Pride

by William Wharton

  “You know, Murph, I went to Broff, asked if he’d hold out the bones and things, put them in a special pail or a sack. I told him I’d pay. He chased me off, said he was going to call the cops, didn’t want any bums hanging around his restaurant. You can thank me for something, anyway, at least I got out fast; saved you from having to charge over here again.

  “What the hell am I going to feed him, Murph? A full-grown ten-year-old lion like Tuffy needs at least ten pounds of meat a day. I buy all the bones and guts at Simon’s, the butcher’s, but it’s not enough.

  “Besides, who’s it hurting if I take some of Broff’s crummy garbage? I don’t get in anybody’s way, I don’t make any mess. I always put the lids back on the cans. I’m actually doing the taxpayers a favor.”

  The young policeman struts up, rocking back and forth in policeman fashion, advancing half a step with each swing, his club dangling between his legs as he comes forward.

  “If I was you, I’d start off by feeding your lion that smartass bastard you got working for you. Now that’s real garbage. The city’d probably pin another medal on you. Be doing yourself a big favor, too.”

  Cap looks into the young policeman’s eyes, smiling a slightly twisted, yet vaguely menacing smile until the cop lowers his head, looks down at his club.

  “What’s the trouble? Jimmy been hustling some local talent again?”

  Murph edges the young cop aside, pushes his face close to Cap’s, whispers:

  “Junior-high-school kid this time, Cap. Jesus! Comes from a good family, Dad’s a doctor. That Jimmy takes her up to Atlantic City and keeps her there overnight, practically rapes her, she don’t know from nothing. Father’s got her in a hospital and shushed things up pretty good but I’d like to throw the goddamned book at that pervert. Nothing in a skirt is safe with a mean stud like that around town. He’s gonna cause big trouble before he’s finished. He’s almost worse than your lion Tuffy, there.”

  Cap doesn’t reply for a minute. He’s thinking of Sally. Does she know? What does Jimmy tell her? Does he brag about it? He slowly reaches into one of the garbage cans, pulls out two pork bones with a little meat still left in the crotch of the cut.

  “Yeah, that’s bad. I know I’ve got to get rid of Jimmy sooner or later, but that kid sure rides a motorcycle on a wall, doesn’t seem to have any nerves at all. The act wouldn’t be much without him, Murph. People always like to see a young guy beat an old one like me in a race. Ever catch our act?”

  “Yeah, I seed it a couple times with Mike, my oldest. He thinks that dirty, no-good punk’s one of the heroes of our times. That’s the trouble, he makes like Barney Oldfield up there on the wall and kids fall all over him, are convinced he’s a bigshot.”

  Murph steps back. This is all hard for him to handle. He pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket, lifts his cap from his head, and wipes his brow. It’s still too chill in the early morning for him to be sweating.

  “You listen to me, Modig. I don’t want to make any trouble. I know about your war record and all; I respect you for that and I know you was once one of the best auto racers in the business. But the commissioner himself is after me on this. He’s up there looking for city ordinances about wild animals within city limits. He’s under pressure himself. So I’m warning you, you’re in trouble. Get out of this town fast, take that lion and that good-for-nothing with you, then maybe things’ll simmer down by next summer. You got that?”

  Cap twists and closes the top of his sack, puts the lids back on the garbage cans, looks into the police sergeant’s eyes.

  “Thanks, Murph. But, you know, Tuffy isn’t going to hurt anybody. I can’t vouch for Jimmy, but Tuffy’s mild as a kitten. I got him when he was a mite of a tiny cub; I’m the only family he’s ever known. Sometimes I think he thinks he’s a human being; or maybe he thinks I’m a small, crippled two-legged lion.

  “A male lion like him, without a pride, is practically helpless. Tuffy’s never even seen another lion, never hunted for his own food. Those teeth and claws are decorations far as he’s concerned.”

  The young cop has started walking back to the wagon. He’s disappointed they aren’t going to make an arrest. Murph adjusts his hat.

  “I don’t know about that, Cap. Your cat there looks dangerous to me. I never knew lions came so big. I’d sure as hell hate meeting him in a dark alley somewheres. All I know is, the lieutenant told me to come over here and vag you if you were into the garbage again. They’ll attach that wall of yours or impound it along with your lion and the whole shooting match if you don’t get out and soon.”

