by Jim Thompson
“Well, sure,” I said. “But everybody does things like that. You might say it was even kind of a compliment to a woman. But this way, when a woman ain’t been a widow long enough to get her weeds wet, it just ain’t respectful. I mean, after all, they’s certain proprieties to observe, and a decent fella don’t hop right on a brand-new widow any more than a decent brand-new widow lets him.”
She hesitated, studying me, but finally she nodded.
“Well, maybe you’re right, Nick. Christ knows I’ve always done my goddam best to be respectable, in spite of that son-of-a-bitch I was married to.”
“Why sure you have,” I said. “Don’t I know that, Rose?”
“So we’ll wait until tonight. After Myra goes to sleep, I mean.”
“Well,” I said. “Well, uh—”
“And now I am going to tell you a surprise.” She gave me a hug, eyes dancing. “It won’t be long now before we can forget about Myra. You can get a divorce from the old bag—Christ knows you’ve got plenty of grounds—or we can just say to hell with her and leave here. Because we’re going to have plenty of money, Nick. Plenty!”
“Whoa, whoa now!” I said. “What the heck are you sayin’, honey?” And she laughed, and told me how it was.
Back in the beginning, when Tom was still sugarin’-up to her, he’d taken out a ten-thousand-dollar insurance policy. Ten thousand, double indemnity. After a year or so, when being nice got tiresome, he’d said to hell with the policy and to hell with her. But she’d kept up the premiums herself, paying for them out of her butter and egg money. Now, since Tom had been killed instead of dying a natural death, she’d collect under the double-indemnity clause. A whole twenty thousand dollars.
“Isn’t it wonderful, honey?” She hugged me again. “And that’s only part of it. This is damned good farm land, even if that son-of-a-bitch was such a no-good bastard that he never put any improvements on it. Even at a forced sale, it ought to bring ten or twelve thousand dollars, and with that much money, why—”
“Now, wait a minute,” I said. “Not so fast, honey. We can’t—”
“But we can, Nick! What the hell’s to stop us?”
“You just think about it,” I said. “Think how it would look to other people. Your husband gets killed and right away you’re a rich woman. He gets killed and you profit by it plenty, and you tie up with another man before his body’s hardly cold. You don’t think that folks would wonder about that a little! You don’t think they might get some alarmin’ ideas about her and this other man and her husband’s death?”
“We-el…” Rose nodded. “I suppose you’re right, Nick. How long do you think we’ll have to wait before it will be safe?”
“I’d say a year or two, anyways,” I said. “Prob’ly two years would be best.”
Rose said she didn’t think two years would be best. Not for her it wasn’t. One year was going to be a goddamned plenty to wait, and she wasn’t sure she’d even wait that long.
“But we got to! My gosh, honey,” I said. “We can’t take no chances, right when we’ve got everything the way we want it. That wouldn’t make no sense, now would it?”
“Everything isn’t the way I want it! Not by a hell of a long shot!”
“But looky, looky, honey,” I said. “You just agreed that we had to be god-danged careful, and now you—”
“Oh, all right,” Rose laughed, kind of pouting. “I’ll try to be sensible, Nick. But don’t you forget I’ve got my brand on you. Don’t you forget it for a minute!”
“Why, honey,” I said. “What a thing to say! Why for would I want another woman when I’ve got you?”
“I mean it, Nick! I mean every word of it!”
I said sure, I knew she did, so what was she carryin’ on about? She untensed a little, and patted me on the cheek.
“I’m sorry, honey. We’ll see each other tonight, hmmm? You know, after Myra’s gone to sleep.”
“I don’t see no reason why not,” I said, wishing to gosh I could see a reason.
“Mmm! I can hardly wait!” she kissed me and jumped up. “I wonder if that goddam dress is dry yet.”
It was dry. Probably a heck of a lot dryer than I was, what with all the sweating I was doing. I thought to myself, Nick Corey, how in the good gosh-dang do you get in these god-dang messes? You got to be with Rose tonight; you just don’t dare not to be with her. And you got to be with Amy Mason tonight. Anyway, you’re sure aching to be with Amy, even if you don’t have to be. So—
But I did have to be.
