for you, Tony, and its getting harder and harder to get, what with the war. And I want to christen it. Besides, we can be comfortable there. Its so muggy hot in here tonight. I want to get my clothes off." "Okay," Angelo said. "I dont care. How about you, Prew?" Prew was watching Bloom's big figure, dominating the table of five thin men and Andy. "What?" he said. "Oh, its okay with me." "Fine," Hal said. "I suppose if he wouldnt go, you wouldnt