by Gwen Bristow
John was saying very little. He seldom said much about anything he felt deeply. But he was parting with his best friend, and Garnet and Florinda knew it was not easy.
After a while John and the Brute left the girls to finish their coffee, while they strolled over and stood by the door to the barroom, talking in low voices. They smiled gravely at each other, and the Brute put his hand on John’s shoulder and gave it a hard friendly grip. Garnet and Florinda turned their eyes away, and Florinda poured more coffee, saying, “Gee, I’m going to miss that big lug.”
In a few minutes the Brute came back to the table. He told them he would have to say goodby now. They sprang up. Garnet felt a lump in her throat and was glad of her sex. If she felt like crying she did not need to be ashamed to do so. She wondered if Florinda was going to shed tears too. But no, Florinda never did shed tears. Right now, she was smiling and saying, as though the Brute were going no farther away than San Diego,
“Well, a good journey, Brute, and good luck.”
The Brute thanked her. He turned to Garnet.
“Will you kiss me goodby, Garnet?” he asked.
Garnet threw her arms around his neck. The Brute gave her a squeeze that took her breath away, and she kissed him, and the tears came tumbling down her cheeks. Still holding one arm around her, the Brute took out his handkerchief and wiped her eyes, saying,
“It makes me very happy that you think enough of me to cry at my going. I do not like to leave you. But I am happy to know that you and John are so happy. I will love you and think about you always.”
Garnet told him she loved him too, and she begged him to come back if he could. When he released her she put her own handkerchief to her eyes, for her tears were still coming. John took her arm and drew her aside, toward the fireplace.
“Let’s wait here,” he said in an undertone.
“Aren’t we going to walk out with him, to see him off?”
“Yes, but not quite yet. He said he wanted a minute to say something to Florinda.”
Garnet glanced over her shoulder. The Brute and Florinda were about to go into the empty barroom. He had opened the door for her, and she was giving him a glance of puzzled questioning. Evidently she had not expected that he would want to say goodby to her in private. Garnet asked,
“What does he want to tell her, John?”
“I’ve no idea,” John returned. He was poking the fire abstractedly. “I’m going to miss him, Garnet,” he said.
“Yes, I know you are,” she answered gently. “More than any of the rest of us.”
“He’s the finest man I ever knew,” said John. Setting down the poker, he put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. “I’m glad I’ve got you,” he said. “As soon as Nikolai is out of sight, I’ll walk over to the alcalde’s office.”
“Don’t you want to go a little way with the Brute?”
John shook his head. “No. Stretching out partings is like stretching out pain. I’d rather say goodby once and have it over with.” He took a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket. “So right now, instead of standing here getting wistful, let’s attend to something important. The alcalde will probably want some information about you. Date and place of birth, citizenship of parents, and all that.”
“Tenth of January, 1826,” said Garnet. “New York City. Both my parents were born in the United States.”
“Now about your first marriage. I suppose he’ll want that too.”
John was writing briskly. How wise he was, Garnet thought. Don’t stand around yearning. Get busy. She glanced toward the barroom door again. The door was closed.
Florinda went into the barroom with the Brute. They stood together behind the bar, there where she had stood for so many hundred hours, serving drinks to so many hundred men. The room had a strange look when it was empty like this, with thin lines of sunlight coming in by the cracks between the shutters and the street-noises a muffled hum outside. It was all different. Garnet would never work here with her any more, and she herself would not be here much longer because she was going up to San Francisco.
Everything was changing. Well, there was no use feeling sad about it. Everything was always changing. How dull the world would be if it didn’t change. The Brute was going to Russia. He had told her long ago that he was going, but she had never more than half believed him until now. Russia was such a vague, distant place, it was hard to think of anybody she knew as actually being there. He would never come to the bar again, to light up the dingy room with his shining good-will and the flash of his embroidered satins. Of course, if he came back to California, he could always find her in San Francisco. But maybe he would never come back. Oh, hell for breakfast, thought Florinda, now I’m getting sentimental. I’ve said goodby to lots of people before. Keep looking ahead, that’s the only way. It’s like I’ve always said, you never know what’s coming next and it might be fun. It usually is. Let’s get this over with.
She turned to the Brute with astonishment, for she had just realized that they had been standing here for several minutes and neither of them had said anything. The Brute stood with his elbow on the bar, looking down at her with his familiar smile of gentle affection. Florinda felt herself in danger of getting sentimental again when she thought that this might well be the last time she would ever see it. She noticed, almost with surprise, how big he was, and how very good-looking with his violet eyes and his bright golden hair and the clear-cut strength of his features. Women would go absolutely dizzy about him in St. Petersburg.
It was odd to be alone with him again. Since the night she had told about Arabella, they had had very little chance to talk to each other. The next day she had found a moment to thank him for listening, but he had left town soon afterward, and in these past few days since his return he had had very little leisure. Even last night when she had walked out with him to give Garnet a few minutes with John, he had asked her only if her mind was more at ease now, and she had said yes; and he had picked up her hand and kissed it lightly and said he would see her tomorrow. Now, as she looked up at him and he still said nothing, she began to feel self-conscious. That was rare for her. She gave a puzzled little laugh, and said to him,
“What is it, Brute? What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking about you,” the Brute said. “I am thinking how lovely you are, and I am hoping that some day you will be as happy as you deserve to be.”
