William Campbell’s interview with Mr. Turner had been a little strange. Mr. Turner had knocked on the door. Campbell had said: “Come in!” When Mr. Turner came into the room he saw clothing on a chair, an open suitcase, the bottle on a chair beside the bed, and someone lying in the bed completely covered by the bedclothes.
“Mister Campbell,” Mr. Turner said.
“You can’t fire me,” William Campbell said from underneath the covers. It was warm and white and close under the covers. “You can’t fire me because I’ve got down off my bicycle.”
“You’re drunk,” Mr. Turner said.
“Oh, yes,” William Campbell said, speaking directly against the sheet and feeling the texture with his lips.
“You’re a fool,” Mr. Turner said. He turned off the electric light. The electric light had been burning all night. It was now ten o’clock in the morning. “You’re a drunken fool. When did you get into this town?”
“I got into this town last night,” William Campbell said, speaking against the sheet. He found he liked to talk through a sheet. “Did you ever talk through a sheet?”
“Don’t try to be funny. You aren’t funny.”
“I’m not being funny. I’m just talking through a sheet.”
“You’re talking through a sheet all right.”
“You can go now, Mr. Turner,” Campbell said. “I don’t work for you anymore.”
“You know that anyway.”
“I know a lot,” William Campbell said. He pulled down the sheet and looked at Mr. Turner. “I know enough so I don’t mind looking at you at all. Do you want to hear what I know?”
“No.”
“Good,” said William Campbell. “Because really I don’t know anything at all. I was just talking.” He pulled the sheet up over his face again. “I love it under a sheet,” he said. Mr. Turner stood beside the bed. He was a middle-aged man with a large stomach and a bald head and he had many things to do. “You ought to stop off here, Billy, and take a cure,” he said. “I’ll fix it up if you want to do it.”
“I don’t want to take a cure,” William Campbell said. “I don’t want to take a cure at all. I am perfectly happy. All my life I have been perfectly happy.”
“How long have you been this way?”
“What a question!” William Campbell breathed in and out through the sheet.
“How long have you been stewed, Billy?”
“Haven’t I done my work?”
“Sure. I just asked you how long you’ve been stewed, Billy.”
“I don’t know. But I’ve got my wolf back.” He touched the sheet with his tongue. “I’ve had him for a week.”
“The hell you have.”
“Oh, yes. My dear wolf. Every time I take a drink he goes outside the room. He can’t stand alcohol. The poor little fellow.” He moved his tongue round and round on the sheet. “He’s a lovely wolf. He’s just like he always was.” William Campbell shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
“You got to take a cure, Billy,” Mr. Turner said. “you won’t mind the Keeley. It isn’t bad.”
“The Keeley,” William Campbell said. “It isn’t far from London.” He shut his eyes and opened them, moving the eyelashes against the sheet. “I just love sheets,” he said. He looked at Mr. Turner.
“Listen, you think I’m drunk.”
“You are drunk.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re drunk and you’ve had d.t’s.”
“No.” William Campbell held the sheet around his head. “Dear sheet,” he said. He breathed against it gently. “Pretty sheet. You love me, don’t you, sheet? It’s all in the price of the room. Just like in Japan. No,” he said. “Listen Billy, dear Sliding Billy, I have a surprise for you. I’m not drunk. I’m hopped to the eyes.”
“No,” said Mr. Turner.
“Take a look.” William Campbell pulled up the right sleeve of his pyjama jacket under the sheet, then shoved the right forearm out. “Look at that.” On the forearm, from just above the wrist to the elbow, were small blue circles around tiny dark blue punctures. The circles almost touched one another. “That’s the new development,” William Campbell said. “I drink a little now once in a while, just to drive the wolf out of the room.”
“They got a cure for that,” “Sliding Billy” Turner said.
“No,” William Campbell said. “They haven’t got a cure for anything.”
“You can’t just quit like that, Billy,” Turner said. He sat on the bed.
“Be careful of my sheet,” William Campbell said.
“You can’t just quit at your age and take to pumping yourself full of that stuff because you got in a jam.”
“There’s a law against it. If that’s what you mean.”
“No, I mean you got to fight it out.”
Billy Campbell caressed the sheet with his lips and his tongue. “Dear sheet,” he said. “I can kiss this sheet and see right through it at the same time.”
“Cut it out about the sheet. You can’t just take to that stuff, Billy.”
