The Wounded and the Slain

by David Goodis

  I care for her. I really adore this girl. Christ, I don’t know what I’d do without her, she’s so good, so sweet. Yes, she’s my life, she’s the soft violin music that makes

  It all worth living, the delicate pastel creature that makes every other creature unimportant. Oh, yes, lilies the softly murmured poetry that shuts out all the Mutant sounds of a too-loud city, a too-busy world. So what she offers me is the placid world where I see her adorable face and listen to her adorable voice. That’s what I cherish, and it ought to be enough.

  And the point is, mister, it isn’t enough. He heard Cora murmuring, “Now—please, dear. Now.”

  But what she’s actually saying is: Hurry and let’s get it over with. Like when you were in Yale and every now and then you’d hit some joint in New Haven and pay your five dollars and the girl would say, “Let’s speed it up, college boy, I got more customers waiting.” You could laugh about that, and perhaps if you were sufficiently philosophical you could laugh about this. But I don’t think this is a laughing matter. No, it’s defi-nitely not a laughing matter. For seven years you’ve been married to an extremely sweet and exceptionally pretty girl, and that’s one side of it. The other side is the fact that for some goddamn reason she can’t respond to your maleness. Let’s face it, you know that in all the times we’ve done it she’s never had an orgasm. It’s as though she were something made of wax. Or ice.

  “James?” There was a slight quiver of impatience in her voice.

  “Listen, dear, I’d rather—”

  “You’d rather what?”

  “Well, I’m awfully tired. Really knocked out.” There was a long stillness. And then she said, “You’re not angry?”

  “Angry?” He managed a lightly incredulous laugh J “What are you talking about? Why should I be angry?

  “Because I—” But she couldn’t go on with it. She sighed heavily and said, “Oh, thank you for being sol patient with me. You’re so good to me, James.”

  We’re good to each other,” he said. “I guess it’s because we like each other.”

  Yes, we do like each other very much. It’s so nice to know that. We really admire each other, and I think that’s awfully important, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.” And then he pretended a yawn. “Poor dear,” she whispered. “You’re so tired. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

  She went back to her own bed. He was flat on his muck, his eyes open, looking up at the blackness of the ceiling. In a little while he heard the steady deep rhythm of her breathing, and he knew she was asleep.

  He didn’t know that his eyes were narrowing. He didn’t sense the approach of the invisible reptile sliding toward his mind. The reptile was an idea that touched him ever so lightly and whispered, You need it, you need it bad, and you can’t get it here—but maybe you can get it somewhere else.

  No, he said to the slimy thing. And get away from

  me.

  You fool, you, the reptile said.

  Get away. Get out of here. You’re rotten. You smell bad.

  Maybe so, the reptile said. But aside from that, I’m your friend. I’m giving you good advice.

  lake it somewhere else. I’m not interested. Not much. You’re all ears, brother. For seven years you’ve put up with this misery, this living with a woman who has little or no heat, who just can’t respond the way she ought to respond. So what it amounts to is

  seven years of frustration. I think it’s about time you did something about it. Like what?

  Come with me, the reptile said.

  It was in him, coiled tightly around his nerves. It, dragged him out of bed, telling him to move very quietly so as not to wake her up. Some moonlight came through the window, and in the silver-blue glow he put on his clothes, pausing to glance at the luminous face of the alarm clock on the dresser. The hands pointed to twenty minutes past twelve.

  He told himself she was a sound sleeper and she wouldn’t open her eyes until the alarm went off a seven in the morning. By that time he’d be back in bed. That much he knew for sure. There was the slightest trace of a smile on his lips as he walked out of the apartment and down the corridor toward the elevator.

  The elevator lowered him eleven floors to street level. It was only a short walk to Lexington Avenue and in less than a minute he was climbing into a taxi.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  He didn’t say anything.

  The driver turned and looked at him. The taxi was stopped for a red light and in the pinkish glow he saw the questioning frown on the driver’s face.

