So Little Time

by John P. Marquand

  He could see them all crowded in the bow as they steamed into New York Harbor, the whole deck full of younger officers. He remembered the wonder that he felt when he reached New York and stepped through the barriers beyond the pier, and saw the streets and the automobiles and the well-fed faces. No one had looked at him—they had seen too many soldiers, and he was lost there in the city. He was unfamiliar with the land he had left, completely lost.

  “We ought to get that for the girl,” he said, “that sense of being lost, not a part of anything.”

  Then he saw Hal turn in his chair and look toward the hall and he saw one of the Japanese boys in a white coat.

  “The telephone,” the boy said, “for Mr. Wilson, from New York.”

  Jeffrey felt a twinge of conscience when he pulled himself out of the chair. It was retribution for having had too good a time. Now, something serious must have happened in New York, particularly when he considered the difference of time. His watch showed him that it was half-past twelve, and it would be later—half-past three in the morning—in New York.

  “Take it in my workroom,” Hal said. “You know, just across the hall.”

  There must have been an accident or he would not have been called at half-past three in the morning. Someone was ill, or someone was dead. Marianna was standing up, and her eyes showed him that she had seen what he was thinking.

  “Thanks, Hal,” he said, and then he made an inane remark. “I’m sorry.”

  He walked across the hall to Hal’s workroom with the framed photographs of all the celebrities that Hal had ever met on the wall around him—celebrities dressed like cowboys, celebrities in bathing suits and shorts, celebrities candidly snapped in night clubs. The telephone was on the draftsman’s table and when he looked at it, he had a faint feeling of nausea.

  “Mr. Wilson?” The operator’s voice was precise and impersonal. “New York is calling. Just a minute, please.” He could hear the buzzing in the transmitter. “New York, we have your party, ready to talk. One moment, please. Mr. Wilson? Ready with New York.”

  He wished to God she would not talk so much, and then he heard a burst of dance music, and then Madge’s voice as clear as though she were talking across the room.

  “Hello, Jeff. Is that you, darling?”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said. He was talking louder than was necessary as he always did on the telephone. “Yes, what is it, Madge?”

  “Are you at a party? What time is it out there?”

  “It’s half-past twelve,” Jeffrey said. “No, I’m not at a party. What is it, Madge?”

  “We’re at El Morocco.”

  “My God,” Jeffrey said. “What’s the matter?”

  “Darling,” Madge said, “there’s nothing the matter. We’re just at El Morocco, Minot and Jim and I. We wanted to tell you the news, that’s all.”

  “What?” Jeffrey asked. “What news?”

  “Don’t shout so, darling,” Madge said. “We all want to talk to you. We’re just celebrating. We wish you were here.”

  Something seemed to clutch at Jeffrey’s throat. Madge’s voice had the tinny, unnatural gayety which it sometimes assumed when she was being brave.

  “Celebrating,” he repeated. “Has Jim—Celebrating what?”

  “No,” her answer came quickly, too quickly. “No, it isn’t that.”

  “God!” Jeffrey whispered. “God!” But he controlled his voice. “Get hold of yourself, Madge. Tell me what’s happened.”

  “Don’t be so cross, dear,” Madge said. “It’s Jim’s last night in New York.”

  “What?” Jeffrey said.

  “Don’t shout so, dear,” Madge said. “Your voice goes right through my ears. Just wait a minute until I close the door. Just wait a minute.… Jeff, Jim’s in the army.”

  “What?” Jeffrey said, but he had heard her perfectly.

  “Jeff, I can’t tell you over the telephone. Minot will call you tomorrow. Jeff, just listen.” And then she spoke very slowly and carefully. “It was—serious—much—more serious—than we thought.”

  “What was?” Jeffrey asked.

  “I can’t tell you over the telephone,” Madge said. “You know what I mean. What we were worrying about. Something—I found out the day you left. It was much more serious than we thought. She—she was completely losing her head about him.”

  “Who?” Jeffrey asked, but he knew who.

  “You know who. Jeff, dear—” Her voice was low and strained. “Jim’s waiting just outside. It’s much better this way. Can you hear me, Jeff? Minot dropped everything and went up to see him. It was dear of Minot. Jeff, it’ll take his mind off it. It’s much better. Can you hear me? Are you there, Jeff?”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey answered, “yes, I’m here.”

