Small G: A Summer Idyll

by Patricia Highsmith

Then Rickie went out and strolled toward the Small g. Certainly Freddie wasn’t a knockout, Rickie was thinking. Was that why he was so hard up, that he phoned him, Rickie? Or was he again belittling himself, seeing himself old and ugly, when the truth was not nearly so grim? Rickie put on an optimistic air, head a little higher, as he walked through the main entrance of Jakob’s. The outside terrace’s six tables were nearly full. Jakob’s had put out little Swiss flags along the trees, the flags on strings, white crosses on red. A couple of firecrackers went off but from a great distance, as if from some dark mountain. More red-and-white altered the dark-brown-and-tan interior of the Small g. Bigger flags here, but not many of them.

  “Hello, Rickie!” from someone standing at the bar.

  “Rickie and Lulu! Hoopla!”

  The usual. Rickie casually greeted a few faces he knew and moved toward the now-empty dance floor where the tables and booths that ringed the room gave off murmurs and shouts and some spontaneous singing. Rickie, looking for Philip or Ernst, stole a glance at “Renate’s table,” and there they were—Renate in white tonight and Luisa.

  She saw him and flashed a smile, lifted her right hand quickly. Renate, apparently lecturing Luisa as usual, had been too occupied to notice him, or so he hoped. A woman whom Rickie didn’t know was on the other side of Renate.

  “Hey, Rickie! This way!” This was Ernst, conspicuous in French sailor’s striped sweater, half standing up from a smaller table. Here were Philip Egli and also Claus Bruder with what seemed to be a new catch, a blondish boy.

  There was room for Rickie on a bench against the wall, and for Lulu beside him. A beer. Exchanges. How was everybody? Claus’s new boy was called René, and sported the short-side haircut with bushy top now such a favorite of the young. He looked stupid, Rickie thought, but maybe honest. Of course Rickie could have turned up with a new face from the Bahnhof this evening, but who wanted such? The kind of boy who’d do it for money, who’d pick your pocket besides at the first opportunity. And what a comedown from Petey. No, the Bahnhof Rickie would not cruise. Better the Bahnhofquai, even if he got a brush-off from the young! Better Freddie Schimmelmann!

  “To eat, Rickie! Anything?” Ernst was apparently ordering, Andreas standing near with his tablet.

  Rickie soon had grilled cervelat, dark bread, and a mustard pot plus a green salad before him. It was getting on for eleven.

  Renate had begun to sketch, Rickie saw, the object of her attention being a young woman in a long black tunic over orange slacks, Rickie thought, who had taken to the dance floor. Renate’s white dress was set off by two broad red bands from shoulder to waist, effective and unusually bold for the Edwardian Renate. And here came Willi Biber, hat in hand tonight, and Rickie watched Renate shoo Luisa and the third woman farther down the bench with a flick of her hand, so Willi could sit beside Renate and face the crowd.

  “Hey, Rickie! Did you bring her glasses?” This from two tables over to Rickie’s right. A man pointed to Lulu.

  “Her glasses? No!” Rickie replied, smiling a little. “Sorry!” He didn’t know the people at that table, not even by sight.

  The crowd was bigger and noisier, because of the holiday. Rickie looked out for Dorrie Wyss, not at all sure she’d come, if she had a good party to go to in town. Rickie had finished his meal, lit a cigarette and ordered another beer, when he caught sight of Teddie and his heart gave a jump. Teddie in a pale blue jacket, bow tie, so handsome that he was anyone’s Golden Boy—Rickie’s, girls’, boys’, his mum’s Golden Boy, of course. Rickie lowered his eyes, flicked his ashes into an ashtray, looked up again just as Teddie and Luisa saw each other—it seemed. There were a few dancers between them. Rickie saw Teddie stop, lift his head and smile, as if he were going to head for Luisa’s table, but he turned in Rickie’s direction. Luisa continued to watch Teddie.

  “Teddie?” Rickie called, lifting an arm.

  The boy hadn’t seen him until then.

  Rickie made room, asked one fellow to get himself a chair, in fact, and put Lulu on his other side, so Teddie could sit beside him. “Well, Teddie! You know nearly everyone, I think.”

  Nods and hellos.

