Go Naked In The World

by Chamales, Tom T. ;

  There was such beauty in this world, he said to himself, such sweet understanding somehow in this time and place of loneliness. Yet all around me, here, now, with all this peace was the grossness of dog eat dog.

  The sardines fed upon the waste of the sea. The jacks devoured the sardines. The snook and tarpon devoured the jacks. And the sharks devoured the snook and tarpon. And then they devoured each other. Or frenzied wounded even devoured themselves. (Nick had seen them snapping at their own entrails.)

  And some day you, too, are going to die.

  Yes, die. Like the fish in the sea. The earth will take you into its arms, and the worms will caress you. And you will be DEAD.

  And if you should die now? Here and now? Or later? Was there a difference? You have no place. Of things suburban or urban you have no attraction. You are not Catholic and they do not have a place for you. The Greeks will give you a place on their terms but you do not want that because somehow you are not of them. You do not have the money to travel. And, worst of all, you have no desire.

  Isn’t there anything that will make you content?

  Old Pete says you are young but that it is not true, it seems to me now. It seems I am the opposite. That already I have done everything there is to be done, he thought slightly bitterly. That would be some epitaph:

  BORN

  KILLED

  DIED

  My epitaph. The epitaph of our time. That’s what it was. Still there was so much beauty. No one will ever paint the sun as it is now. Or write of the wind as it sifts through these groves behind me. Or compose music that has the sound of this sea.

  God, if I only knew what Death were. If I only believed in something that was beyond dying. I do not want to leave all this beauty and loneliness. I want to see this world as it is. As it is under the surface of pointless pride, beneath the film of vanity that engulfs it and, most of all, to see it stripped forever of this diabolic feeling of inferiority, of littleness and belittleness, of everythingness for the sake of nothingness, that perverts not only the soul but the mind—

  Then he remembered something that Gus had said to him that last night he had gone to visit with him in his shack before Nick had gone to war:

  “You exist upon things, Nicks, that you are not sure are truths so you do not live by truth but by opinion.

  “And when you look into things, for the sake of the light of things you become weary because these things are not familiar, and so you return to darkness because you, too, have become weary. When you have it (light) you will know it. You will be able to read without having learned to read, and write without having learned to write, and to know without having thought, and to have won the race without running in it, and to conclude without having argument. When you have that then you know truly, and everlasting, and yet you know without knowing.”

  Red was the sun touching the water, golden were the rays of the sun reaching to the sky and the sea, down went the sun as if into sea, and there was a different voice in the very air.

  Gus and Larry were waiting for him on Larry’s dock as he came across the bay in the dusk, throttles open full, standing in the boat. Cutting his motors to follow Larry’s small channel to the dock, Gus saw the sadness upon his face. Gus got into the boat without uttering a word.

  “I will see you tomorrow, Larry,” Nick said softly. And Nick backed the boat away, and they started for Big Marco Pass.

  At dinner that night they talked about Gus’s fishing lesson. Gus was very impressed with his day with Larry. Nick told Gus that Larry, though he had never been to school, was probably the world’s foremost expert on the bird life of the islands and Glades and that the leading ornithologists from universities all over the country came to him first when making studies of the bird life in the area. Larry had even published a paper, though he couldn’t write, on the migratory habits of the Glade birds. He had dictated it, though, Nick said, using all the scientific terms that he had learned from reading (he taught himself to read) the many books he had acquired on bird life. Gus was even more impressed.

  They went with Larry the next day and looked at the island he had offered to sell Nick. Nick bought it at once. And then contracted with Larry to have him build a small shack on it for six hundred dollars, which would make a very nice camping shack, and Larry promised to drop in on the island from time to time to make sure things were intact and no one occupied the shack. Then Nick and Gus fished the rest of the day, an out-tide, for snook. They got eleven, the smallest eleven and one-half pounds and were tired at end of day. That night they went down to Molly’s and Nick talked Gus into bringing his zither and Gus played and Nick taught the islanders the Greek dance. They had much fun.

  They got some heavy tackle from the dockmaster and went for tarpon the next day. Gus lost seven of them and Nick had two on and landed one about eighty pounds and released it. Next day Larry and Nick took Gus down into the lower islands, then, after renting an air boat near Everglades City, they went far back into the bog, palmetto, pine, scrub, creeks, brooks and lakes of the Glades. They saw many alligators, and deer, and wildcats, and gars, and water moccasins. There had been heavy rains in these backwaters lately and the smaller islands were covered with huge rattlesnakes coiled and inert, their eyes closed but striking at anything that came near. Once far back they heard a thunderous noise as if a sea were erupting and minutes later they saw a tremendous school of largemouth bass pass right through them feeding on a school of minnows frenziedly.

  They fished out the week stopping by Larry’s occasionally to go over the plans for the shack. Nick still had not called Nora or home. He had thought about calling Nora several times but when he had thought of it he was not near a phone, and when he was he did not seem to think about it, so he never called.

