Hanno’s Doll (3 page)

“I expected him to get up and run away, but he didn't, so I went over to him. I pulled him up,” he illustrated, “by both shoulders … with both my cotton-picking hands. I said, ‘If I ever see you around here again,
du Stueck Dreck
…' I let his shoulders go and then I heard the sound of bone cracking.

“This is an inimitable sound, Mr. Starter. In my time I have heard bones broken deliberately.

“I didn't know then and I don't know now whether I killed that boy by letting his head crack down on the stones or if it happened before, but that is how it happened. The whole thing. I knelt down. I could smell death. I have learned to recognize it, you know. I knew it was finished before I felt for his heart.” Now he looked at the young man steadily, waiting, letting it sink in, wanting to give him time to think it over before he asked, “Do you believe me?”

The K.K.K. nodded.

“Thank God!”

“Wh-wh-what I b-believe d-d-doesn't matter.”

“It matters very much. If you believe me, so will the others. I was afraid you would think … Hanno Dietrich is an actor. He has had plenty of time to work up this part and plenty of know-how to make it effective. I was afraid because I am Hanno Dietrich, you would think to yourself, ‘He is not going to put it over on me.'”

The K.K.K.'s mouth worked. He wanted to say something else. It was difficult for him. It came out.

“B-b-but …”

He understood. (Too well!) “But that is not all I did, is it? The accident you can understand. You can understand that very well, and if I had only got up from beside that dead boy and gone inside and telephoned to the police … If you had come then and seen this boy and heard my story … But I didn't, did I?”

“That's it!”

“But I didn't. A big but.”

“I h-h-heard about you from Mrs. Leopold. About y-you saving her l-life. And the other J-J-Jewish p-p-people you got out of Germany … W-w-well …”

“If I had telephoned, you would probably have taken my story at face value. But … but I didn't.”

There was a brisk knock on the door and the nurse's aide came in. There had been a telephone call, she said, from Mrs. Leopold. “Mrs. Leopold is bringing you some homemade soup. I told her she shouldn't, but she said you needed this special soup.”

The nurse's aide left. He pointed to the door. “You heard that child say? She told Anni—Mrs. Leopold—I didn't need soup, but Anni is bringing it nevertheless. Anni knows! Anni does. If I were married to Anni, Mr. Starter … and I would have been fifteen years ago if she would have had me. If I were married to Anni and I had shoved this boy and killed him by accident, I would have gone straight to the telephone and told the police and then there would be nothing to explain now. But Anni is not my wife. And it isn't because my wife is so young, not just age. If I were married to that little nurse's aide, for example, I would have gone straight to the telephone also.”

“T-t-to t-t-take a p-p-poke at someone … that's natural. B-b-but to p-p-put the b-body in the b-bomb shelter … that's a h-horse of … of a d-different color.”

“It was because I have a wife of a different color. I put him there for Puppchen, for Puppchen!

“Do you know why I call her Puppchen? You know what Puppchen means? Little doll, dollchen, a doll, a fragile toy. I couldn't do it to her. I tried, but I couldn't do it. I'm like my lawyer, Moe Herman, Mr. Starter.… I don't know a thing about criminal law. What would the law say about such an accident, Mr. Starter? Don't look so alarmed, Mr. Starter, I won't hold you to it. What do you think the law says about such an accident?”

“I suppose m-m-manslaughter. If wh-what you say is t-t-true.”

“So cautious. Yes, assuming what I told you is exactly true.”

“No malice of forethought … so it w-w-would be manslaughter, not h-homicide.”

“I see. Well, I didn't know what but I was certain they wouldn't give me an Oscar for shoving that boy and killing him. You can imagine my state of mind. I went upstairs to tell my wife what had happened. Naturally I couldn't call the police without warning her. All right. I went upstairs. She was asleep.…” Puppchen's sleeping beauty—but that was not for this boy, Puppchen asleep. “Let me tell you something about my wife. Less than six months ago, my little wife tried to kill herself. When you see her, you will notice she wears two bracelets. Wide gold ones, one on each wrist. One for each scar. Jean Schlumberger of Tiffany designed them for her.

