Another Country

by James Baldwin

  “What do you mean? It’s not working the way you want it to?”

  “The novel, you mean?”

  “Yes.” Then, as they faced each other before the door, “What did you think I meant?”

  “Oh, that’s what I thought you meant, all right.” He thought, Now listen, don’t spoil it, don’t rush it, you stupid bastard, don’t spoil it. “It’s just that it’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?” She was smiling.

  “I meant— I hoped I’m going to have my hands full now, with you.” She called part of her smile back, but she still looked amused. She watched him. “You know— dinners and lunches and— walks— and movies and things— with you. With you.” He dropped his eyes. “You know what I mean?” Then, in the warm, electrical silence, he raised his eyes to hers, and he said, “You know what I mean.”

  “Well,” she said, “let’s talk about it after lunch, okay?” She turned from him and faced the door. He did not move. She looked at him with her eyes very wide. “Aren’t you going to ring the bell?”

  “Sure.” They watched each other. Ida reached out and touched him on the cheek. He grabbed her hand and held it for a moment against his face. Very gently, she pulled her hand away. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, “you are. Go on and ring that bell, I’m hungry.”

  He laughed and pressed the button. They heard the sour buzzing inside the apartment, then confusion, a slammed door, and footsteps. He took one of Ida’s hands in both of his. “I want to be with you,” he said. “I want you to be with me. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything in the world.”

  Then the door opened and Cass stood before them, dressed in a rusty orange frock, her hair pulled back and falling around her shoulders. She held a cigarette in one hand, with which she made a gesture of exaggerated welcome.

  “Come in, children,” she said, “I’m delighted to see you, but there’s absolute chaos in this house today. Everything’s gone wrong.” She closed the door behind them. They heard a child screaming somewhere in the apartment, and Richard’s voice raised in anger. Cass listened for a moment, her forehead wrinkled with worry. “That’s Michael,” she said, helplessly, “He’s been impossible all day— fighting with his brother, with his father, with me. Richard finally gave him a spanking and I guess he’s going to leave him in his room.” Michael’s screams diminished and they heard the voices of Michael and his father working out, apparently, the terms of a truce. Cass lifted her head. “Well. I’m sorry to keep you standing in the hall. Take off your things, I’ll show you into the living room and give you things to drink and to nibble on— you’ll need them, lunch is going to be late, of course. Ida, how are you? I haven’t seen you in God knows when.” She took Ida’s coat and shawl. “Do you mind if I don’t hang them up? I’ll just dump them in the bedroom, other people are coming over after lunch.” They followed her into the large bedroom. Ida immediately walked over to the large, full-length mirror and worriedly patted her hair and applied new lipstick.

  “I’m just fine, Cass,” she said, “but you’re the one—! You got a famous husband all of a sudden. How does it feel?”

  “He’s not even famous yet,” said Cass, “and, already I can’t stand it. Somehow, it just seems to reduce itself to having drinks and dinners with lots of people you certainly wouldn’t be talking to if they weren’t”— she coughed— “in the profession. God, what a profession. I had no idea.” Then she laughed. They started toward the living room. “Try to persuade Vivaldo to become a plumber.”

  “No, dear,” said Ida, “I wouldn’t trust Vivaldo with no tools whatever. This boy is just as clumsy as they come. I’m always expecting him to fall over those front feet he’s got. Never saw anybody with so many front feet.” The living room was down two steps and the wide windows opened on a view of the river. Ida seemed checked, but only for an instant by the view of the river. She walked into the center of the room. “This is wonderful. You people have really got some space.”

  “We were really very lucky,” Cass said. “The people who had it had been here for years and years and they finally decided to move to Connecticut— or someplace like that. I don’t remember. Anyway, since they’d been here so long the rent hadn’t gone up much, you know? So it’s really a lot cheaper than most things like this in the city.” She looked over at Ida. “You know, you look wonderful, you really do. I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you,” said Ida, “and I feel fine, I feel better than I’ve felt, oh, in years.” She crossed to the bar, and stood facing Cass. “Look like you people done got serious about your drinking, too,” she said, in a raucous, whiskey voice. “Let me have a taste of that there Gutty Sark.”