I just didn’t know it yet.
16
Myra was waiting for us at the head of the stairs when me and Rose arrived, and the two of ’em practically fell into each other’s arms. Myra said, you poor, poor dear, and Rose said, oh, what would I ever do without you, Myra, and then they both busted out bawling.
Myra made the most noise, of course, even though it was more Rose’s place to do it, and she’d been practising all the way into town. There just wasn’t no one that could beat Myra when it came to noise-making. She started to steer Rose into her bedroom, her eyes on Rose instead of where she was going, and she bumped spang into Lennie. She whirled and gave him a slap that almost made me hurt. Then she hit him again because he yelled.
“Now, you shut up!” she warned him. “Just shut up and behave yourself. Poor Rose has enough trouble without putting up with your racket!”
Lennie clenched his teeth to keep from bawling; I almost felt kind of sorry for him. Fact is, I felt real sorry for him, but right while I was doing it, I felt something else. Because that’s the way I am, I guess. I start feeling sorry for people, like Rose, for example, or even Myra or Uncle John or, well, lots of folks, and the way it eventually works out is it’d be a lot better if I hadn’t felt sorry for them. Better for them, I mean. And I guess that’s natural enough, you know? Because when you’re sorry for someone, you want to help them, and when it sinks in on you that you can’t, that there’s too god-danged many of them, that everywhere you look there’s someone, millions of someones, and you’re only one man an’ no one else cares an’—an’—
We were having an oven supper that night, which was a good thing since Myra was so long in the bedroom with Rose. Finally, they came out, and I patted Rose on the shoulder and told her she’d have to be brave. She rested her head against my chest for a moment, like she just couldn’t help herself, and I gave her another pat.
“Now, that’s right, Nick,” Myra said. “You just take care of Rose, and I’ll get supper on.”
“I’ll sure do that,” I said, “me an’ Lennie’ll both take care of her, won’t we, Lennie?”
Lennie scowled, blaming Rose naturally because Myra had hit him. Myra gave him a frown and told him he’d better watch his step. Then she went into the kitchen to take up supper.
It was god-danged good, being a company meal. Rose remembered to bust into tears now and then, and say that she just couldn’t eat a bite. But she couldn’t have put away much more without letting out her dress.
Myra filled up our coffee cups, and brought in dessert, two kinds of pie and a chocolate cake. Rose had some of each, shedding a few tears at intervals to show that she was just forcin’ herself.
We finished eating. Rose got up to help, but of course, Myra wouldn’t hear of it.
“No, sir, no, siree! You sit right down there on the settee, and rest your poor dear self!”
“But it’s not fair to leave you with all the work, Myra, darling,” Rose said. “I could at least do—”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing!” Myra shooed her away. “You’re going to sit down, that’s what you’re going to do. Nick, you entertain Rose while I’m busy.”
“Why, sure,” I said. “Nothin’ I’d enjoy more than entertainin’ Rose!”
Rose had to bite her lip to keep from laughin’. We went over to the settee and sat down, and Myra gathered up an armful of dishes and started for the kitchen.
Lennie was lolling on a chair
with his eyes closed. But I knew they weren’t closed tight. That was a trick of his, pretending to be asleep, and I guess he must have liked it real well because this was about the umpteenth time he’d tried to pull it on me.
I whispered to Rose, “How about a little kiss, honey?”
Rose shot a quick look at Lennie and the kitchen door, and said, “Let’s have a big one.” And we had a big one.
And Lennie’s eyes and mouth flew open at the same time, and he let out a yell. “My-ra! Myra, come quick, Myra!”
There was a heck of a clatter as Myra dropped something in the kitchen. A stack of dishes, it sounded like. She ran in, scared out of her wits, looking like she expected the house to be on fire.
“What? What, what?” she said. “What’s going on? What’s the matter, Lennie?”
“They was huggin’ and kissin’, Myra!” Lennie pointed at Rose and me. “I seen ’em, huggin’ and kissin’.”
