Theophilus North

by Thornton Wilder

  In the services “cleaning up the place” denotes a form of punishment that resembles chain-gang labor; but they had decided that I was a civilian and were merely confused. Delia asked, “Do you live at the place you work at?”

  “No, I live alone in a little apartment just off Thames Street—not really alone because I have a big dog. My name is Teddie.”

  “A dog? Oh, I love dogs.”

  “We’re not allowed to keep dogs on the Base.”

  I invented the dog. There’s an American myth, diffused by the movies, that a man who keeps a big dog and smokes a pipe is all right. Things were going very fast. What had not yet been conveyed was which girl I liked best. Alice and I knew, but Delia was not markedly bright.

  “Would you ladies like to be my guests at the nine o’clock show at the Opera House? After the show I could bring you back here in a taxi.”

  “Oh, no . . . Thank you.”

  “It’s far too late.”

  “Oh, no!”

  I could swear on a pile of Bibles that Delia pushed her shoe against Alice’s and Alice pushed Delia’s shoe according to some prearranged code. Delia said, “You go, Alice. We could leave here together and the gentleman could meet you later up the street a ways.”

  Alice was horrified. “How could you think of such a thing, Delia!”

  “Well,” said Delia, rather grandly, rising. “Thoughts are free. I’m going to the little girls’ room. Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Alice and I were left alone.

  “I think you’re from the South,” I said with the first smile of the evening. She did not smile; in fact, she glared at me. She put her head forward and began speaking in a low voice, but very distinctly. “Don’t smile! In a few minutes I have to introduce you to some of the girls. I’m going to pretend that you’re a doctor, so be ready—I’d better say that you’re an old friend of my husband’s. Were you ever in Panama?”

  “No.”

  “In Norfolk, Virginia?”

  “No.”

  “Well, where have you been all your life? I’ll say Norfolk. . . . Delia can’t go downtown because her husband’s coming back next week and she don’t dare go anywhere. Stop smiling! This is a serious conversation. When Delia and I leave here you say goodbye to us. Then five minutes later you go out through the kitchen and then out the back door. Then go up the road—not down toward Newport—and I’ll meet you where the streetcar stops opposite Ollie’s Bakery.”

  These instructions were given me in a manner of being very angry at me. I began to get the idea. Whatever followed would be dangerous.

  “When I say goodbye to you what do I call you?”

  “Alice.”

  “What’s your husband’s first name?”

  “George, of course.”

  “I see. My name’s Dr. Cole.”

  Alice’s face had become flushed through the exertion of her generalship and through exasperation at my stupidity.

  Delia rejoined us. From time to time the girls had exchanged greetings with members of the audience. Alice now raised her voice. “Hello, Barbara, hello, Phoebe. I want you to meet Dr. Cole, an old friend of George’s.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Barbara—and you, Phoebe.”

  “Imagine, George told him, if he was in Newport to call me up. He did and Dr. Cole said he’d meet me here. Hello, Marion, I want you to meet Dr. Cole an old friend of George’s. So Delia and I sat here trying to decide who looked like a doctor. Isn’t that a sit-you-ation! Hello, Annabel, I want you to know Dr. Cole, an old friend of George’s, just passing through town. He asked Delia and I to go to the movies with him, but of course we can’t, it being so late and everything. He knew George at Norfolk before I did. George told me about this doctor he knew. Were you a doctor then, Teddie?”

  “I was in my last year at Baltimore. I have cousins in Norfolk.”

  “Imagine that!” said Barbara and Marion.

  “What a coincident!” said Phoebe.

  “The world’s a very small place,” said Delia.

  “Well, you’ll want to talk over old times,” said Barbara. “Happy to have know’d you, Doctor.”

  I had risen. The girls withdrew to talk it over.

  “That’ll go like a grass-fire,” said Delia.

  Alice rose. “Finish your beer, Delia. I’m going to put my hat straight.”

