Fancies and Goodnights
Page 41
She graduated with the highest honours, and set up in a shadowy little nook in the West Forties, above the establishment of a dancing instructress with whom she was acquainted. She figured that young men who suddenly took dancing lessons often had a great yearning to know what the future held for them, and she hoped these would form the nucleus of a clientele.
Myra had very little capital, and this was exhausted in furnishing her nook with bead-curtain, witch balls, images of Buddha, and similar junk, to create a convincing atmosphere for her visitors. She set her fee very low, in order to get the widest possible range of clients, and thus increase her chances of finding a future millionaire among them.
She shuffled and spread her greasy pack of cards, foretelling for innumerable insignificant young men the details of futures that were little better than pasts, which of course they would become one of these days. As far as the imminent fortune was concerned, the whole business was like a game of solitaire that never came out. The average future wealth of her clients was somewhere about the Two of Diamonds, and work and worry loomed up like a grand slam.
The months stretched on into years, and the dust lay thick upon the witch ball and the Buddha. Myra had nothing but her dreams of wealth, and these, like an old knife, were sharpened to a razor keenness. At last, late one afternoon, when the shadows were at their deepest, the stairway groaned beneath a heavy tread, and a hulking figure tried to get four ways at once through the bead-curtain that screened her alcove.
The new customer was an ugly one, and a more prosperous fortune teller would probably have sent him straight back to the Zoo. Myra, however, could not afford to pass up a dollar, so she wearily laid out her pack. The Two of Clubs frisked around fairly actively in the near foreground, in a context that gave it the significance of a copper's night stick. She saw he was in some danger of visiting a large building, full of men in strange clothes, but vaguer influences seemed to indicate a postponement of this necessity.
Suddenly she had to repress a cry that rose unbidden to her lips. It was as if his future, dark as a cannibal king, had smiled, and revealed a golden tooth. Vascal declared unequivocally that a handsome fortune was coming to this young man on the death of someone very near to him.
«Have you any relations?» she asked. «Any near relations, I mean, who are well off?»
«No, »said he. «Not unless Uncle Joe soaked anything away before they got him.»
«That must be it,» she thought. «Well,» she said aloud, «it doesn't matter much. There's no sign of any uncle leaving you anything. This card means money troubles. This means you're doublecrossed by a blonde. Looks like you're beaten up, too. I don't know what these two men in uniform are doing.»
She continued prattling and laying out the cards, her mind working meanwhile like a three-ring circus. One ring was taken up with the story she was telling to her visitor, the second in reading the real future as it unfolded itself, and the third in wondering what she was going to do about it.
She stole another glance at her unattractive client. The fortune, as far as she could judge, appeared to be rather more than a million. Her visitor, on the other hand, seemed a good deal less than human. Myra had not expected romance, but there are things which make a nice girl hesitate, and he was one of them.
While she pondered she was still automatically laying out the cards. Suddenly her eyes brightened. She looked again. It was true. All her troubles were ended. The cards indicated, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that her client would die of a sudden, violent shock within a few months of inheriting the money. This made quite an eligible bachelor of him.
Myra at once began her manoeuvres. «You seem,» said she, «to be at the parting of the ways. One road leads to misery, poverty, sickness, despair, prison …»
«I'll take the other,» said the young man.
«You show great powers of judgment,» said Myra. «But I can tell you it is not as easy as all that. The other road, which leads to riches and happiness, can only be travelled hand in hand with a good woman. Do you know a good woman?»
«Oh, phooey!» said her client in dismay.
«What a pity!» said Myra. «Because if you did, and if she was dark, and not bad-looking, and wore a number-five shoe, all you'd have to do would be to marry her, and you'd be rich for life. Very rich. Look — here it is. Money, money, money — coming to you from someone very near to you. If you marry that girl, that is. Look — this card means you at the Waldorf. Look — this is you at Palm Beach. Here you are at Saratoga. Gosh! You've backed a big winner!»