  “He had that chance,” Madge said. “It was still open—that chance at Fort Sill. Jeff, we really had to do something.”

  “Do what?” Jeffrey asked. “What happened? Were they—”

  “It wasn’t anything definite, dear,” Madge said, “but it’s much better the way it is. Minot told him he’d talked to you. Jim really wanted to enlist. Minot told him he was sure you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before he did it?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Oh, Jeff,” Madge said. “Don’t sound that way. You weren’t here. It was just much better for Jim to go away somewhere quickly. Wait, Minot wants to talk to you. Here he is.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him,” Jeffrey said.

  “What?” Madge said.

  “I said I didn’t want to talk to him,” Jeffrey said. “You can tell him so for me.”

  “Oh, Jeff,” Madge said. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Minot—”

  He interrupted her. He did not want to lose his temper.

  “Madge,” he said, “I don’t think you’ve been fair. I think you waited to get me out of the way, but there’s no use going on about it. I want to talk to Jim.”

  He realized that his hand was gripping the telephone so hard that his fingers hurt. He realized that he must not make a fool of himself, that it was no time to show resentment. He knew that they both had done what they thought was absolutely right, and perhaps they had been right, but Jim was his son, not Minot’s. Jim was his business, not Minot’s.

  “Jeff,” Madge said, “I wish you’d listen. If you were here—”

  “I’m not there,” Jeffrey said. “You should have let him alone.”

  “Darling,” Madge said, “why should you be the only one who gives advice? You never let him alone.”

  “Never mind it now, Madge,” he said. He did not want to hear her voice any longer.

  “All right,” Madge said, and she was speaking the way she did when she knew that everything would be all right if she wanted it to be. “Are you having a good time, dear?”

  “What?” Jeffrey said, but he had heard her and it was exactly like her.

  “Don’t worry,” Madge said. “Have a good time, dear, and think of it this way—It’s something definite. At least we’re doing something. Here’s Jim, now.”

  She must have been opening the door of the telephone booth, for he could hear the dance music playing louder.

  “Jim—” he heard her say—“here he is …” and then he heard her say something else, but the music made her words indistinct. Jeffrey could almost smell the close air of El Morocco. He could almost hear the talk and the clatter of the dishes and see the couples dancing. People never knew how badly they looked when they danced. A tune that had nothing to do with El Morocco was running through his mind, and he could hear the grim gayety of the bugles as they blew it. “You’re in the army now—You’re not behind the plow. You’ll never get rich, you son-of-a-bitch—You’re in the army now.” He could feel his foot tapping the time of it on the floor as he waited to hear Jim’s voice three thousand miles away.

  “Hello, Pops,” he heard Jim saying, “how’s it going, Pops?”

  “Close that door,” Jeffrey cal
led to him, “I don’t want to hear the music.”

  Jim’s voice sounded just as his own sounded once, not careful, not measured, but triumphant and not afraid of anything. It seemed to wash the care from his mind. He knew what Jim felt and thought, because he had felt the same things, once.

  “Hello,” Jim said. “Can you hear me now?”

  Jim’s voice seemed very near. Jim would be in his dinner coat with his hair in a short crew cut, and with his tie sliding a little off center. He would be smiling and he might even be a little tight, although Jim had never been bad that way. The sleeves of that coat were too short, Jeffrey remembered, but Jim would not need another now for a while.

  “Yes,” he said, “I hear you. You don’t have to yell.”

  “Well,” Jim said, “I’m in the army now.”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said, “your mother said you were.”

  “They’re only sending three of us,” Jim said. “That’s all—just three.”

  “Well,” Jeffrey said, “that’s fine.”

  “You’re not sore, are you?”

  “No,” Jeffrey said, “why should I be? I told you to do anything you wanted. Just remember that.”

  “Well,” Jim said, “I guess I’m doing it.”

  “You ought not to guess,” Jeffrey said. “You ought to know.”

  “All right,” Jim said, “I know.”