  Cass laughed, “I thought you were a bourbon woman.” She dropped some ice in a glass.

  “When it comes to liquor,” Ida said, “I’s anybody’s woman.” And she laughed, looking exactly like a little girl. “Let me have some water in that, sugar, I don’t want to get carried away here this afternoon.” She looked toward Vivaldo, who stood on the steps, watching her. She leaned toward Cass. “Honey, who’s that funny-looking number standing in the do’way?”

  “Oh, he drops by from time to time. He always looks that way. He’s harmless.”

  “I’ll have the same thing the lady’s drinking,” said Vivaldo, and joined them at the bar.

  “Well, I’m glad you told me he’s harmless,” Ida said, and winked at him, and drummed her long fingernails on the bar.

  “I’ll have a short drink with you,” said Cass, “and then I’m simply going to have to vanish. I’ve got to finish fixing lunch— and we have to eat it— and I’m not even dressed yet.”

  “Well, I’ll help you in the kitchen,” Ida said. “What time are all these other people coming over?”

  “About five, I guess. There’s this TV producer coming, he’s supposed to be very bright and liberal— Steve Ellis, does that sound right?—”

  “Oh, yes,” said Ida, “he’s supposed to be very good, that man. He’s very well known.” She mentioned a show of his she had seen some months ago, which utilized Negroes, and which had won a great many awards. “Wow.” She wiggled her shoulders. “Who else is coming?”

  “Well. Ellis. And Richard’s editor. And some other writer whose name I can’t remember. And I guess they’re bringing their wives.” She sipped her drink, looking rather weary. “I can’t imagine why we’re doing this. I guess it’s mainly on account of the TV man. But Richard’s publishers are giving Richard a small party Monday— in their offices— and he could just as well see all those people then.”

  “Buck up, old girl,” said Vivaldo. “You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

  “I expect so.” She gave them a quick, mischievous grin, and whispered, “But they seem so silly—! those I’ve met. And they’re so serious, they just shine with it.”

  Vivaldo laughed. “That’s treason, Cass. Be careful.”

  “I know. They really are getting behind the book, though; they have great hopes for it. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?” She walked over to the sofa, where books and papers were scattered and picked the book up, thoughtfully. She crossed the room again. “Here it is.”

  She put the book down on the bar between Ida and Vivaldo. “It’s had great advance notices. You know, ‘literate,’ ‘adult,’ ‘thrilling’— that sort of thing. Richard’ll show them to you. It’s even been compared to Crime and Punishment— because they both have such a simple story line, I guess.” Vivaldo looked at her sharply. “Well. I’m only quoting.”

  The sun broke free of a passing cloud and filled the room. They squinted down at the book on the bar. Cass stood quietly behind them.

  The book jacket was very simple, jagged red letters on a dark blue ground: The Strangled Men. A novel of murder, by Richard Silenski. He looked at the jacket flap which described the story and then turned the book over to find himself looking into Richard’s open, good
-natured face. The paragraph beneath the picture summed up Richard’s life, from his birth to the present: Mr. Silenski is married and is the father of two sons, Paul (11) and Michael (8). He makes his home in New York City.

  He put the book down. Ida picked it up.

  “It’s wonderful,” he said to Cass. “You must be proud.” He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the forehead. He picked up his drink. “There’s always something wonderful about a book, you know?— when its really, all of a sudden, a book, and it’s there between covers. And there’s your name on it. It must be a great feeling.”

  “Yes,” said Cass.

  “You’ll know that feeling soon,” said Ida. She was examining the book intently. She looked up with a grin. “I bet I just found out something you never knew,” she said to Vivaldo.

  “Impossible,” said Vivaldo. “I’m sure I know everything Richard knows.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Cass.

  “I bet you don’t know Cass’s real name.”

  Cass laughed. “He does, but he’s forgotten it.”

  He looked at her. “That’s true, I have. What is your real name—? I know you hate it, that’s why nobody ever uses it.”

  “Richard just did,” she said. “I think he did it just to tease me.”

