“Hold the light, Joe.”
“All right. Got it?”
“Yeah, all right.”
“I’m gonna lie in the shade here for awhile,” Joe said.
“I’m willing. The Missus don’t have supper till five and there’s an hour yet.” Jerry sat down beside Joe, his back against the tree trunk.
“Did Dan Higgins ask you to go over to the hotel tonight, Jerry?”
“He did, and it’ll be a hot time, leave it to Dan, eh?”
“Don’t you think Dan was kiddin’?” Joe asked.
“No, I don’t. He’s done it before and it ain’t hard to do. Lots of trollops drop in from the highway.”
“He said they’d be back tonight.”
“Sure they will, too.”
“Dan got any hard stuff, Jerry?”
“He got a quart from Rivers, but Rivers like as not made it himself.”
“You bet, and it may be poison. That’s it. Prohibition, sure, and I fill my belly with rotgut.”
“They’re watchin’ the bootleggers pretty close,” Jerry said. “I heard talk of a man on the Kingston Road who made a still for a man workin’ for the Revenue Officers. They pinched him and he paid a big fine.”
“Cripes, that’s awful, but you know how people feel. It’s a dry province. What happened to the man and the still?”
“They fined him, I told ya, but the judge gave the fellow that coaxed him to make it a hell of a bawling out and is goin’ to have the fine remitted. It was all in the papers.”
“It’s no good, Jerry, all no good.”
“Me too, but we get our snort, don’t we?”
“Yeah, and I guess we’ll have it tonight.”
“Sure.”
Joe rolled over on his side, pillowing his head in his arms. “I wouldn’t mind a little snooze,” he said. He lay on his side for a few moments, saying nothing.
Jerry sat up. “Did you hear about Rose MacIntyre?”
“What about Rose, Jerry?”
“Hodgins got talkin’ to her and one thing and another.”
“I guess the old woman sicked him on her.”
“I guess so, but anyway she’s gonna go to church and Hodgins is talkin’ about baptizin’ Rose. He’s as proud as hell about gettin’ Rose.”
“That means Rose’s gonna be respectable.”
“Yes sir, it looks it.”
“I can’t say as how I’m altogether glad, Jerry. A man gets used to things. We got used to Rose the way she was.”
“My pipe’s out, got a match?”
“Nope.”
“Dammit, I got to get up and get my coat.”
“Why didn’t you put a match in your pocket?”
Jerry got up and went over to his coat.
“Say, Jerry.”
“What?”
“Bring me a pipe full, eh?”
“You could of got up instead of me.” Jerry brought his pouch over to Joe, who sat up, knocking his pipe against his heel. Jerry looked at his pipe and decided to refill it.
“I guess Hodgins is really going to build a church,” Joe said.
“I forgot about him. I’m looking for him,” Jerry said, sitting down. He talked about a trial in the States, in Dayton, Tennessee, where Clarence Darrow, a famous agnostic lawyer, and W.J. Bryan, an eloquent Christian politician, had clashed because a high-school teacher had taught the theory of evolution. Jerry did not like Bryan.
When there remained nothing interesting to talk about, they got up and walked slowly out of the orchard. “We want to get at the apples early tomorrow,” Joe said.
They parted near the hotel. “See you tonight,” Jerry said.
Joe, in good spirits but rather hungry, walked along the road. Lottie would have something nice to eat, she always had something nice. Ever since they got married Lottie had been giving him good meals. So long as she would go on giving him good meals he would be satisfied. Turning along the path to the house he stopped, looking at the haw tree. “The haws are getting ripe,” he thought, and picking one, nibbled at it. He went along the picket walk to the back door and into the kitchen. Lottie was moving around the table, pouring milk on three saucers of raspberries for Joe, for Ellen, and herself at the foot of the table. Always they sat at the same places at the table in the kitchen, though on Sundays and special occasions they moved into the dining room.
“You’re just in time, Joe,” she said.
“All right, I’m ready, Lottie. I just got to wash.”
