by James Jones
“Run you right to the house,” Frank said. “No trouble.”
“I’d really rather get out here, Mr Hirsh!” Edith said. “You see the folks’ll be asleep, and a car turning into the drive might wake them.”
“Oh,” Frank said. “Oh, okay.”
After he let her out, he started back toward town along East Wernz Ave. When he happened to look back in the rearview mirror, he saw her, still standing there under the streetlight, looking after him ominously.
God, could she have read his mind? that silly damned thing he’d imagined?
Chapter 28
EDITH WAS FEELING SORRY for her boss, not ominous. She was ashamed of herself for having gotten irritable with him in the car. But she could just imagine what Old Jane would say if she happened to be up when the boss came bringing Edith home in his car at eleven-thirty!
She had wanted to walk, anyway. She enjoyed her nightly walk home. Especially if it was after dark. But she couldn’t very well have turned him down; not when he was in the shape he was in. He obviously did not want to go home, poor guy. And so now she found herself in the ridiculous position of having to stand on the corner, waiting for him to get out of sight, so she could take her walk anyway without him seeing her and getting his feelings hurt.
It made her irritable. He was really a very great source of annoyance, a lot of the time, anyway. Especially lately, she thought, since this Geneve Lowe affair broke up. He got his feelings hurt over practically nothing. And she would rather do anything than hurt his feelings.
Edith mentally kicked herself for getting short-tempered. She didn’t give a damn about Geneve Lowe. He would be a lot better off without her. But it was doing something to him she didn’t like. He cared too much. He ought to not give a damn, she thought irritably.
He was such a nervous, miserable, lonely little guy. And everybody caused him trouble. His wife, his brother Dave, Judge Deacon, Geneve Lowe. Sometimes you wanted to cuddle him because he was so helpless, and tell him not to cry everything would be all right. That was the way he made you feel. And it wasn’t pleasant.
It’ll be well before you’re a man, she thought suddenly, the old phrase Jane had used to use on her popping into her head. You won’t even remember it, when you’re a woman.
She waited until she could no longer see the taillights and then started walking back in the direction of town, past the big Fredric house.
She just walked along, not going anywhere in particular, and after a couple of blocks turned off on North Ash. Her walk home from work in the evening was one of Edith’s special pleasures. Especially, if it was late at night and after dark. Then, with the streets deserted, and everybody else inside, it was as if it were her town; her private possession. She owned it. Sauntering easily, she walked along North Ash clear down to the IN tracks, then turned east a block and came back up to East Wernz, the main street. At the corner of Wernz, she turned back east the way she had come, toward home.
It was when repassing the Fredric house that she noticed the long black car parked on the drive. She was positive it hadn’t been there before, and she recognized it instantly. It was ’Bama Dillert’s black 1937 Packard, situated where the trees over it shaded it from the streetlight on the corner. If she had not been walking, and even then if she hadn’t been looking, she wouldn’t have seen it.
The big house itself, she noticed, was all dark except for the single night-light they kept burning in the downstairs hall whenever Doris was still out, and which Doris always turned off when she came in.
And since Doris was out, and ’Bama Dillert’s car was parked in the drive, it was pretty nearly obvious what was going on in the car! . . .
Filled with a sudden tickling excitement, Edith went on—very careful not to alter the rhythm with which she was walking. If they were looking out and did see her, they wouldn’t know she had seen them.
Well! Well! Some gleeful devil in her made her want to sneak up on the Packard from behind and snatch the back door open.
My God, would Doris be fit to be tied! Almost certainly she would be in a very embarrassing position. People didn’t go out with that gambler ’Bama for hearts and flowers.
But instead, she walked on, to the corner and the light, and then turned south on Roosevelt toward her own house.