William Campbell shut his eyes. He was beginning to feel a slight nausea. He knew that this nausea would increase steadily, without there ever being the relief of sickness, until something were done against it. It was at this point that he suggested that Mr. Turner have a drink. Mr. Turner declined. William Campbell took a drink from the bottle. It was a temporary measure. Mr. Turner watched him. Mr. Turner had been in this room much longer than he should have been, he had many things to do; although living in daily association with people who used drugs, he had a horror of drugs, and he was very fond of William Campbell; he did not wish to leave him. He was very sorry for him and he felt a cure might help. He knew there were good cures in Kansas City. But he had to go. He stood up.
“Listen, Billy,” William Campbell said, “I want to tell you something. You’re called ‘Sliding Billy.’ That’s because you can slide. I’m called just Billy. That’s because I never could slide at all. I can’t slide, Billy. I can’t slide. It just catches. Every time I try it, it catches.” He shut his eyes. “I can’t slide, Billy. It’s awful when you can’t slide.”
“Yes,” said “Sliding Billy” Turner.
“Yes, what?” William Campbell looked at him.
“You were saying.”
“No,” said William Campbell. “I wasn’t saying. It must have been a mistake.”
“You were saying about sliding.”
“No. It couldn’t have been about sliding. But listen, Billy, and I’ll tell you a secret. Stick to sheets, Billy. Keep away from women and horses and, and—” he stopped, “—eagles, Billy. If you love horses you’ll get horse-s—, and if you love eagles you’ll get eagle-s—.” He stopped and put his head under the sheet.
“I got to go,” said “Sliding Billy” Turner.
“If you love women you’ll get a dose,” William Campbell said. “If you love horses—”
“Yes, you said that.”
“Said what?”
“About horses and eagles.”
“Oh, yes. And if you love sheets.” He breathed on the sheet and stroked his nose against it. “I don’t know about sheets,” he said. “I just started to love this sheet.”
“I have to go,” Mr. Turner said. “I got a lot to do.”
“That’s all right,” William Campbell said. “Everybody’s got to go.”
“I better go.”
“All right, you go.”
“Are you all right, Billy?”
“I was never so happy in my life.”
“And you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. You go along. I’ll just lie here for a little while. Around noon I’ll get up.”
But when Mr. Turner came up to William Campbell’s room at noon Willi
am Campbell was sleeping and as Mr. Turner was a man who knew what things in life were very valuable he did not wake him.
Today is Friday
Three Roman soldiers are in a drinking place at eleven o’clock at night. There are barrels around the wall. Behind the wooden counter is a Hebrew wine seller. The three Roman soldiers are a little cockeyed.
1st Roman Soldier—You tried the red?
2nd Soldier—No, I ain’t tried it.
1st Soldier—You better try it.
2nd Soldier—All right, George, we’ll have a round of the red.
Hebrew Wine Seller—Here you are, gentlemen. You’ll like that. [He sets down an earthenware pitcher that he has filled from one of the casks.] That’s a nice little wine.
1st Soldier—Have a drink of it yourself. [He turns to the third Roman soldier who is leaning on a barrel.] What’s the matter with you?
3rd Roman Soldier—I got a gut-ache.
2nd Soldier—You’ve been drinking water.
1st Soldier—Try some of the red.
3rd Soldier—I can’t drink the damn stuff. It makes my gut sour.
1st Soldier—You been out here too long.
3rd Soldier—Hell, don’t I know it?
1st Soldier—Say, George, can’t you give this gentleman something to fix up his stomach?
Hebrew Wine Seller—I got it right here.
[The third Roman soldier tastes the cup that the wine seller has mixed for him.]
3rd Soldier—Hey, what you put in that, camel chips?
Wine Seller—You drink that right down, Lootenant. That’ll fix you up right.
3rd Soldier—Well, I couldn’t feel any worse.
1st Soldier—Take a chance on it. George fixed me up fine the other day.
Wine Seller—You were in bad shape, Lootenant. I know what fixes up a bad stomach.
[The third Roman soldier drinks the cup down.]
3rd Roman Soldier —Jesus Christ. [He makes a face.]
2nd Soldier—That false alarm!
1st Soldier—Oh, I don’t know. He was pretty good in there today.
2nd Soldier—Why didn’t he come down off the cross?
1st Soldier—He didn’t want to come down off the cross. That’s not his play.
2nd Soldier—Show me a guy that doesn’t want to come down off the cross.
1st Soldier —Aw, hell, you don’t know anything about it. Ask George there. Did he want to come down off the cross, George?
Wine Seller—I’ll tell you, gentlemen, I wasn’t out there. It’s a thing I haven’t taken any interest in.
2nd Soldier—Listen, I seen a lot of them—here and plenty of other places. Any time you show me one that doesn’t want to get down off the cross when the time comes—when the time comes, I mean—I’ll climb right up with him.
