“You didn’t?”
“I swear to God I did. I couldn’t believe it, but there he was, giving her the old Roy Rogers treatment. Giddyap, Trigger . . . ‘I’m back in the saddle again,’” Bernie sang in a screeching falsetto. “What a cock he’s got, long like a torpedo. He ain’t circumcised like us. None of the Nazis get circumcised. If the owner and the Nazi’s wife found out about it, plus Lord Farberman, he’d get his balls cut off.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Neal protested.
“Aw, I dunno. Gee, Neal, I’m sorry. I was gonna tell you.”
Neal took out his last cigarette, lit it, and passed it to Bernie.
“We’ll smoke this one together.”
“Neal, wouldn’t it be great to get laid? Wish we knew somebody.”
“Moony laid Margie and you know what happened to him. He got the Crimean crotch rot, with scabs on his balls. They had to send him away to Riker’s Island where the leper colony is. What about Lady Farberman?”
“I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. She’s such a dirty pig. I’ll bet she’s got worms up her from the Nazi.”
Neal shot the cigarette out with his index finger.
“It’s the asshole of the world, all right.”
“Would you rather live with your father and Eva?”
“I couldn’t stand it.”
“They still fight?”
“They never stopped. He cuts out when he feels like it, and when he gets home she screams, and screams, and screams, till she’s blue in the face and her veins and eyeballs are popping out. I hate her guts. She’s got this daughter about two years older than me, and she sees her only once a year. That’s the kind of rat she is. I met her once, the daughter, a skinny, sad-faced titless scarecrow with freckles on her face and hair under her arms. Eva’s very mean, and when my father and her make up, they sit around and drink, or they go out to bars and drink. And they get drunk and cry and talk in a slurry way like drunks talk, and then they argue some more, and he hits her. They’re pretty terrible people really.”
“Yeah, but your father’s swimming in dough.”
“He can stick his dough up his ass and shit dollar bills. Aw, but sometimes he’s nice and he tries, he really does try. But I dunno. It all makes me sick. I’d like to join the army and kiss them all goodbye.”
“Why didn’t your father go in the army?” Bernie asked. “You told me once but I forgot.”
“Something wrong with his heart. He didn’t have a heart attack but when my grandma died, something happened to it and made it weak. Something like that.”
The clock by the church up the street tolled five o’clock, and Bernie jumped up anxiously, while Neal sat pensively staring at the street below.
“C’mon, you gotta pack.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Aren’t you shitting green?”
“Why should I?”
“In case the guy who slept over’s still there.”
Neal climbed down the metal rungs and wiped his hands on the clean sheets that Mrs. Klein had hung up.
“What can he do to me?” Neal said. “I’m only twelve years old and I’m not scared, not anymore.”
“Gee.” Bernie blew his cheeks out and slammed them.
There was a light on in the apartment, but Neal thought nothing of it, as he and Rhoda always left the hall light on in an attempt to discourage burglars. The radio was on, and he knew that the man and possibly his mother were there. An announcer was giving the racing results in a twangy voice, and the man had his ear glued to the speaker. When he saw Neal and Bernie, he turned the radio off and smiled. They stared at the man, for he wore camel-colored jodhpurs, blue suede shoes, a loafer jacket that moths had riddled with their own unique pattern, and a silk undershirt. The jodhpurs and jacket Neal recognized as ancient and discarded possessions of his father. Rhoda came out of the kitchen, but they didn’t notice her.
“You in the right apartment, Mister?” Neal asked.
“Neal?” the man said, crumpling a sheet of paper with numbers on it and tossing it into the wastepaper basket. “I’m Sol Pudnick.” His voice had the quality of a toad croak, and Neal was surprised by it. “Everyone calls me Sports.”
“Hiya, Sports,” Bernie said. “You come here to listen to the radio?”
“I was waiting for Neal. To meet him.”
“You met me. Now what?”
“I ought to beat your head in, Neal,” Rhoda said angrily.