There were three houses between the corner and her own, and after each one she peered back between them at the distant Fredrics’ driveway. The car was still there. She wondered suddenly if perhaps Doris got an added pleasure out of her sex by having it there on their driveway, where—if it were daylight—it would be right out in front of God and everybody. Well, it wasn’t her problem. As she approached the house, Edith saw with surprise that there was a light on in the front room. She got her keys out of her purse—and then stopped:
And yet, she told herself, they might just be sitting out there, talking. (But what about? With ’Bama Dillert!) And all that other could be her own imagination. She couldn’t be sure; because she didn’t know. And yet she did know, too. But then maybe she was wrong? Well—she separated the keys.
She let herself in quietly, wondering what Jane could be doing up at this time of night; because she knew it wouldn’t be her father. John Barclay, when he came home from his job in the Sternutol plant, read the paper, and then ate his huge supper, then read the rest of the paper, and then fell into his bed and slept like a dead man until the alarm went off in the morning to get him up to go back again; and nothing, absolutely nothing, woke him. Normally, Edith would have understood it about Jane, because usually this was about the time Jane got home from her “dates.” But for the past few days, she had been going to bed right after supper. Edith didn’t understand it. But she knew it was a damned good thing she hadn’t let the boss bring her all the way to the house!
“What’s the matter, honey?” she said gently. “What’re you doing up?” She had surprised Jane standing barefooted in her nightgown in the living room.
“Aww, nothin,” her grandmother rasped. “I just don’t feel so good.”
Edith took off her coat and unpinned her hat. There were dark circles under Jane’s eyes. A wave of warmth swept through her. “Your kidneys again?”
“Naww,” Jane said. “No more’n usual, anyways.” She looked away.
“Is it your heartburn? You’re not really sick?”
“I ain’t sick,” Jane said. “I just don’t feel so good.” There was a curious reticence in her. In the long nightgown, without the confining armor of the huge brassiere and girdle, most of her just hung, resembling a collection of different-sized ellipsoids fastened together at the center. Edith felt again her neverfailing astonishment at the size of those breasts.
“You ought to have something on your feet,” she said. “That’s a sure way to get sick, running around like that.”
“Yeah,” Jane said.
“Go and get your slippers,” Edith said crisply, “and then come back” —here she grinned— “and I’ll tell you something you’ll just love to hear.”
Was it possible grandmother was falling in love again! It had all the symptoms. Oh, no! she thought, not again! She suddenly loved the old hulk desperately.
“Okay,” Jane said, but without much enthusiasm. She ambled to her room and came back wearing her raggedy runover slippers, and then sat down on a straight chair and placed her hands palm down on her knees. The action resembled a prim little girl sitting up at school.
“Well, I walked home from work,” Edith started.
“You was out kind of late,” Jane said without fire.
“My monthly statement,” Edith said. “Well, here was what I was going to tell you. But first, you must promise not to tell anyone.”
“I promise,” Jane said solemnly. She crossed her heart.
“Well, when I passed the Fredrics’ house, I saw a big black car parked back by the garage, under those trees. And the night-light in the hall was still on. You know how Doris always turns it off when she comes in.”
Edith grinned a little. “A 1937 black Packard sedan.”
“Haw!” Jane exploded, showing her first sign of enthusiasm. She slapped both thighs. “Well, I’ll be damned! ’Bama Dillert!” She shook her head. “That Doris is gettin to the bottom of the barrel, ain’t she? Or else awful hard up for a man. To be goin out with that cocky woman-chasin devil.”
“I thought that would tickle you.”
“Yes, sir!” Jane said. “Yes, sir! It sure does!”
“But you mustn’t tell anybody about it, now,” Edith cautioned.
“Oh, I wouldn’t never,” Jane said. “I crossed my heart, didn’t I?”
“Anyway, we don’t know for sure what was going on in the car,” Edith said.
“Haw!” Jane said. “Maybe you don’t.”
“They might just be sitting out there talking, for all we know.”
“Yes, sir!” Jane said, cackling. “You bet! Especially that ’Bama. He’s a talker.”
“Well, we don’t know,” Edith said. “Anyway, you promised you wouldn’t tell anybody.”