  “O.K., Murph, I promise. I’m off for Orlando in a week. We stayed over a little too long, past the season. The transmission in my old truck gave out and then I couldn’t find parts. It was quite a job breaking it down and repairing it, but it’s done. Now it’s fixed. As soon as I have gas money, we’re off. Thanks for the word, I appreciate it. See you next year. Let’s hope this damned Depression is really over by then and we aren’t all mixed up in another war.”

  Cap wipes his hands off on his trousers, then pulls out a dark blue bandana, wipes his right hand more thoroughly. He reaches out and shakes with Murph. Murph’s face breaks into a smile and he taps Cap lightly on the shoulder.

  “You watch out for yourself, now, Cap. Next time Broff’s liable to call the National Guard and you’ll have to fight them off single-handed. I’ll bet you could still do it, too. I tell you, that Broff’s one gigantic pain in the ass.”

  He turns and walks away. He swings into the front seat of the patrol wagon beside the driver and they roll off.

  Cap waits until they’re out of sight, sighs, opens his bag again, lifts the lid off another garbage can, and goes back to shuffling through lettuce leaves, soggy vegetables, paper, pulling out bits of meat or bone and dropping them into his sack.

  After another half hour has passed and as the sun comes up over the edge of the sea, Cap twists his sack closed again, hefts it for weight, then swings it over his shoulder. He starts limping along the ramp from behind Broff’s onto the boardwalk.

  He walks across to the far side facing the sea. He leans on the metal railing and puts his sack down again. The sun is about a hand’s width above the horizon. There are still some fishing boats out. The sun makes a flickering silver path across the quiet, almost surfless water to the breaking, lapping foam at the edge of the beach.

  There’s been the usual morning offshore west wind blowing. Cap knows the water will be clear and cold but still not too cold for swimming, maybe 65 degrees. Already some early bathers are spreading themselves on the beach or walking along at the edge of the water. It’s going to be a nice day; the late season has been exceptionally good this year; today’ll be as warm as some days in August. Cap just hopes this clear weather holds till next weekend. If they can only get in one more good weekend, break down the wall, and get moving on to Florida, then maybe everything will be O.K. Maybe he can even talk it out with Sally, get things straightened out, find what she really wants.

  Cap swings his bag back on his shoulder and turns north toward the amusement-park area just past Hunt’s Pier. His mind is spinning on the same old problems. No matter how often he goes over it, nothing seems to make it better and he doesn’t know what to do.

  By the time Cap gets back to the section of the boardwalk where his Wall of Death is set up, the sun’s higher and it’s beginning to warm up. Cap limps even more with the weight on his shoulder, and he’s breathing hard. He shifts the sack to his other shoulder. There’re a few other people out taking a walk in the beautiful early-morning light, but Cap isn’t paying too much attention; he’s lost in his own thoughts, talking to himself, indulging a habit he started as a boy on the farm, working with cows. The cows seemed to like hearing his voice.

  “I’ll feed Tuffy first, that’ll give Sally and Jimmy time to break it up before I go into the pit. It’s a damned shame we all have to sleep in that black, smelly hole but it’s the only way we’ll ever
save any money these days with so little coming in. If we tried staying in a rooming house or something we’d never get ahead.”

  Tuffy has stood up on Cap’s arrival. He paces back and forth, rubbing his muzzle against the bars of his cage, making low sounds of greeting. He lets out grunts as Cap sets the heavy burlap bag at his feet outside the cage. Cap reaches through the bars and rubs Tuffy’s nose, reaches farther in and rubs under his ears.

  “Hungry, huh, fellow? Well, this isn’t much but it’s better than nothing. Sorry it’s only chewed-over cooked stuff but that’s all I could get this morning. Tomorrow maybe I’ll have some real gizzards and bones for you.”

  He reaches into his bag and begins pulling out pieces of meat. He puts the first ones into Tuffy’s mouth. Tuffy takes it through the bars daintily.

  “Try eating slowly, Tuf; make it last.”

  Piece by piece, Cap feeds the lion, waiting each time until Tuffy has chewed up and swallowed the last bit. Sometimes Tuffy drops a piece to the floor of the cage and tears at it with his claws and tongue. Cap is humming “You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby” as he waits between morsels while Tuffy eats. Finally he’s emptied the sack. Tuffy paces back and forth again when he sees Cap is leaving. He grunts, roars. Just then Sally comes out a door cut into the side of the wall.