“Mom? You home?”
“You’re goddamned right I’m home. Now what’d you do with Mr. Pudnick’s clothes?”
“Sports, please, Rho,” Sports said, protesting against formality.
“Where the hell are his clothes?”
“It was two C’s worth of shantung, not to mention a very special white-on-white job that come from Madison Avenue at a double sawbuck.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Neal said quietly. “I’ve got to pack, ‘cause Dad’s coming to get me in a half-hour, and he hates to be kept waiting.”
“Bernie, maybe you’d better go home,” Rhoda said.
“Sure, Mrs. Blackman.”
“Bernie stays,” Neal said with authority. “He’s gonna help me pack. Mom, is this man bothering you? Should I call the cops?”
Rhoda came up to Neal, grasped his collar in her fist, and shook him. He gave a dull, fish-eyed look expressing total incomprehension.
“Leave the kid alone, Rho,” Sports said.
“Sports stayed here last night.”
Bernie edged towards the door anxiously.
“Did he? Where? I didn’t see him.”
“In the living room, he slept.”
“I didn’t go into the living room. I never do, do I? You always tell me not to.”
“Then what’d you do this morning . . . from the moment you got up?”
“I washed, brushed my teeth, got dressed. Went into your room and kissed you on the cheek like I do every morning.”
“You’re not gonna hit him, are you, Mrs. Blackman?” Bernie whined.
“You never went into the living room?”
Neal outstared her, and her first impression of his lying gave way to doubt.
“Did you leave the door open when you left?”
“Don’t think I did.”
“Could be you did this time,” Sports volunteered. But Neal shook his head definitely. He didn’t want anyone’s help, least of all the victim’s, to get him off the hook.
“I’m sure the door was locked.”
“Maybe the Nazi stole them,” Bernie said.
“Who’s the Nazi?” Sports said.
“The superintendent. No, I don’t think he’d do a thing like that.”
“Oh, wouldn’t he?” Bernie pressed on.
“Yeah, I guess the door was open,” Sports said helplessly. “Your kid wouldn’t steal my clothes, and he didn’t even know I was here.” He put his arm round Neal. “You can’t win ‘em all, can you? Still two C’s worth of precious cloth that come by plane from Hong Kong. Crying shame.”
“Why did he” - Neal pointed to the gaily attired Sports – “stay here last night?”
There was an embarrassed silence and some heavy breathing from Bernie.
“I’m going now. See you, Neal. See you, everybody: Mrs. Blackman, Sports. See you.”
Rhoda pursed her lips and sucked in her breath. She avoided Neal’s serious, unrelenting eyes. Whenever she thought she had the upper hand, he always managed to reverse the situation, put her on the defensive, and sit in judgment on her without seeming to do so. He was like a wolf, sly, dangerous, and completely in control, never yielding, patient, stalking, capitalizing on the slightest mistake she made. What made it even more frustrating from her point of view was that Neal never appeared to be wielding the knife; he had a way of forcing her to turn the knife on herself. He was unattackable, and he lived in a fortress that by some magic of personality he had rendered impregnable.
“I was at the Gin Rummy Club on Eastern Parkway and I couldn’t get a taxi.”
“It was very late,” Sports added.
“Oh, the Gin Club. You showed me it once. Right across the street from Dubrow’s Cafeteria.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Sports said.
“Don’t they have a taxi station in front of Dubrow’s? About thirty of them waiting in a line all the time?”
“Well, there weren’t any last night,” Rhoda said angrily.
“Oh, okay.”
“There weren’t any. And when I dropped your mother off, my car conked out. Couldn’t start it, and all the garages were closed, so your mom kindly offered me the davenport in the living room.”
“My dad belongs to the AAA.”
“So? What’s that got to do with . . . ?”
“Well, the good thing about them is that they come and start your car day or night, no matter where you are. They’re very good like that, that’s why my dad’s a member.” The information came forth from Neal’s lips without a hint of irony and without a smile. Simply information that Sports might find useful in the future.