“Why, Lennie,” I said. “How can you say such a awful thing?”
“You was too! I seen you!”
“Now, you know that ain’t so!” I said. “You know god-danged good an’ well what happened.”
“Just what did happen?” Myra said, looking kind of uncertainly from Rose to me. “I’m—I’m sure there must be a, uh, mistake, but—”
Rose started crying again, burying her face in her hands. She got up, saying she was going home because she just couldn’t stay another minute in a place where people said such awful things about her.
Myra put out a hand to stop her, and said, “Nick, will you kindly tell me what this is all about?”
“They was huggin’ and kissin’, that’s what!” Lennie yelled. “I seen ’em!”
“Hush, hush, Lennie! Nick?”
“T’heck with it,” I said, sounding mad. “You can believe any god-danged thing you want to. I tell you this, though, this is the last god-danged time I try to comfort anyone when they’re feelin’ bad!”
“But…oh,” said Myra. “You mean that…?”
“I mean that Rose got to feelin’ real bad again,” I said. “She started cryin’ and I told her to just lean against me until she felt better, and I sort of patted her on the shoulder like any decent fella would. Why, god-dang it!” I said, “I did the same god-dang thing a while ago when you were right here in the room, and you said that was fine, I should take care of her! And god-dang, look how you’re actin’ now!”
“Please, Nick,” Myra was all flustered and red. “I never for a moment thought that, uh—”
“It’s all my fault,” Rose said, drawing herself up real dignified. “I guess I can’t blame you for thinking such terrible things about me, Myra, but you should have known that I’d never, never do anything to hurt my very best friend.”
“But I do know it! I never had any such thoughts, Rose, darling!” Myra was practically bawling herself. “I’d never doubt you for a moment, dear.”
“They’re story-tellin’, Myra!” Lennie yelled. “I seen ’em huggin’ and kissin’.”
Myra slapped him. She pointed to the door of his room, chasing him toward it with a couple more hard slaps. “Now, you get in there! Get right in there and don’t let me see you again tonight!”
“But I seen—”
Myra gave him a crack that practically knocked him off his feet. He went stumbling into his bedroom, blubbering and spitting, and she slammed the door on him.
“I’m terribly, terribly sorry, Rose, darling,” Myra turned back around again. “I—Rose! You take that hat right back off, because you’re not moving a step out of here!”
“I th-think I’d better go home,” Rose wept, but she didn’t sound real determined. “I’d be too embarrassed to stay after this.”
“But you mustn’t be, dear! There’s absolutely no need to be. Why—”
“But she does,” I cut in, “an’ I don’t blame her a god-dang bit! I feel the same way myself. Why, god-dang it, the way I feel right now I get sort of self-conscious even bein’ in the same room with Rose!”
“Well, why don’t you get out of the same room then?” Myra snapped. “My goodness, get out and take a walk or something! No sense in you acting the fool, just because poor Lennie did.”
“All right, I will get out,” I said. “That god-danged Lennie starts all the trouble, and I get drove out of my own house. So don’t you be surprised if I don’t hurry back!”
“I’ll be pleasantly surprised if you don’t. I’m sure neither Rose nor I will miss you, will we, Rose?”
“Well—” Rose bit her lip. “I hate to feel responsible for—”
“Now, don’t you trouble yourself another minute, darling. You just come out in the kitchen with me, and we’ll have a nice cup of coffee.”
Rose went with her, looking just a wee bit disappointed, naturally. At the kitchen door, she glanced back at me quickly, and I shrugged and spread my hands and looked sort of mournful. As if to say, you know, that it was too doggoned bad, but it was just one of those things, and what could you do about it? And she nodded, letting me know that she understood.
I got a pole and fishing line from under my bed. I came back out of the bedroom and called to Myra, asking her if she could pack me up a lunch because I was going fishing. And I guess you know what she told me. So I left.
There weren’t many people on the street that late at night, almost nine o’clock, but practically everybody that was up asked me if I was going fishing. I said, why, no, I wasn’t, and where did they ever get an idea like that?