  Now Delia and I were alone.

  “Alice tells me your husband will be in next week, Delia. Congratulations.” Delia looked at me hard and waggled her hands. “How long has he been gone?”

  “Seven months.”

  “Gee, it must be very exciting.”

  “You said it!”

  “What ship is it?”

  “Four destroyers . . . More’n two hundred men on ’em have homes right in this town.”

  “Have you children, Delia?”

  “Three.”

  “Wonderful for them too.”

  “They’ve faced it before. I’m taking them to my mother’s. She lives in Fall River. I’m lucky.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Doctor, when the men get off the ship, we’re down there waving. See? They kiss us and all that. And then we go home to wait for them. They go straight off to the Long Wharf.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can say that again.”

  I was learning things. Ulysses returned to his home in disguise. None of those tear-stained embraces. They get rip-roaring drunk on the Long Wharf. No sight for children. Reunions require more courage than partings. The institution of marriage was not designed by Heaven to accommodate long separations.

  “Has Alice some children?”

  “Alice—Alice and George?”

  “Yes?”

  (It is characteristic of communities like a naval base that their residents believe their customs and affairs are what the earth revolves about; anyone who does not know them is stupid.)

  “Married for five years and no children. It’s driving Alice wild.”

  “And George?”

  “Says he thanks God it’s that way and gets drunk.”

  “When does she expect George’s return?”

  “He’s here now.” I stared. “He got here a week ago. Stayed here three days. Then went up to Maine to help his father on the farm. He has three weeks’ shore leave coming to him. He’ll be back soon.”

  “Does everybody like George?”

  Everything I said exasperated her. In certain walks of life the question of liking or not liking—short of downright villainy—does not arise. One’s neighbors, including one’s husband, are simply there—like the weather. They’re what mathematicians call “given.”

  “George is all right. He drinks, but who doesn’t?” She meant males. Men are expected to drink; it’s manly. “If Alice goes to the movies with you, see that she gets back to the gate by one.”

  “What’d happen if she got back after one?” She gave me a look of exhausted patience. “Wives must often get back later when they’ve been visiting their parents—trains late and all that?”

  “They don’t kill you, if that’s what you mean. But they remember it.” That mighty word “they.” “I don’t think Alice has ever been out after eleven so they might overlook it. You ask a lot of questions.”

  “All I know about is the Coast Artillery. I don’t know anything about the Navy.”

  “Well, the Navy’s the best and don’t you forget it.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve made you angry, Delia. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I’m not angry,” she said shortly. Then she looked me in the eye and said something between her lips that I couldn’t understand.

  “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “There’s something that Alice wants more than anything in the world. Give it to her.”

  “What? . . . What?”

  “A baby, of course.”

  I was thunderstruck. Then I was very agitated. “Did
she tell you to say that to me?”

  “Of course not. You don’t know Alice.”

  “Has Alice led other men downtown for this?” I was so urgent that I struck her knee with my knee under the table.—I had pictures of troops and parades.

  “Take your knee away!—She only made up her mind that she had to last week. The evening after George went to Maine Alice and I went to the Opera House to see a movie. She got talking to a man that sat next to her. They didn’t like the movie and went out to get something to eat. She whispered to me not to wait for her. She told me later that the man had a boat tied up by the Yacht Club. She went along, but she wouldn’t go aboard. She said that while she was walking Jesus told her the man was a bootlegger, a rum-runner, and that he’d tie her up and start the boat and she’d be in Cuba for weeks. She wouldn’t walk up the gangway and when he began pulling her she screamed for the Shore Patrol. He let hold of her and she ran most of the way home.”

  “You swear you’re telling the truth?”

  “You’re hurting my knee! Everybody’s looking at us!”

  “Swear!”

  “Swear what?”

  “That you’re telling the truth.”

  “As God is my judge!”

  “And Alice would have no idea that I knew any of this?”

  “As God is my judge!”