  He said, “I’m not sure. I’m wondering where to go.“Oh,” the driver said. A pause drifted in and became sort of meaningful, and then the driver murmured “You jes wanna go for a ride? Is that it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  You mean you wanna go someplace but you don’t I know where it is? Izzat what you’re trying to say?” “Something on that order.”

  The driver took a closer look at the man in the back seat. “You wanna talk some business?” he asked. All right.”

  “How much you think it’s worth for me to take you there?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Things are tight in this town right now,” the driver I said “They got a drive on. For me it’s a gamble, I guess I you know that?”

  “Is ten dollars all right?” “That’ll make it,” the driver said. It was a small dingy taproom on Tenth Avenue near Fiftieth Street. The driver went in, telling him to wait In the taxi. A few minutes later the driver came out and said she was sitting alone in a booth, she was the one in the green dress.

  He gave the driver a ten-dollar bill and two ones for a tip, and entered the taproom. At the bar there were some unshaven men who looked like truck drivers or longshoremen. There was a fat shapeless woman with gray hair drinking beer with a little Spanish-looking man whose clothes needed pressing. In one of the booths there were a couple of very young sailors sitting with girls. In another booth there were a few middle-aged women, two of them wearing mannish haircuts and checked shirts and dungarees. He moved past them, past several empty booths, and came to where she was sitting alone, her dress a very bright green against the drab gray-brown of the unvarnished booth.

  She was sort of skinny, but it wasn’t the broomstick build. It wasn’t brittle or dried up; it certainly wasn’t the cheap-whore skinniness. The lines of her body amounted to a price tag saying, costs more than the average. And her face showed it, too. She had a nice face, not ornamental or prettily nice, but she could certainly model for the serious painters who preferred to emphasize depth. She had black hair and black-brown eyes and a serious mouth that told him she did more thinking than talking. They had a few drinks. While they drank, they smoked his cigarettes and said very little. What it amounted to, she had a room on Fiftieth just around the corner, and if he cared to put in some time there, her price was fifteen dollars. The way she said it, he knew it was the flat rate, there’d be no haggling. And yet her tone was more friendly than professional. Somehow she didn’t seem professional. She told him she was French and Portuguese and her name was Lita and she had three children living with her sister in Baltimore. She was willing to talk more about that, but his anxiousness showed and she said, “Come on, I’ll show ya my room.”

  She gave him a nice time. There was something about it that made him forget it was a business arrangement. He’d paid her in advance, so that took care of that, and what followed was all physical activity, extremely enjoyable because it seemed there was nothing forced or mechanical in what she was doing It seemed that every move she made was aimed at getting the utmost of pleasure from him, as though he represented a kind of opportunity that didn’t come along very often and she wanted to make the most of it while it lasted.

  When it was finished he didn’t want to leave. He looked in his wallet and saw there were only nine dollars there. She said nine dollars would be all right for now and he could pay her the six he owed when he came back next time. So he stay
ed with her some forty minutes longer.

  While he was getting dressed she said, “You got money for taxi fare?”

  He smiled somewhat sheepishly and shook his head. “Here, take this,” she said, putting a five-dollar bill in his hand.

  He murmured, “It’s awfully nice of you.” She shrugged and didn’t say anything. They walked out together and she went into the taproom to wait for another customer. On the corner of Tenth Avenue and Fiftieth he stopped a taxi and went home.

  A few nights later he was with her again. It became ii pattern of seeing her twice a week, and that went on for a couple of months. After that it was three times a week. One night he kiddingly suggested that she give him a special rate. She looked at him and said, quite seriously, “I been thinking about it. I mean, maybe we can arrange something.”

  It’s all right,” he said. “I was just joking.” “No, I think ya meant it,” she said quietly and more seriously. “After all, this is costing ya lotsa good cabbage. Never less than thirty bucks a night, and some nights ya pay me forty-five. That’s not counting the drinks ya sport for us in Hallihan’s. Of course, if ya can afford it—”

  “Sure, I can afford it.” But just then it occurred to him that he certainly couldn’t afford it. He frowned slightly and she went on looking at him.

  They were quiet for some moments and then she said, “Well, whaddaya say? Ya wanna set me up?”