  She stretches, has a very languorous, satisfied air about her. Cap tries not thinking about it. After all, it’s only a physical thing; he can’t see how a wonderful woman like Sally could have any true deep feelings for a piece of trash like Jimmy.

  “Did you get something for Tuffy, Cap?”

  “Yeah. I raided Broff’s garbage again. I’ve also got some innards and bones lined up from the butcher up on Atlantic at only five cents a pound. There’s usually strips of meat on the bones Tuffy can lick off and you know how much he likes lungs. Where’s Jimmy?”

  “Oh, he’s inside straightening things out. God, it was hard sleeping. Tuffy kept pacing back and forth, coughing, growling, and sometimes letting off real roars. Those roars sound so sad and each one practically shook the whole boardwalk.”

  “I know, Sal. The poor guy’s almost starving and doesn’t know what’s wrong.”

  “What’re you going to do, Cap? I lay awake last night in the dark listening to Tuffy and wondering how we’re ever going to get out of here; we’re barely making enough money to keep going.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get out. We’ve almost got what we need now. A good weekend and we’re gone, off to Orlando, where it’ll be warmer and maybe people will have more money.”

  Tuffy is following Cap with his eyes and with his body. Cap goes back, puts the sack in his cage for Tuffy to tear at, maybe get the last tastes of meat.

  “That’s all there is, Tuf. Sorry. Tomorrow I’ll have those guts and butcher bones for you; you can have a feast.”

  Sally’s standing back with her arms folded, watching, waiting for Cap to come inside with her.

  “Honest, Cap. You talk to that lion as if he’s a human being. People must think you’re crazy.”

  She turns her back, walks through the small curved door into the pit; Cap follows.

  Inside, Jimmy is rolling up blankets. Cap pulls together two orange crates. He places a board over top to make a table. Then he drags an apple box out as a chair while Sally gets one for herself. She goes over to another wooden box with a hasp lock, painted black, but splintered and worn. She takes out a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, a bottle of beer, a small package of sliced Lebanon baloney, and a half-full bottle of ketchup.

  Cap rolls up his sleeves and walks over to a corner where there’s a bucket of water. He dips his hands in the bucket, rubs them together, then runs them over his face, scrubbing, pushing his fingers into his ears, his knuckles deep into his eye sockets. He finishes by taking off his cap and rubbing his wet hands vigorously across his practically bald scalp.

  He pulls his cap back on and picks up a fragment of toweling from beside the bucket. He dries his hands but leaves his face wet. The towel is a dark color, even darker with dirt. He comes back; Sally is sitting at the table; Jimmy is standing behind her.

  “O.K., Cap, so what are we going to do? Jimmy says he’s quitting if he doesn’t get paid.”

  Cap lights a big kitchen match, snapping it lit with one of his few real front teeth; then he lights a candle on the makeshift table.

  “I tell you, Sal. I’ve got enough food for Tuffy tomorrow, then if the weather holds good another weekend so there are enough weekenders, we’ll be off and running. I know it’s hard but then I can pay Jimmy and we’ll be hunky-dory.”

  “How much do you think we took in altogether this last weekend, Cap? We didn’t even make fifty dollars. We’re stuck here; we’re never going to get out.”

  “Yeah, Sal, but it rained most of last weekend. This looks like good weather for a while. Sure we got stuck. But now I’ve got that transmission installed we’ll be on our way. By living in the pit here and keeping our food bills down we’ll be out and running in no time at all.”

  Jimmy’s walked around behind Cap on his way to pick up another box for a chair. He does a derogatory imitation of an automobile racer, twisting an imaginary steering wheel, ducking in his head, tilting his body.

  Sally looks down at the table.

  “I don’t know, Cap. I’m scared.”

  Jimmy sits down. His undershirt sleeves are rolled up over his shoulders to show the tattoo. He reaches out and takes two pieces of bread, puts them beside each other on the table. On one he folds two slices of baloney; the other he coats thickly with ketchup, spreading from edge to edge with a pocket knife. He licks the knife on both sides, puts the ketchup-covered one on top of the bread with the baloney and lifts the sandwich. He licks around its edges where the ketchup is leaking out.

