Herman Wouk - Don't Stop The Carnival

by Don't Stop The Carnival(Lit)

  "Year and a half, joost about."

  "Supposing the Club changed hands? Would you stay on?"

  With a savage smile, the bartender said, "If I stay in Kinja, I guess I stay on. Vy not?"

  "Well, will you stay in Kinja?"

  "I dunno. I come here in a boad. I don't leave till I sail avay in a boad."

  "Sailing boats leave here all the time, don't they?"

  "I don't sail in a boad unless I'm captain. Dad's vy I sailed across the ocean alone. No competition for captain." Thor uttered a grim laugh.

  "Would you do this same job for me? I mean, accounts and all?"

  The bartender hesitated, a crafty look clouding the intense blue eyes. "Amy don't pay good money. I come here dead broke off a wreck. I make a bum deal."

  "We could talk about a better salary."

  "I be tarn glad talk about dad, dad's for sure," said Thor, and he and the accountant laughed.

  Norman went back to the table, where Henny was holding a nearly empty glass high in one hand, and running the other across a sketch. "Why break down the whole wall, Tex?" she was saying. "Suppose you just cut a doorway here for access?"

  "Say, that could work real good, Mrs. Paperman." Akers made a pencil scrawl on the sketch.

  "Henny, how's for a swim?" Norman said. He still wore his dark New York suit, and he was damply uncomfortable.

  Amy Ball stood at once. "Now you're talking. Business before lunch gives me a headache. And after the swim, how about drinks and hamburgers for everybody, on the beach?"

  Akers laughed. "That's for the leisure class. I've got to tool out to Crab Cove." He rolled up his sketches and handed them to Norman, saying that there would be no charge. He was glad to accommodate Amy Ball, but he couldn't do the actual construction himself. He was too busy with his development at Crab Cove, where he was finishing up twenty-five large houses. This remodeling of the game room was a routine little job; any of a dozen island contractors could handle it. He wished the Papermans luck and ambled off, covering ground like a giraffe.

  Mrs. Ball said, "If you go ahead with this, you keep after Tex. He'll do it. He's a sweetie pie, and he's the best on the island. Go look at his Crab Cove homes, they're magnificent. Your bags are in the White Cottage. See you on the beach in a few minutes, okay?"

  Henny said as they walked across the lawn, "Well, Norm, I'm beginning to see your point. That gondola ride! That incredible beach! The smell of the air! That cute bartender! And baby, those planter's punches!"

  "You really like the place, Henny?"

  "What's not to like? Wow! Elevenses. I must remember that. Where do all these handsome men come from? That fellow Tex! Yum yum. Are they all like that on this island? Me for the Caribbean, kid."

  Paperman said a little stiffly, "You call that long drink of water handsome?"

  Henny looked at him aslant. "Why dear, I thought you liked them tall. How about these cottages? Right on the water! Terrific. Who's in this pink cottage?" They were walking past it, and Meadows was barking.

  In his many descriptions of Amerigo, Paperman had as yet never mentioned Iris Tramm, following his old rule, in all matters regarding women, of golden silence. He said, "I don't know, but I think it's on a long lease. Here's our place, honey."

  "The cottage named Desire!" Henny squinted up at the sign, linking her fingers in his, and swinging their hands. "It really exists! Razz ma tazz! Shtoo-oop! Hit me on the head and call me Shorty!"

  3

  Hogan's Fancy was a ramshackle wooden colonial house on the western slope of Government Hill. The mossy flagstone terrace jutted out on a knoll, and the lower town, the waterfront, the fort, and the Gull Reef Club were all part of the view. The terrace itself was an overgrown choke of flowering shrubs, palms, great-leaved green plants, and glass-and-iron tables, bathed in the rose light of a waning sun.

  Chunky Collins rose from a table when he saw Paperman. "Hurry, hurry! Just in time for the green flash!"

