"Wait, for God's sake! When are you coming back? What about the job? What about that wall?"
"Gosh, I just hope you'll think it over. It's up to you. I can still bring 'em back after lunch." The motor roared up, and he shouted as the boat pulled away, "You can reach me any time. Just call Chunky Collins."
A dreadful suspicion struck Paperman. He scurried back to the office, telephoned the Amerigo Supply Company, and asked them whether Akers had paid for the materials delivered to the Gull Reef Club. The answer was, he had not. Akers had been five thousand dollars in arrears at the supply yard, and now his balance due was three thousand. "But we are not worried, Mr. Paper-mon," said the owner, Moses Llewellyn, a brother of the banker. "We know de gentleman what was on de cover of Time good for de money. We bill you de end of de mont'."
Paperman dropped his head on his arms, in the hot inky-smelling office, and allowed himself one minute of teeth-grinding, enraged despair. Then he called up the lawyer Collins, but the secretary advised him that Collins was at Hogan's Fancy. Norman next tried to telephone him there; but now something had happened to the operator. He jiggled and jiggled the hook, to no avail. Iris had warned him about this. The vanishing operator was a continuing hazard of communications in Amerigo. There was no telling what was wrong, or how long it might be before the operator came on the line. She might be chatting with her boy friend; she might have blown a fuse in her switchboard; she might be handling many calls; she might be dozing; she might be out having a beer. Many a time, Iris had gone across in the gondola and driven her car to see the person she wanted to talk to, sometimes far back in the mountains, instead of waiting for the operator to answer. This was standard practice, Iris said, and on the whole it saved time and nerve tissue.
So Norman, after a few more angry jiggles, trudged to the pier and went over in the gondola. Let Virgil work the day shift for the time being, he thought. He had more urgent things to straighten out before he could even attend to such matters as brushing his teeth, shaving, changing out of last night's clothes, and eating something.
2
Collins was on the terrace of his guest house, with a young couple sufficiently characterized by cameras, cloth airline bags, brightly horrible shirts and shorts, scorching new sunburn streaks on pallid faces and thighs, and expressions of fatigued dogged gaiety. "Well, speak of the devil!" exclaimed the lawyer. "Norman Paperman, meet the Jensens from Milwaukee. I've been telling them about the Broadway producer who just bought the Gull Reef Club, and here you come strolling along."
The girl said in an eager contralto rush of words, "You see, we're thinking of buying Hogan's Fancy. Barry paints, and I'm a dancer. We're wild to come here to live. Why, it's Paradise. We thought we could run this sweet little guest house, and I could organize dance classes, and Barry could have a chance to devote himself to his painting. We adore the island. We're both very fond of Negroes."
Jensen said, "In Milwaukee I manage the used-car lot of my father's Dodge agency. It's not too inspiring."
"Yes, well, I'd love to talk to you about it," Paperman said. "I happen to have this very urgent business with Mr. Collins. Maybe you could drop over for a cocktail later."
The Jensens soon left, juggling their impedimenta and exclaiming at the beauty of the Hogan's Fancy foliage. Paperman assailed Collins with a bitter account of Akers' misdeeds. Collins heard him out, his big jaw jutting in a faint, rather silly smile.
"You know, none of this is new to me," he said. "Tex phoned me six times this morning. He was very concerned. Tex is a real sweetheart, he's one of these fellows you can't help liking and he always seems cheerful, but things eat at him in here." Collins tapped his chest. "You'd think he hadn't a care in the world, but Tex has an ulcer, and very high blood pressure."
"You mean it isn't news to you," Paperman said, "that he used my two thousand dollars to pay off some of his old debts? Don't you know he can go to jail for that?"
Collins chuckled. "Oh, that's just Moses Llewellyn for you. He's a pill. Tex said the two thousand was for your materials. Moses claimed he was applying it on Tex's balance. Once Tex's partner gets the bank loan, it'll all straighten out."
