The Hanging on Union Square

by H. T. Tsiang

  “Why don’t you go inside?” asked the old man.

  “I’d better not, thanks.”

  “Have a cigarette?” The old man offered him a cigarette together with a charming smile.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Isn’t it beautiful to see the whole universe dressed in white?”

  Nut said nothing.

  “To get away from the artistic, and to say something humanistically,” said the old man, “tomorrow there will be enough jobs for ten or twenty thousand unemployed men. And another chance for Tammany Hall politicians to get some graft.”5

  Nut was suddenly relieved when he heard the word “job.” And he remarked to the old man: “Thanks a great deal for reminding me. Tomorrow I’ll have a chance to get work and then I’ll have a place to sleep.”

  “What! You mean you have no place to sleep tonight! Come along with me. I am a humanist and I think I can put you up just for tonight. Come on.”

  Because of the experience Nut had had with that young fellow about an hour ago, he was suspicious. He looked at the old man carefully. The old man was all right. For he had no powder on his face and no lipstick on his lips. And his small beard gave him a certain kind of dignity and the appearance of a professor. And as he walked his head bent forward a little. And his hips were steady—not dancing, as those of the young fellow were.

  Nut thought: “As a matter of fact, you can never trust young fellows in a matter of that sort, but you can trust an old man.”

  * * *

  —

  “Thanks, Professor,” Mr. Nut said to the old man. The professor walked fast. Nut followed.

  They walked this way and turned that way. They reached their destination.

  It was neither a flat nor as that young fellow called his place, a studio. It was just a furnished room in a rooming house. The room was a very small one on the top floor.

  There was only one bed. On the dresser some magazines and books were piled up. On the floor there was another pile of old books and magazines. On the chair was an ashtray, a tooth brush and a few letters from newspapers. An alarm-clock was placed on the bed near the pillow.

  The old man took off his worn-out, thin overcoat, and his shapeless dirty hat. He was breathless and was coughing.

  Nut wondered: How could so small a room accommodate two persons?

  “Want the washroom? Outside, turn left. But be quiet.”

  Nut went to wash, still wondering.

  When Nut came back, the old man was pulling the window-shade down.

  “Is this your room?” asked Mr. Nut.

  “Why? Too small? In winter, the small ones are warmer!”

  “But how can there be room for me, too?” inquired Nut.

  “Oh, yeah . . .” the old man had changed the color of his face and answered sarcastically, “maybe you’d be comfortable on Park Avenue. The rich men keep their Park Avenue apartments empty, while they themselves are wintering in Florida. You still aren’t too late, you know?”

  Nut was ashamed of himself because of his question and decided to be content.

  * * *

  —

  Nut took off his hat and overcoat.

  But he was still wondering how he was going to find room to sleep.

  “Don’t hesitate! If you can get as big a room in Moscow for a whole family, you are lucky. In Moscow, to show that I was a writer and entitled even to a small room, I’d have to put on a uniform. Moscow, ‘Artist in Uniform!’ “remarks the old man in a triumphant tone, somewhat Max-Eastman-ly.6

  * * *

  —

  Nut untied his necktie.

  The old man was coughing.

  “Mr. Professor, thank you very much for everything.” Nut finally got an idea and said to the old man: “Suppose you sleep on the bed. I’ll lie on the floor. And if you don’t mind, let me have your overcoat to cover myself. It’s half-past three, anyhow.”

  “No, not that way. You are my guest.”

  “But you are older than I am.”

  “Nothing doing! As long as you’re in my place, you are my guest!”

  Nut said to himself: “There is still a gentleman in a world like this. This is civilization.”

  The old man was coughing.

  “Thanks a great deal. Let’s both sleep on the bed,” Nut said with a smile, for he thought that he had just made a new discovery.

  “Of course. You go inside. I’ll sleep outside. I cough badly.”

  They lay down.

  * * *

  —

  “Say, why don’t you take those off. They are wet as hell,” murmured the old man.

