A House in Naples

by Peter Rabe

  “You mean now?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  She smiled at him, cocked one hip slowly. “You must put the glass down,” she said. “With one hand — “

  “Don’t worry.” He swirled the orange liquid. “Get undressed.”

  Martha shrugged and looked down at herself. She sucked in her breath so Joe could see how her belly went flat, and unhooked the skirt. It fell to the floor. Martha stepped out of it, cocked her hip the other way, waited.

  “The rest,” said Joe.

  There was just the blouse and Martha did it easily. She opened the top, pulled the blouse over her head. She was naked and ran her hands up her sides.

  “This bed, Joe?” and she took small steps to the dresser next to the bed.

  Joe watched her move but he wasn’t the kind who looked long. He took a deep breath, got up, put the glass on the dresser. His big hands came down on her shoulders, lay there a while, moved slowly around her back. Francesca had turned back on her stomach and was looking at the crook of her arm. Adele sat and watched.

  “Not so hard, Joe. My arm.” Martha leaned her head back. She was smiling. “Let me have my arm,” she said.

  “Lift it,” said Joe and watched her do it.

  Then she reached past his side, where the dresser was. When she circled his back to pull him against her he hadn’t noticed a thing till she poured. She poured the cold aranciata down his neck, doing it slowly and laughing into his face when he gasped. He let go fast and stepped back but when Martha kept laughing he started to laugh too and yanked at his shirt.

  “A joker, huh?” and he laughed loud because he was still confused. “I finally got me a joker, huh?” and he yanked the shirt over his head.

  When he saw Martha’s face again it didn’t make sense — till the glass broke. She did it so fast the first thing he saw was the jagged glass teeth of the rim and Martha holding it. She was breathing short breaths and seemed flushed all over.

  “Yes, the joker. Here is the joker,” she said and she talked so fast it came like a hiss. “Come, Joe, come reach. Touch the joker, Joe, touch me here, here, perhaps here.”

  His mouth came open, but he wasn’t pretending. His white skin looked like a shiny maggot, a big maggot just peeled out of the egg, and he didn’t move.

  “You won’t come, Joe? I come,” she yelled, and didn’t wait for his move.

  The glass missed his face because he had jerked back in fright, so she had his neck. She didn’t wait to see where the glass bit but slashed him the other way so a long streak came out red on the white chest, and back down over his arm when he stumbled and landed on Francesca. The girl pushed him away so she could turn and sit up. Martha had time then, because Joe was holding his neck with both hands, frantic because he thought the jugular might be cut. He yelled for Francesca to get off the bed, to bring water, Adele should bring bandages, bring a mirror —

  Martha got dressed and shook back her hair. When Adele rushed in with the mirror and held it up for Joe, Martha walked over. She was not through being angry. She took the mirror away from Adele and broke it over the edge of the bed. Then she walked out. She went down the steps and walked along the streets for a while because she was still angry. She wondered how Joe would try it next time.

  Chapter 17

  Martha woke up, cold, before the morning light was really there and sat up with the blanket around her. The blanket was moist with dew, there was dew in her hair. She stretched a little and saw the house further down. Nobody was there. Turning, she saw the black kitchen door at the other end of the garden and it was still closed. Joe must be sleeping, she thought. He had probably slept all night.

  Then she got up and came down the slope of the hill which ran into the garden. She hung the blanket up to dry, went into the house, took the knife out of her pocket and put it into the kitchen drawer. She drew water and set it to boil. She would drink some coffee. She would make it strong and then change her clothes, comb her hair, because Charley was coming. He would see her waiting and happy, really happy because she wanted him back. And that way he would never know about her night under the bush, up the hillside, and he would never know about the glass cutting Joe’s throat before he could get to her. Joe wouldn’t talk. He would have some explanation.

  She had hoped Charley would come in the forenoon, early perhaps, so when she saw the movement across the weeds she ran for the knife again because it was too early. Then she saw it was Charley, and running out to him she almost forgot to leave the knife behind.

  They met at the end of the veranda, and when they held each other Martha thought he might wonder about her, about the hard way she held him and pulled him close. But he didn’t. He wasn’t surprised, but held her the same way. He grinned at her and winked, like they had a secret, and the way they walked into the house together they might have been together for years. She made breakfast and forgot about the day before and the night she spent on the hill.

  “In case you don’t know,” he said, “I’m glad to be back.”

  “Because I was waiting for you.”

  “Because I’m such a nice guy.”

  “I know it too,” she said.

  He drank the coffee and watched her smoke a cigarette.

  “How was Joe. Any trouble?”

  “No trouble,” she said. She smoked. “But don’t go away again, Charley.”

  He put his cup down and sat still for a moment. “What did he do?”

  “Charley,” she said, “believe me that he cannot do harm to me.”

  “You tell me if he does?”

  “And I would ask your help.”

  Charley sipped from his cup and considered that she hadn’t answered his question. It was a lot like the first time, asking her about the bridge and her answers always simple, straightforward, but without answering what he wanted to know.