«Say, lady,» said her client. «What size shoe do you wear?»
«Well,» said Myra with a smile, «I can squeeze into a four. But usually …»
«Look, baby,» said he, taking her hand. «It's you and me. Like that. See?» With that he extended his other hand with two fingers crossed, as an emblem of connubial bliss.
Myra controlled a shudder. «When he's dead,» thought she, «I'll have a million, and get me one of these young film stars, in order to forget!»
Soon afterwards they were married, and took a small shack in an unprepossessing part of Long Island. Lew appeared to have strong reasons for living in inconspicuous retirement. Myra commuted, and drudged harder than ever with her greasy pack of cards, in order to keep them both until death should them part, leaving her a rich widow.
As time went on, and the fortune still failed to materialize, she was bitterly reproached by her hulking husband, whose stunted mind was as impatient as a child's, and who began to fear he had been married under false pretenses. He was also a little sadistic.
«Maybe you ain't the right dame after all,» said he, pinching her black and blue. «Maybe you don't wear a five. Maybe you wear a six. Gimme a divorce and let me marry another dark dame. The money don't come along, and you're black and blue anyway. I don't like a black and blue dame. Come on, gimme a divorce.»
«I won't,» said she. «I believe marriages are made in Heaven.»
This would lead to an argument, for he claimed to have evidence to the contrary. In the end his brutish wits would be baffled; he would fling her to the ground with a curse, and go into the back yard, where he would dig an enormously deep hole, into which he would gaze for a long time, and then fill it in again.
This continued for some months, and Myra herself began to wonder if the Vascal System could possibly have let her down. «Supposing he doesn't come into the money. Here I am — Mrs. King Kong, and working for it! Maybe I'd better get that divorce after all.»
These defeatist notions came to a head one gloomy winter evening as she trudged home from the ferry. Crossing the dark yard of the shack, she stumbled into another of the enormous holes dug by her simple-minded husband. «That settles it,» thought she.
When she entered the squalid kitchen, Lew greeted her with an unusual smile. «Hello, sweetie,» said he. «How's my darling wifie tonight?»
«Cut the sweetie stuff out,» said she tersely. «And the wifie stuff, too. I don't know what's bit you, you big gorilla, but my mind's made up. You can have that divorce after all.»
«Don't talk like that, honey,» said he. «I was only joking. I wouldn't divorce you, not for all the world.»
«No, but I'll divorce you,» said she. «And quick.»
«You gotta have grounds for that,» observed her husband, with a frown.
«I've got 'em,» said she. «When I show that judge where I'm black and blue, I'll get my divorce pronto. I'm sitting pretty.»
«Listen,» said he. «Have a look at this letter that came for you. Maybe you'll change your mind.»
«Why did you open my letter?» said Myra.
«To see what was inside,» said he with the utmost candor. «Go on, read it.»
«Uncle Ezra,» cried Myra, staring at the letter. «Left a million and a half dollars! All to me! Gee, the old geezer must have made good! But, say, the cards must have slipped up, then. It was supposed to come to you.»
«Never mind,» said Lew, stroking the back of her
neck. «Man and wife are one, ain't they?»
«Not for long,» cried Myra in triumph. «I'm rich! I'm free! Or I will be.»
«And what shall I do?» asked her husband.
«Go climb a tree,» said Myra. «You ought to be good at it.»
«I thought you might say that,» said he, clasping her firmly around the throat. «Gypped me a dollar for that fortune too, didn't you? Well, if you won't do right by me, the cards must. Death of someone very near to me — that's what they said, didn't they? So they was right after all!»
Myra had no breath left to pay testimony to the Vascal System, or to warn him of the sudden, violent shock that awaited him.
THE INVISIBLE DOVE-DANCER OF STRATHPHEEN ISLAND
I came again to Doyle's Hotel, at Ballymalley in Connemara, and unpacked my bags in a bedroom smelling of brine and damp towels. A little heap of sand lay in the grate, spilled out from someone else's shoes. Outside there was the wind and the dunes, and a sea already ragged with night. Downstairs was the bar.