  “As long as you think you do,” Jeffrey said, and he cleared his throat. “A kid like you can’t know. You can only think you know.”

  “Well,” Jim said, “as long as you’re not sore.”

  “I told you—” Jeffrey told him—“as long as you’ve done it, I think it’s fine. When are you going?”

  “Tomorrow. We’re pulling out tomorrow morning.”

  The room where Jeffrey stood was very still. The expression was familiar. They always “pulled out” in the morning.

  “Have you got everything?” Jeffrey asked.

  “They don’t want us to bring anything,” Jim said. “We’ll get it there.”

  Jeffrey remembered. You left everything behind, or almost everything. Jeffrey cleared his throat again.

  “Jim,” he said, “I wish I were going too.” Suddenly he wished to God that he were going. He wished that he could see the barracks again and the streets.

  “I’ll write you,” Jim said.

  “Thanks,” Jeffrey said, “be sure you do—and Jim?”

  “Yes,” Jim said.

  He hesitated, for after all, it was Jim’s business and not his, but still he had to ask.

  “What about Sally? What does she think?”

  “Sally? She thinks it’s fine. Sally’s quite a girl.”

  There was more that Jeffrey wanted to say, but there was no time for any of it.

  “Well,” he said, “I’m right with you, Jim.”

  “Yes,” Jim said, “I know you are. I wish I could see you, I’ll be seeing you.”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said, “you’ll get leave when you get through there. Well, good-by.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jim called, “wait a minute.”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said, “what is it?”

  “I wish you’d see her sometimes.”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said, “of course I will.”

  “And that’s between you and me,” Jim said, “just you and me.”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said, “that’s all right, Jim.”

  “I wish I could see you,” Jim said. “Well, good-by.”

  “Good-by,” Jeffrey said, and he cleared his throat again.

  He had never been more conscious of silence than at the moment when he put down that telephone. There had been something that went beyond Jim and concerned himself. It might have been vanity, but he did not think it was vanity. All he could remember later was the silence. It was like having a door slammed in his face. He knew that his feelings toward Madge and Minot Roberts would never be quite the same again.

  He could hear Madge’s voice, a little breathless, a little strained, sounding as it always had when she wanted to manage something that he did not approve of, but which she knew was exactly right.

  “There isn’t any conclusion to jump at, dear,” he could hear her say. “It is just much better if he’s away somewhere.”

  He wanted to forget the sound of her voice. It had all that assurance of hers that was based on nothing.

  Now it was a question of taking up where he had left off, of putting it behind him, and of going back to the other room. He pulled out his handkerchief and rubbed it hard across his forehead. The voices were back with him again, his own voice and Jim’s.

  “Well, I’m right with you, Jim.”

  “Yes,” he heard Jim answering, “I know you are. I wish I could see you, but I’ll be seeing you.”

  In the living room there was exactly that sort of silence which he had expected, the questioning silence of people who wanted to know but who could not very well ask. He was glad that Marianna was there, because there was no reason to put on a façade for Marianna, but it was different with Hal Bliss and Elise. It was necessary for him to say something, to put it all in a casual little capsule.

  “Well, hello,” he said, and he smiled exactly the way one should have at such a time. “It was the family at El Morocco, celebrating. Jim’s just joined the army.” And then he realized that the Blisses might not know who Jim was. “Jim’s my son,” he added, and he sat down and smiled again.

  “My, my,” Elise said, “you must have been married young.”

  “What?” Jeffrey said.

  “You must have been married young,” Elise said, “to have a son old enough to get in the army.”

  “Oh,” Jeffrey said, “yes. He’s old enough.”

  “Well, you don’t look it, dear,” Elise said, “it must have been an accident.”

  “No,” Jeffrey said. “No. Not any more than anything else is.”

  “Was he drafted?” Hal asked.

  “Oh,” Jeffrey said, “drafted?” And he put his mind on it. He had to put the whole thing in a capsule. “No, he wasn’t drafted. He was in college. They picked out three boys for the Officers’ School at Sill.” And he smiled again.

  “Well,” Hal said, “that’s fine. All he’ll do will be to go to South America or Trinidad or somewhere, or maybe the Philippines. That’s fine.”