  They had a big wild drunk at Molly’s with Gus playing the zither the night before they left. Then they drove over to Palm Beach. Joe was there waiting. Nick did not feel like staying with Joe’s friends so he took a hotel room. He spent every day on the beach, and walking the beach, and did not join with Gus and Joe and Joe’s friends except for one dinner which he felt he had to attend, otherwise it would have been impolite.

  After two days they started north. Nick and Gus were deeply tanned. It was very hot all through Florida and Georgia. They stopped at Chattanooga. Nick went to explore the battlefield with a guide. Joe and Gus did not go. And Nick had not invited them. Nick learned much of the battle of Chickamauga Creek. He knew his grandfather’s regiment, and the day of the week he was wounded, and from that the guide took him to almost the exact spot where his grandfather had been hit, paralyzed for life. Nick also saw all the various types of rifles that were used. One even had a coffee grinder built in the stock. It was practical for grinding coffee beans, the guide said. Nick was glad he had come and overtipped the guide heavily when he left.

  They decided to drive straight through to Chicago. They arrived there about three in the morning and left Old Joe off at his place first.

  “Some trips,” Little Joe of the one eye said. “Some trips.”

  “Get some rest, Little Joe,” Old Gus said. “The wedding is day after tomorrow.”

  “I not even open my place till after the wedding.”

  “Christ,” Nick said as they were getting Little Joe’s bag out of the car, “Christ, but I haven’t even bought a present.”

  “I have,” Little Joe said. “And I paid one hundred dollars.”

  Then Nick drove Gus home and headed out north. It was five in the morning when he got to the Winnetka house. The front door was locked and he had to ring the bell. Old Pete opened the door.

  “I oughta throw you right out,” Old Pete said.

  “What’s wrong now?” Nick asked.

  “Your mother’s been crazy nervous.”

  “Come on, Dad. I’m tired.”

  “You oughta be ashamed not letting your mother know how you were.”

  “If there was anything wrong you’d have found out,” Nick said. “I
dropped your liquor off in Atlanta. There was no one home. They had already started for Chicago, for the wedding.”

  “The girl’s here,” Old Pete said.

  “In the house?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah. The old man’s at the Edgewater.”

  So, Nick thought, he thinks he’s going to shove her down my throat. Well, I’m still taking Nora.

  “Can I bring my stuff in?” Nick said starting in. “Did the fish come? I shipped a hell of a lot of fish.”

  “No.”

  Nick brought his stuff inside.

  “Nick, your mother’s been crazy worried.”

  “You told me that,” Nick said tired.

  God, but he looked a hell of a lot better, Old Pete thought.

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning. You be careful around the girl now. You know she’s my friend’s daughter.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “And you gotta help the next couple days. You know the wedding’s day after tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Nick said. “Good night, dad.”

  Old Pete came over and kissed Nick good night. Then Nick began to bring in his bags and equipment.

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  YVONNE woke Nick a little after noon with a cup of coffee: “You look wonderful, Nick,” she said.

  “We had fun,” he said.

  “Pat’s here from Atlanta,” Yvonne said.

  “I know. The old man let me in. He told me. What’s she like?”

  “She seems very sweet, Nick. And beautiful. Not striking, but sweetly beautiful.”

  “Beauty is a matter of opinion. Was Mother worried?”

  “You should have called. You know how dramatic Mother is. I really don’t think she was worried, though.”

  “I brought you some shells. They’re over there,” he said. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d like them or not. You’re not a collector of things, it seems.”

  She was sitting on the edge of his bed and he was sitting up in the bed now drinking the coffee. He told her about the trip and she told him how hectic things had been around the house with the wedding and all.

  “Should I bring Pat in to meet you?” she asked.

  “Not now. Where’s Mother?”

  “Out with Sophia. Last minute shopping and arranging. The phone’s been ringing and ringing.”

  “Does Pat think I’m taking her to the wedding?” he asked her.

  “No one said anything. But I told her you had made plans before you heard she was coming up.”

  “Thanks, baby.”

  “You’re bringing Nora?”

  “You know I am.”

  “Did you call her?”

  “No. I will in a while.”

  “Oh Nick,” she said putting her hand on his bare deeply tanned shoulder, “you seem so much better.”

  “I didn’t know anything was wrong with me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that. It was just that you were so nervous before you left.”

  He smiled. “Would you get me some more coffee while I hop in the shower and shave?”

  She took his cup and went away. He showered and shaved quickly and put on his sneakers and khaki pants and a T-shirt and came out and got his fresh cup of coffee and took it into the master bedroom and called Nora.

  “Hello,” Nora said in that gracious, polite, sincere way that somehow did not seem a false or acquired wav. “Who’s calling?”

  “You don’t know me, uh,” Nick said.

  “Nickie. Where the hell have you been?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I had a couple chances when we first started the trip. Then I thought I’d call you from the islands. But we went way down in there and camped. And there weren’t any phones or anything.”

  “I understand,” she said sweetly, graciously. “Did you have fun?”

  “It was wonderful. I missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you.”

  “When can I see you?” he asked her. “We got in late. I just got up.”

  “You want to buy my lunch? I’ve appointments later in the day—my hair and nails.”

  “The Drake in an hour. The Camellia Room.”