Doyle was standing behind the bar, holding forth about Strathpheen Island. «And here,» said he to his listener, «here is the gentleman to tell you it's the wonder of the world for the sight of the wild sea-birds, and the breeding places of them.»
«No doubt about it,» said I.
«A gentleman from America,» said Doyle to me, indicating the stranger. «And him touring around, mourning over the graves of his forefathers.»
The American gave me a big handshake. «Thomas P. Rymer,» said he. «And I want to tell you, sir, this is the sort of place we read about in story-books, and can't altogether believe in.»
«I'm only a visitor, myself,» said I. «It's a romantic corner.»
«Romance,» said he. «Don't talk to me about romance. I'm what we call a hard-headed business man, but what this old Emerald Isle has done for me in the way of romance —! Nothing immoral, of course. Don't get me wrong.»
«Is Mrs. Rymer with you?» said I.
«No, sir,» said he. «I'm sorry to have to tell you, there isn't a Mrs. Rymer. Now don't laugh at me as a sentimentalist, or idealist, but a man in my line of business gets mighty particular about what I might call the finesse of the female form. Has to be. Foundation garments — girdles, corsets, brassieres. And, well, I've not seen just that bit of perfection — You know what I mean.»
«Well, you won't see her on Strathpheen Island,» said I. «All the same, why don't we go together? We'll get the boots here, the fellow they call old Danny, to help with the boat. Doyle'll pack us a bit of lunch.»
«Now that's a grand idea,» said he.
«Fine!» said I. «Tomorrow, then, if the weather's right»
It was. The sea was as flat as a mill-pond and as blue as a cornflower. We soon got out the creaky old boat, and were off on the three-mile trip to the island. Rymer was delighted. «To me, as a business man,» said he, «this is something like a bit of Man of Aran got into the March of Time. Boy! Look at those rocks! Look at that colour! Look at the birds!»
Up they got. The whole blue sky was full of winging and crying. «Come ashore,» said I. «This is just a sample.»
«Just a minute,» said Rymer, standing quite still on the beach. «I'm just trying to hear what this little out-of-the-world islet is saying to me. Now don't start calling me poetical, but if ever I came to a place where the concentrated atmosphere and romance seemed to have a special message for me — this is it. Is this island by any chance in the market?»
«I don't think so,» said I. «In fact, I know it isn't.»
«That's tough,» said he. «Never mind. Maybe it's just a feeling I had. I don't know if you've ever felt you've been sort of missing something all your life? You want to get out, make a break — I don't know. Let's get on.»
We went on, through the bracken and the bluebells, where the terns' eggs were lying about on every side, round by the cliffs, and over to the flatter side of the island. By the time we got there, we were ready for lunch.
We were just finishing, when Rymer, looking over behind me, broke off in the middle of a sentence, and looked, and stared. «What is it?» said I, turning round.
«What in God's name,» said he, «are those birds there? What are they doing?»
«Ah, 'tis them island pigeons the gentleman means,» said old Danny. «And a surprising sort of bird entirely.»
«It certainly is,» said I. «For there were five white pigeons, all close together in the air, four of them swooping down and diving in and out, quite near the ground, and the fifth hovering and fluttering, more like a hawk than a pigeon, and staying always in the middle.»
«And I'll be telling you the reason why,» said Danny. «'Tis that old farmhouse, and the walls of it standing to this day, just over the rise there. Now the farmer's wife, I've heard tell, was the one for keeping every sort of dove and pigeon, the white ones, and the fan-tailed ones, and the hairy-legged ones, and them that tumble in the air. And now the folks are dead, and the house in ruins, and no farm on the island, and them birds have mixed and mingled with the wild pigeons of these parts, and many a time they'll be throwing up a white one, and one with a queer way of flying.»