“Six months ago, my wife cut her wrists because they told her I was dying and she didn't want to live without me. Imagine this! This is the girl I had to procure young boys for. Pfui! Have you seen her? If you have seen her you'll find this hard to believe. She is so young. She is so exquisite.…
La princesse lointaine
. There is something cool, removed, exquisite.… She has—in her own right—all the money any girl could use.… And me … Look at me, Mr. Starter! The great Hanno Dietrich, all two hundred and sixty pounds of him. May and December, they say. Beauty and the Beast. Who would believe that a girl like that would want to die for a man like me?

“Oh, I thought of that, walking upstairs to tell her. I thought of the two scars on her wrists.

“What Puppchen did becomes more understandable when you know her story. Her case history, her pathetic … I might be old and fat, Mr. Starter, but in all her life I was the first person who hadn't deserted her. In her whole young life, Mr. Starter, I was the first person who hadn't let her down. First there was her charming mother, Mr. Starter, the heiress to a nice piece of Manhattan Island.

“Puppchen's mother married a handsome and poor young man. I believe he sold cars. Heiresses do these things, it is quite
comme il faut
. Puppchen's mother shortly takes time out from her parties and dances and resorts—in season, mind you, to give birth. Yes, she is not on a plane or a yacht or in a car but actually in a common maternity hospital. Just like an ordinary female. Applause! Applause! Pictures in the papers and the right magazines, charming mother, adorable infant. When the photographers leave, adorable infant is handed over to nurses. Momma has done her bit. Momma goes back to her activities and Poppa to his little bits of nonsense. Fluff. Oh, yes!

“When Puppchen is five, Momma romps off with (I think) a chauffeur. Nothing but conventional, Momma. Naughty Momma? Why naughty? She has provided for Puppchen. Puppchen has been a model child, so Momma rewards her; Poppa has not been a model husband, so he gets coal in his stocking. If Poppa wishes to act as guardian to Puppchen, Momma being otherwise occupied, he will be compensated for his services. Poppa decides he will take the compensation. It isn't a difficult job; legal residence with his daughter is all that is required. There are people to do the dirty work, nurses, cooks, stableboys, governesses, riding masters and assorted such.

“Then Momma dies in a drunken brawl when Puppchen is twelve. Puppchen is the heiress; Poppa not. Poppa loves the little heiress. After all, at twelve a girl is housebroken; she can be taken anywhere Poppa prefers to be. She
is
taken anywhere, dragged anywhere Poppa thinks it will be amusing. Poppa is Puppchen's pal at last. She has someone besides paid servants, at last. Puppchen and Poppa are …” he twined his fingers, “like that.”

The K.K.K. was disapproving. Good.

“Except for a token schooling with private tutors, they are together from morning to the time when Puppchen's little head drops on whatever table Poppa prefers. This goes on until Puppchen is fifteen. Then Poppa finds himself a permanent girl friend. Actually, she is a poor girl friend, but surely Puppchen has enough money for all three? There is always need for Puppchen's money, but now no use for Puppchen. Now she is in the way. Now she must be banished. Once again, she must spend her time with tutors and riding masters and ladies to teach to keep the pinky finger sticking out. Poppa and wife have better things to do.

“I want you to feel what the child felt … alone again, deserted again … the doors of the Poppa paradise shut in her little face. She is so unhappy, she runs away, poor little rich girl. To whom does she run? Who else? To her lawyers.

“The lawyers are then alerted. There has been damage to the estate. They discover that Poppa has been dipping into the till. This must be punished. You can play around with a child's love and trust, play with her happiness, yes, but her money, no! The lawyers punish guilty Poppa. He goes to jail for eighteen months, but innocent Puppchen is punished also. She is sent to a school like a jail. A child with a background like that to be placed in a strict young-miss school, because with Poppa she had been to out-of-bounds places. You can imagine what that was like for her. She runs away again, this time with the first young man who pays attention to her. He takes her to New York City, makes her pregnant and takes off.”

The K.K.K. pulled his ear. “G-g-gee!” he said.

“So. Then I step in. I first saw the poor little thing sitting in the empty orchestra. We are rehearsing. She is there evening after evening, waiting for one of the girls in the cast. She has met this girl in an Espresso joint … her only friend in New York. Besides the law firm, of course. She is trying to get up enough courage to ask this girl friend whether she knows a doctor to help her. (What else can she do?)