  This was true. The trousers were wet since Nut had walked for almost three hours in the snowy night.

  Nut took off his trousers.

  The light was out.

  Nut slept.

  * * *

  —

  When he had slept for about ten or fifteen minutes, he felt the old man’s hand touching his shoulder, back and then his waist.

  Nut could not sleep. For the old man’s touch was ticklish.

  “Please cut that out,” Nut told the old man, “or I’ll get up and leave.”

  When the old man heard the word “leave” he stopped.

  They slept.

  * * *

  —

  A few minutes later, Nut again felt something uncomfortable touching the lower part of his back. It was not the old man’s hand. Nor was it the old man’s finger. Of course, Mr. Nut knew what it was. He turned on his back.

  Now the old man’s hand became active again. Nut couldn’t stand it anymore. He jumped out of the bed. He put the light on.

  “Now look here. This room is worth thirty-five cents in a cheap hotel on the Bowery. So I owe you seventeen and a half cents. Do you think seventeen and a half cents enough to make me a male prostitute?”

  The old man looked ashamed of himself and then he became serious and said to Mr. Nut: “Listen, you are too materialistic, too commercial. And you have no artistic sense. I am not prostituting you. If you like, do whatever you wish with me. I review books. They paid me very little before. Now there is a depression, so there are fewer books and they pay me only with review copies. Tell me how I can help getting excited, when I read those sexy, hot novels. And how can I get the money to buy women and to cool myself? I tried to help myself sometimes. Jesus! That was so meaningless. Then I took whatever I could and it got to be a habit. Oh, Jesus! The Decline of the West!”

  Nut didn’t know what the professor was philosophizing about. He got dressed.

  “The Decision of the Hour!”7 the professor reminded Mr. Nut again.

  Nut opened the door, went out of the rooming house and again out into the street.

  XV:

  SADISTIC OR CAPITALISTIC

  “Heaven is above,

  Hell below.

  Nothing in pocket,

  Where to go?”

  It was four o’clock.

  * * *

  —

  Again, Nut reached the big, big cafeteria, near the subway station.

  Nut stood in front of the cafeteria and looked in.

  A long, big, beautiful and expensive car came along the broad street, thick with snow. The car gave forth a musical sound.

  The car stopped in front of the cafeteria and a husky fellow got out.

  “Hello, chief! You are rather late tonight,” said a bushy-haired, stockingless girl to the husky fellow as she came out of the cafeteria.

  “I am not interested in chicken tonight. I am going to catch a rabbit. On a snowy night, there must be plenty around. Variety is the spice of life, you know!” said the husky fellow, half jokingly, half seriously.

  He sat at a corner table, enthroned.

  * * *

  —
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  Partly because of curiosity, and partly because of necessity, Nut walked into the cafeteria, approached the husky fellow’s table and asked politely: “May I ask, Sir, where the rabbits are? If you need any help I would like to go with you. I am out of work. Thirty-five cents an hour will satisfy me. I am not sure whether I can get a job shoveling snow tomorrow.”

  “Sit down!” commanded the Husky Fellow.

  “No, thanks. I am just asking if you can give me a job. If you can’t, I’ll have to go out of the cafeteria right away.”

  “I asked you to sit down. Do as I tell you.”

  “Thank God.” Nut sat down and thought, “This means that I’ll have a job that will combine work and pleasure.”

  “What do you want to eat?” asked the husky fellow.

  “Nothing, thanks,” answered Nut.

  “Do you mean that I can’t pay your check?” the husky fellow asked angrily.

  “No, Sir. I just had something,” replied Nut.

  “It’s twenty-seven minutes . . . let me see . . . and twenty-five seconds past four! We’ve gotta go.” The husky fellow looked at his wristwatch as he spoke.

  He rose and left half a dollar on the table as a tip.

  “A rich guy!” Nut said to himself.

  “May I know your name?” asked Mr. Nut.