“Well, how come you’re carryin’ a fish pole and line, then?” this one fella said. “How come you’re doin’ that if you ain’t goin’ fishin’.”
“Oh, I got that to scratch my butt with,” I said. “Just in case I’m up a tree somewheres, an’ I can’t reach myself from the ground.”
“But, looky here now—” He hesitated, frowning. “That don’t make no sense.”
“How come it don’t?” I said. “Why, practically everyone I know does the same thing. You mean to say you never took a fishing pole with you to scratch your butt with, in case you was up a tree an’ couldn’t reach yourself from the ground? Why, god-dang it, ain’t you behind the times!”
He said, well, sure, he always did the same thing himself. Fact is, he was the first fella to think of the idea. “All I meant was that you shouldn’t have no hook an’ line on it. I mean, that part don’t make sense.”
“Why, shore it does,” I said. “That’s to pull up the back-flap of your drawers after you’re through scratchin’. God-dang,” I said, “it looks to me like you’re really behind the times, fella. You don’t watch out, the world will plumb pass you by before you know it!”
He scuffed his feet, looking ashamed of himself. I went on down the street toward the river.
I told one fella that, no, I wasn’t going fishing, I was going to fasten on to a sky-hook and swing myself t’ the other side of the river. I told another fella that, no, I wasn’t going fishing, the county was putting a bounty on flying turds and I was going to try to hook onto some, in case they cleaned out the crappers when the train went by. I told another fella—
Well, never mind. It don’t make no more difference than it made sense.
I got to the river. I waited a while, and then I began moving up the bank until I was about on a line with Amy Mason’s house. Then, I started cutting back toward town again, dodging any house with lights in it and taking cover whenever I could. And finally I got to where I was going.
Amy let me in the back door. It was dark, and she took my hand and led me back to the bedroom. She flung off her nightgown there, grabbed me and held me for a minute, her lips moving over my face. She began to whisper, wild crazy things, sweet wild crazy things. And her hands fumbled with my clothes, and I thought to myself, god-danged, there just never was no one like Amy! There just ain’t no one like her! And…
And I was right.
She made me know I was.
Then, we were lying side by
side, holding hands. Breathing together, our hearts beating together. Somehow, there was perfume in the air, although I knew Amy never wore none; and somehow you could hear violins playin’, so sweet and so soft, playing a song that never was. It was like there wasn’t any yesterday, like there’d been no time before this, and I wondered why it should ever be any other way.
“Amy,” I said, and she rolled her head to look at me. “Let’s get away from this town, honey, let’s us run away together.”
She was silent for a moment, seeming to think the idea over. Then she said I couldn’t think very much of her or I wouldn’t make such a suggestion.
“You’re a married man. I’m afraid you might have a great deal of trouble in getting unmarried. What does that make me, the woman who runs away with you?”
“Well, looky, honey,” I said. “This sure ain’t satisfactory, the way we’re doin’ now. We sure can’t go on like this, can we?”
“Do we have a choice?” Her shoulders moved in a shrug. “Now if you had money—you don’t, do you, dear? No, I thought not—you might be able to make a settlement with your wife, and we could leave town. But in the absence of money…”
“Well, uh, about that now…” I cleared my throat. “I reckon they’s a lot of fellas that’d be too proud to accept money from a woman. But the way I look at it—”
“I don’t have it, Nick, popular opinion to the contrary notwithstanding. I own a number of income properties, and the rentals enable me to live quite well by Pottsville standards. But they’d bring very little at a sale. Certainly not enough to support two people for the rest of their lives, let alone assuage the wounded feelings of a wife like yours.”
I hardly knew what to say to that. Maybe, well, maybe my feelings was kind of hurt. Because I knew just about as much about the property she owned as she did, and I knew she was a lot better off than she pretended.
She just didn’t want to get things squared up and go off with me. Or just run away with me like any woman should if she was really in love with a fella. But it was her money, so what the heck could I do about it?
Amy picked up my hand and put it on one of her breasts. She squeezed it, trying to press it into her flesh, but I didn’t help her none, and finally she pushed it away.