A small frown flickered on Florinda’s forehead, but she smoothed it out as she said, “Why, probably I am now. Because I’m not unhappy, you know.”
“You are not unhappy,” said the Brute, “but you are not as happy as I want you to be. You have had a very deep hurt. I do not mean to talk about that again. But I wanted to tell you, now that you have courage to bear it, and not just hide it and look away from it, the hurt will get easier. It will not ever quite heal. But you can live with it.”
“Yes, Brute,” she answered in a low voice. “I can live with it. You helped me there.”
“I do not think so. I think you have helped yourself. You have a great deal of strength. I shall be happy remembering you. I shall remember you always.”
For a moment Florinda said nothing. Then she asked, her voice almost a whisper, “Brute, will I ever see you again?”
“I don’t know. It is so far, and I have no idea what it will be like when I get there. So I don’t know.”
“Then—I think I’ll tell you something,” said Florinda.
He smiled. “What do you want to tell me?”
“I like you very much,” said Florinda.
“Thank you,” said the Brute.
“I’m not used to talking like this to men,” she went on, “and I feel kind of foolish to be doing it now. But I like you a lot, Brute. People are always saying, ‘It’s been good to know you.’ I’ve said it myself often, and usually it doesn’t mean a thing. But this time I mean it. It’s been good to know you.”
“Thank you,” the Brute said again, earnestly. �
��That is the greatest compliment I have ever had.”
“Oh, shut up. Don’t say things like that to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me feel like such a fool to hear it.”
“I don’t feel like a fool to say it. It’s true. I am glad you like me so much, because I like you so much. Do you know why I wanted to see you by yourself?”
Florinda shook her head.
“Because I have brought you a present,” said the Brute.
“A present? But you gave me a present last night. This gold pin—see, I’m wearing it now.”
“Yes, I see. But this is another present. Here it is.”
From the pocket of his jacket he took something wrapped in a blue silk scarf. It was not a large bundle, not nearly as large as his fist, but it was so wrapped in the scarf that she could not tell what it was. She exclaimed, “Why Brute, thank you,” and held out her hand for it, but he shook his head.
“Not yet. First I want you to promise me something.”
“Why yes, of course. What?”
“You will not open it till I have gone.”
“But why, Brute?”
“Because I don’t want you to.”
“How can I thank you for it when I don’t know what it is?”
“You don’t have to thank me for it.”
“All right, I promise. But I’m trembling with curiosity. When can I look at it?”
“Later this morning. When you are sure I am out of sight.”
“Is it a secret? Or can I show it to other people?”
“You can show it to anybody you please. But until after I have gone, you will not pinch it or squeeze it or rattle it or try to find out what it is.”
“I promise,” said Florinda.
He put the package into her hands. She held it before her, looking down in perplexity at the blue silk wrapping, then she looked up again.
“Well, as I said, I can’t thank you properly because I don’t know what I’m thanking you for. But I’ll tell you this much. Whatever it is, I’ll take mighty fine care of it. I’ll look at it often, and I’ll—oh you big lout, I’ll remember you.” She looked down at the package again. “And—Brute,” she said hesitantly.
“Yes?”
“I’m not asking what this is. But whatever it is—tell me—” She stopped again.
“Tell you what?”
“Why are you giving it to me?”
The Brute smiled tenderly. “Because you are a very good woman,” he said.
“Oh Brute, do stop it. You said that once before. It’s just as absurd now as it was then.”
“It was not absurd then, and it is not absurd now. You are a very good woman. You don’t know it, but I do.” He smiled at her incredulous face. “You are the only person on earth I would give this to. And now, I must go.”
She said reluctantly, “Yes, I suppose you must. Brute, I hope you’re going to be very happy there.”
“Will you kiss me goodby, Florinda?” he asked.
“Why of course,” she said, and took a step toward him, then as he started to put his arms around her she drew back abruptly and stood away from him, with both hands holding the little blue package to her bosom. “Brute—I’d rather not.”
“Why not?” he asked in surprise.
“Because—don’t laugh at me.”
“I’ve never laughed at you,” said the Brute. “I never will. But why won’t you kiss me?”
“Because—oh, don’t you understand?—I’ve kissed so many men. You’re different. I mean—when I kiss a man, it doesn’t mean anything. It means something when I don’t. Oh, maybe that doesn’t make sense. But you’re different, that’s all. I’d rather not.”
“I understand,” said the Brute. He added in a low voice, “Thank you, Florinda. Thank you very, very much.” He paused a moment, and when she said nothing else, he held out his hand. “Goodby, Florinda.”
She put her hand into his. “Goodby, Brute.”
He opened the door and stood aside for her to go through. John and Garnet were waiting in the kitchen.