“I’ve got to pack now. ‘S’cuse me, Mom.” As he was about to leave the dining room, he turned and said: “I’d call the police about your clothes. Whoever stole them, well . . . it was a pretty horrible and nasty thing to do.”
“Impossible,” Rhoda moaned to Sports when he was gone. “Impossible little bastard. He was laughing at us all the time.”
“I’m not sure, Rho. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Is he a liar?”
“No, not a liar. He just never tells the truth.”
Neal came out of his room carrying a small leather weekend case. He paused on the threshold, then went up to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. He held out his hand and said:
“Glad to meet you, Sports.”
“Same here.”
Rhoda’s exterior crumbled slightly when she realized that Neal had made the effort to be pleasant and outgoing.
“Have a good time and look after yourself.”
“I’ll try.”
“I’m happy you and Sports met. You’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future.”
“That’s nice,” Neal said.
Not until Neal had settled in his room in Jay’s house did he consider the implications of Sports’ sudden appearance as a house guest. All day at school he had given his mind to his studies, and even after the interview with his mother, the thought of Sports as a permanent fixture in the household merely occupied that place in his mind reserved for the other disembodied phantoms who had crossed his social perimeter and then evaporated like a cloud of smoke into some nebulous expanse of sky. On the surface, the man was pleasant enough, even likeable, but Neal did not like him: personable men with what he called the “pals act” revolted him. He didn’t want a pal, nor did he wish to exchange confidences. If his mother chose to marry again, he would not stand in her way, or protest, so long as new and more insidious restraints were not placed on him. As it was, too many people told him what to do: the prospect of yet another sympathetic, solicitous demi-relation advising him was intolerable. He knew that Sports had known he was guilty, and this made Neal uneasily suspicious of his motives for concealing his knowledge. Why hadn’t he pressed his claim, or forced Neal to tell the truth? Why had he been so quick to believe him, or seem to believe him? For Neal, everyone operated in a shabby, dark world of motives: find out the man’s motives, and you can beat him at his own game. It was obvious: Sports planned to marry Rhoda; but why? Could he possibly love Rhoda? That might be a possibility if the man was less shifty, if the man was, in short, a man. But he had detected that Sports’ façade was as substantial as a piece of tissue paper and as convincing as a Superman comic. Rhoda had money, for Jay had not only given her a store which was successful, but also a large cash settlement.
The divorce itself, what Neal remembered of it, had been a masterpiece of good taste and sotto voce diplomacy. No screaming, arguments, fights, name-calling - nothing like what their marriage had been. It was all settled well and finally: two cold-blooded and dissimilar people sitting round a table with a few lawyers had signed a pact of dissolution and peace - like the Indians and cavalry in a Western. Neal had come into a room in a large official-looking building, after walking down a long gray, spotlessly clean corridor, the clicking of his leather heels punctuated the tomblike silence. The room had smelled like stale bread, and everyone smiled at him - open, smiling, false faces and Jay had kissed him, then Rhoda kissed him, and there was an acrid cigarette odor on her breath that bothered him a bit, even though it was as familiar as her face. He had nodded yes to several questions without fully understanding them. His back had been patted by a man who he had learned was the judge, and it had all ended in an hour. He had wanted to cry, to scream, to throw himself on the floor, writhing in an agony that he barely comprehended but which had torn a hole in him, but he was unable to cry, and he regretted not crying because he had never succeeded in crying afterwards, and he recognized that this represented an irreparable loss, and had made him, as much as anything else, what he was: a child waiting to become a man, so that he could break away from Rhoda and Jay. His only emotion, when it was over, was relief.
He decided that Sports wanted Rhoda’s money and that he would have to tell his father, and Jay would do something about it. Neal would stand back from the action with an admiring sense of pride in Jay’s firmness, and his power of decision. What he loved most about Jay was the way he could alter circumstances, and he knew his father was susceptible to his influence. He manipulated Jay like a set of trains. Jay loved Neal and never stopped telling him that he did, and Neal loved Jay for loving him.