1st Soldier—I thought he was pretty good in there today.
3rd Soldier—He was all right.
2nd Roman Soldier—You guys don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not saying whether he was good or not. What I mean is, when the time comes. When they first start nailing him, there isn’t none of them wouldn’t stop it if they could.
1st Soldier—Didn’t you follow it, George?
Wine Seller—No, I didn’t take any interest in it, Lootenant.
1st Soldier—I was surprised how he acted.
3rd Soldier—The part I don’t like is the nailing them on. You know, that must get to you pretty bad.
2nd Soldier—It isn’t that that’s so bad, as when they first lift ’em. [He makes a lifting gesture with his two palms together.] When the weight starts to pull on ’em. That’s when it gets ’em.
3rd Roman Soldier—It takes some of them pretty bad.
1st Soldier—Ain’t I seen ’em? I seen plenty of them. I tell you, he was pretty good in there today.
[The second Roman soldier smiles at the Hebrew wine seller.]
2nd Soldier—You’re a regular Christer, big boy.
1st Soldier—Sure, go on and kid him. But listen while I tell you something. He was pretty good in there today.
2nd Soldier—What about some more wine?
[The wine seller looks up expectantly. The third Roman soldier is sitting with his head down. He does not look well.]
3rd Soldier—I don’t want anymore.
2nd Soldier—Just for two, George.
[The wine seller puts out a pitcher of wine, a size smaller than the last one. He leans forward on the wooden counter.]
1st Roman Soldier—You see his girl?
2nd Soldier—Wasn’t I standing right by her?
1st Soldier—She’s a nice looker.
2nd Soldier—I knew her before he did. [He winks at the wine seller.]
1st Soldier—I used to see her around the town.
2nd Soldier—She used to have a lot of stuff. He never brought her no good luck.
1st Soldier—Oh, he ain’t lucky. But he looked pretty good to me in there today.
2nd Soldier—What became of his gang?
1st Soldier—Oh, they faded out. Just the women stuck by him.
2nd Roman Soldier—They were a pretty yellow crowd. When they seen him go up there they didn’t want any of it.
1st Soldier—The women stuck all right.
2nd Soldier—Sure, they stuck all right.
1st Roman Soldier—You see me slip the old spear into him?
2nd Roman Soldier—You’ll get into trouble doing that someday.
1st Soldier—It was the least I could do for him. I’ll tell you he looked pretty good to me in there today.
Hebrew wine seller—Gentlemen, you know I got to close.
1st Roman Soldier—We’ll have one more round.
2nd Roman Soldier—What’s the use? This stuff don’t get you anywhere. Come on, let’s go.
1st Soldier—Just another round.
3rd Roman Soldier—[Getting up from the barrel.] No, come on. Let’s go. I feel like hell tonight.
1st Soldier—Just one more.
2nd Soldier—No, come on. We’re going to go. Good night, George. Put it on the bill.
Wine Seller—Good night gentlemen. [He looks a little worried.] You couldn’t let me have a little something on account, Lootenant?
2nd Roman Soldier—What the hell, George! Wednesday’s payday.
Wine Seller—It’s all right, Lootenant. Good night, gentlemen.
[The three Roman soldiers go out the door into the street.]
[Outside in the street.]
2nd Roman Soldier—George is a kike just like all the rest of them.
1st Roman Soldier—Oh, George is a nice fella.
2nd Soldier—Everybody’s a nice fella to you tonight.
3rd Roman Soldier—Come on, let’s go up to the barracks. I feel like hell tonight.
2nd Soldier—You been out here too long.
3rd Roman Soldier—No, it ain’t just that. I feel like hell.
2nd Soldier—You been out here too long. That’s all.
CURTAIN
Banal Story
So he ate an orange, slowly spitting out the seeds. Outside, the snow was turning to rain. Inside, the electric stove seemed to give no heat and rising, from his writing table, he sat down upon the stove. How good it felt! Here, at last, was life.
He reached for another orange. Far away in Paris, Mascart had knocked Danny Frush cuckoo in the second round. Far off in Mesopotamia, twenty-one feet of snow had fallen. Across the world in distant Australia, the English cricketers were sharpening up their wickets. There was Romance.
Patrons of the arts and letters have discovered The Forum, he read. It is the guide, philosopher, and friend of the thinking minority. Prize short stories—wi
ll their authors write our bestsellers of tomorrow?
You will enjoy these warm, homespun, American tales, bits of real life on the open ranch, in crowded tenement or comfortable home, and all with a healthy undercurrent of humour.
Short Stories Page 34