  “You are looking very smart tonight,” Rickie said.

  Teddie shrugged. “Dinner out with my mum. And another—well, my godmother,” Teddie said, laughing. “Had to look nice. Godmother’s birthday. Did you get my—my article, Rickie?”

  Now Rickie had a slight sinking feeling, the opposite of a few moments ago. He had got Teddie’s page and a half and hadn’t liked them. About motorcycle riding, racing with a friend. “Ye-es.”

  “Like it?” asked Teddie, as directly as a child might. Then, “OK—you can be frank.”

  “Then frankly—I’m not sure it’s going to appeal to many people. Motorcycle people—sure. But the way you wrote about speed, noise. Risk also—”

  “Yes, sure.”

  “Interesting,” Rickie said, making an effort, “but I’m thinking about a majority who wouldn’t like it.”

  Teddie smiled. “Well, you’re right. I got it back this morning. I send self-addressed stamped envelopes; otherwise I wouldn’t get anything back.” He forced a laugh.

  “Did the editor have any comment?”

  “Oh—‘limited appeal.’ ‘Not worked out’ or something. I admit I wrote it fast—to keep in the spirit, you know.”

  Rickie felt easier. “What would you like to drink? A Coke?”

  “Got to be a Coke, I’ve got the car tonight.”

  That was that. Fine, Rickie thought, raised an arm for Andy or Ursie, or maybe Tobi was on duty tonight too. None of them in sight. Claus Bruder was concentrating on his new friend, who was sitting in the far left corner, back against the wall, one foot on the bench.

  “I’d love to ask Luisa to dance, but the old witch is right there!” Teddie gave a short laugh.

  “Ask her anyway!” said Rickie aggressively, feeling his drink a little now. “Who is she to say Luisa can’t dance—at Jakob’s!”

  “Did Luisa tell you we had a nice date—this week?” Teddie asked with visible pride.

  “No-o. I don’t see her every day, you know. A date where?”

  Bang! Then a few seconds of silence. A gun?

  That had come from the room behind Rickie and the partition, and he half stood up. So did others.

  “Who’s got the gun?” a woman’s shrill voice cried.

  Someone laughed, then came an explosion of anger. Curses. It was a fist fight.

  “Hugo!” That was Ursie from the bar direction.

  The tall blond Tobi appeared first, shouting and waving his arms, then Hugo, a bulky man with a long apron over his shirt and trousers—the cook—crashed his way through what was left of the dance floor, and seized one of the men under the arms. Rickie was now standing on his bench, and he could see over the partition. Two men got dragged out, thrown out.

  “Fireworks tonight!” Someone yelled. Others laughed.

  “Outsiders,” Rickie said, settling down again. He hadn’t recognized them. Drunken outsiders. Lulu had kept her calm, and Rickie passed a hand over her white head and back.

  “I’m going over to ask Luisa,” said Teddie, optimistic.

  Across the room, Luisa watched Teddie appear through the crowd, and bow slightly.

  “Good evening,” he said, including the whole table. “Would you like to dance, Luisa?”

  Luisa was aware, as she slid out from the bench, that Willi Biber’s eyes—little pale blue eyes—bored like nail points into Teddie. Renate stared, stony-faced.

  It was a fast song. Teddie took both her hands in his.

  I can’t believe you’re here, Luisa wanted to say, but felt it was exactly what a stupid and unsophisticated person would say.

  “National colors.” Teddie nodded at her garb. “On purpo
se?”

  Luisa was wearing a scarlet shirt and white cotton slacks.

  “Did you catch it Wednesday night?” he asked.

  “No!” Luisa fairly gasped. “Incredible. I was lucky.”

  “I wrote about us—yesterday and this morning,” Teddie said.

  “What do you mean ‘about us’?”

  “Wednesday. The nice evening. Well, for me it was nice. A page and a half. Sent it to the Tages-Anzeiger.”

  Luisa was alarmed. “You don’t mean it’s going to be printed?”

  “Who knows?” said Teddie dreamily. “I called you J. Just the letter J. And what’d we do wrong?” His voice cracked and he laughed.

  Nothing wrong. Just that she’d been with him at all. She was conscious of both Renate and Willi Biber staring at her and Teddie as if they were creatures from outer space, deformed humans, somehow.