  At that moment Norman noticed Iris sitting at a gloomy table set back among the palms, with Governor Sanders. They did not see him. Iris, a mean twisted smile on her face, was tapping her foot as she talked, while the slouched governor regarded her with frigid remote amusement. So much Paperman observed before the lawyer collared him and hustled him and Henny to the railing.

  "I'm just a city girl," Henny said. "What's the green flash?"

  Greatly excited, Collins said it was a marvelous astronomic freak. Just before the sun sank into the sea, on certain clear days, the bit of red rim above the horizon would turn bright green. Hogan's Fancy, he said, was the best place in the Caribbean to see the green flash. It was famous for that. A row of tourists, drinks in hand, were making lively chatter at the rail, watching the sun. Paperman was less interested in the green flash, whatever it was, than in the pair he had seen among the shadowed palms. But of course he could not turn and stare, so he watched the sun too. It sank and sank, and was gone.

  "The green flash!" bellowed Collins. "See it? See it? A perfect green flash!"

  Paperman had observed nothing. Henny said yes, she thought she had noticed something green. The people at the rail were in a clamor; some had seen the flash, some hadn't. Collins shepherded the Paper-mans to "the best table on the terrace," and insisted that Norman sit in the chair with the best view; which put him squarely with his back to Iris.

  The evening darkened fast, and by the time their drinks came lights were blinking on everywhere. The Gull Reef Club, with its strings of lamps and flares reflected in long wavering streaks on the indigo harbor waters, was the jewel of the panorama. Henny said it looked like Shangri-la.

  "It does indeed, and that's just what it is," Collins said. "Gull Reef is the prize property of Amerigo, no dispute on that. What's the good word from Montana, by the way, Mr. Paperman?"

  Norman told him that the call had not yet come through. He had left word with the operator that he would be at Hogan's Fancy, and he expected to hear soon-perhaps at any moment-from Atlas.

  Collins looked somber. "I hope so. The Chicago people wired me this afternoon. They're flying down tomorrow to close the deal. It's a real hairbreadth finish, isn't it?" His gravity dissolved into genial merriment, and he waved an arm in a broad sweep around. "But if they do win out, this island's full of opportunities. How about Hogan's Fancy, for instance? Small operation, very easy terms, and you just can't beat the view."

  "Don't touch it." Old Tom Tilson came up scowling at this moment, in black shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, leaning on a knotty stick. He sat at the table without being asked. "You back already, Paperman? You've got the island fever bad. Let me warn you, the island joke is that if the termites stop holding hands, Hogan's Fancy will fall down."

  "There isn't a termite here, Tom. Just some aphids," said Collins, quite unruffled. "Aphids from the gardenias."

  Norman said, "This is my wife, Henrietta-Mr. Tilson."

  The old man stood, made a creaky bow, and dropped in his chair. "Have you ever done business in the tropics before, Paperman? Ever managed a hotel?"

  "No."

  "This isn't New York, you know."

  "I realize that. But that fellow Thor really runs the Reef. I found that out. I've talked to him and he's willing to stay."

  "Then you've got it made," said Collins. "There's nobody like Thor on the island."

  "He's a boat man," said Tilson, shaking his stick at Norman. "Those boat people are a race apart, I warn you. Every one of them's crazy." He leaned toward Henny, dropping his voice, and his withered, freckled old red face lit in a lecherous gleam. "Mrs. Paperman, ever hear of a film star named Janet West?"

  "Why, sure. Ages ago. She ended up in the d.t.'s ward."

  "Well, she's at that table under the palm tree, right behind you."

  Paperman could not resist any longer. He turned and looked, and so did Henny. Iris sat alone now in the shadows. She made no sign of recognition, though she was looking straight at them.

  Henny said, turning away, "Why, s
he's blond. Wasn't Janet West a brunette?"

  "There's been some changes made," said Tilson, showing his tongue at the corner of his mouth and eyeing Paperman.

  Norman said, "Is that who that woman is? Why, I danced with her."

