by Jane Bowles
“Who on earth is Mrs. Quill?”
“Mrs. Quill … Mrs. Quill and Pacifica.”
“Yes, I know, but it’s so ridiculous. It seems to me you wouldn’t care to see them for more than one evening. I should think it would be easy to know what they were like in a very short time.”
“Oh, I know what they’re like, but I do have so much fun with them.” Mr. Copperfield did not answer.
They went out and walked through the streets until they came to a place where there were some buses. They inquired about schedules, and boarded a bus called Shirley Temple. On the insides of the doors were painted pictures of Mickey Mouse. The driver had pasted postcards of the saints and the holy virgin on the windshield above his head. He was drinking a Coca-Cola when they got in the bus.
“¿En que barco vinieron?” asked the driver.
“Venimos de Colon,” said Mr. Copperfield.
“What was that?” Mrs. Copperfield asked him.
“Just what boat did we come on, and I answered we have just arrived from Colon. You see, most people have just come off a boat. It corresponds to asking people where they live, in other places.”
“J’adore Colon, c’est tellement…” began Mrs. Copperfield. Mr. Copperfield looked embarrassed. “Don’t speak in French to him. It doesn’t make any sense. Speak to him in English.”
“I adore Colon.”
The driver made a face. “Dirty wooden city. I am sure you have made a big mistake. You will see. You will like Panama City better. More stores, more hospitals, wonderful cinemas, big clean restaurants, wonderful houses in stone; Panama City is a big place. When we drive through Ancon I will show you how nice the lawns are and the trees and the sidewalks. You can’t show me anything like that in Colon. You know who likes Colon?” He leaned way over the back of his seat, and as they were sitting behind him he was breathing right in their faces.
“You know who likes Colon?” He winked at Mr. Copperfield. “They’re all over the streets. That is what it is there; nothing else much. We have that here too, but in a separate place. If you like that you can go. We have everything here.”
“You mean the whores?” asked Mrs. Copperfield in a clear voice.
“Las putas,” Mr. Copperfield explained in Spanish to the driver. He was delighted at the turn in the conversation and fearful lest the driver should not get the full savor of it.
The driver covered his mouth with his hand and laughed.
“She loves that,” said Mr. Copperfield, giving his wife a push.
“No—no,” said the driver, “she could not.”
“They’ve all been very sweet to me.”
“Sweet!” said the driver, almost screaming. “There is not this much sweet in them.” He made a tiny little circle with his thumb and forefinger. “No, not sweet—someone has been fooling you. He knows.” He put his hand on Mr. Copperfield’s leg.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it,” said Mr. Copperfield. The driver winked at him again, and then he said, “She thinks she knows las—I will not say the word, but she has never met one of them.”
“But I have. I have even taken a siesta with one.”
“Siesta!” the driver roared with laughter. “Don’t make fun please, lady. That is not very nice, you know.” He suddenly looked very sober. “No, no, no.” He shook his head sadly.
By now the bus had filled up and the driver was obliged to start off. Every time they stopped he would turn around and wag a finger at Mrs. Copperfield. They went through Ancon and passed several long low buildings set up on some small hills.
“Hospitals,” yelled the driver for the benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Copperfield. “They have doctors here for every kind of thing in the world. The Army can go there for nothing. They eat and they sleep and they get well all for nothing. Some of the old ones live there for the rest of their lives. I dream to be in the American Army and not driving this dirty bus.”
“I should hate to be regimented,” said Mr. Copperfield with feeling.
“They are always going to dinners and balls, balls and dinners,” commented the driver. There was a murmuring from the back of the bus. The women were all eager to know what the driver had said. One of them who spoke English explained rapidly to the others in Spanish. They all giggled about it for fully five mintues afterwards. The driver started to sing Over There, and the laughter reached the pitch of hysteria. They were now almost in the country, driving alongside a river. Across the river was a very new road and behind that a tremendous thick forest.