"Why is he getting a loan in Fort Lauderdale, anyway? Why doesn't he borrow money here, the way I did?"
Collins blinked, and after a moment said, "Well, the bank here does hold the mortgage on Crab Cove. This is second-mortgage money. You see if you gave Tex that thousand, Norman-if I may call you that -he could keep his crew together for a week. It would tide him over this little cash bind he's in. Honestly, it would be so nice if you would. He likes you so much, he says you're a true gentleman. He told me that himself. What's the matter?"
Paperman had sunk his head in his hands again, overwhelmed by hopelessness. Now it appeared that unless he gave Akers the thousand dollars he was no gentleman. Business conversations on this island, he thought, were straight out of Alice in Wonderland; and his bank balance was shrinking with Wonderland speed; but that was really happening, that was no story.
"Collins," he said hoarsely, "can I have a beer? I'm a bit shaky."
"Right." Collins snapped his fingers and called, "How about two more beers, here, chop chop?"
"Yazzuh," called a voice that Paperman recognized. He straightened up and peered through the tangle of plants at the bar, where a white-coated figure moved. "Sebastian H. Christ," he said in a low, shaky voice, "this is the end. Collins, you've stolen my boatman."
"Gilbert? Why, how you talk," Collins laughed. "I've known Gilbert for years. He came to me today and said he'd quit the Club and wanted to try bartending. He's a real godsend. My bartender just left me, he was appointed assistant commissioner of public works. His uncle's the new commissioner."
"You stole him from me," said Paperman, "and I'm taking him back. I'm going to promote him to bartender myself."
"Why, I understand you have a real rip-snorter of a bartender." The lawyer's face assumed a roguish cast-droopy eyes and rosebud mouth- which was most unbecoming. "As a matter of fact I heard all about him and the three chambermaids. Heh heh. What a sketch! Somebody should have taken movies."
"Yazzuh." Gilbert set down the beers before them. He wore an ill-fitting white mess jacket, and black trousers. He gave Paperman a brief smile, his heavy lids almost closing. "Yazzuh, Mistuh Papuh. De pump okay?"
"Gilbert, I looked for you this morning to tell you I'm giving you the bartender job."
"I did tell Virgil I quit, Mistuh Papuh. Sorry, suh."
"That's how they are," Collins said in a low tone as Gilbert walked off. "A Kinjan is loyal. He hates to make a change. But once he makes it, that's it. You can't get him back with money or bayonets. Somehow you offended Gilbert. He loved the Club. Too bad." Collins heaved a deep sigh. "Well!" he went on, in a jolly change-of-subject tone. "How about it? Shall I ring Tex and tell him you're giving him the thousand? It would be an awfully decent gesture. It would solve a lot of problems for everybody."
Paperman set down his beer with an alarming clank on the glass-top table. "You can tell Tex Akers-" He arrested himself, took a long breath, paused, and said, "I'm new on this island. I'm sure there are other lawyers."
"Oh, yes, several."
"Well, you can tell Tex Akers that if he isn't on my grounds by eight tomorrow, with his whole crew, and hard at work, I'm starting a lawsuit against him. At nine!"
"As a matter of fact," Collins said, "Turnbull might be your man for that. He's handling several of the lawsuits against Tex now. He's sort of got the whole picture."
"Turnbull? Isn't Turnbull your partner?"
"That's him. He's the best lawyer on the island. At least that's what I always say," Collins simpered.
Paperman passed a hand over his moist brow. "You mean-Collins, you mean the same firm will take both sides of a lawsuit on this goddamned preposterous insane son-of-a-bitching island?"
"Well, it may seem odd," Collins said with an unoffended little Jaugh, "but you see the custom here is for a continental lawyer-that's wha
t we call whites from the States, continentals-to have a local lawyer share his office. That's what we call the natives, locals. We use the same girl, and that's about all. I do think Turnbull's your man for suing Tex."
"Look, what I want is to get the rooms built."