  Perhaps he didn’t ask right — he knew he didn’t ask the real question. He would have to say, “Did you see me dump a dead man in the river?” He was sure she would answer him, except then there would be no point asking the question. Then she would know — and he was no longer sure what he would do then. He didn’t want to think about it and spoil everything.

  And about Joe, he would have to ask, “Did the bastard put you in his stable?”

  Charley got up to go to the sink. He washed his face with cold water and snorted through his fingers. Then he said, “Give me a towel, Martha.” Except he felt sure she would have told him — or she wouldn’t have stayed waiting for him. He rubbed his face and neck hard because it distracted him from the way he felt.

  “Martha?”

  “Yes, Charley.”

  “I’m going to see Joe. Business. Come along.”

  “I’m coming,” she said and they went across the garden to the kitchen door.

  The door was open now, but Joe wasn’t at his table. Adele was at the table drinking hot coffee.

  “Buon giorno,” said Charley. “We’ll have two of the same.”

  Adele always looked hostile so it didn’t mean a thing to Charley.

  “And get Joe,” he said when he took the coffee.

  But the door opened before Adele got there and Francesca came out. She carried soiled bandages which she threw into a pail under the sink. There was a half-eaten roll on the sink. Francesca picked it up and finished eating it.

  “That’s a trouper for you,” said Charley. “How’s the roll, Fanny?”

  She didn’t answer, because Joe came in. Except for the adhesive across his throat and the shirt buttoned with sleeves rolled down he looked the same.

  “When’d you start shaving, Joe?” Charley cocked his head at him.

  Joe sat down and Adele gave him a glass of milk.

  “Kinda early, aren’t you?”

  “You’re up,” said Charley. “Or was it Fanny? Did Fanny scratch you? I always knew that girl had spunk. I kept telling myself one of these days Joe’s going to try his funny business with that little girl, and she’l
l — “

  Charley never noticed how everybody got still, waiting for him to finish and not make it worse. Then Joe interrupted him.

  “Wasn’t Fanny,” he said. “Martha did it.”

  It seemed as if the silence before had been one big racket compared to now. Only Joe moved. He was scratching his ear. When Charley talked it sounded smooth, and he talked without turning.

  “Martha,” he said. “You cut him?”

  “Tell him,” said Joe.

  Martha was learning fast about Joe. He wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t simple.

  “He’s tricky,” said Charley. “Let him tell it. Just sit still, Martha, and let him tell it.”

  Joe took a big swig of milk and sucked his lips.

  “All right, Joe. And make it simple.”

  “It is simple. I tried laying her and she cut me.”

  “That all?”

  “I didn’t lay her, if that’s what you mean.”

  Charley looked down and smiled to himself. He got out his box, pushed it back and forth on the table.

  “That’s what you told me, wasn’t it, Martha? That you took care of it.”

  “Yes, Charley.”

  “You should have told me more, Martha. I don’t like hearing it from Joe.” Charley wasn’t looking at her.

  “I thought this way — ”

  “I know, Martha,” and he looked at her for the first time. She looked back at him and he made her feel better. Charley put the box back in his pocket.

  “Just the throat?” he said.

  “Like hell,” said Joe. “And across here, and here.”

  “I’m disappointed. At least she should have cut off your — ”

  “Look, Chuck — ”

  “Now she won’t have a chance any more. Now — ”

  “Chuck.”

  Charley turned his eyes to Joe and shook his head. “You don’t think I’m through with you, do you, Joe?”

  “I was hoping you were,” said Joe. And then, “Why do you think I told you? I could have told you a cock-and-bull story easy. Couldn’t I, Martha?”

  “Don’t talk to me. You filth.”

  Joe said to Charley, “Because I don’t want it to go on. Same reason Martha kept it the way she did. So it stops. Sounds weird, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does.”

  “But I’m telling you, Chuck.” Joe chewed his lip. “You know I never run into the likes of Martha before, you know that? So I’m laying off. I’m telling you straight so it ends here. Believe it or not.”

  “I don’t know yet. You believe him, Martha?”

  “I didn’t expect him to talk about it,” she said.

  “But I did,” said Joe. “Judge for yourself.”

  “Why, Joe?”

  “I don’t want to break up and I don’t care for your woman. That’s all there’s to it.”

  “Ah! This, our beautiful friendship.”

  “Friendship, crap. The business.”

  Charley looked back at Martha and neither of them spoke for a while. He got out his box again, took a pill, put the box back in his pocket.

  “I’ll make small pieces out of him, Martha. Business or no business. What do you say, Martha?”

  “Let it be, Charley. You will make it worse.”

  “Or at least if you had cut off — ”

  “Let it be, Charley.”

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll let it be,” and for the moment he even thought it might work.

  Martha was glad it stopped this way and hoped it would work. And Joe he knew it had worked. He was glad there was time now, because he hadn’t been ready. He didn’t gamble often, and when he did he was after only the biggest. It had been that way when he gambled on changing from Corporal Lenkva to Lenken the citizen. He had won then, and he meant to get his this time. It looked pretty good because nobody knew that Lenken was gambling, which showed just how smart he was.

  “So talk business,” said Joe. “About Bantam.”

