by Henry Miller
It was all such a lot of shit, though. Child's play. In every big corporation these games go on. It's the only outlet for one's human side. It's like civilization. Everything geared up to function smoothly in order to destroy it with a little bon-fire. Just when your impulses have been given a shine, a manicure and a tailor-made suit, a rifle is stuck in your hand and in six lessons you're expected to learn the art of sticking a bayonet through a sack of wheat. It's bewildering, to say the least. And if there's no panic, no war, no revolution, you go on rising from one cock-sucking vantage point to another until you become the Big Prick himself and blow your brains out.
I swallowed another drink and took a glance at the big clock on the Metropolitan Tower. Funny that that clock had inspired the one and only poem I had ever written. That was shortly after they had moved me uptown from the main office. The tower framed itself in the window from which I looked out on to the street. In front of me sat Valeska. It was because of Valeska that I had written the poem. I recalled the excitement that had come over me the Sunday morning I began the poem. It was unbelievable—a poem. I had to call Valeska on the telephone and tell her the good news. A couple of months later she was dead.
That was one time, however, that Curley had managed to get his end in. I had learned that only recently. Seems he used to take her to the beach. He did it, by God, in the water, standing up. The first time, that is. Afterwards it was just fuck, fuck, fuck—in the car, in the bath room, along the waterfront, on the excursion boat.
In the midst of these pleasant reminiscences I saw a tall figure dressed in uniform passing the window. I ran out and hailed him.
«I don't know whether I ought to come in, Mr. Miller. I'm on duty, you know.»
«That doesn't matter. Come in a minute and have one drink with me. I'm glad to see you.»
It was Colonel Sheridan, the head of the messenger brigade which Spivak had organized. Sheridan was from Arizona. He had come to me in search of work and I had put him on the night force. I liked Sheridan. He was one of the few dozen clean souls I had raked in among all the thousands I had put to work on the messenger force. Everybody liked him, even that piece of animated cement, Twilliger.
Sheridan was absolutely guileless. He had been born in a clean environment, had been given no more education than he needed, which was very little, and had no ambition except to be what he was, which was a plain, simple, ordinary individual accepting life as he found it. He was one in a million, so far as my observation of human nature went.
I inquired how he was getting on as drill-master. He said it was discouraging. He was disappointed— the boys showed no spirit, no interest in military training.
«Mr. Miller,» he exclaimed, «I never met such boys in all my life. They have no sense of honor...»
I burst out laughing. No honor, God!
«Sheridan,» I said, «haven't you learned yet that you're dealing with the scum of the earth? Besides, boys aren't born with a sense of honor. City boys especially. These boys are incipient gangsters. Have you ever been to the Mayor's office? Have you seen the crowd that hangs out there? Those are grownup messenger boys. If you were to put them behind the bars you wouldn't be able to tell the difference ' between them and the real convicts. The whole goddamned city is made up of nothing but crooks and gangsters. That's what a city is—a breeding place for crime.»
Sheridan gave me a puzzled look.
«But you're not like that, Mr. Miller,» he said, grinning sheepishly.
I had to laugh again. «I know, Sheridan. I'm one of the exceptions. I'm just killing time here. Some day I'm going out to Arizona, or some place where it's quiet and empty. I've told you, haven't I, that I went to Arizona years ago? I wish I had had the sense to stay there... Tell me, what was it you did back there... you weren't a sheep-herder, were you?»
It was Sheridan's turn to smile. «No, Mr. Miller, I told you, don't you remember, that I was a barber.»
«A barber!»
«Yes,» said Sheridan, «and a darned good one too.»
«But you know how to ride, don't you? You didn't spend your life in a barber shop, I hope?»
«Oh no,» he answered quickly. «I did a little of everything, I guess. I've earned my own living ever since I was seven.»
«What made you come to New York?»