Lottie called Ellen who was upstairs. Ellen did not answer or come down, so she went up to get her. Joe followed Lottie’s footsteps upstairs and into Ellen’s room where they could no longer be heard. He took off his coat, put it on the back of the chair, and sat down at the head of the table, waiting. Lottie came down alone.
“Ellen’s not feeling well, she says she’ll be down afterward,” she said, sitting down.
She put some cooked ham on Joe’s plate. Joe wondered what was the matter with Ellen, and wished she had come down and now didn’t feel much like eating.
He had intended to talk gaily to Lottie at the supper table, but now he had little to say. Lottie talked, merely making conversation, and Ellen did not come down at all.
After supper, Joe walked around the backyard, waiting for the paperboy to come. He was not worrying about Ellen not feeling well, since Lottie was not worrying about her. He saw the paperboy’s bicycle on the road and met him at the front of the house.
With the paper to read, he felt comfortable. He went into the kitchen, got his glasses, put the paper under his arm and went out to the front veranda, intending to read until nearly dark, then go over to the hotel. Dan had said they would have a good fast time at the hotel. Dan really didn’t know much about it, was just talking, but had promised to have a string of lively women in for the evening, who knew how to give a man a good time. Dan took chances and would get arrested if he didn’t watch out. Hen Milburn, the constable, in a friendly way had told him if they got noisy drinking in the hotel, neighbors would force him to take action. Hen was a decent sort, but Dan was a gentleman in his own way.
Joe went on reading the paper but the police-court column was the only one with life in it. The sporting page was just fair with a good comic at the foot of the page. That comic was always good, one of the best things in the paper.
He took off his glasses, folded the paper neatly under his arm, and went in the house. Lottie was out in the backyard but would be going to service in a little while. He would go over to the hotel. It was early but Jerry would likely be over there and they could sit on the veranda and talk. Going along the hall, Joe thought he heard someone upstairs crying. Ellen was crying. Lottie was out in the backyard so it was Ellen all right. He took a few steps upstairs, hesitating to go up to the room and talk to her. He thought of calling Lottie but was afraid she would go up and talk too much to Ellen.
Joe went out quickly, taking his hat from the hall rack, but did not care where he went. He was sure he was going to be unhappy, though he assured himself he had possibly been mistaken and had not heard Ellen crying. But she hadn’t come down for supper. She had told Lottie she was sick and now he heard her crying.
6
Joe went over to the hotel but Dan was not there. He knocked on the bar and asked the housekeeper, but she did not know where Dan had gone, so he sat alone on the veranda until nearly dark. Jerry Hammond came along the road whistling. Joe, with his legs stretched out, his thumbs hooked in his belt, had not minded waiting because he could look straight up the short road to the highway. Jerry slapped him on the back and sat down beside him. “Feelin’ good, eh, Joe?”
“Just so-so, Jerry. Dan ain’t around.”
“Maybe he’ll come back with his lady friends.”
Jerry took out his pipe, a knife and a plug of tobacco. Sticking the pipe in his mouth, he cut away at the plug, then rolled the makings in his hands. He looked at Joe, filled his pipe, lit it and smoked in silence. They could see
people down the road going to prayer meeting in the barn. Jerry understood Joe did not feel like talking. A cowbell jingled unevenly down by the river. From the veranda they could see the river and the cement bridge. A boy was driving a cow down the river and up to the road. The cow would not willingly take the short climb to the road at the bridge and the boy slapped it, cutting at it with a gad. The cow swished its tail and climbed clumsily.
“It’s funny Dan never got married,” Joe said thoughtfully.
“It’s funny, but he don’t think he missed much.”
Joe was silent again and Jerry smoked his pipe. For about half an hour they sat there hardly talking, till Joe could no longer see smoke but only the hot bowl of Jerry’s pipe. On the road in front of the hotel a man with a leather bag at his hip got out of a buggy and lit the lamp, which burned with a pale light. Joe absently watched winged insects gathering around the light, a ring of them streaming tirelessly around the light. When it gets darker, the ring will get thicker, he thought.
“That looks like Dan now,” Jerry said.
