Catch As Catch Can

by Joseph Heller

  We left together the next morning and he walked with me as far as the subway. The snow was still falling and it was deep and dry on the ground. He kicked it up with his feet as he walked jauntily with the unleashed energy of a young boy, talking giddily and happily, unwilling and unable to suppress his enthusiasm. He inquired into my schoolwork and my ambitions for the future, and he prophesied a lawyer’s or a doctor’s office for me and talked about putting money away for a small home. We parted by the station and I walked on to school, feeling at peace for the first time in almost a year.

  The snow stopped falling sometime during my morning classes. At three o’clock we were dismissed. I walked home alone, because for some reason I wanted to hurry.

  When I turned the corner, I noticed some people in front of the cigar store staring up the street with amusement. As I continued, I saw that all along the street people had stopped and were looking toward a group of young boys playing around a large pile of snow. I peered ahead, but I could discern nothing from the distance. Then, when I approached the snow pile, I stopped with astonishment, for seated in the snow among the boys, and completely at ease with them, was my Uncle David.

  They were erecting a fort, packing the snow into blocks and passing them to another group who set them into a wall that was appearing around the pile. One of the larger boys there had assumed command and was directing activities with loud, belligerent orders, and my Uncle David was complying with cheerful abandon. He was laughing as he worked with the other boys, and his dark face seemed younger and more content than I could ever recall. He was wearing his suit, and I noticed his overcoat folded up on the sidewalk. He looked up suddenly and saw me.

  “Bobby!” he greeted loudly, raising his arm to wave. “You are just in time. Put your books down and come play. The snow is good and clean.”

  I flushed with shame and a dreadful fear seized me. I stammered something unintelligible and ran to the house and up the steps. I tore into the house with a cry, startling my Aunt Sarah.

  “Uncle David!” I cried. “Something’s the matter with Uncle David!”

  Her hand leaped to her face with alarm. “What? Where is he? Where is he?”

  It was too much for me to explain, and I pointed frantically to the living-room window. She rushed across to it and threw it open. I followed her slowly, catching my breath, and waited behind her. When she turned, the fear had gone, and her face was set in a tight, angry expression. She went to a closet, put a coat on over her apron, and walked out, motioning me to follow. We walked downstairs and down the street to where they were playing in the snow. Some more spectators had gathered immediately about them, and my Aunt Sarah pushed through until we were standing right above my Uncle. He was busy with the snow and he did not see us.

  “David,” my Aunt said. “Come upstairs.”

  He saw us and his face broke into a welcoming smile. “Sarah!” he exclaimed with delight. “I was just thinking that maybe I should go upstairs and call you. Come, Sarah, come play in the snow.”

  “Come upstairs,” my Aunt said firmly.

  He looked at her with surprise. The boys, sensing a conflict, had stopped playing and were drawing slowly away. All the noises in the world ceased suddenly as the whole universe focused eyes upon us.

  My Uncle’s hands played unconsciously with a snowball as he looked up at her. “Forget your housework for a while, Sarah, and come play. It will be like old times again. Do you remember when we used to play in the snow years ago?”

  “David.” Her voice was low and determined. “Come upstairs.”

  “Do you remember the time when we went into the country and found the old farmhouse? It was snowing then, and there were you and I and a girl named Sonya, and Peter Grusov. I built a castle for you from the snow. You were fifteen years old then. I built this fine castle for you and you helped me. Then we all went into the woods to look for rabbits, and when we came back it was late and the castle had frozen solid, and we all said it would last forever. It was too late to go back that night and we stayed in the old farmhouse, and when we went out the next morning, the sun was shining and it was warm, and the castle I built for you from the snow had melted and couldn’t be recognized. Do you remember, Sarah? Try to remember.”

  “Come upstairs.”

  “And when we got back that day and you told your father, he chased me with a stick, and I hid in my cellar and he wanted to fight with my father. Try to remember, Sarah. Please try to remember.”

  “David. Come upstairs.”

  The calm on my Uncle’s face disappeared, and he looked strained and anxious. “All right,” he said. “I’ll come upstairs. But first tell me if you remember. Think back and try. Do you remember?” He watched her with desperate hope. When she spoke, his face fell.

  “Come upstairs,” she said.

  A great shadow came over him and his body went limp with disappointment. He rose listlessly, retrieved his coat, and walked after her to the house. She walked ahead. He did not try to catch up, but followed meekly behind, and I, puzzled and frightened, kept several yards in the rear.

  When we were upstairs in the apartment, my Uncle dropped in a chair by the kitchen table. My Aunt hung her coat in the closet and returned to the kitchen. She stood across the table from him, her expression sternly demanding an explanation. My Uncle sheepishly avoided looking at her.

  “What happened to the job?” she asked at last.

  “They were striking. That’s why I was hired. They wanted me to scab.”

  “You didn’t take it?”

  “They were picketing when I got there. They were walking in the cold with large signs in their hands and picketing.”