  "I know you did," sang Tilson with a schoolboy's teasing note.

  "She said her name was Traum, or something."

  "Tramm. Iris Tramm. Well, mister, you were dancing with nobody but Janet West. She doesn't talk about it, but that's who she is."

  "I'll be damned," said Paperman.

  "I can't see at this distance," said Henny, "but she doesn't look too bad, for an old drunk."

  "She looks pretty good," said Tilson. "Doesn't she, Paperman?"

  "Very good, considering."

  "She's a pleasant woman," Collins said. "She rents the Pink Cottage at the Reef."

  "That's it, Henny," said Paperman. "I told you that place was leased."

  Though Norman had done nothing but kiss Iris Tramm a few times, he was getting more and more uneasy, and he wished himself and Henny well off this terrace. Tilson seemed to be having some senile fun at his expense.

  "Let's invite Iris over," said Tilson.

  "Oh, leave her be," said Collins, with an odd look at Paperman.

  Tilson turned and waved his stick. "Iris! Come join us."

  "May I?" called the rough sweet voice.

  She wore her hair this evening in a tousled style falling around her ears. The light of the sky was fading; a kerosene lamp in the center of the table illuminated her, and she looked young and lovely. She wore a sleeveless dress of Indian material shot through with random blues and browns.

  "Hi there," Iris said to Norman with cool distant good humor, as Collins made introductions. She sat beside Henny, and smiled at her. "Well? Has the island magic got you, too? Or do you have good sense?"

  "I'm not sure. I'm not feeling very sensible right now."

  "Good. Amy Ball says you intend to redecorate the Reef when your husband buys it. Will you do the cottages over, too?"

  Henny shrugged, peering curiously at Iris. "So far it's all just talk."

  "What do you plan for the lobby?"

  "Well-I just have some vague notions."

  "Tell me."

  With a couple of planter's punches under her belt, Henny was quite ready to display her decorating knowledge again-especially to a movie star, however faded. The two women began to talk color schemes and furnishings, and in a few minutes they were chattering away amiably. Iris seemed as knowledgeable as Henny.

  "Mistuh Papuh? Dey somebody here name Papuh?" A tall black boy in a waiter's white-piped red shirt was passing among the tables.

  "Here, boy. I'm Paperman."

  "Ovahseas, mistuh."

  "Oh my gosh," Henny said. "Lester."

  "That's right, Henny. What do you say?"

  She wavered, looking around at Tilson, Collins, and Mrs. Tramm. "Good lord, Norman. All of a sudden this is it, isn't it?"

  Iris was watching them with a melancholy little smile.

  "Just about." Norman put his hand on hers. "Well? Think you can stand the Caribbean?"

  Henny made a mock-gallant gesture with her glass. "Oh, you know me, Norm. Anything for a few laughs."

  "All right, then. Here goes."

  The telephone rested on top of a small upright piano near the bar. Atlas was bellowing at the other end of the line, his voice fading in and out, recognizably coarse and recognizably drunk, "Hello, hello-Walter? Is that you, Walter?"

  "Lester? Hi! This is Norman."

  "Norman? Norman who? I don't know any Norman. Get off the line, mister. God damn it, operator, I'm expecting a call from Walter Sandelson in St. Louis. Let's get on the ball here."

  "Lester, it's me. Norman. Norman Paperman! I'm calling from Amerigo." The line went dead, then came on with a burst of Lester's unintelligible roars and three shrill operators talking at once. Next he heard Atlas, calmer and clearer, "What? Isn't this St. Louis?"

  Paperman shouted, "Lester, for God's sake it's me! Norman! Norman Paperman! What's the matter with you?"

  "Oh. Norman. Why the hell didn't you say so?"

  "Lester, I'm calling from Amerigo. Henny likes it here. She's willing to string along. But we have to move fast. There are these other people from Chicago-"

  "Say, Norm, this is one hell of a lousy connection. You keep fading."