“Oh, look,” said Mr. Copperfield, pointing to the forest. “Do you see the difference? Do you see how enormous the trees are and how entangled the undergrowth is? You can tell that even from here. No northern forests ever look so rich.”
“That’s true, they don’t,” said Mrs. Copperfield.
The bus finally stopped at a tiny pier. Only three women and the Copperfields remained inside by now. Mrs. Copperfield looked at them hoping that they were going to the jungle, too.
Mr. Copperfield descended from the bus and she followed reluctantly. The driver was already in the street smoking. He was standing beside Mr. Copperfield, hoping that he would start another conversation. But Mr. Copperfield was much too excited at being so near the jungle to think of anything else. The three women did not get out. They remained in their seats talking. Mrs. Copperfield looked back into the bus and stared at them with a perplexed expression on her face. She seemed to be saying: “Please come out, won’t you?” They were embarrassed and they started to giggle again.
Mrs. Copperfield went over to the driver and said to him: “Is this the last stop?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And they?”
“Who?” he asked, looking dumb.
“Those three ladies in the back.”
“They ride. They are very nice ladies. This is not the first time they are riding on my bus.”
“Back and forth?”
“Sure,” said the driver.
Mr. Copperfield took Mrs. Copperfield’s hand and led her onto the pier. A little ferry was coming towards them. There seemed to be no one on the ferry at all.
Suddenly Mrs. Copperfield said to her husband: “I just don’t want to go to the jungle. Yesterday was such a strange, terrible day. If I have another day like it I shall be in an awful state. Please let me go back on the bus.”
“But,” said Mr. Copperfield, “after you’ve come all the way here, it seems to me so silly and so senseless to go back. I can assure you that the jungle will be of some interest to you. I’ve been in them before. You see the strangest-shaped leaves and flowers. And I’m sure you would hear wonderful noises. Some of the birds in the tropics have voices like xylophones, others like bells.”
“I thought maybe when I arrived here I would feel inspired; that I would feel the urge to set out. But I don’t in the least. Please let’s not discuss it.”
“All right,” said Mr. Copperfield. He looked sad and lonely. He enjoyed so much showing other people the things he liked best. He started to walk away towards the edge of the water and stared out across the river at the opposite shore. He was very slight and his head was beautifully shaped.
“Oh, please don’t be sad!” said Mrs. Copperfield, hurrying over to him. “I refuse to allow you to be sad. I feel like an ox. Like a murderer. But I would be such a nuisance over on the other side of the river in the jungle. You’ll love it once you’re over there and you will be able to go much farther in without me.”
“But my dear—I don’t mind … I only hope you will be able to get home all right on the bus. Heaven knows when I’ll get home. I might decide to just wander around and around … and you don’t like to be alone in Panama.”
“Well then,” said Mrs. Copperfield, “suppose I take the train back to Colon. It’s a simple trip, and I have only one grip with me. Then you can follow me tonight if you get back early from the jungle, and if you don’t you can come along tomorrow morning. We had planned to g
o back tomorrow anyway. But you must give me your word of honor that you will come.”
“It’s all so complicated,” said Mr. Copperfield. “I thought we were going to have a nice day in the jungle. I’ll come back tomorrow. The luggage is there, so there is no danger of my not coming back. Good-by.” He gave her his hand. The ferry was scraping against the dock.
“Listen,” she said, “if you’re not back by twelve tonight, I shall sleep at the Hotel de las Palmas. I’ll phone our hotel at twelve and see if you’re there, in case I’m out.”
“I won’t be there until tomorrow.”
“I’m at the Hotel de las Palmas if I’m not home, then.”
“All right, but be good and get some sleep.”
“Yes, of course I will.”
He got into the boat and it pulled out.
“I hope his day has not been spoiled,” she said to herself. The tenderness that she was feeling for him now was almost overwhelming. She got back on the bus and stared fixedly out the window because she did not want anyone to see that she was crying.
* * *
Mrs. Copperfield went straight to the Hotel de las Palmas. As she descended from the carriage she saw Pacifica walking towards her alone. She paid the driver and rushed up to her.