  “Fine. I’ll be at the bar if I beat you.”

  “And I’ll be at the bar if I beat you.”

  He went back into his room to change. As he was slipping on his gabardines Yvonne came in. “You going somewhere?”

  “The Drake.”

  “Nora?” Yvonne asked. “I think Mother wanted you to run some errands.”

  “I won’t be late.”

  “Please, Nick. She was counting on you.”

  “Don’t worry, honey.”

  “That was nice of you bringing me those shells.”

  “I thought about you when I was looking for them,” he smiled.

  “Thanks, Nick.”

  “Come here,” he said. She came over and he put his arms around her. “What’s wrong with you, baby? You seem sad.”

  She began to cry, softly, a whimpering little-girl cry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just feel sad, I guess. You look so good, Nick.”

  “Why don’t you come to lunch with us?”

  “No. I promised Mom I’d wait for her,” she said still crying.

  “And there’s nothing in particular, wrong.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I’ve just felt a cry coming on. For days now.”

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her eyes and she half-smiled half-cried up at him. She looked so mature, so striking: black-eyed, tall and maturely dark to seem such a child, he thought. To him, in his arms, she was like a feathery little bird that he was stroking, half-bewildered yet half-lulled by his touch; and suddenly the great gentleness, the great tenderness that was in him, buried so deep in him that he never seemed to be able to let it loose, suddenly burst forth like a flash flood through an arroyo and Yvonne felt the sudden flood, gentle and tender, and felt too, practically all the warm comfort and security that she had felt the need for these last few almost unbearably lonely days.

  “Thank you, Nick,” she said after a moment. “You’re so sweet sometimes. You remind me now of when you were a little boy.”

  “You needed that cry,” he said.

  “I feel better. I’d better go wash my face. I don’t want Pat to see me like this.”

  “Where is she?” he asked her.

  “On the sun porch—reading and listening to the radio. She sang for us the other night. She has a beautiful voice. Opera, no less.”

  “A trained voice?”

  “The best voice teachers in New York. She’s had quite a few offers—from opera, the stage, even the movies. But her father wouldn’t let her take them.”

  “He’s not the same kind of Greek as Old Pete?” Nick asked.

  “Like hell he isn’t,” she answered. “Except he drinks like a fish. Like you. Only better.”

  “You’re hurting my feelings,” Nick said.

  “You hurt too much, too easily,” she said. “Don’t let Nora hurt you, Nick—please,” she said with a quiver in her voice, her eyes still tear stained.

  “That wasn’t what you were crying about?” he asked seriously.

  “Of course not, silly.” Nick couldn’t tell whether she was lying or not.

  “Was it?” he said sternly.

  “Well—well, partly,” she said, turning her head and beginning to cry again and half running away towards the master bathroom where she slammed the door and he heard her lock it.

  “Oh Jesus,” he half-murmured to himself. Then began to finish dressing. Then went downstairs and before going to the kitchen for his coffee went out on the porch.

  Pat was there stretched out on the porch swing as Yvonne said she was. She was playing tunes from Carousel on the record player and reading a book of Eugene O’Neill’s plays. When she heard him, or felt him standing there (he couldn’t tell which), she sat up and he was half dumb struck
when he saw how sweetly pretty she was with her loosely falling bangs and long streaked-from-the-sun blonde hair pulled tight with a comb in the back and a slightly turned up tanned nose, and about the most beautiful rose white yet slightly pink-from-the-sun skin that Nick had ever seen.

  Still standing there half dumb struck, he looked at her legs in that invading way of his, then up to her breasts. She had a low cut print cotton dress, tight at the waist but full skirted.

  “I’m Nick,” he said, half awkwardly, still half dumb struck at meeting this sweet, child-like creature in his own house so early in the morning.

  “I thought so,” she said. “I’m Pat.” And extended her hand. He took it. She had long fingers and long nails but there was no polish on the nails and only a slight trace of lipstick on her mouth.

  “You don’t look like any Greek,” he said.

  “I’m only half-Greek,” she said. “Like you. My mother was German Irish.”

  “I hope you’re not as mixed up about that as I am,” he said in a kind voice.

  “My mother died when I was three,” she said. “You don’t look so beat up,” she added forwardly.

  “Who said I was beat up? Mother?”

  Pat smiled her answer.

  “How about some coffee?” he asked her.

  “I’ve had mine. Let me fix you some.”

  “You cook?”

  “My Daddie wouldn’t let anyone but me cook for him.”

  When she said “Daddie” he discerned only the slightest trace of southern accent for the first time.

  “I stopped by your house down in Atlanta. But you had left for up here already.”

  “Sorry we didn’t have a chance to entertain you,” she said sweetly. She really had a very sweet, very innocent appearance. I wonder if she’s a virgin, he asked himself. She’s only seventeen. Of course that doesn’t make any difference these days. But I bet she’s a virgin. I feel it.

  “Come on,” she said moving forward, “and we’ll get you some coffee. Breakfast, too?” she asked. She took his hand as she came toward him which he really thought was quite forward in one so young and sweet and innocent.