  “Let’s go—”she began.

  “Anywhere.” Teddie still held one of her hands.

  “Just to the bar.”

  Teddie forged a way for them toward the bar near the front door. Because of the crush, he didn’t quite make it to the bar, but now standing people made a wall between herself and Teddie and Renate’s table.

  Just then Renate, out of hearing of Francesca, who was not at all interested anyway, was saying to Willi, “You see how he looks at her? Tch-h!” A shake of the head. “That pretty boy is a homo—a friend of Rickie’s. You know that.”

  Willi nodded, and continued staring dully at the bar crowd into whose thicket the young man and Luisa had vanished.

  Renate went on, “It’s going to be the same story again—as with Petey, you know? Why do they do it, these boys?” Renate’s usually throaty voice grew thin and shrill on that question, wailing even.

  Willi Biber looked at her, surprised by the tone. His thin lips worked, then he lifted his glass of beer and drank.

  “Vanity! Worse than girls!” Renate concluded with a cynical smile. “He needs a good scare, this one.” She nodded toward the bar, not knowing whether Luisa and the boy were there or had gone on to the front terrace. She glanced at the apparently deaf Francesca—the place was loud—and said, “Give him a scare tonight, Willi. Follow him. Does he have a car usually?”

  Willi was slow with an answer. “I think—usually.”

  Renate didn’t one hundred percent believe Willi. She never did. That was the drawback in dealing with him, of course. “Give him a good big scare, Willi. You know how. You’re bigger than this boy.”

  At that moment, Luisa and Teddie had secured Cokes, though not an elbow’s room at the bar, so they stood each with a bottle in hand.

  “Alone at last!” said Teddie, pretending to swoon. He looked at his wristwatch. “Got to be home by one. I’ve got the car.”

  “I wish it were last Wednesday night.”

  “Y’know,” Teddie yelled over a loudmouth near him, “it’s a good column, this last that I wrote.”

  “Maybe they’ll buy it.” Luisa felt on a crest of optimism, for no reason, as if everything was going to turn out well. What was everything? She didn’t want to try to answer that. Teddie looked confident, and his confidence spread through her.

  “I’ve got nearly an hour. We could take a spin—very short. I’d bring you back.”

  “Where is your car?” A drive would be nice, but even short, impossible. Renate would somehow know, and scream about it.

  “Same place. Like Wednesday night. Want to?” He was ready to set his Coke somewhere.

  Luisa shook her head.

  Teddie collected himself. “Can’t you just tell her you want to have a date with me now and then? You’re not her prisoner.”

  Luisa squirmed, hating herself for squirming. “She’d somehow know. If I took a ride with you. And she saw you go to Rickie’s table tonight.”

  “I couldn’t go straight to you with her sitting there! Don’t you think I’d have preferred to sit down by you?”

  At that moment, Luisa, facing the main door of Jakob’s, saw Willi sidling, making his way out, pushing his old hat down with one big hand on the crown, as he reached the terrace path.

  Over at Rickie’s table, a couple of fellows were arguing about foreign immigration into Germany, arguing not intelligently, Rickie thought, because one kept asking, “All right, but why should Germany ever have agreed to such a law? To let everybody in?” And the other: “Germany lost the war. They were in no position to . . .”

  These were newcomers, Rickie didn’t know their names. Claus Bruder had René on the dance floor, a willowy pair, the boy tall and thin, all arms and legs. Rickie realized he was feeling his beer a little. How inelegant, beers, Rickie was thinking, as the din or roar in Jakob’s hit a new height.

  Midnight! Firecrackers from afar! A vague roar from the assembled!

  Rickie noticed that Teddie and Luisa seemed to have disappeared. Here came Andreas, and also Dorrie and Kim. They didn’t care to sit, didn’t want a drink.

  “Your little friend’s got a good-looking boyfriend,” said Dorrie.

  “Luisa?”

  “Who else?”

  Was Dorrie trying to pique him? The last time, Teddie had been his boyfriend. “No comment,” said Rickie.

  “Rickie, you’re becoming timid!” Dorrie joked. “Won’t do!” She wagged a finger. “Won’t catch any fish that way!”

  Rickie finished the last of his beer.