  He didn’t know what she meant by that. He smiled the question at her. The smile mixed with a frown.

  She said, “Ya know ya can’t afford it the way it is now. Ya don’t make that much loot. I figure ya for maybe ten grand a year, maybe a little more.”

  “That’s a fair estimate,” he admitted. He went on with the mixed smile and frown, trying to get rid of the frown. And now he wasn’t looking at her.

  He heard her saying, “I think I gotcha figured, George. Of course, I know yer name ain’t really George, that’s one thing. But that’s all right, ya wanna be George, yer George. I gotcha listed like say around thirty-five and married and ya live in a nice apartment with maid service and when yer wife gets her hair done it’s never less than ten bucks a throw. Correct?” “Just about,” he murmured absently. “I think she pays the hairdresser seven-fifty.”

  “Ya don’t care what she pays. Anything she does is all right with you.”

  The frown deepened. He wondered why she’d said that. He wondered why he couldn’t look at her He said, “What are you doing, Lita? You fishing for information?”

  Not exactly. The way it is now, it ain’t none of my business. But even so, there’s certain things I know without ya putting me wise. Not that I been making investigations. I don’t go in for that crap. It’s just that some whores can get to know someone just from cursing him. For example, ya never said a word about it. hut I know it bothers ya I got other customers.” He didn’t say anything.

  She went on: “I might as well tell ya that makes a hit Willi me. I mean ya keeping it to yerself because ya felt ya didn’t have no right to mention it. As a matter of fact, George, there’s a lotta angles about ya that makes ya sorta special in my book. Or maybe I don’t hafta tell ya that. I guess ya know.”

  He looked at her. He wasn’t frowning now. He Wasn’t smiling, either. “You’re an awfully nice person, Lita.”

  “Not all the time,” she said. “Sometimes I’m just plain mean and salty. But I try to be nice when people are nice to me. Like with you, for instance. Like last week when ya staked me to them earrings, like a coupla weeks ago, that box of candy. It wasn’t cheap candy, neither. Look, I’ll tell ya something, George. I’m ready for ya to set one up—if ya wanna, that is. I’m ready to give up the other customers. You’ll be the only thing in pants coming into this room. How’s that sound?”

  “It sounds fine—” But he said it without enthusiasm. She gave him a side glance. She frowned slightly. And he said, “What I mean is, it sounds fine to me. But what about you? You’ll be losing out financially.”

  “Don’t let that bother ya,” she said. “I can get along] on whatever ya give me each week. Wanna make it sixty? Fifty?”

  “Let’s make it seventy.”

  “Ya can’t afford seventy.”

  “I think I can just about manage it.”

  “Tell ya what,” she cut in quickly. “Let’s make it sixty and see how it works out.”

  “All right,” he said.

  And then he reached for his wallet to pay her in advance for their session tonight. But as he took out the ten and the five she shook her head and said, “You’re not a customer now. You’re my—”

  “Your boyfriend?” He smiled.

  “Hey now.” She grinned. “My boyfriend. That sounds swell.” She started to take off her clothes. AM she unzipped her skirt she said, “Tonight the drinks are on me. I’m celebrating. I got me a good-looking boyfriend.”

  It worked out very nicely. Every Monday night he handed her sixty dollars. He always met her in Hallihan’s on Tenth Avenue and they would have a few drinks and then go to the room. It was never less than three nights a week and some weeks he’d manage to find an hour or so in the afternoon between busmen appointments. All he had to do was phone Hallihan’s and they’d tell her when he was due to arrive. They were very cooperative at Hallihan’s, and the bartender! and the regulars always minded their own business Aside from giving him an amiable smile or an offhand “Hiya, George, how ya doin’?” they never bothered him. and they made it a point to keep their distance when he was there with Lita. It was as though he had their unspoken approval, as though they were pleased that Lita had discarded her profession to be his steady girlfriend.

  Another thing that made it nice, there was no probem with Cora, for the simple and somehow amazing reason that Cora didn’t know. At times he could scarcely believe it, but the fact remained that he’d managed to hide it from her. Of course, it needed a flock of untruths, like telling her about late-at-night business appointments, or customer prospects out of town. She never questioned these explanations. Her only comment was “You’re working so hard these days—these nights, I mean.”