“Tell anybody! Who, me?” Jane crossed her big arms again and sat back. She grinned at Edith. Then she said: “I been tellin you about that Fredric girl for years now. But you wouldn’t believe me. She was layin all them boys she use to tell you about she was in love with, clear back in high school even. She ain’t changed,” Jane sniffed. “But she’s barkin up against a pretty tough apple when she ties into ’Bama Dillert. Nobody’s got firsts on ’Bama Dillert. Unless it’s that sharecroppin wife of his he never sees.”
“I’m still not sure,” Edith said, half to herself. “Anyway, I guess it’s a good thing we don’t see much of her anymore, isn’t it?”
“Haw!” Jane bawled. “I guess so. You was her number one stooge for years and years.”
Edith felt her back stiffen. “Oh no, I wasn’t,” she said crisply, “anything of the kind.” But then she grinned. “Anyway, I took your mind off your troubles, didn’t I?”
Jane, who was in the process of lighting herself a cigarette, stopped the match in midair and stared at her, the haunted look slowly coming back into her dark circled eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. You did.”
As if conscientiously reminding herself she lit the cigarette she no longer appeared to want.
“What’s the matter, Janie?” Edith said. “You’re not in love again?” She jumped up and rushed over to hug her. “Oh, I love you so much, Janie. You’re the best. I’m so sorry for all the rotten things I say to you. If you want to use any of my jewelry—”
“Don’t touch me!” Jane said, jumping up suddenly, before Edith could even reach her.
Edith recoiled. “Why! what’s the matter!”
“Nothin,” Jane said. “My back’s just a little sore, that’s all. I was afraid you was goin to squeeze me.”
“Janie, are you sick?”
“Naww,” Jane said, “damn it. I told you, I just don’t feel so good, that’s all. Little down in the dumps.” She moved away. “Guess I better get on to bed.”
“All right,” Edith said, watching her big bulk in that ridiculous nightgown. “I’ll see you in the morning then, honey.” My God! It was love! She turned away to her room.
“G’night, kiddo,” Jane said. She waited until Edith had closed her door and then turned to her own room, switching off the front room light.
Damn and blast! She would have given anything if Edith hadn’t caught her moseying around the house like that. Jane could feel that haunted look spread there all over her face, but there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She entered her room with a sick, frightened sadness.
Old whore! she raged at herself. She was right when she called you old whore. With a very heavy hand, she shut her door. Then as an afterthought, she locked it.
In her room, the first thing Jane did was get a tissue, and standing barefooted on the floor (she had kicked off them damn slippers), thrust it up under her nightgown.
Well, I got it, she thought. I got the clap.
I surely do. For perhaps the eleven thousandth time.
Oh. Damn, she thought, damn damn damn.
Horror slithered through her chest and stomach like a muscular spasm. Old whore, she thought viciously, guilt standing at her side like a black specter. That’s what you are and that’s all you ever been, all your whole life. Jane Staley.
She couldn’t go to a doctor. She would be too ashamed. Old Jane Staley. And she couldn’t go out of town, either. She could sneak off to Terre Haute, sure, but what would Edith say, when Edith knew she hadn’t been out of town for more’n ten years?
And above everything else, she mustn’t let Edith find out. She just mustn’t.
Horror and hatred of herself and guilt welled up in her sickly and made life drag heavy at her shoulders.
She couldn’t understand how she had got it. She knew none of her boyfriends had it. She definitely knew it. Then how? She might have got it off a toilet seat in one of the bars, But who’d believe it. Old Jane Staley. A damned man could go to a doctor. It was just a big joke to wink at with a man. But not no woman.
Wearily, she climbed into bed and turned out the light, the springs creaking under her weight, and then lay there, sleepless. What a horrible thing I am. It had become a sick refrain.