“Nobody pays attention to Puppchen sitting there, certainly not the girl friend, who is much too much occupied making an effect on the juvenile lead. A terrible girl!

“If you had seen my Puppchen then … She is sitting there dressed like the actress girl. It is to make the girl think they are the same, a sad attempt at protective coloration, I suppose. Yes, Puppchen is got up like a Method girl. Lank hair—like a sheepdog—over her face … lank legs … no make-up, except the eyes like marbles. Yes, her eyes are like two marbles in that stony little face. Those eyes would scare anybody off. Gorgon's eyes. You look into them and you are turned to stone. Yes, because she is turned to stone. Protective stoniness, like the protective coloring.

“She has reached out to Momma first, then to Poppa, then to this adorable boy, and has been hurt each time. She will not be hurt any more. She turns to stone. It happens, Mr. Starter.”

“S-s-sure.”

“Now, believe me, young man, stone girls are not attractive to just anyone. It takes a Pygmalion to fall in love with Galatea. It takes someone with patience and knowledge of what turns girls to stone and what can change them back to flesh to fall in love with a marble statue with marbles for eyes.

“And not a word to say for herself when anyone did notice her. No darling this, no darling that … No
nothing
. Now, she said nothing to me, either, but she never had to speak to me. To me, the curve of her cheek speaks, the shape of her head, the way her eyes move, the tilt of her eyelids.… She speaks to me the way a statue can speak to you, by its shape and texture. So I became her friend. I began to love. I helped her. We were married—you understand there was no time to waste. I hoped to be father to the baby she was carrying, but when I found this was impossible … I helped her. To me, you see, it would have been a child, but to her … Well, the real father had injured her too desperately. To her, it was no baby in her, it was treachery, it was betrayal. If she held this baby in her arms, she could only be a little stone image of motherhood. When I saw this I gave her what she wanted. I helped her in that. I helped her in everything.” He took the photograph and gave it to the K.K.K. to look at while he talked.

‘I called myself Pygmalion, you notice. I said I turned stone into flesh. Anni—Anni Leopold … Anni thought of it differently. She said I fancied myself a Svengali, a regular fat Svengali! You know the story? It is called
Trilby
. Trilby is a London drudge and Svengali, by magic, I suppose, takes this little drudge with a cockney voice like a crow and makes a glorious singer out of her. But she can only sing when he is there with the baton, conducting her.” He did a conductor and Mr. Starter looked up from Puppchen's photograph to grin at him and then looked back at the picture. (Naturally, Hanno thought.)

“Anni says that this notion was irresistible to me. And it was, of course. She was right in that. Only she thinks I should have resisted. Anni disapproves. It is wrong to make a Trilby who can only sing when Svengali raises the baton. She has a tongue, Anni! It is wrong that when I am there Puppchen can be gay with the college boys, she can flirt and play prom girl and giggle, but if I am not there, she turns to stone again. Mixed metaphor … mixed heroines … but you see what I mean.

“Do you think you wipe out the effect of her history in less than two years? Of course you can't! The poor little doll feels safe for the first time in her life only because I am holding her in the palm of my hand. She is just beginning to be sure that I am not like the others, that I will not open my hand and drop her the first time it suits my convenience. For a year and a half—no, a year and four months, because the first two months I was acting and busy … for a year and four months, then, I gave her what she needed. For that time, she was my production. I wrote the play, directed it, costumed it, lighted it, did the sets and arranged for the publicity and worked up the theatre parties. And then I got hold of another script, damn good script, too. There was no part for me … how can there be a really first-rate play with a part for someone who who looks like me? Falstaff excepted, of course. So I fall in love with the play. Puppchen too, at first. We are a
ménage à trois
, the play, Puppchen and myself. She is going to be my girl Friday, but this doesn't work out. The poor child doesn't have it in her.

“I have it in me. I am in it. I am in it twenty-four hours out of twenty-four. Opening night becomes more important than the Day of Judgment. Opening night becomes the Day of Judgment. Prepare! Prepare! It is later than you think. Perhaps you do not know how theatre people can be, Mr. Starter?