  Ida showed him the book’s dedication page, which read for Clarissa, my wife. “That’s cute, isn’t it?” She looked at Cass. “You sure had me fooled, baby; you just don’t seem to be the Clarissa type.”

  “As it turned out,” said Cass, with a smile. Then she looked at Vivaldo. “Ah,” she said, “did you happen to note a very small note in today’s theatrical section?” She went to the sofa and picked up one of the newspapers and returned to Vivaldo. “Look. Eric’s coming home.”

  “Who’s Eric?” Ida asked.

  “Eric Jones,” Cass said. “He’s an actor friend of ours who’s been living in France for the last couple of years. But he’s been signed to do a play on Broadway this fall.”

  Vivaldo read. Lee Bronson has signed Eric Jones, who last appeared locally three seasons ago in the short-lived Kingdom of the Blind, for the role of the elder son in the Lane Smith drama, Happy Hunting Ground, which opens here in November.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Vivaldo, looking very pleased. He turned to Cass. “Have you heard from him?”

  “Oh, no,” said Cass, “not for a very long time.”

  “It’ll be nice to see him again,” Vivaldo said. He looked at Ida. “You’ll like him. Rufus knew him, we were all very good friends.” He folded the paper and dropped it on the bar. “Everybody’s famous, goddamnit, except me.”

  Richard came into the room, looking harried and boyish, wearing an old gray sweater over a white T-shirt and carrying his belt in his hands.

  “It’s easy to see what you’ve been doing,” said Vivaldo, smiling. “We heard it all the way in here.”

  Richard looked at the belt shamefacedly and threw it on the sofa. “I didn’t really use it on him. I just made believe I was going to. I probably should have whaled the daylights out of him.” He said to Cass, “What’s the matter with him all of a sudden? He’s never acted like this before.”

  “I’ve already told you what I think it is. It’s the new house and kind of new excitement, and he doesn’t see as much of you as he’s used to, and he’s reacted to all of this very badly. He’ll get over it, but it’s going to take a little time.”

  “Paul’s not like that. Hell, he’s gone out and made friends already. He’s having a ball.”

  “Richard, Paul and Michael are not at all alike.”

  He stared at her and shook his head. “That’s true. Sorry.” He turned to Ida and Vivaldo. “Excuse us. We’re fascinated by our offspring. We sometimes sit around and talk about them for hours. Ida, you look wonderful, it’s great to see you.” He took her hand in his, looking into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Richard. And it’s wonderful to see you. Especially now that you’re such a success.”

  “Ah, you mustn’t listen to my wife,” he said. He went behind the bar. “Everybody’s got a drink except me, I guess. And I” — he looked very boyish, very secure and happy— “am going to have a dry martini on the rocks.” He opened the ice bucket. “Only, there aren’t any rocks.”

  “I’ll get you some ice,” Cass said. She put her drink on the bar and picked up the ice bucket. “You know, I think we’re going to have to buy some ice from the delicatessen.”

  “Well, I’ll go down and do that later, chicken.” He pinched her cheek. “Don’t worry.”

  Cass left the room. Richard grinned at Vivaldo. “If you hadn’t got here today, I swore I was just going to cut you out of my heart forever.”

  “You knew I’d be here.” He raised his glass. “Congratulations.” Then, “What’s this I hear about all the TV networks just crying for you?”

  “Don’t exaggerate. There’s just one producer who’s got some project he wants to talk to me about, I don’t even know what it is. But my agent thinks I should see him.”

  Vivaldo laughed. “Don’t sound so defensive. I like TV.”

  “You’re a liar. You haven’t even got a TV set.”

  “Well, that’s just because I’m poor. When I get to be a success like you, I’ll go out and buy me the biggest screen on the market.” He watched Richard’s face and laughed again. “I’m just teasing you.”

  “Yeah. Ida, see what you can do to civilize this character. He’s a barbarian.”

  “I know,” Ida said, sadly, “but I hardly know what to do about it. Of course,” she added, “if you were to offer me an autographed copy of your book, I might come up with an inspiration.”