  IN THE TREE-BORDERED STREET where his car stood, Teddie walked in near darkness, and reached for his keys in a trouser pocket. A couple of streets away, someone sang an unrecognizable song, gave up and laughed.

  Teddie hadn’t the keys quite out of his pocket when something hit him in the back, something like a big hammer, low, just above his waist. Teddie was aware of the breath knocked out of him, that he buckled, and fell forward. His arms scarcely broke his fall. His chest, then his face, struck the pavement and a tree trunk, all in a split second. Teddie gasped, getting breath back painfully. His back hurt worse; the pain spread like a fire. What had happened? He struggled against fainting, gasping through his mouth now. He could hardly lift his cheek from the tree trunk. The pain is not going to stop, he was thinking, and what if he were bleeding, inside or outside, both? He tried to call out for help, and managed something like a groan.

  He heard voices. A couple of fellows. Questions.

  “Hey, what’s happened?”

  “He’s drunk, you think?”

  They lifted him up clumsily, tried to set him on his feet, and Teddie let out another groan, eyes shut in pain. He was aware that he couldn’t stand up by himself.

  “Got hit,” Teddie said. Couldn’t they see that?

  “Where?”

  “In the back.”

  “Where d’you live?”

  Teddie didn’t think of home, he thought of Jakob’s, which was nearer. He said he had friends at Jakob’s, and could they help him get there?

  Sure, they knew Jakob’s. Then began a dragging walk, Teddie trying, till one fellow said, “Just relax.” They had him under the elbows, which hurt, but not like his back. And they were going what seemed to Teddie the long way, round the block, so as they neared the lighted, noisy place, Teddie said, “Back terrace. Quicker— Thank you very much.”

  One young man chuckled at this. “Where’re your friends? What’re their names?”

  “Rickie—”

  “Rickie? With the dog?”

  “Rickie!” said the other. “I’ll get him.” Seconds later he was saying to Rickie, “Hey! Got a friend of yours on the terrace! He’s been hurt—somehow.”

  “Who?” said Rickie, getting up. “Hurt?”

  “Come this way.”

  Rickie saw Teddie sitting limp in a chair, and three or more people around him. Teddie’s ch
eek was dirty and scratched, oozing red. “What’s this? Teddie! What happened? A mugger?”

  Teddie managed to focus on Rickie. “No—something hit me in the back. Like a brick, I dunno.” He sipped from a glass of water that someone held to his lips.

  “You’re bleeding—” a male voice began.

  “—was just by the car,” Teddie said. “It happened right by the car.”

  “Bleeding here,” the man behind Teddie continued. “Look, can you take off that jacket?”

  “I’ll help him.” This from a female voice.

  Rickie thought: Was there perhaps a doctor at the Small g tonight? He watched as a man and a woman eased Teddie’s arm out of his jacket. There was blood on Teddie’s white shirt above the belt, a little blood also on the white trousers at the waist.

  Teddie made a vague movement with his head. “Right, take the shirt off.”

  Rickie helped now. Teddie was a little more alert, and moved his arms to ease the shirt off.

  The wound was three or four centimeters wide to the left of Teddie’s spine, not apparently deep, made by something blunt.

  “Wow! Looks like a rock did that!” one young man said.

  Rickie went through the wide doorway to the dance floor. “Is there a doctor here?” he yelled. Then more loudly, “Is there a doctor here tonight?”

  The dancers slowly stopped.

  “Somebody’s passed out!” yelled a would-be wit.

  A small voice came from the left. “I am. I am a doctor,” said a man of about fifty, coming toward Rickie, a bespectacled man in shirtsleeves. “What’s the matter?”

  “Come!” said Rickie.

  The doctor peered. Teddie leaned forward, giving a yelp of pain at the bending.

  “That’s quite a swat,” said the doctor. “Should be cleaned and bandaged. I haven’t my kit here.”

  “I can telephone my doctor,” said Rickie promptly. “I live near here. I think my doctor would come—or we go to a hospital.”

  “One or the other,” said the doctor. “My kit’s in Regensdorf. Want me to help you?”

  Rickie said he knew his doctor’s number by heart.

  Now Ernst Koelliker had joined the group on the back terrace.