«I wanted to see what it was like in a big city. I had been to Denver and L.A.—and Chicago too. Everybody kept telling me I had to see New York, so I decided I would. I tell you, Mr. Miller, New York is a fine place—but I don't like the people... I don't understand their ways, I guess.»
«You mean the way they shove you around?» «Yes, and the way they lie and cheat. Even the women here are different. I can't seem to find a girl I like.»
«You're too good, Sheridan. You don't know how to treat them.»
«I know it, Mr. Miller.» He dropped his head. He acted shy as a faun.
You know,» he began falteringly, «I guess there is something wrong with me. They laugh behind my back—everybody does, even the youngsters. Maybe it's the way I talk.»»
«You can't be too gentle with the boys, Sheridan,» I put in. «I warned you—be rough with them! Give 'em a cuffing once in a while. Swear at them. Don't let them think you're soft. If you do, they'll walk all over you.»
He looked up softly and held out his hand. «See that? That's where a boy bit me the other day. Can you imagine that?»
«What did you do to him?» Sheridan looked down at his feet again, him home,» he said.
«That's all? You just sent him home? didn't give him a thrashing?»
He was silent. After a few moments he spoke, quietly and with simple dignity.
«I don't believe in punishment, Mr. Miller. If a man hits me I never strike back. I try to talk to him, find out what's wrong with him. You see, I was knocked around a lot as a kid. I didn't have an easy time of it...»
He stopped dead, shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
«I always wanted to tell you something,» he resumed, summoning all his courage. «You're the only man I could tell this to, Mr. Miller. I know I can trust you...»
Again a pause. I waited attentively, wondering what it was he was trying to get off his chest.
«When I came to the telegraph company,» he continued, «I didn't have a dime in my pocket. You remember that, Mr. Miller... you had to help me out. And I appreciate everything you did for me.»
Pause.
«I said a while back that I came to New York to see the big city. That's only half-true. I was running away from something. You see, Mr. Miller, I was very much in love back there. I had a woman who meant everything to me. She understood me, and I understood her. But she was married to my brother. I didn't want to steal her from my brother, but I couldn't live without her...»
«Did your brother know that you were in love with her?»
«Not at first,» said Sheridan. «But after a time he couldn't help but notice it. You see, we all lived together. He owned the barber shop and I helped him. We were doing first-rate too.»
Another awkward pause.
«The trouble all started one day, a Sunday it was, when we went on a picnic. We had been in love all the time, but we hadn't done anything. I didn't want to hurt my brother, as I told you. Anyway, it happened. We were sleeping outdoors and she was lying between us. I woke up all of a sudden and felt her hand on me. She was wide awake, staring at me with big eyes. She bent over and kissed me on the mouth. And right there, with my brother lying beside us, I took her.»
«Have another drink,» I urged.
«I guess I will,» said Sheridan. «Thank you.»
He continued in his slow, hesitant way, very delicate about it all, and obviously genuinely disturbed. I liked the way he talked about his brother. It was almost as if he were talking about himself.
«Well, to make it short, Mr. Miller, one day he went plumb crazy with jealousy—he came after me with the razor. You see that scar?» He turned his head slightly to one side. «Tha
t's where I caught it, trying to dodge him. If I hadn't ducked he would have sliced the side of my face off, I guess.»
Sheridan slowly sipped his drink, looking thoughtfully into the soaped mirror before him.
«I calmed him down finally,» he said. «He was frightened of course when he saw the blood running down my neck and my ear almost hanging off. And then, Mr. Miller, a terrible thing happened. He began to cry, just like a boy. He told me he was no good, and I knew that wasn't so. He said he oughtn't to have married Ella—that was her name. He said he would get divorced, go away somewhere, start all over again—and that I should marry Ella. He begged me to say I would. He even tried to lend me some money. He wanted to go away immediately... said he couldn't stand it any longer. Of course I wouldn't hear of it. I begged him not to say anything to Ella. I said I would take a little trip myself, to let things blow over. He wouldn't hear of that... but finally, after I showed him that that was the only sensible thing to do, he agreed to let me go....»