  “It’s a deal,” Richard said. Cass came back with the ice bucket and Richard took it from her and set it on the bar. He mixed his drink. Then he joined them on the other side of the bar and put his arm around Cass’ shoulders. “To the best Saturday we’ve ever had,” he said, and raised his glass. “May there be many more.” He took a large swallow of his drink. “I love you all,” he said.

  “We love you, too,” said Vivaldo.

  Cass kissed Richard on the cheek. “Before I go and try to salvage lunch— tell me, just what kind of arrangement did you make with Michael? Just so I’ll know.”

  “He’s taking a nap. I promised to wake him in time for cocktails. We have to buy him some ginger ale.”

  “And Paul?”

  “Oh, Paul. He’ll tear himself away from his cronies in time to come upstairs and get washed and meet the people. Wild horses wouldn’t keep him away.” He turned to Vivaldo. “He’s been bragging about me all over the house.”

  Cass watched him for a moment. “Very well managed. And now I leave you.”

  Ida picked up her glass. “Wait a minute. I’m coming with you.”

  “You don’t have to, Ida. I can do it.”

  “These men can get drunk, too, if we keep them waiting too long. I’ll help you, we can get it done in no time.” She followed Cass to the doorway. With one foot on the step, she turned. “Now, I’m going to hold you to your promise, Richard. About that book, I mean.”

  “I’m going to hold you to yours. You’re the one who got the dirty end of this deal.”

  She looked at Vivaldo. “Oh, I don’t know. I might think of something.”

  “I hope you know what you’re getting into,” Cass said. “I don’t like that look on Vivaldo’s face at all.”

  Ida laughed. “He is kind of simple-looking, I declare. Come on. I’ll tell you about it in the kitchen.”

  “Don’t believe a word Cass says about me,” Vivaldo called.

  “Oh, you mean she knows something about you? Come on, Cass, honey, we going to get down to the knitty-gritty this afternoon.” And they disappeared.

  “You’ve always had a thing about colored girls, haven’t you?” Richard asked, after a moment. There was something curiously wistful in his voice.

  Vivaldo looke
d at him. “No. I’ve never been involved with a colored girl.”

  “No. But you used to do a lot of tomcatting up in Harlem. And it’s so logical, somehow, that you should be trying to make it with a colored girl now— you certainly scraped the bottom of the white barrel.”

  Against his will, Vivaldo was forced to laugh. “Well. I don’t think Ida’s color has a damn thing to do with it, one way or the other.”

  “Are you sure? Isn’t she just another in your long line of waifs and strays and unfortunates?”

  “Richard,” Vivaldo said, and he put his glass down on the bar, “are you trying to bug me? What is it?”

  “Of course I’m not trying to bug you,” Richard said. “I just think that maybe it’s time you straightened out— settled down— time you figured out what you want to do and started doing it instead of bouncing around like a kid. You’re not a kid.”

  “Well, I think it’s time you stopped treating me like one. I know what I want to do and I am doing it. All right? And I’ve got to do it my own way. So get off my back.” He smiled, but it was too late.

  “I didn’t think I was on your back,” said Richard. “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, you know that.”

  “Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  “Well, hell, I don’t want you mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.” He walked to the window and stood there, looking out. With his back to Vivaldo, he said, “You didn’t really like my book much, did you?”

  “So that’s it.”

  “What?” Richard turned, the sunlight full on his face, revealing the lines in his forehead, around and under his eyes, and around his mouth and chin. The face was full of lines; it was a tough face, a good face, and Vivaldo had loved it for a long time. Yet, the face lacked something, he could not have said what the something was, and he knew his helpless judgment was unjust.

  He felt tears spring to his eyes. “Richard, we talked about the book and I told you what I thought, I told you that it was a brilliant idea and wonderfully organized and beautifully written and—” He stopped. He had not liked the book. He could not take it seriously. It was an able, intelligent, mildly perceptive tour de force and it would never mean anything to anyone. In the place in Vivaldo’s mind in which books lived, whether they were great, mangled, mutilated, or mad, Richard’s book did not exist. There was nothing he could do about it. “And you yourself said that the next book would be better.”