  He bites into the sandwich and ketchup drips on the table and slides across his hand. He licks his fingers. He isn’t looking up at Cap or Sally; concentrating on his eating. He shifts his butt on the box, farts. It’s done automatically as if part of some ritual. Cap looks across at Sally; she’s daintily constructing a sandwich; he turns back to Jimmy.

  “Gees, Jimmy, even if we have to live like animals let’s not overdo it, huh?”

  Jimmy takes a swig from the common beer bottle, glugs down about a third; wipes his mouth.

  “Jesus! Eat nothin’ but beans and crap like this all the time; anybody’s gonna start fartin’. It’s lucky I’m not pukin’ all over the place.”

  In the background Tuffy is roaring, tapering off with a series of cough-like wheezes. Jimmy turns his head toward the lion cage and spits.

  “It’s for sure that SOB don’t hold nothin’ back. Piss, shit, fart, roar, whatever comes into his head, he just does. I hate that overgrown alley cat!”

  Sally takes a small bite from her sandwich, chews it carefully, swallows. She looks at Cap.

  “Honest, Cap; if Tuffy lets off another one of his stink bombs when we’re up there on the wall the way he did last night, I’m liable to pass out and drive over the edge. It’s really bad. And not only that, his breath smells like a sewer. When he turns toward me and gives off one of his roars, I swear I could light what comes out of his mouth. It’s awful.”

  Cap doesn’t say anything for several seconds. He looks at his hands, folds them on the board serving as a table.

  “I guess if you were eating garbage you wouldn’t smell so hot either.”

  Sally stands up quickly, knocking over her apple crate, brushing crumbs from her lap. She’s dressed in dirty men’s white coveralls pulled over a frayed sweater. She still has a slim yet full figure, but her face is set, marks of dissatisfaction, disappointment beginning to show. The peroxiding and heavy makeup have taken their toll on her fresh good looks.

  “What d’ya think this stuff here is, Cap?”

  She puts her sandwich on the table, her hands on either side. She stares down at herself, overalls, sweater, worn slippers. She pushes the ragged edges of her sweater s
leeves up over her elbows.

  “Me, ha! What a jerk. I run off from a good job with a hotshot race driver and now I wind up playing driver to a lousy, stinking lion. I gave up all that for this; if I’d’ve stayed on I’d be a supervisor by now, and I’m telling you, that’s good money!”

  Jimmy looks at Sally, a cool, rejecting, questioning look. He takes another bite of his sandwich, shoves it into the corner of his mouth, uses one finger to dislodge some bread caught in his teeth.

  “Ya know, I don’t wanna go to Florida anyway. I’m sick of your fart-face lion and this whole crappy setup. The guy who runs that gas station outside town says I can have a job there pumping gas into cars and fixing flat tires. I’m just gonna hole up here in Wildwood for the winter; maybe I’ll join the act again when you come next summer. You can do without me, long’s you have Tuffy. You’ll be playing mostly in the sticks anyway down there; these rednecks don’t know the difference. Satan, the Dare-Devil Lion, is good enough for them hicks.”

  Sally looks quickly over at Jimmy, then at Cap. She’s confused, frightened.

  “Don’t do it, Jimmy. You can’t quit us now; you make this show. Without you, it’s nothing but an animal act, like seals or poodle dogs. Besides you’ll never stick it out here. Wildwood’s canned death in winter, ask anybody.”

  Cap’s embarrassed by Sally’s vehemence, her obvious fright, despair, at the idea of Jimmy leaving. He’s even more convinced that if Jimmy leaves she’ll take off, too. He spreads his hands on the table, lifts his palms, stands his hands on their fingertips.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, Jimmy; Murph isn’t exactly one of your biggest fans. Do whatever you want; we’ll make out somehow. But if I were you, I’d think twice before I stayed on here in Wildwood.”

  Jimmy shoves the last of his sandwich in his mouth. He stands up, stretches, yawns, forces another fart.

  “The hell with Murphy! Just ’cause I banged some of the local jail bait, he’s got me marked down as public enemy number one. Folks around here should pay me for keeping these little twits home, keep ’em from running away. I give what they want, a good bang, and it doesn’t cost them a cent; best damned medicine in the world for a wild-assed, teenaged girl.”