They all walked out to the front to see the Brute ride off. Florinda and Garnet stood back a little, to let John walk to the Brute’s horse with him. Garnet noticed that Florinda was carrying something blue in her hand; it looked like a very large handkerchief crumpled up with something inside it, but Garnet did not think much about it. She was thinking about the Brute and how sorry she was that he was leaving them. John and the Brute paused beside the horse, and Florinda said to Garnet,
“Have you said anything to John about that panic you got into last night?”
“No, and I’m not going to.”
“You do want to go up there, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Garnet. “If I didn’t go, I’d miss it the rest of my life.” The Brute turned and shouted an order to his men. Garnet started. “Oh Florinda, he’s leaving!” she exclaimed. Her voice caught, and she felt her eyes stinging again. “How silly of me. He’s doing what he wants to do.”
“Yes,” said Florinda. “He’s a smart man.”
She spoke tersely, and Garnet gave her a puzzled look. “Aren’t you sorry he’s going?”
“Not as sorry as you are,” Florinda answered. She gave a humorous shrug.
“I thought you liked him very much,” Garnet said.
Florinda did not answer at once. She watched the serving-men scramble to mount their horses. As she heard the last orders of departure she turned to Garnet again.
“I like him better than any other man I know, Garnet,” she said. “But he got in my way. I know what I want and I like to be let alone to live as I please. And he got in my way. He’s the only man I ever met that I couldn’t fool at least once in a while. I’ll be more comfortable with him in St. Petersburg. That’s all.”
The Brute called to them and waved his hat. He was grinning cheerfully. They called and waved back. The train started with a clatter of hoofs and a lordly cloud of dust. John came back and stood beside them, tucking Garnet’s hand into the bend of his elbow. They said nothing as they watched. The fog was gone now, and the sun was shining. They could see a long way. The Brute’s train thudded off through the spaces between the squat little houses. At last all they could see was the dust, and then that drifted down and they could see no more sign of him. The Brute was off to St. Petersburg.
Garnet walked back into the kitchen. Without waiting for any re-livings of their farewell to the Brute, John had gone to see the alcalde. While he and Garnet were talking about it, Florinda had come indoors, and Garnet expected to find her in the kitchen. But she was not there. Nobody was there but Mickey, who was washing cups they had used this morning. From the back porch, Garnet could hear Stephen’s voice as he played while Isabel sat on the step sewing. She saw the wooden horse the Brute had left for him, and picked it up.
Mickey had finished drying the cups, so she gave him the horse and told him to take it out and give it to Stephen to play with. Mickey smiled and nodded and went out to the porch.
Garnet stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. Its emptiness gave her a hollow feeling. She wondered where Florinda was.
Probably Florinda had gone upstairs to her room. She had not had much sleep last night, and she would want to get a little rest before she opened the bar. José was not here yet, and Silky had not come in from Mr. Abbott’s. Or maybe Florinda, like John, wanted to set briskly about her next task so she would not think about the Brute. Maybe she had gone in to open the bar herself. If Florinda was opening the bar, Garnet thought she would go in and help. She too felt the need of something to do. She crossed the kitchen and opened the door to the barroom.
The room was still dim. The front door was locked and the shutters were closed. Florinda stood at the bar, as if ready to serve drinks, but she was not getting anything in order for the day. She was looking at something she held in her hands, and beside her, crumpled on the bar, was the kerchief of blue silk Garnet had seen he
r carrying when she went out to wave goodby to the Brute. As Florinda heard the door open she turned sharply.
“Who’s that?” she demanded, but seeing Garnet she said in a less indignant voice, “Oh, it’s you.”
Garnet was startled by the expression of her face. Florinda’s eyes had an angry look, and her mouth was angry too, the lower lip pushed forward defiantly. “Am I interrupting you?” Garnet asked in astonishment. “Do you want me to go?”
“No, come in. I need to turn loose on somebody. That damn fool. That idiot savage. Look what he gave me!”
Wonderingly, Garnet took the object Florinda thrust at her. She turned it over with a puzzled attention, for she had never seen anything like it and did not know what it was. Florinda had given her a little case of worn blue velvet, open to show a stiff, formalized picture of people with halos on their heads. The picture was in a gold frame set with pearls. The halos suggested that it was a religious picture of some kind, and apparently the Brute had given it to Florinda, but this was all Garnet could guess about it. She asked, “What is it, Florinda?”
“It’s an ikon. His mother’s ikon. That addle-pated ass! He gave me his mother’s ikon!”
“What is an ikon?” Garnet asked in bewilderment.
“It’s a picture from the Russian church. But that’s not the point. He knows I don’t know anything about churches. The point is, this belonged to his mother. He thinks more of his ikon than he does of his own precious neck. He wouldn’t have sold this if he was starving. So why in hell’s blazes did he have to give it to me?”
Garnet did not answer. There was no answer she knew how to give. They had been through a lot together, but this was the first time she had ever seen Florinda lose her temper.
But Florinda had lost her temper now. “Is he really gone?” she was demanding. “You’re sure he’s gone?”
“Yes, yes,” Garnet said breathlessly. “He’s gone.”
“Good for him that he is. I’d like to throw this in his silly face. That bumbling fool. Is anybody in the kitchen?”