  My Aunt didn’t speak. Her lips began to twitch with despair.

  “I couldn’t go in, Sarah. They were men like myself. I couldn’t go in and take their jobs.”

  “I don’t care about the job,” my Aunt said, speaking rapidly, as though she feared her voice would choke at any moment.

  “Then what is it?”

  “In the street,” she blurted out. “Like an idiot. With the children in the snow like an idiot.”

  My Uncle shook his head as though he were in a stupor and ground his knuckles into his eyes. “I was coming home,” he said, softly and sadly, “and I had only bad news for you. I passed the children playing in the snow and I remembered how I used to enjoy it when I was a boy. I wanted to play with them, so—I took off my coat and played with them.”

  My Aunt turned to the stove and peered into a simmering pot. Then she began to knead some dough that was laid out on a wooden chopping board, her unforgiving face disclosing her anger. My Uncle rose and moved into the living room, abject and silent.

  He remained in the house the rest of the day, keeping carefully out of her way and glancing at her meekly from time to time. My Aunt Sarah worked ploddingly in the kitchen, never once meeting my Uncle’s gaze. She was angry and hurt, and most certainly baffled, for she was unable to understand why a grown man should want to act like a child.

  GIRL FROM GREENWICH*

  Duke stood across the room, waiting, his eyes fixed on the girl from Greenwich. She was pretty and he admired her clean, young beauty, but it was her faint, enigmatic smile that intrigued him.

  Sidney Cooper and some others were standing around her talking. Someone said something funny and they all laughed, all but the girl from Greenwich, whose remote smile reflected the amusement without taking shape. Then they moved off. She was alone, and Duke crossed the room, coming up behind her quietly and leaning against the back of her chair. She sensed him after a moment and turned slowly.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  “Do I know you?” She spoke with a normal inflection of curiosity.

  “It’s all very proper I assure you,” Duke said. “We were introduced before.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She looked over the room slowly at the buzzing horde of guests that milled noisily about the Cooper apartment. “It’s terribly ex
citing, isn’t it?” she said with enthusiasm.

  “What is?” Duke asked.

  “This.” She raised her hand in a small gesture that encircled the entire gathering.

  “Oh,” he said dryly.

  “It’s a wonderful party, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Let’s leave it.”

  She raised her head and looked at him with new interest. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name,” she said inquiringly.

  “It’s Arthur Clarke,” Duke said. “And you haven’t forgotten. You probably never heard it.”

  “You mean we weren’t introduced?”

  “It can be arranged if you find the present relationship offensive.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said, and laughed lightly. “Tell me, do you write?”

  “I’ve published several books. None very successful. Do you?”

  “I’ve just finished my first novel,” she told him. “They’re going to publish it in the spring.”

  “Well, congratulations. I hope it goes well.”

  “I’m sure it will,” she said happily. “It has already been chosen by one of the book clubs.” She watched him expectantly.

  “That’s very nice,” he said. “It really is. This isn’t your reception by any chance, is it?”

  “No,” she replied, her face brightening. “Will I have one?”

  “It’s customary,” he explained, and studied her as she assimilated the information in silence. “How about that drink?” he asked again.

  “All right,” she said, consideringly. “A martini.”

  Duke spied a maid with a tray, selected Scotch for himself and returned. She took the drink from him and stared at it reflectively. Standing beside her, he studied the soft slope of her cheek and the full lips fashioned in the arch, introspective smile, and he saw that she was very young, and very happy, and very much afraid.

  “Well, here’s luck,” he said, and emptied his glass. He saw she was staring at hers with the same serene contemplation.

  “A martini,” she said softly, when she saw him watching her. “Would you believe it? I never drank martinis before.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “Not particularly,” she admitted. “Are you supposed to sip them or drink them fast?”

  “You do whatever you like.”

  “Then I’ll just go on staring at it for awhile.”

  “Not for long,” Duke said. “I think our hostess is coming to take you away.”

  He had noticed Louise Cooper, her eyes fixed purposefully upon them, moving through the numerous groups crowding the room, her smile appearing every time someone caught her eye.

  She said to the girl, “There’s someone to see you, my dear.”

  “Who?” Duke’s companion asked quickly.

  “A man,” Louise said. “I didn’t know whether to admit him or not. I have him in the foyer.”

  The girl’s face darkened as she looked toward the door. “What does he look like?”

  “He’s rather young, with blond hair, and he’s wearing a trench coat.”

  The girl’s face, staring thoughtfully toward the foyer, showed recognition. “Oh, yes, I know him.” She smiled up at Louise in apology. “Could you tell him I’m busy and can’t see him now?”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Louise said. She said it regretfully, but in a firm voice. “I think you had better see him.”

  The girl nodded and rose reluctantly. She excused herself with an embarrassed smile and walked toward the door. Duke stared after her, even when she had turned from the room, scratching his chin in a slow, unconscious movement. Then he turned to Louise and they chatted about nothing, and when someone called her away he wandered across the room, talked to another critic for awhile, had another drink, and looked around for her. She was still gone.