“Pacifica! How glad I am to see you!”
Pacifica’s forehead had broken out. She looked tired.
“Ah, Copperfield,” she said, “Mrs. Quill and I did not think we would ever see you again and now you are back.”
“But, Pacifica, how can you say a thing like that? I’m surprised at both of you. Didn’t I promise you I would be back before midnight and that we would celebrate?”
“Yes, but people often say this. After all, nobody gets angry if they don’t come back.”
“Let’s go and say hello to Mrs. Quill.”
“All right, but she has been in a terrible humor all the day, crying a lot and not eating anything.”
“What on earth is the matter?”
“She had some fight, I think, with her boy friend. He don’t like her. I tell her this but she won’t listen.”
“But the first thing she told me was that sex didn’t interest her.”
“To go to bed she don’t care so much, but she is terribly sentimental, like she was sixteen years old. I feel sorry to see an old woman making such a fool.”
Pacifica was still wearing her bedroom slippers. They went past the bar, which was filled with men smoking cigars and drinking.
“My God! how in one minute they make a place stink,” said Pacifica. “I wish I could go and have a nice little house with a garden somewhere.”
“I’m going to live here, Pacifica, and we’ll all have lots of fun.”
“The time for fun is over,” said Pacifica gloomily.
“You’ll feel better after we’ve all had a drink,” said Mrs. Copperfield.
They knocked on Mrs. Quill’s door.
They heard her moving about in her room and rattling some papers. Then she came to the door and opened it. Mrs. Copperfield noticed that she looked weaker than usual.
“Do come in,” she said to them, “although I have nothing to offer you. You can sit down for a while.”
Pacifica nudged Mrs. Copperfield. Mrs. Quill went back to her chair and took up a handful of bills which had been lying on the table near her.
“I must look over these. You will excuse me, but they’re terribly important.”
Pacifica turned to Mrs. Copperfield and talked softly.
“She can’t even see them, because she does not have her glasses on. She is behaving like a child. Now she will be mad at us because her boy friend, like she calls him, has left her alone. I will not be treated like a dog very long.”
Mrs. Quill overheard what Pacifica was saying, and reddened. She turned to Mrs. Copperfield.
“Do you still intend to come and live in this hotel?” she asked her.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Copperfield buoyantly, “I wouldn’t live anywhere else for the world. Even if you do growl at me.”
“You probably will not find it comfortable enough.”
“Don’t growl at Copperfield,” put in Pacifica. “First, she’s been away for two days, and second, she doesn’t know, like I do, what you are like.”
“I’ll thank you to keep your common little mouth shut,” retorted Mrs. Quill, shuffling the bills rapidly.
“I am sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs. Quill,” said Pacifica, rising to her feet and going towards the door.
“I wasn’t yelling at Copperfield, I just said that I didn’t think she would be comfortable here.” Mrs. Quill laid down the bills. “Do you think she would be comfortable here, Pacifica?”
“A common little thing does not know anything about these questions,” answered Pacifica and she left the room, leaving Mrs. Copperfield behind with Mrs. Quill.
Mrs. Quill took some keys from the top of her dresser and motioned to Mrs. Copperfield to follow her. They walked through some halls and up a flight of stairs and Mrs. Quill opened the door of one of the rooms.
“Is it near Pacifica’s?” asked Mrs. Copperfield.
Mrs. Quill without answering led her back through the halls and stopped near Pacifica’s room.
“This is dearer,” said Mrs. Quill, “but it’s near Miss Pacifica’s room if that’s your pleasure and you can stand the noise.”
“What noise?”
“She’ll start yammering away and heaving things around the minute she wakes up in the morning. It don’t affect her any. She’s tough. She hasn’t got a nerve in her body.”
“Mrs. Quill—”
“Yes.”
“Could you have someone bring me a bottle of gin to my room?”
“I think I can do that.… Well, I hope you are comfortable.” Mrs. Quill walked away. “I’ll have your bag sent up,” she said, looking over her shoulder.