  “Alphonse, alias Alphonse Brown, alias Al Scarface, alias Toothbrush-Mustache, alias Kingfish, alias Number 40886. You can just call me Mr. Ratsky.”8

  * * *

  —

  So Mr. Ratsky walked in front. Nut followed.

  Mr. Ratsky paid the check.

  The cashier and bouncer bowed to him again.

  “You get in back. I’ll drive,” Nut was told.

  Mr. Ratsky opened the door for Nut and Nut got in.

  Since the car was big and heavy it ran smoothly, without shaking or jumping.

  Nut didn’t know where they were going. A few minutes later, the car stopped. Mr. Ratsky got out and opened the door. Nut stepped out.

  It was an open space in front of a high building.

  “Is this Park Avenue?” Nut asked.

  “Park Avenue is everywhere. Where there’s money there’s Park Avenue.”

  * * *

  —

  Nut stood and looked.

  “Keep quiet and follow me!”

  Nut was silent. He knew that if he talked he might lose his job.

  But Nut heard the music in the basement, even at that late hour.

  As Nut followed Mr. Ratsky and climbed the stairs, he heard clearly a woman’s scream coming from the basement. But he dared not ask anything.

  At length they came to an apartment. It was very big and very rich. On the floor there were expensive carpets of the kind one sees in the movies. One room followed the other and then there came a big room with many sofas and small tables along the sides of the walls on which there were many men’s and women’s pajamas. The light was faint. Nut could see everything, yet nothing clearly.

  “Sit down,” Mr. Ratsky again commanded.

  Nut obeyed the order. He sat on the edge of a chair, trembling.

  Mr. Ratsky took off his overcoat and hat and looked at his wristwatch. It was ten minutes to five.

  “Take off your hat! Take off your overcoat! Take off your coat. Take off your shirt. Take off your trousers. Take off your underwear! The room is warm, it’ll do you no harm. Stay where you are without moving! When the bell, inside, rings, come in! Do as I tell you. Remember! And remember well!”

  Mr. Ratsky commanded with a slow, solemn voice. The voice was so slow and solemn that it was full of magic. And because of this magic, Nut did everything he was ordered.

  Nut stayed in the room, naked, waiting.

  * * *

  —

  Mr. Ratsky went into an inner room.

  In ten minutes, the bell rang.

  Nut followed the magical sound of the bell. Step by step he moved forward.

  He opened the door.

  Nothing was there, just an empty room.

  Nut stopped.

  The bell rang again.

  Nut moved forward again.

  The dim light turned to green, then blue.

  “Lord save me! Oh Jesus! I am just a Nut! Forgive me!” Nut was screaming.

  He saw a tall, slim figure come out of a coffin. A high clown’s hat was on his head. His face was red, black and white. His tongue stuck out. He stretched out his arms. He was ready to catch Nut and eat him up.

  Nut was screaming and crying and almost fainting.

  “Now I feel better!” It was a sound of relief.

  Nut knelt down.

  “Damn women,” a voice said. “They want you to work during the day. They want you to work at night. Divorce, alimony. They’re too tricky to be pitied. They’re too weak to be tortured. If I were Hitler, it wouldn’t be the Jews I’d try to get rid of, but it would be the women. I’d chop the women’s heads off and cut off their breasts. I’d make hills of them and then shoot them into the Atlantic Ocean; or use them for pavements and let millions of my Khaki Shirts9 step on them. Murder! Kill!”

  * * *

  —

  “I’m no woman. I’m Mr. Nut!” said Nut, beggingly.

  “Because women are too weak to be tortured, I have to use men, instead. I want to pull off their hair! To taste their blood! Every hair of a man is like a woman’s. Every drop of a man’s blood is like a woman’s. Torture! Kill!”

  It was Mr. Ratsky who had spoken. Action followed his words. He began to pull Nut’s hair. To kick his body.

  Nut screamed and begged.