"Tex appreciates that. But the boys have already worked three whole weeks without pay. How's that for loyalty? These Kinjans are marvelous people."
"Well, why did their loyalty break down now? This morning?"
"Ah, you see, they know that your partner is a rich man who was on the cover of Time. Jungle drums."
"But you know better than that! You know what my deal is with Atlas. Why don't you tell them?"
Collins' eyes popped, and he smiled and winked with profound cunning. "Oh, everybody understands that a man like Mr. Atlas has his little ways of doing things."
Paperman stared at the lawyer, on whose oversized face the grin of cunning was fixed as though a movie projector had stopped. A new gulf of dismay was opening here. If the Kinjans believed that he was just a front for Atlas, then as long as he operated Gull Reef he would be charged for everything like a New York millionaire. Contemplating the wise petrified grin on the lawyer's face, Paperman realized that he could only dispel this false idea-at least in the mind of Collins-by going bankrupt. Even this would probably be dismissed as a shrewd New York maneuver. He could shoot himself; Collins would figure that his suicide was a deep Atlas tax gimmick.
Paperman got to his feet wearily. "Just as a matter of curiosity, how many lawsuits are there against Akers right now?"
"Only four plaintiffs have really filed. Tex will clean all those up in one afternoon, once he gets his loan. Tex is the best builder on the island. He just got a little overextended. Shall I tell him you're giving him the thousand?"
"No. No, I'm not. No, tell him no. And tell him that if I do sue, I'll bring down a New York lawyer who'll mangle him."
"Okay, I'll tell him. How about another beer?"
Paperman shook his head, and walked to the bar, where Gilbert was dropping cherries in three planter's punches. "Gilbert, come back to Gull Reef. I need you."
The Negro kept his eyes down. "Nozzuh."
"Why not? You know the Club is your place. You belong there, not here."
The brief, smoky spark that Paperman had seen once or twice before appeared in Gilbert's eyes. "Mistuh Papuh, you did want de white boy wit de beard."
3
Paperman returned to his hotel office and sent for Church. The air in the office was like escaped steam from a boiler. Dimly he recalled his talk with Thor, aeons ago-two days, in calendar time-about air-conditioning this space.
"Sir?" Church stood in the doorway-tanned, handsome, smiling, modest, young.
"Church, close the door. Turn on the fan."
Church obeyed and leaned against the wall, hands clasped behind him, eyes downcast.
Unluckily for the harsh tone that Paperman wanted to use, the bartender's humble stance before him brought to his mind another scene. In much this way he had stood before the desk of Jay Frankel, a press agent now long dead, his first Broadway employer. Jay had given him hell for seducing an office girl. She had been a notorious roundheels, and Jay himself had had a turn with her. It wasn't at all the same thing as a pregnant Negro chambermaid. Still, Norman felt that half his moral indignation at Church Wagner might in fact be envy of his young energy. He could remember well how, nearly three decades ago, he had listened to the fat old press agent's reproaches with the mock repentance and inner amusement of a hot lad of twenty. The sins of youth looked marvelously different, he thought, depending on whether you were before or behind the desk. "Church," he barked, or tried to bark, "if I had talked to you half an hour ago I'd have fired you. I'm still considering it. I hope you realize that at the moment you'd find it hard to get another job anywhere in Amerigo, except maybe cleaning cesspools."
"Sir, please don't fire me. I really need this job. There won't be any more incidents." Church looked at him with wide pleading eyes.
"Won't there? How can I be sure?"
"Sir, I wish you'd let me explain. You see, Mr. Harmer only turned in one key. I went up to the room to look for the other one. Then, as it happened, Esm‚ was there, so-I mean, all I'm trying to stress is that I didn't plan anything, sir. It was actually an accident."
"An accident! What the hell do you mean? Did you trip over Esm‚, knock her down, and land on her, copulating, by sheer bad luck? Don't you know yet that what you did was WRONG? Don't you know that much, Church?"
"Well, sir, I said it wouldn't happen again."