Mrs. Copperfield was appalled at the turn of events.
“I thought,” she said to herself, “that they would go on the way they were forever. Now I must be patient and wait until everything is all right again. The longer I live, the less I can foresee anything.” She lay down on the bed, put her knees up, and held onto her ankles with her hands.
“Be gay … be gay … be gay,” she sang, rocking back and forth on the bed. There was a knock on the door and a man in a striped sweater entered the room without waiting for an answer to his knock.
“You ask for a bottle of gin?” he said.
“I certainly did—hooray!”
“And here’s a suitcase. I’m putting it down here.”
Mrs. Copperfield paid him and he left.
“Now,” she said, jumping off the bed, “now for a little spot of gin to chase my troubles away. There just isn’t any other way that’s as good. At a certain point gin takes everything off your hands and you flop around like a little baby. Tonight I want to be a little baby.” She took a hookerful, and shortly after that another. The third one she drank more slowly.
The brown shutters of her window were wide open and a small wind was bringing the smell of frying fat into the room. She went over to the window and looked down into the alleyway which separated the Hotel de las Palmas from a group of shacks.
There was an old lady seated in a chair in the alleyway eating her dinner.
“Eat every bit of it!” Mrs. Copperfield said. The old lady looked up dreamily, but she did not answer.
Mrs. Copperfield put her hand over her heart. “Le bonheur,” she whispered, “le bonheur … what an angel a happy moment is—and how nice not to have to struggle too much for inner peace! I know that I shall enjoy certain moments of gaiety, willy-nilly. No one among my friends speaks any longer of character—and what interests us most, certainly, is finding out what we are like.”
“Copperfield!” Pacifica burst into the room. Her hair was messy and she seemed to be out of breath. “Come on downstairs and have some fun. Maybe they are not the kind of men you like to be with, but if you
don’t like them you just walk away. Put some rouge on your face. Can I have some of your gin, please?”
“But a moment ago you said the time for fun was over!”
“What the hell!”
“By all means what the hell,” said Mrs. Copperfield. “That’s music to anyone’s ears.… If you could only stop me from thinking, always, Pacifica.”
“You don’t want to stop thinking. The more you can think, the more you are better than the other fellow. Thank your God that you can think.”
Downstairs in the bar Mrs. Copperfield was introduced to three or four men.
“This man is Lou,” said Pacifica, pulling out a stool from under the bar and making her sit next to him.
Lou was small and over forty. He wore a light-weight gray suit that was too tight for him, a blue shirt, and a straw hat.
“She wants to stop thinking,” said Pacifica to Lou.
“Who wants to stop thinking?” asked Lou.
“Copperfield. The little girl who is sitting on a stool, you big boob.”
“Boob yourself. You’re gettin’ just like one of them New York girls,” said Lou.
“Take me to Nueva York, take me to Nueva York,” said Pacifica, bouncing up and down on her stool.
Mrs. Copperfield was shocked to see Pacifica behaving in this kittenish manner.
“Remember the belly buttons,” said Lou to Pacifica.
“The belly buttons! The belly buttons!” Pacifica threw up her arms and screeched with delight.
“What about the belly buttons?” asked Mrs. Copperfield.
“Don’t you think those two are the funniest words in the whole world? Belly and button—belly and button—in Spanish it is only ombligo.”
“I don’t think anything’s that funny. But you like to laugh, so go ahead and laugh,” said Lou, who made no attempt to talk to Mrs. Copperfield at all.
Mrs. Copperfield pulled at his sleeve. “Where do you come from?” she asked him.
“Pittsburgh.”
“I don’t know anything about Pittsburgh,” said Mrs. Copperfield. But Lou was already turning his eyes in Pacifica’s direction.
“Belly button,” he said suddenly without changing his expression. This time Pacifica did not laugh. She did not seem to have heard him. She was standing up on the rail of the bar waving her arms in an agitated and officious manner.