A small car was coming slowly down the short road from the highway to the hotel. When the car came closer they could make out Dan and a woman beside him in the front seat. “I’ll go down,” Jerry said.
Joe watched Jerry go over to the car and raise his hat to Dan, who spoke quietly to him and introduced him to the woman at his side. Jerry got on the running board and helped two women out of the back seat. They all walked up to the veranda.
“Having a nice sleep, Joe?” Dan said.
“No, oh no.”
The ladies, dressed poorly but brightly, were introduced. Miss Switzer, a dark girl with a lean face and thin lips, Miss Gorman in a suit, the short skirt showing her bow legs, and Miss Shipman, fair, fat and a little sloppy, all over thirty and free and easy. The women giggled at each other and looked expectantly at the men. Dan insisted they all go in the house and sit down. Dan was feeling good and was very friendly with Miss Switzer who would not let go of his arm when he moved. They went in the house and Joe found himself with the loose-lipped Miss Shipman. Dan had put some chairs in the spare pantry and they all sat down, plump Miss Shipman on the arm of Joe’s chair. Dan left the room to look for something to drink.
“You ain’t feeling exactly sociable,” she said.
“No, I’m not,” Joe said rudely.
“Well, you might as well get sociable,” she said, patting him on the head, but he kept on looking out the small window down the road to the lighted windows of the big barn.
Dan returned with an unlabeled bottle and glasses that he placed on the white oilcloth table. He poured a little into each glass. “It’s not much but it will help the night along,” he said apologetically. Jerry gulped his down, looking mournfully at his Miss Gorman whom he did not like very much. He was ready to drink rapidly.
“This stuff makes me cough,” said Miss Shipman, who had forgotten Joe and was sitting on the table, her fat legs dangling loosely. Dan had come to an understanding with the dark thin woman, and, sitting on two chairs pulled into the corner, they talked quietly. Joe watched Miss Shipman curiously as if just noticing her. “What’s the matter, you old hick? Take a good look,” she said.
“Come on, Joe,” Jerry said.
“Get comfortable, Joe,” said Dan.
“For God’s sake, shut up,” Joe said.
Miss Shipman walked across the floor, her hands on her hips and stood in front of Dan. “Where do I come in? That’s what I want to know. Where do I come in? You brought me here,” she said threateningly.
“Sit down, Eva,” the dark girl pleaded.
“That’s all right for you, Lil,” said Miss Shipman.
She turned again to Joe and in a wheedling voice said, “What’s the matter, hon, won’t you let me slide on your knee?” But Joe, his elbows on the window sill, paid no attention.
The singing in the barn was getting louder and Joe frowned and turned uneasily from the window.
Yes we will gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river . . .
He heard Dan talking with dignity to him. “It ain’t fair, that’s all I got to say,” Dan said.
“No, it ain’t. But that singin’s kind of loud, ain’t it, Dan?”
Dan listened carefully, smiling broadly. “That’s right, they’re singing, but when they’re singing it keeps them out of trouble.”
Miss Shipman put her arms around Joe’s neck. Without smiling, Joe put an arm around her neck, but didn’t like the stale smell of cheap powder on her skin. She was smoking, blowing the smoke in his face provokingly, so he half-heartedly pinched her and she giggled, reaching for her glass to give him a drink. Miss Shipman, jealous of the success of her friends, was eager to excite Joe, while trying not to get drunk too quickly. She had on a blue blouse that fell away from her fat shoulder. She had a nice neck, Joe thought. He patted her neck and shoulder and then lost interest in her suddenly and listened carefully, strangely aloof in melancholy dejection.
Gather with the Saints at the river . . .
“The damn fools,” he said.
“Who?” said Miss Shipman, leering grimly at him. “Not me and the girlfriends.”
“No,” Joe explained, “the bunch down the road singing.”
She cocked her head to one side, listening.
“Oh, the happy Sals. Sure, the damn fools,” she said affably, feeling encouraged.