"It had better not. I'm not going to preach to you, your morals are no concern of mine, but by God when you're on my grounds your conduct is. When you step off that boat in the morning from now on, you're a gelding, do you understand, Church? A eunuch! A capon! A steer! A castrato!"
"Yes, sir," said Church, his white teeth flashing most charmingly in his black beard.
"I'm not fooling. One more incident and you're out!"
"Sir, I promise."
"All right. Now I'm going to my cottage." Paperman sneezed and blew his nose, and picked up a letter from Henny lying on the desk. "Tell Sheila to send over some bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee."
"Right away, sir."
"And two boxes of Kleenex."
"Kleenex. Yes, sir."
A shave and a bath, as always, improved Paperman's spirits. When dirty or unsightly, he was miserable as a tarred cat. He ate his breakfast propped on cushions on his bed, in a gold-crusted red kimono bought in Hassim's shop. He could hear the snorting of the garbage craft as it came and went. Each trip was costing him fifty dollars, but he was past caring, so long as the odor did not reach his hotel or his nose; though in truth he might not have been able to smell it by now. His respiratory system was totally clogged. Before he finished his breakfast a sizable pile of waste wet Kleenex lay on the floor beside the bed, and he was adding a used tissue every minute or two.
He read Henny's letter over the coffee. It sounded exactly like her: quick, acid, affectionate to him and also derisory, and above all angry at doctors and disgusted with New York and with her bad luck. She still had the pain off and on. She had now consulted three specialists. Shingles, allergy, "transparent gallstones," and pure nervous imagination were the chief current guesses, and she was undergoing series of uncomfortable tests.
Honestly [she wrote], if you did some of the things to me that these perfectly strange men have been doing, I'd punch you right in the nose. Just because they wear white coats and rubber gloves and smell like pickled frogs, these nasty gropers think they can do anything to a woman. I'm getting damned tired of it. Beyond a certain point I'd rather be dead than undignified. They've got until December 17th. That's when Hazel's vacation begins. I've made plane reservations and Hazel and I are coming down, no matter what I've got.
Hazel is all hot for coming. Do you know that that Cohn character came up here again? He took Hazel out a couple of nights ago. We haven't heard from him since. I hope you realize that this is the first time in God knows how long that she's made a date with anybody except the Sending.
Our little girl was at great pains, before the date and after it, to explain to me that she's merely curious about Cohn, that he seems to her as old as you do, and that she likes his sense of humor because it's like yours. In fact if I recall her words she said at one point, "He's really a sort of father substitute to me, except that what he does is important and interesting." I thought you might like that. Anyway it's strange the way he keeps zipping in and out of the Caribbean and in your leisure time you might try to find out something about him. With our luck he's got to be at least a card-sharp, a smuggler, or a Soviet saboteur.
How about writing me a letter, mine host, describing what you do with your leisure time? I have vivid visions, and they make me furious. I see you lounging at your ease on that white sand beach-in the sun, charming the lady guests, especially any young and pretty on
es, with that sparkling line of yours. I see you dancing with them on the terrace in the moonlight, and so forth-lots of and so forth-just doing your duty as mine host, of course. Well, mine host is going to get his hospitable ass broken when I come down there, if there's been the slightest hint of an offside play. You nay as well know that I've got a spy in Janet West-Mrs. Tramm, as she calls herself. She wrote me a nice letter about the lobby materials, and one thing and another, and I'm answering her when I finish this. If that cutie pie Tex Akers has gotten started, perhaps you can have him do a few things before I get down there.
Henny listed some decorating details, the irony of which made Norman wince. She ended with a rather sweet paragraph about how she missed him, and added,
-So, mine host, have fun in Paradise. But not too much fun, damn your eyes, until 1 get there. I'm feeling lonesome, abused, and mean. In fact very much my old self.
Love,
Henny P. S. How far are you into Ulysses?
Herman Wouk - Don't Stop The Carnival Page 20