  “The Philippines?” Jeffrey said.

  “Yes,” Hal said, “we’re sending quite a lot of troops out there. A great place, Manila. Those God damned Japs won’t get the Philippines.”

  “Does he look like you?” Elise asked.

  “What?” Jeffrey said.

  “I said,” Elise asked, “does the kiddie look like you?”

  “Oh,” Jeffrey said, “well, yes. Some people think he does. Yes, I guess so. Something like me.”

  “Well, he must be cute,” Elise said. “Marianna, don’t you think he’s cute too?”

  “Who,” Jeffrey asked, “me?”

  “Yes,” Elise said, “you. You’re cute, having a son in the army.”

  “Would you like a drink?” Hal asked.

  “What?” Jeffrey said. “Oh, yes, I’d like a drink.”

  “Well,” Hal said. “There’s the bottle. Pour it out. Pour a stiff one. It isn’t every day this happens.”

  Jeffrey reached for the bottle carefully.

  “Here,” Marianna said. “I’ll mix it for you, Jeff.”

  “Well,” Hal said, “here’s to him. I wish I had a kid in the army.”

  “No, you don’t wish you had a kid in the army, either,” Elise said. “You’ve got too many wives to have kids in the army, but it’s cute.”

  When Marianna handed him the glass he sat staring at it for a moment, and then he drank it very quickly. He reached for the bottle again without exactly thinking. It made him feel better, but not happier. He forgot that drinking had never been a means of escape for him—it only intensified his mood.

  “Who told you?” Marianna asked h
im. “Did Madge tell you?”

  “Madge?” he said. “Oh yes. Yes, Madge told me.”

  “Did you know about it before?” Marianna asked.

  “Oh,” Jeffrey said. “Why, yes, of course. Well, not exactly.”

  “Was Madge upset?” Marianna asked.

  “Upset?” Jeffrey repeated. He was glad that she was asking. “No, not exactly. I think she rather likes it. I was the one who didn’t like it. It seemed a little needless, right now. It—Well, it rather surprised me. I didn’t think Jim was going to do it, but—Oh well, they wanted him to do it.”

  He had said both too much and not enough. He stared at his glass again.

  “I suppose they persuaded him,” he said, “but I don’t imagine it took much persuading. When you’re that age, you’re ready for something new.” He stopped and smiled. “Well, it’s getting pretty late, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Hal said. “It’s one o’clock. Come on, Elise.”

  Marianna was standing by the fireplace with her hands clasped behind her.

  “I’m not sleepy,” she said, “I’m going for a walk. Jeffrey, you’re not sleepy either.”

  “What?” Jeffrey said. “No. Well, no. I’m not very sleepy.”

  “Well, I am,” Elise said. “Never mind the lights. The boys will be around.”

  “Good night, Jeff,” Hal said. “It’s swell he’s in the army. We’ll talk to Mintz in the morning.”

  “Mintz?” Jeffrey said. “Oh, yes. Thanks for having me here, Hal. Good night.”

  “Good night,” Elise said, and she patted his shoulder.

  The way Hal and Elise spoke reminded him of something.

  “I’ll just get something to put around me,” Marianna said. “I’ll be right down.”

  “If you’d like to take the car—” Hal began.

  “Oh, no,” Jeffrey said. “No, thanks, Hal.”

  Then Jeffrey remembered. It was all like Louella and Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. He had the same self-conscious feeling he had once suffered, when he heard Marianna running upstairs to get something to put around her.

  37

  Don’t Speak Any Lines

  It was starlight outside. It was cool, but not cold. The first minutes outdoors gave Jeffrey the same sense of release which he used to feel on leaving a room where he had been struggling with a college examination. You thought and thought and you wrote the answers down in a blue copybook which was waiting for you on your desk with the printed examination form beside it; and when you had finished, you closed the book and gave it to the instructor in charge. If you finished early and walked down the aisle with that blue notebook, everyone in the room would stamp perfunctorily in time to your footsteps, because it was a custom. Outside, there was always relief and freedom because you had done all you could. Now Jeffrey had exactly the same sensation of being out with the answers all left behind him. He had done what he could in New York and now it did not matter what he did.