There was one other thing, the most terrible of all, and lying wide-eyed in the dark she thought about it now. Just a week ago, she had been out with Old Man Herschmidt. Old Vic Herschmidt, Frank Hirsh’s father. It was the first time she had ever had a date with him. And it was that same night that she had discovered she had the discharge. Even though it was her very first date with him, she couldn’t have got it off him, she knew enough to know it took six days. But if she had had it then—and she must have, if it showed up in her that very same night—then he had it now.
And what would he be thinkin about her!
Whore, that’s what! he’d think she knew she had it all along.
Springs creaking, Jane rolled over with her face to the wall. In the dark, she couldn’t see the wall, but she knew it was there, and it made her feel better. Safer, and more hidden.
Oh, she wouldn’t have done it for the world! If she had only knew, she wouldn’t have gone out with him nor nobody else! That sick frightened guilty sadness gripped her again, and she cried, tough Old Janie cried.
Chapter 29
OLD MAN HERSCHMIDT, about the same time Jane Staley was climbing into her bed, was feeling pretty chipper; and he did not have the clap.
Nor did he get it later. Whatever it was was wrong with Janie, it evidently wasn’t that, and in fact, nothing could have been further from Old Vic Herschmidt’s mind. In fact, his mind beamed with a sense of peace and well-being. It weren’t too many men at his age who was still good lookin enough to attract the women; and it weren’t too many of them, who still were men enough to satisfy them if they did, he thought smugly.
All in all, he was pretty proud of himself and not only that, he thought balefully, he had finally got one up on Old Lady Rugel his goddam landlady who run the pensioner’s home where he lived practically for nothing since she washed his clothes free and fed him and give him what little money he could wangle out of her for beer—all because she wanted to marry him and reform him. Yes, sir, by God, Old Lady Rugel could hardly stand it.
And if Frank knew it, Frank would crap his pants. His own cleaning woman and hired help. He wished (his mind froze) Elvira would find out about it, too, sometime. Well, she probly would, eventually. So would Frank. He-he.
Old Vic had been in this state of unqualified happiness for the entire week since he had happened into Smitty’s Bar and picked Old Jane Staley up and took her out and romped her—and on the very first time, too!
(Not so bad for an old man. Old Man Herschmidt!)
Vic was out looking for her right now, to try her again. He hadn’t seen her around at all in
the past week, but he expected she would show up. And right now, he was on his way to the taxi stand to see that boy Dave and get some more money.
That boy Dave was turnin out to be almost a human bein, Old Vic thought balefully. He seemed to almost understand what people felt. The son of a bitch. It was largely because of that boy Dave that he had got his chance at Old Jane Staley at all. It was that boy Dave who had bought him the fifth of whiskey he’d had that night. And it was that boy Dave who had also give him enough money so he could go in the bar and sit and drink several beers, instead of just having to drink one and git out, like he usually had to do.
Yes, sir, that boy Dave was turnin out to be damned near human, he thought. You might almost think he was a Herschmidt; instead of a Bales like Elvira.
He rounded the corner of Plum and West Wernz just in time to see the lights of the taxi stand wink out.
“Hey!” he called, hurrying up the block. “Hey, you! Boy!”
Young Dave was standing just outside the door, locking it, holding something under one arm.
“What the hell?” Vic said. “You’re a-leavin early, ain’t you?”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “Closed up early tonight, Pop.”
“Don’t call me Pop, goddam it,” Vic said. “What of you got there? A book?”
“Yeah,” the boy said. “I just been doing a little reading. Book about a small town. In the South. By a guy named Faulkner.”
“Never heard of him,” Vic said. “Listen, boy, I need some more money.”
“What the hell?” Dave said. “I just gave you three dollars. What the hell did you do with that?”
“Now don’t get mad. I spent it, damn it, what’d you think?” Vic said. “On beer. I think I got me a date lined up, y’see.”
“A date?” Dave said.
“A heavy date,” Vic said. He cackled. “In more ways’n one.”
“Ain’t you gettin about old enough to outgrow all that crap?” Dave said.
“Gettin old enough!” Vic said. “Are you, damn you?”