«Very queer,» said I.
Rymer seized me by the arm. «Don't think I'm kinda crazy», said he, «but — but — I know the measurements. It's my line of business. I can't see her, but — there's a dove-dancer among those birds.»
«A dove-dancer?» said Danny. «Would you be telling us what a dove-dancer may be?»
I told him of the World's Fair and its crowning symbol of peace and freedom.
«Would you believe it?» said he. «Flip over that bit of a stone, your honour, that lies against your hand. Make the brazen hussy skip a bit higher.»
«Don't on your life!» cried Rymer. «Have you no reverence, man?»
«You're right,» said Danny. «I'm thinking she may be one of the Good People and all — saints defend us!»
«Thirty-four to the fraction of an inch!» said Rymer.
«Thirty-four?» said I. «Thirty-four what?»
«Those hips,» said he. «Thirty-four — Twenty-five — Thirty-five — Boy, it's perfection!»
«Listen,» I said. «You've got a touch of the sun. There's nothing but the pigeons there.»
«Watch their flight,» said he. «I'm in the corset and girdle line; I got an eye for the measurements. I've been to the World's Fair. I know a dove-dancer when I see one, my boy — and even when I don't. And can she dance? What a peach! What a honey! Boy, is she the dove-dancing Venus of all time! Look, they're moving away!»
«So they are!» cried Danny. «And all in formation, like a flock of the government aeroplanes.»
«Excuse me, please,» said Rymer. «I can't pass this up. I can't let that wonderful little invisible lady go right out of my life like this.»
With that he sprang up, and began to lumber after the pigeons, which increased their pace. Too astonished to move, we saw him trip, fall, pick himself up again, and rush after the retreating birds faster than before. Soon he disappeared over the little rise.
«Did you ever see the like of that?» said Danny.
«Look here,» I said. «He may get over by the cliffs, I'll go round to cut him off. You follow him in case he goes the other way.»
I hurried round to the cliff edge, but there was no sign of Rymer. After waiting a long time I saw Danny come climbing up from below.
«He's stretched out under a rock, poor man,» said he. «With his wind gone, and the heart broken in him, and saying over his numbers like a reverend father telling of his beads, and measuring with his hands like a fisherman, and crying like a child. Will it be a madness on him, your honour, or was he after seeing something he couldn't see entirely?»
«It must be the sun,» said I. «We'd better get him home.»
We clambered down to where Rymer lay. He was in a piteous state, «I'm beat,» said he. «My approach was all wrong. Rushing at her like that! She got the wrong impression.»
«You come home,» sa
id I.
We rowed home in silence. When we landed, he looked back at the island. «If she'd given me just a chance!» said he. «Just a chance to explain!»
«You go up to your room,» said I, «and lie down.»
«That's what I mean to do,» said he. «That's all I'm fit for.»
He stayed in his room all that day, and all the next, and the day after. On the third day I was out for a while. When I came back I asked Doyle if all was well.
«Devil a bit of it,» said Doyle, «for he's keening like a woman over the dead.»
I listened at the foot of the stabs. «That's all right,» said I, coming back. «That's just his version of a song — 'Night and day, you are the one.' There's a note of optimism at the end of it. I've an idea he's bucking up.»
Sure enough, we soon heard his foot on the stabs. He was in the highest of spirits, a tremendous reaction. «Well, pal,» he said, «I'm afraid I've been a bit of a dead weight the last two or three days. She had me knocked right out, and that's the truth, brother. I didn't have an idea left in me. Mr. Doyle, I want you to hunt me up some canes or osiers or something, and I want your man Danny to help me build a little contraption I got in mind.»
I gave Doyle the wink to humour him, and he took the particulars of what was wanted.
«You see the idea?» said Rymer to me. «I make me these two sort of cages, like the bird traps we used to make in the Midwest when I was a boy. In the little one, I put some boiled com. That's for the doves. The big one's for her.»