«And that's how you came to New York?»
«Yes, but that's not all. You see, I tried to do the right thing. You would have done the same, if it had been your brother, wouldn't you? I did all I could...»
«Well,» I said, «and what's worrying you now?»
He stared vacant-eyed at the mirror.
«Ella,» he said, after a long pause. «She ran away from him. At first she didn't know where I was. I sent them a postcard now and then, from this place and that, but never gave my address. The other day I got a letter from my brother, saying she had written him—from Texas. Begged him to give her my address. Said if she didn't hear from me soon she would commit suicide.»
«Did you write her?»
«No,» he said, «I haven't written her yet. I don't know quite what to do.»
«But for Christ's sake, you love her, don't you? And she loves you. And your brother—he wouldn't object. What the devil are you waiting for?»
«I don't want to steal my brother's wife. Besides, I know she does love him. She loves the two of us— that's the size of it.»
It was my turn to be astonished again. I gave a low whistle. «So that's it!» I chortled. «Well, that's different.»
«Yes,» said Sheridan rapidly, «she loves the two of us equally well. She didn't run away from him because she hated him or because she wanted me. She wants me, yes. But she ran away to make him do something, make him find me and bring me back.»
«Does he know that?» I asked, having a faint suspicion that Sheridan might have imagined things.
«Yes, he knows it and he's willing to live that way, if that's what she wants. I think he'd feel better, too, if it could be arranged that way.»
«Well?» I said. «What now? What are your plans?»
«I don't know. I can't think. What would you do in my place? I've told you everything, Mr. Miller.»
And then, as if to himself: «A man can't hold out forever. I know it's wrong to live like that... but if I don't do something quick maybe Ella will do away with herself. I wouldn't want that. I'd do anything to prevent that.»
«Look, Sheridan... your brother was jealous before. But he's gotten over that, I imagine. He wants her back just as much as you do. Now... did you ever think whether you'd be jealous of your brother— eventually? It's not easy to share the woman you love with some one else, even your own brother. You know that, don't you?»
Sheridan showed no hesitation in responding to this.
«I've thought all that out, Mr. Miller. I know I wouldn't be the jealous one. And I'm not worried about my brother either. We understand each other. It's Ella. I wonder sometimes if she really knows her own mind. The three of us grew up together, you see. That's why we were able to live together so peacefully.... until.... well, that was only natural, wasn't it? But if I go back now, and we share her openly, she might begin to care for us differently. This thing has broken up the happy family. And soon people will begin to notice things. It's a small world back there, and our people don't do those things. I don't know what would happen after a time...»
He paused again and fiddled with his glass.
«There's another thing I thought of, Mr. Miller... Supposing she has a child. We may never know which of us was the father of it. Oh, I've thought it out from every angle. It's not easy to decide.»
«No,» I agreed, «it isn't. I'm stumped, Sheridan. I'll have to think about it.»
«Thanks, Mr. Miller. I know you'll help me, if you can. I think I ought to run along now. Spivak will be looking for me. Good-bye, Mr. Miller,» and he darted off.
When I got back to the office I was informed that Clancy had telephoned. He had asked for the application of a messenger I had hired recently—a woman.
«What's up?» I inquired. «What did she do?»
Nobody could offer any precise information.
«Well, where was she working?»
I found that we had sent her to one of the mid-town office buildings. Her name was Nina Andrews. Hymie had made a note of all the details. He had already telephoned the manager of the office where the girl worked, but couldn't glean a thing. The manager, a young woman herself, was of the impression that the girl was satisfactory in every way.
I decided I had better call Clancy and get it over with. His voice was gruff and irritable. Mr. Twilliger had evidently raked him over the coals. And now it was my turn.
«But what has she done?» I asked in all innocence.
«What has she done?» Clancy's voice echoed furiously. «Mr. Miller, haven't I warned you time and again that we want only refined young women on our messenger force?»