  Charley nodded at Martha and she left. He looked after her until she disappeared in the garden.

  “Send them out,” said Charley, and this time Joe didn’t argue. Francesca went into the bedroom and Adele went down to the street.

  “Bantam is coming here in a day or so. Then we make a deal.”

  Joe nodded as if he were thinking. He said, “Why here? You couldn’t — ”

  “Because he wants to, that’s why.”

  Charley felt irritable and wanted to get away. Nothing had happened in the meantime to make him feel less sure but that’s how he felt. Less sure about Joe, and edgy. He had listened to Martha and let it go. He got up.

  “Stay a sec,” said Joe. “I gotta know more.”

  “All right. Bantam wears pressed suits and is interested. What more?”

  “He’ll do business?”

  “Looks so. He wants to check that we exist and it isn’t a trap. He wants to look at you, my partner. Okay?”

  “Fine,” said Joe. “You must have snowed him good. How’d you do it, Chuck? He knew Delmont?”

  “You’re awful talky today, Joe buddy. What’s come over you all of a sudden? You got an idea maybe — “

  “I gotta know, don’t I?”

  Joe was right. Charley was anxious to get away, he was sick of Lenken and knew it would get worse the longer he stayed. It had even made him forget about telling Joe what to say to Bantam.

  “He’ll want to know about me. Tell him you’ve known me for maybe ten years and I used to be a lush. I stopped five years ago. I used to be a lush but not any more. Most of the time I’ve been here in Naples, but off and on for the past five I’ve been shuffling between here and Cairo. You don’t know much about that except it was Cairo. Clear?”

  “I got it. It’s got to do with Delmont.”

  “I’m Delmont and all I’m telling you is what I told Bantam. So don’t slip.”

  “Bantam must have known Delmont,” said Joe, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “How come Bantam took you for Delmont?”

  “Because I reminded him and because I didn’t stick out my stupid neck.” Charley got up, kicked the bench out of the way. “If you get what I mean,” he said and walked out.

  Joe watched him leave because he didn’t want any more. It had been a small question and he got his answer. Delmont knew Bantam once. That’s all Joe wanted to know. Now he just waited for Bantam.

  Chapter 18

  When Charley walked up the terrace he saw the Judas tree and remembered about trimming it. He stood a while and looked at the tangle but it didn’t distract him. He felt more irritated. It got worse because there was nothing to think about, nothing to fix his uneasiness. There was Bantam, but that didn’t worry him. Charley had done it well and he knew the deal was going to work. There was Joe. Right now that was settled and Charley was sure Joe wouldn’t make a move, not right now, not before the Bantam deal was in the bag. If Joe meant to move, it wasn’t going to be until later. But that didn’t worry Charley because he was going to fix the first move himself. That left Martha to think about, but he hardly did. It felt strange to know this with so much certainty, but the only thing between him and Martha was something good.

  “You’ve been standing there,” she said. She put her arms around him from behind, and held him. “Were you thinking about trimming the tree?”

  “Yeah. I want to trim that tree. It’s crawling all over.”

  “Then trim it,” she said.

  “Ya.”

  She let go and came around to the front.

  “Look at me, Charley. Are you worried about this Joe?”

  “I don’t know”

  “I too think this may not be the end, Charley. But he is slow — not like you, Charley. And he is not like you because there is nothing straight about him.” She put her hands over his shoulders. “So you see, Charley, if he wants me he will not try it again, not the same way. And I don’t think he wants me, Charley. He is after you.”

  “You see fast.”
/>   “I pay more attention, Charley. Not like you.” She tugged at his neck to make him look down at her and he saw her smiling. He put his hands on her waist and smiled back.

  “Let’s take a walk,” he said. “I’ll buy you some sweets.”

  “Monte Bianco?“ she said.

  “We don’t have Monte Bianco up here. We got pasticceria, though.”

  “Get me some,” she said. “And tell me what kind of pasticceria.“

  “It’s terrible. Not just cake, you know, but with spice, candied orange peel, barley. And, naturally, cream.”

  “Ah!” she said.

  “You can have two.”

  “Ah, ah!” she said.

  They walked past the square and up the hill to the osteria. Charley started to talk about nonsense, laughed with her, and told her if she could eat three pasticceria he’d give her the baker for a present.

  “How old is he?” she asked.

  “Forty-five.”

  “I will take him.”

  “He is a woman and weighs three hundred pounds.”

  She said, “No, thank you, I will take something else.”

  “Take me.”

  “I have you. I will take your Bugatti.”

  When they passed the back of the osteria she saw Charley’s Bugatti there and walked up to look at it.

  “And you will have to teach me to drive it,” she said.

  “Never. You can never eat three pasticceria.“

  She patted the hood of the low car as if it were a dog and walked to the basement stairs.

  “Your osteria is underground?”

  “No, just the basement. Walk through. You’ll come up at the other side.”

  Silvestro wasn’t upstairs yet, singing shepherd songs, so the basement was quiet.

  “What a shiny lock,” she said and looked at the closed door. “Your storeroom?”

  “No. Conference room. Joe and me talk business here.”