  "We've got to act FAST, in fact tonight, if we want to buy that hotel." Paperman was talking very loud. The idlers at the bar, the colored bartender, the tourists at the nearest tables, made up an interested grinning audience.

  "Listen, Norman, I'm expecting a call from St. Louis-Phil, there's another bottle of bourbon in that black suitcase-Norman, let me call you back."

  "No, no! It's hell getting a connection, Lester. This is a very simple thing. If I can give them a five-thousand-dollar binder tonight, we can still buy the place." In mentioning the money Paperman dropped his voice far down.

  Atlas yelled in his ear, "I can't hear a goddamn thing you're saying. I've got the lieutenant-governor of Montana in the next room and- Phil, why are you messing with my pajamas and shirts? That bourbon is right there under the hot-water bag-Norman, please get off the line, I've got to talk to St. Louis."

  Paperman shouted, "All I want to know is, can I give them a five-thousand-dollar check?"

  "Five thousand! Five thousand for what? Phil, give me some of that bourbon first-Norman, I've got to hang up now."

  Paperman bawled, "Atlas, I want to know one thing. Can I give them a binder, a BINDER, for five thousand?"

  "Oh, a binder. -Hey, Phil! Are you blind? You opened a bottle of Southern Comfort! That's for the dames! The lieutenant-governor will vomit. Get that drink back from him. -Go ahead, Norm, you give her that binder, I'm with you. Is that all?"

  Paperman hesitated, under the double embarrassment of Atlas's impatience, and the public noise he was making. He didn't have five thousand dollars or anything near it, in his bank account. What he wanted from Atlas-what he had telephoned him to get-was an assurance that Atlas would cover a check for that amount. But he could not bawl all over Hogan's Fancy his own lack of funds.

  "Well, if you're completely with me, Lester, I'm giving them the binder."

  "Sure, you do that. Good luck, Norm, we'll have a ball on that island one of these days. Give Henny a goose for me. Bye."

  A small parrot, walking upside down in a cage on the amber-lit bar, said clearly, "Goodbye now," and the tourists laughed.

  Paperman drew out his checkbook as he walked back to the table. "Cable those Chicago people and call them off," he said to Collins. "We've got a deal."

  The lawyer jumped up and shook his head. "Bully!"

  "So everybody gathered," Henny said. "Everybody clear to Puerto Rico, I think." She looked gay, vexed, excited all at once.

  "So I've got myself a new landlord and landlady," said Iris, with a waggish little tilt of her head that Norman remembered from her films. "I couldn't be more pleased."

  "And Paperman's got himself a new life," Tilson said. "Let's all have another round and wish him luck. Waiter!"

  Norman wrote out a check for five thousand dollars and handed it to Collins. "How long does it take for a check to clear to New York?" he said. "I'll have to make a deposit, of course."

  "Oh, ten days to two weeks," Collins said. "No strain whatever."

  4

  All the way home on the plane next day, they discussed the surge of new problems. What was to be done with Hazel? How about the apartment they had lived in for seventeen years? What would become of Norman's publicity business? It was only a client list, but it gave a steady income, and it was the fruit of twenty years' work. The jet fled the tropics at ten miles a minute, and with each mile Henny grew more sober and dubious. "That goddamn island," she said. "I'd like to have one more look at it plain. I kept seeing it through a fog of planter's punches."

  "It looks even better the second time, Henny. I found that out. A
nyway, we're in it."

  "We sure are. Writing a bum check is fraud, tootsie."

  "Lester will cover the check."

  "Did he say he would? Did he say so in those very words-I'll cover the check?"

  "Henny, don't worry about the money. That part's all right."

  They rode from Idlewild to Manhattan in an unheated cab with their arms around each other. It was an evening of solid iron-gray low sky, bitter cold. "My God, how cold New York is," Henny said at one point through teeth that kept clicking like loose dentures. "How cold, how huge, how dirty, how crowded, how gloomy, how cold this town is!"