«Yes sir,» I had to say, cursing him under my breath for the dumb cluck he was .
«Mr. Miller,» and his voice took on a devastating solemnity, «the woman who calls herself Nina Andrews is nothing but a common prostitute. She was reported to us by one of our important clients. He told Mr. Twilliger that she tried to solicit him. Mr. Twilliger is going to make an investigation. He suspects that we may have other undesirable females on our staff. I needn't tell you, Mr. Miller, that this is a very serious matter. A very serious matter. I trust that you will know how to cope with the situation. You will give me a report in a day or two—is that clear?» He hung up.
I sat there trying to recall the young woman in question.
«Where is she now?» I asked.
«She was sent home,» said Hymie.
«Send her a telegram,» I said, «and ask her to give me a ring. I want to talk to her.»
I waited around until seven o'clock hoping she would telephone. O'Rourke had just come in. I had an idea. Maybe I would ask O'Rourke...
The telephone rang. It was Nina Andrews. She had a very pleasant voice, one that aroused my sympathies immediately.
«I'm sorry I couldn't call you sooner,» she said. «I was out all afternoon.»
«Miss Andrews,» I said, «I wonder if you'd do me a favor. I'd like to drop up to your place for a few minutes and have a little chat with you.»
«Oh, I don't want the job back,» she said in a cheery tone. «I've found another one already—a much better one. It was kind of you to...»
«Miss Andrews,» I insisted, «I would like to see you just the same—just for a few minutes. Would you mind?»
«No, no, not at all. Why come up, of course. I merely wanted to spare you the trouble...»
«Well thank you... I'll be there in a few minutes.»
I went over to O'Rourke and explained the case to him in a few brief words. «Maybe you'd like to come along,» I said. «You know, I don't believe that girl is a whore. I'm beginning to remember her now. I think I know...»
We hopped into a cab and drove uptown to Seventy-Second street where she lived. It was a typical old-fashioned rooming house. She lived on the fourth floor back.
She was a little startled to see O'Rourke with me. But not frightened—a point in her favor I thought to myself.
«I didn't know you would bring a friend,» she said, looking at me with frank blue e
yes. «You'll have to excuse the appearance of the place.»
«Don't worry about that, Miss Andrews.» It was O'Rourke who spoke. «Nina is the name, isn't it?»
«Yes,» she said. «Why?»
«It's a pretty name,» he said. «One doesn't hear it much any more. You're not of Spanish descent by any chance, are you?»
«Oh no, not Spanish,» she said, very bright and quick, and in an altogether disarming tone. «My mother was Danish, and my father is English. Why, do I look Spanish?»
O'Rourke smiled. «To be honest, Miss Andrews... Miss Nina... may I call you that?... no, you don't look at all Spanish. But Nina is a Spanish name, isn't it?»
«Won't you sit down?» she said, adjusting the pillows on the divan. And then, in a perfectly natural tone of voice: «I suppose you heard that I was fired? Just like that! Not a word of explanation. But they gave me two weeks' pay—and I've just landed a better job. So it isn't so terrible, is it?»
I was glad now that I had brought O'Rourke along. If I had come alone I would have left without more ado. I was absolutely convinced, at this point, that the girl was innocent.
The girl. She had given her age as 25 on the application blank, but it was obvious that she wasn't a day over nineteen. She looked like a girl who had been brought up in the country. A bewitching little creature, and very alert.
O'Rourke had evidently been making a similar appraisal. When he lifted his voice it was apparent that he was thinking only how to spare her unnecessary unpleasantness.
«Miss Nina,» he said, speaking like a father, «Mr. Miller asked me to come along. I'm the night inspector, you know. There's been some misunderstanding with one of our clients, one of the clients served by your office. Perhaps you will recall the name—The Brooks Insurance Agency. Do you remember that name, Miss Nina? Think, because maybe you can help us.»
«Of course I know the name,» she responded with alacrity. «Room 715, Mr. Harcourt. Yes, I know him very well. I know his son too.»