  I leaned back exhausted, then I leaned forward again. “Would George think it was his baby?”

  “He’d be the proudest man on the Base.”

  Alice rejoined us. She had touched up her appearance considerably; there were sparks in the air.

  “Well, Delia, it’s late. We’d better be going. It’s very nice to have met you, Dr. Cole. I’ll tell George.”

  “Goodbye, girls. I’ll write him.”

  “He’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

  Each of these remarks was repeated several times. I gathered that shaking hands would have been excessive. Left alone, I ordered another beer, relit my pipe, and resumed reading. Others sat down at my table. When the moment came I obeyed Alice’s instructions, though I had to steal around to the side of the restaurant to pick up my bicycle. Alice was waiting at the streetcar stop. She said, moving away from me and scarcely turning her head, “I’ll sit in the front of the car. Don’t you want to bicycle down to Washington Square?”

  “No. At night they let you put the bike on the back platform.”

  “I don’t want to go to the movies. I know a kind of quiet bar where we can talk. It’s by the telegraph office. If I see anybody I know on the car, I’ll tell them I’m going to the telegraph office to get a money order from my mother. You follow me down Thames Street about a block behind me.”

  “My apartment’s not many blocks beyond the telegraph office. Couldn’t we go there?”

  “I didn’t say we were going to your apartment! Where did you get that idea?”

  “You said you liked dogs.”

  “The name of the bar is ‘The Anchor.’ While I’m in talking to the telegraph man you stand just inside the door of ‘The Anchor.’ Ladies can’t go in there unless they’re with a gentleman-friend.” She looked at me fiercely. “This is all very dangerous, but I don’t care.”

  “Aw, Alice, can’t we go straight to my apartment? I have a little rye there.”

  “I told you! I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  The streetcar came rattling and squealing down the road. A very dignified Alice boarded it and advanced to the front seat. At the One Mile Corner stop she was joined by some friends, a chief petty officer and his wife.

  “Alice darling, what are you doing?”

  Alice launched into a long narrative filled with disasters and miracles. She held them spellbound. All passengers descended at Washington Square. She was overwhelmed with good fellowship. “I hope everything comes out all right. Good night, dear. Tell us all about it next time we see you.”

  Again I followed her instructions. Through the great window of the telegraph office I could see her telling another thrilling story to the night clerk. Finally she started toward me with determination, her heels clicking on the brick paving. Suddenly halfway across the street she was accosted by two reeling sailors. Alice managed to do three things at once: she signaled to me to go back into “The Anchor,” she reversed her direction as though she had forgotten something in the telegraph office, and she dropped her handbag.

  “Alice, you cutey! Wha’ you doin’ in the beeg city?”

  “Alice, where’s George? Where’s old Georgie, the old skunk?”

  “Oh my, I’ve lost my purse. Mr. Wilson, help me find my purse. I left it in the telegraph office, I know. Oh, isn’t that terrible! I’ll die! Mr. Westerveldt, help me find my purse.”

  “Here it is. Lookit! Now do I get a lil kiss—just a lil lil kiss?”

  “Mr. Wilson! You never said a thing like that before. I won’t tell George this time, but don’t you ever say such a thing again. I had to hurry and send a postal money order off before closing time. Mr. Westerveldt, please . . . take . . . your . . . hand . . . away. I just saw the Shore Patrol following me down Thames Street. I think you’d better go up to Spring Street. It’s after nine.”

  Thames Street was out of bounds to Navy seamen after nine. They took her advice and tumbled up the hill.

  With set face she marched resolutely into “The Anchor,” put her arm through mine—single women are not allowed in the taverns on the north side of Thames Street—and propelled me to the last booth at the back of the room. She sat against the wall and shrank to the size of a child. Between her teeth she muttered, “That was a close call. If they’d seen me with you, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  I whispered, “What shall I order for you?”

  Again I was to be regarded as an idiot child. She lowered her head and said, “A Rum Floater, of course.”