  The jumble of conversations around him made him uncomfortable with a sense of idle loneliness. He scanned the room for Cooper and saw him in a corner with the others. He walked up behind him and tapped his arm. Cooper looked around, recognized him, smiled, stepped back and said, “Hello, Duke. Everything all right?”

  “No, Sid. Everything’s all wrong. Why do you throw these parties anyway?”

  “It’s good business,” Cooper said laughing. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Talking to your new writer. The pretty one with red hair.”

  “Oh, Arlene Edwards. How do you like her?”

  “Is she any good?”

  “She’ll sell a hundred thousand copies in three months.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Duke said. “Is she any good?”

  “No,” Cooper said evenly. “It will sell, but it isn’t any good.”

  “Whose party is this anyway?”

  “Max Winkler’s,” Cooper said.

  “That hack!”

  “You gave him a good review,” Cooper argued. “Why don’t you congratulate him.”

  “To hell with him.”

  “Go ahead. He’s standing right behind you.”

  Winkler was a grave, middle-aged man who had moved Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler to the Alaskan gold rush, thereby finding his own fortune. At that moment he was very pleased and proud and trying not to show it. Duke walked up to him and they shook hands.

  “I’m grateful for your kind review,” Winkler said.

  “It was a pleasure to write it,” Duke lied. “I enjoyed your book.” It had been a pleasure because it pleased Cooper, and Cooper was his own publisher. “Are you working on anything new?” he asked.

  “Well, yes,” Winkler said, choosing his words with caution. “At the moment I am planning my next book. A serious work. Something with more depth than my last one. Something more significant.”

  Someone began talking with Winkler, and Duke drifted away unnoticed. He wandered through the room aimlessly, avoiding anybody he knew, his eyes returning often to the wide entrance opening into the foyer. They were all going to do serious works someday, he thought cynically.

  There was still no sign of her. He recalled suddenly that she hadn’t wanted to see the man, and it occurred to him that something might be wrong. He found them standing together in a corner of the next room. They seemed to be arguing vehemently. The girl looked up at the door for a moment and caught his eye. Duke caught the distress in her glance and moved forward.

  “It’s gone far enough,” the man was saying as he approached. “It’s gone too far.”

  “You’ll just have to trust me a little longer,” the girl said. “I wish you would try to understand.”

  “I understand,” the man said. “I understand that it’s out of my hands and there’s nothing I can do. I wonder if you understand.”

  “Anyway, this is no place to discuss it,” the girl said.

  “I can see,” the man said, as Duke joined them.

  He faced Duke resentfully, his thin, tired face regarding him with hostility. He was wearing a grey, military trench coat that was a bit too large, and he had that sharp, cunning look that Duke remembered from poolrooms and prize fights. Duke smiled at him sweetly and turned to the girl.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re wanted on the phone.”

  “You see,” she said to the man triumphantly. “I have to go inside.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Please don’t. I’ll call you as soon as I have time.”

  “It isn’t a question of time. It’s something I have to know now.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise.”

  The man glared at Duke with anger, opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and, without a word, strode from the apartment. When the door had slammed behind him, the girl smiled with relief.

  “A very nice character,” Duke observed. “Where did you meet him?”

  “I won’t apologize for him,” the girl answered, pressing his arm confidentially. “And I want you to promise not to ask.”

  “I’ll promise,” he agreed. �
�Because right now it’s none of my business.” They were walking back to the living room. “Do we have to go back?” he asked.

  “Why, of course.”

  “Let’s not. There’s no climax to these parties. They occupy the same level of monotony from start to finish.”

  “You’re very cynical,” she said, with amusement. “I love parties, especially this one. I think it’s glorious.”

  Duke was incredulous. “What’s so glorious about wasting an afternoon with a lot of talkative people who have nothing to talk about?”

  “That’s not true,” she protested. “They’re very entertaining and I think it’s wonderful being here with all these famous people and being in New York and everything else.”

  “Haven’t you ever been in New York before?”

  “Oh, yes. But I never lived here. Mr. Cooper gave me a gorgeous suite at a hotel and when my book comes out and I have money I’m going to live there all the time and go to parties every day and be the happiest person in the world.”

  There was a clear, wholesome beauty in her honest outburst that filled Duke with warm pleasure. “You’re a nice girl,” he said with sincerity. “I hope you get everything you want and that when you do get it, it turns out to be the way you thought it would be.”

  She looked at him gratefully and peered into the living room, the vague smile returning and illuminating her expression with a subdued, beatific charm. He took her elbow and turned her.

  “Isn’t there someplace else you’d like to go? How about a night club or something similar?”

  “All right. A night club. Could we go to the Stork Club?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t mean the bar. Could we get into the Cub Room?”

  “Certainly. Let’s go.”

  She hesitated. “Is it all right to leave a party so early?”