Joe got up and walked to the table to fill his glass with bootleg. He looked blearily at Dan huddled in the corner with Miss Switzer, who wouldn’t get drunk. Dan’s eyes were moist. Laughing and babbling, he hung on tight to Miss Switzer. Jerry was arguing with Miss Gorman, who was sitting sullenly on his knee. Jerry put his arm on her shoulder but she brushed it away. He regarded her doubtfully, trying to make up his mind, then whispered to her and she smiled, putting her head on his shoulder, and Jerry smiled and they were both satisfied.
Joe, standing at the table, emptied his glass and filled it again. Miss Shipman, alarmed, got up and grabbed his arm. “Not just now, honey, later on, you and me,” she said. Joe pushed her away and she sat down heavily in the chair. Joe leaned back against the table, his arms folded across his chest, in an ugly mood.
Jerry started to sing, his voice quavering. Joe turned on him viciously and told him to shut up. Jerry surprised and very much offended, disdained to answer him.
Miss Shipman had tried to be sociable but now she was offended. “I’m not wasting any more time with that hick. I’m quitting. He gives me the willies,” she said.
Joe spoke apologetically to Dan. He was feeling better. He could no longer hear the singing and the bootleg had warmed him up inside. “I guess I got a headache,” he said to Dan. “But it’s feelin’ better now.” And he reached out to put his arm around Miss Shipman who, mollified now it was assured she would not be neglected, sat on his knee. She told one joke after another, though only Joe was listening.
Then they all heard someone moving outside the room; someone had come in the hotel wanting attention. Dan muttered to himself and stood up.
“You go, Jerry,” he said.
“Naw, get out.”
“You go, Joe.”
“I don’t want to go,” Joe said.
Dan left the room uneasily. they heard him moving around outside, and after a few minutes he came in grinning. “Just a man in his car wanting a cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee,” he explained. “I was afraid it was Hen Milburn, peddlin’ around lookin’ for trouble.” Dan was quite steady on his feet but still wanted entertainment from Miss Switzer. He sat down on the chair with her but was uncomfortable and decided to sit on the floor and he pulled her down with him.
Joe still brooded unhappily. Miss Shipman, disgusted, shook him by the shoulder. “This is a hell of a party,” she said, but he was not listening. She got up and took another drink. “And this bottle’s nearly empty,” she complained.
Down the road in the barn they were singing again, sta
rting a verse slowly but swelling into a loud burst, dying away into a droning muttering of voices.
A long silence was followed by more singing. Joe wondered what Hodgins was saying and what Lottie and Ellen were doing in the barn. He thought Lottie would be there all right, but was not sure about Ellen.
Miss Shipman guffawed loudly, bending down with her hands on her belly. He tried to take an interest in Miss Shipman but the liquor was going to his head, so he concentrated and found his stomach was lifting up, Miss Shipman was turning turtle and he was hanging on almost upside down until the room rocked back into position again.
Miss Shipman wanted to know if Joe would go upstairs. She was eager to be the first one of the women to go upstairs. “I got started later than Lil and Dot but I’m finishing stronger,” she explained, sucking her loose lips, trying to appear enthusiastic.
Dan, laughing happily, pulled Miss Switzer, who playfully resisted, out of the room and upstairs. Jerry and Miss Gorman walked out of the room with more dignity.
“I guess we stay here,” Miss Shipman said sullenly.
“I guess so.”
“You ain’t got the guts of a fish,” she said.
“Aw, shut up,” Joe said, turning away from her, dropping his head over the back of the chair.
One more burst of singing came from the barn and died away and Joe dimly realized the service was over.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“It’s only ten o’clock.”
“I got to straighten up. I got a home to go to.”
Miss Shipman, flustered, decided to be sympathetic. “Do the happy Sals make you creepy?” she said.
“I don’t like the singing,” he said shortly.
“I don’t either,” she confided, slapping his head. “I never did like them, eh, Baldy,” she said, pressing her breast against his shoulder.
“Why don’t you like them?” Joe said indifferently.
“They get on my nerves. I don’t like them, never did. They looked after me once for a week and I didn’t want to be saved. What’ve you got against them?”
“They get on my nerves.”
“Well, they get on plenty.”
“Yeah.”
The Complete Stories of Morley Callaghan: Volume One Page 22