  * * *

  —

  “You are such a useless fellow. Weak. It’s no fun,” murmured Mr. Ratsky.

  Through pain and anger, Nut hit back suddenly at the stomach of Mr. Ratsky. He gave him one punch after another.

  “Now I’ve met a fighting opponent and I feel better still. Your punches are worth twenty-five bucks all by themselves.” Nut heard Mr. Ratsky put the light on. He handed fifty dollars to Mr. Nut. “Rabbit! Here’s your pay. Now get out!”

  * * *

  —

  Mr. Ratsky went into an inner room.

  Nut dressed.

  Mr. Ratsky came out laughing as if nothing had happened.

  “Fifty bucks. You can live on that all your life and without worry. To me it’s easy money—just like that. I’ve broken up lots of strikes. I make lots of money!”

  Nut picked up the five ten-dollar bills and tore them into bits. He threw them in the face of Mr. Ratsky and left.

  XVI:

  “I WOULDN’T GET MAD AT YOU”

  “Heaven is above,

  Hell below.

  Nothing in pocket,

  Where to go?”

  Nut was outside of the building, but the place where he was standing now was not a street. It was the backyard of the building and it had no way out.

  While Nut was looking for some way to get to the street, he wondered how it happened that, when he was in Mr. Ratsky’s apartment he saw the picture of his ex-friend, Mr. Wiseguy, lying on the table in one of the rooms.

  * * *

  —

  Where was Wiseguy now?

  * * *

  —

  As soon as the fight had started, Mr. Wiseguy and Miss Digger left together.

  They walked towards Fifth Avenue.

  “How come that you have a fellow like Nut for your friend?” asked Miss Digger.

  “Well,” replied Mr. Wiseguy, “I have a good heart and ‘pity the weak and have mercy on the dumb’ is my principle.”

  Miss Digger applauded with a sarcastic smile and her favorite expression, “Oh yeah!”

  “What do you mean by ‘oh yeah’? Don’t you beli
eve me?” protested Mr. Wiseguy.

  “Of course I do. You are as good-hearted as our Lord Jesus Christ!”

  “You’re such a darling, I can’t hide the truth from you,” said Mr. Wiseguy.

  * * *

  —

  “My dear Mr. Wiseguy, please tell me the true story.”

  “It was just a psychological reason. For instance, if there were no Third Avenue, and no Bowery, there would be no Fifth Avenue and no Park Avenue. If there were no J.P. and no J.D.10 there would be no Bums and no Trash.

  “But because there is a Third Avenue and a Bowery, that makes Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue superior. And because there are Bums and Trash, that makes J.P. and J.D. great.”

  * * *

  —

  “Mr. Wiseguy, if you don’t mind, please answer my question—why was it you had Nut as a friend?” Miss Digger interrupted.

  “My dear lady, here you are. It seems to me, you are just a Darling. By the way, you are very beautiful, it seems to me.” Mr. Wiseguy used his right hand to caress Digger’s face. Miss Digger protested:

  “Don’t never do-o that, you nasty man.

  Like me a little less,

  Love me a little more.”

  “The reason I was a friend of Mr. Nut was that the combination of Nut and myself made me, Wiseguy, become Wiser, and, of course, Mr. Nut became still Nuttier. You see I am a Psychiatrist. I see nothing in this world but Psychiatry.”

  Again Miss Digger applauded with a cold smile.

  * * *

  —

  “Now I know what you are laughing about,” Mr. Wiseguy continued. “You’re thinking how I offered only a nickel to Nut, and didn’t give him a dollar. My dear lady, even a rich man like J.D. throws away only nickels now, and so, what do you expect of me? The Wall Street papers say that twelve million workers are unemployed.11 The Communist paper says sixteen million workers are unemployed. I am a Socialist so I take a middle course; I say that fourteen million are unemployed. When I give a nickel to one fellow, that means I am taking the chance of giving fourteen million nickels away.”