Eva was sitting in the den with a half-filled glass in her hand.
“You all settled in?”
“Uh-huh. Where’s my father?”
“Talking to somebody on the phone . . .” She held up her glass to Neal, and he took it. “Would you be a good boy and fix me another drink? Not too heavy on the water, we don’t want to kill good scotch.”
“Could you tell the difference?”
“What’d you mean by that? Of course, I can tell good from crap.”
“No, I mean if there’s too much water in it?”
She thought about his question for a moment and said:
“Yeah, it tastes all watery and flat.” Neal always seemed to upset her, and she lost her temper too easily with him. Why did she always look for hidden meanings in harmless things he said?
“Thanks, Neal. You’ve got a terrific future as a bartender. It’s just right.”
Jay walked in with blazing eyes.
“You got the kid mixing drinks for you? It’s only five feet away. If that’s too far, you can sit on top of it.”
“Aw, Dad, don’t argue. I like doing it.”
“Really?” He brightened. “Sorry, Eva. I’m just annoyed that I got let down for some fight tickets. I told the broker to take his tickets and stick ‘em.”
“Aren’t we going?” Neal asked.
“Twenty-fifth row?”
“I wanted to go.”
“Well, I’ll call him back if you do.”
“No, don’t, you’re probably right.”
“Tell you what, there’s a new steak house opened up last week and I hear it’s terrific. What do you say, Neal? Shrimp cocktail and a nice big charcoal-broiled steak?”
“Sure, great.”
“I want to eat Chinese food,” Eva said.
“Well, you go and eat Chinese food. Neal and me are gonna have steak.”
“Never anything I want to do. Always Neal, Neal, Neal.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Eva, don’t you remember the last time we ate Chinese food you were sick all night, and said you’d never eat it again,” Neal said with concern.
She gave him a quizzical stare, then broke into a smile.
“Always got the right thing up your s
leeve, haven’t you?”
“Finish your drink and we’ll go. They sell booze in bars too, and you like bars better, don’t you?”
“I’ll just do my face.”
“That’s a lifetime’s work. C’mon.”
On the drive, they passed the Lee Chi Tea Garden and Neal shouted to his father to stop.
“Let’s do what Eva wants to.”
“Why? You were right about it never agreeing with her.”
“Neal,” she droned sourly, “you must be the only kid in the world who always gets his own way by giving in to other people.”
“That’s uncalled for,” Jay said, pushing his foot hard on the accelerator so that they passed the restaurant in a flash.
“He’s just a smart little bastard . . . too smart.”
Jay hit her in the stomach with his elbow, without taking his eyes off the road.
“Daddy, don’t!” Neal screamed.
“You watch your mouth with the child.”
Eva did not react; she merely rubbed her stomach and slumped back in the seat.
“If you can’t hold your liquor, then stay home!”
“One of these days . . . you and that kid,” she threatened.
“Don’t make threats unless you intend to carry them out.”
They drove in silence, and Neal wondered, wondered for the thousandth time, why his father had married someone he so obviously despised. What had the reason been, the compulsion? Their marriage was a series of humiliations for both of them. Was it possible to make the same mistake twice? His father still had women - Neal had met a few of them in the showroom. They had all offered to take him to the circus. Nothing seemed to make sense when one became an adult. Didn’t people have clear-cut choices that even a child could understand? Although he admired his father, he could not respect him: he didn’t approve of hitting women.
“What’s gonna happen?”
“Happen?” Jay repeated.
“To all of us,” Neal said.
“See” - he prodded Eva – “you’ve upset him. Why we can’t have a quiet family dinner once in a while is a mystery to me.”
“No mystery at all,” Eva shrugged apathetically. “It’s simply that you love Neal more than me, and you never stop reminding me that you do. If I did the same thing with Lorna, you’d go off your nut. That is if you gave a good goddamn about me or her.”
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