  “Alice, please understand I’m not a Navy man. I don’t speak Navy language. Please don’t be like Delia. I’m not stupid; I’m only ignorant. I haven’t been to Norfolk or to Panama. I’ve been to lots more interesting places than those.”

  She looked surprised, but remained silent. Alice’s silences were weighty; to borrow a schoolboy’s expression, “You could hear the wheels go round.” The Rum Floaters turned out to be rum in ginger ale, a combination I couldn’t abide. She fell on hers like one famished.

  “What was Panama like?”

  “Hot . . . different.”

  “What were you doing in Norfolk?”

  “I was a waitress in restaurants.” She had turned morose. I waited for the rum to take effect. Looking straight before her she said, “I shouldn’t have come. . . . You’ve been telling lies to me all night. You don’t clean up places’; you live in them. You’re one of those rich people. I know what you think of me, Dr. Cole.”

  “You made me say I was a doctor. You made me say I was an old friend of your husband’s. I’m not rich. I coach children to play tennis. You don’t get much for that, I can tell you. Don’t let’s quarrel, Alice. I think you’re a very bright girl and very attractive too. I think you’ve got knock-out eyes, for instance. You have a personality that sends out electric shocks all the time, like door knobs when a storm’s coming on. Alice, don’t let’s quarrel. Let’s have another Rum Floater and then I’ll take you back to the gate in a taxi. There are some taxis standing in the Square every hour of the day and night. Forget all that I said about going to my apartment. Damn it, I hope you and I are grown up enough just to be friends. I can see that you’ve got some trouble on your mind. Well, leave that trouble behind at the Base.”

  She had been looking at me fixedly.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “When I look at a man I try to figure out what movie star he looks like. I can almost always find it. You don’t look like any I’ve seen. You’re not very good-looking, you know. I don’t say that to hurt your feelings; I just say it because it’s true.”

  “I know I’m not good-looking, but you can
’t say I have a low-down mean face.”

  “No.”

  I got the barman’s attention and put up two fingers.

  I asked, “What movie star does your husband look like?”

  She turned to me sharply. “I won’t tell. He’s a very good-looking man and a very good man.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t.”

  “He saved my life and I love him. I’m a very lucky girl.—Oh, it would have been awful if those men had seen me with you. I’d never have forgiven myself. I’d have just died, that’s all.”

  “How do you mean—George saved your life?”

  She gazed before her broodingly. “Norfolk is an awful town. It’s worse than Newport. I got fired out of five restaurants. It was awful hard to keep a job. There were a million girls for every job. George was beginning to kind of court me. He’d come back to eat at the same table where I was serving. He’d leave twenty-five cents every time! . . . The men who ran the restaurants were always trying to take advantage of the girls; they’d act fresh in front of the customers. I didn’t want George to see anything like that . . . and just when I’d given up hope he asked me to marry him. And he gave me twenty-five dollars to buy some nice things, because he had a brother there in the Service too. George knew that he’d write home about me. I owe everything to George.” Suddenly she brushed my hand with hers. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings with what I said a while ago. You haven’t got a low-down mean face at all. Every now and then I say things—”

  Suddenly Alice disappeared. She slid from our bench and crouched under the table. I looked about and saw that two sailors wearing the armband of the Shore Patrol had entered. They greeted a number of the guests affably and, leaning against the bar, discussed at length a certain fracas that had taken place the night before. The public joined in. The conversation threatened to be interminable. Soon I became aware that some little fingernails were scratching my ankles. I leaned over and brushed them away angrily. There are certain torments a man cannot put up with. I heard a giggle. Finally the Shore Patrol left “The Anchor.” I whispered, “They’re gone,” and Alice hoisted herself onto the bench.

  “Did you know them?”

  “Know them!”

  “Alice, you know everybody. You’d better make up your mind whether you’ll let me take you back to the Base, or whether you’ll come and see my apartment.”