  And he found it easy to reply with a smile, “I don’t Blind it, honey. It agrees with me.”

  She smiled back easily and pleasantly and said, “All right, Mr. Businessman. You’re the boss. Only thing is, I’m worried you don’t get enough sleep.”

  So it was altogether a nice setup and it went on that way for five months. What ruined it was early one Sunday morning after he’d been with Lita most of Saturday night he came back to the apartment and

  Cora was sitting up in bed reading a magazine. He stared at the cover of the magazine. It was Harper’s Bazaar. He said, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  Without taking her eyes from the page she said, “I found out, James. I followed you last night.”

  He went on staring at the cover of Harper’s Bazaar. it showed a young lady wearing a chinchilla coat leaning against one of the stone lions in front of the Fifth Avenue library. He heard Cora saying, “I’m sorry, James. I guess it’s my fault.”

  Quickly he said, “No, don’t say that.” But she went on: “Yes, I know it’s my fault. I can’t provide you with what you need. I really can’t blame you for seeking it somewhere else.”

  On the magazine cover the stone lion looked at him and said without sound, You two-timing sonofabitch, you’re getting off easy. Then he saw Cora looking at him and she was saying, “What do you want me to do, James? Do you want me to leave?”

  He said, “No, don’t do that. Please don’t do that.” She gave him a pathetic smile, the pathos meant for both of them. “Why not?” she asked quietly “You have this other woman. You certainly don’t need me.”

  He shut his eyes very tightly and kept them shut for a long moment. Then, looking at her directly and keeping his voice steady, he said, “I do need you. And there’s no other woman. That was just something that happened. It was a mistake and I’m sorry and I won’t let it happen again.�
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  Next day he broke it off with Lita. It was in the afternoon. He phoned Hallihan’s and they called he to the phone. Before he said anything she asked him what was wrong. He wanted to say there was nothing wrong and he’d be seeing her tonight. Instead he said “My wife found out about it. I guess you know what that means.”

  Lita didn’t say anything.

  He said, “It means we can’t see each other any

  There was no sound at the other end of the wire. “Listen.” He swallowed hard. “Listen, Lita, I’m terribly sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.”

  Then he waited for her to say something but there was still no sound.

  He said, “I hope you’ll try to understand.”

  And again he waited. And finally she said, “It’s O.K., George. Don’t let it getcha down.”

  Well, now, he thought. This is certainly rougher than I thought it would be. Then he heard himself saying, “I’m mailing you a money order for—” But he stopped there because it seemed very much out of place, it sounded cheap.

  And she was saying, “No, don’t do that. For Christ’s sake, don’t send me any money. I might as well tell ya, George—it wasn’t the money. It was— Oh, well, we’ll skip that. But—” She faltered and tried again and faltered, then finally got it out: “I’m sure gonna miss ya.”

  He closed his eyes. He wished he had a bottle with him so he could take a hefty drink. It was the first time in his life he’d actually craved a drink. But that didn’t occur to him just then. Just then the only thing he knew was that he needed a bracer.

  He was concentrating on the need for a drink and dlidn’t realize she was giving him a break when she said goodbye very quickly and hung up. He replaced the receiver on the hook, stepped out of the booth, made a fast exit from the drugstore, and went across the street to a bar, where he ordered a double shot of bonded bourbon. In the weeks that followed he gradually managed to put Lita out of his mind. Or rather, he gradually erased the thought pictures that showed her taking her clothes off, then sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands resting on her bare thighs. The picture that stayed in his brain the longest was of Lita with nothing on, leaning her elbow against the wall near the bed, standing there with her hand drowned in the dark hair that fell loosely onto her thin shoulders. The wall was a dark gray and her body was cream-yellow against the darkness. She was awfully skinny but it was a flexible construction, it was soft and somehow electric-wild, the voltage charging across to him where he reclined on the bed looking at her, getting hit with the blaze that never failed to blast him thrillingly whenever she stood there with nothing on.