Her appetite was a false one but she managed two strips of bacon and half an egg.
The next few days he spent showing her the islands and the Glades. He did not take her to Larry’s or to Marco, however. He explained to her what he had been doing and about his book. She seemed strangely fascinated, as he had first been, with the Mangrove Keys. And became almost little girl-excited every time she got a fish on but seemed little impressed that he was writing a book. She began to tan and fill out. He had wanted to ask her how she had gotten on dope. He did not want to ask her this for personal reasons but more out of curiosity. But he thought it better to wait until she told him. Finally she did. It had happened easily, she said. She had tried it (sniffing heroin), drunk, one night with Steve, and taken to it as she took to everything, with an abandon. After that, for her, it had all been downgrade. Steve had spent all the money she had acquired betting at the track and she had been reduced to giving exhibitions promoted by her pimp. At times, when the urge returned, when she became nervous and irritable, she would deliver vengeful tirades on what she would do to him if she ever got back to Miami.
Nick began to guide and fish again. When he fished commercially he would take her with him. And he had resumed his writing. Occasionally they went into Molly’s. Nora and Old Molly got along famously from the beginning. Nora promised Nick she wouldn’t drink anything but beer until she felt considerably better and her desire for the narcotic decreased. Nick very seldom drank much himself, was always kind and considerate to her. She read on the beach and took the sun and fished in the surf. About twice a week they would take the boat and go into Naples to a movie and once in a while to The Cove for a drink. One night, in The Cove, with the wealth of Naples about them, he noticed Nora’s obvious envy and next time they went into Naples he suggested they go right home but she said, no, she wanted to go to The Cove and was insistent. Several times during the next month, when she would become irritable, she would cunningly say how well she felt and thought it would be a good idea if she went into Naples just to browse the shops. When Nick refused she would become very argumentative.
They made much love, but not the love of before, and talked of many things as they walked the beach together. They both knew that it couldn’t, wouldn’t last. They must go their separate ways. The islands, Nick had come to realize, were not a place he would always live but a place that now served his purpose. And Nora was often bored. She tried hard. She knew this was her final chance—that if she failed now death was her only answer. She began to admire Nick—his doggedness, the way he worked, how much better his work was getting.
The first week in March it began to grow hot. They were sitting on the beach in the early evening, very close to the water, so that the breeze blew the mosquitos away.
“I think I’ll be getting on soon,” she said to him.
“Yes, I think you should,” he said. “It shouldn’t be long.”
“I’ve enjoyed this. And I’m grateful.”
He was silent.
“Do you suppose anyone in Chicago would believe what we’ve done the last few months?” she said.
“No,” he said. “Certainly not Old Pete. Or Pierro. Mary would believe it.”
“Marci would like this, I think,” Nora said.
“Yes, I think she would. I wonder how they’re getting along.”
“I’ve wondered that, too. Even before I came here with you. I thought about it several times. In Miami.”
“I wouldn’t think you would have.”
“I wonder if I’ll make it this time,” Nora said.
“You didn’t kill him—your husband.”
“No. But—let’s not talk about that,” she said. “I know you’ll make it, Nick. I’m very proud of that.”
“I haven’t made it yet. The reason I came to Miami when I did was because I was so depressed I was thinking of killing myself.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t think I’d have courage to finish. And when I’m finished how do I know it will be any good.”
“It’s good,” she said. “I’ve read some of it and it’s good.”
“That’s kind of you.” He wondered suddenly if maybe she, too, wasn’t, inside, laughing at him. As he knew Old Pete and Pierro would be laughing at him if they knew what he was attempting to do.
“Let’s go in,” he said, ordering.
“All right, Nick,” she said.
And she felt his arm go around her back up under her arm onto her breast as they walked toward the shack. And again he wondered if she was laughing at him. All of them. He took his arm from her. And when he got back to the shack did not want her but sat on the edge of his cot seeing in his mind’s eye a huge panoramic picture of her and Old Pete and Pierro all laughing at him. Then she came over to him and the picture went away.
Later, Nick could not sleep. He got up and walked out onto the beach. Off shore he could hear fish working. It sounded, from the great noise in the night, like sharks in a school of mullet. He walked far up the beach thinking about his childhood and what had happened since he had come home. He wondered if it had been ‘fair’ of him leaving like he had, breaking his engagement to Pat when so many were counting on him, but most of all if he would ever be able to finish his book.
CHAPTER XL
THE following day Nick received a letter from Old Gus. He had picked it up at Larry’s in the morning and carried it with him all day unopened. Towards evening, after he had swum in the sea, and he was clean of the sweat of day, and the sun was low in the west he sat upon a piece of driftwood on the beach and opened the letter. The letter was written in simple Greek.
Nickie mou—
I write to you with the sadness of my old heart and for the sadness of yours. Your beloved cousin Pierro has taken his life by his own hand.
It was decided by a council of our family that for a while you should not know. Why, I cannot say. Perhaps because already from his death they have somehow understood the similarity of your ways. But I must tell you. For there are things in this life we cannot avoid.
Maybe you knew, maybe not Nickie mou, but things for him were not well. For over a month now he has lived separate from his wife. And she with child. How she came to be with child I do not know. For this he wished to avoid. But she was with child. And from the time he knew of it until his death he drank much. And the devil of jealousy was strong with him. Only for the sake of the child, I know, upon advice of the physician, did she leave him.
His work was bad. Your father did not live up to his promised obligations to him. I do not think he ever told her of the disease of his family. And this was strong and heavy upon his sensitive soul. Too, maybe, I am not sure, Nickie mou, but maybe he did not believe she returned his love because maybe it was he that married for reasons other than love. If this is so then the burden was heavy indeed. For his life was of devotion to truth. Truth through the work that was his life. So if there was an untruth in his life it too must have weighed strong and heavy upon his sensitive soul.
We cannot say what makes men do as we do for what is in my heart is my dream and my tear, and in your heart your dream and your tear, and to know what is in the others heart you must pay for each dream and each tear and that is not the way of this world. God Bless You, Nickie mou, and hold up thy head always,
Lovingly,
Old Gus
Nick sat on the driftwood for a long while and finally he heard Nora calling him as she came from the shack. He put the letter in his pocket and stood up and watched her come across the white sand, her feet half buried in the soft sand. She stopped close to him:
“I’ve never left you alone at night,” he said. “Would you be all right for a while.”
“Something’s terribly wrong. I can feel it.”
“Would it be all right?”
“Nick, what’s wrong. I don’t want to stay here. Alone.”
“All right,” Nick said. “
Come with me. We’ll eat in Naples. Pierro killed himself two days ago.”
“Pier—,” she gasped, her hand to her mouth.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “I want to talk to Yvonne.”
They ran up the coast to Naples and Nick placed the call, person to person to Yvonne collect. He heard her voice say ‘I’ll take it upstairs’ and waited.
“Nick,” she blurted. “Oh Nick,” she was crying. “Oh God Nick, it’s terrible.”
“Can I make the funeral?”
“It was this afternoon. They didn’t even have the casket open. His whole head was gone.”
“Mother?”
“Under sedation. They didn’t even tell his own mother, the animals,” she half-screamed, half-sobbed. “And the police. Oh God, Nick, he tried to kill himself with a razor. But he couldn’t, couldn’t because he was afraid if he didn’t do it he’d never be able to draw—Nick, Nick—”
“You want me to come up?” he asked. “I can come, baby,” he said.
“Don’t Nick. Don’t ever come here. Please. Please—don’t,” she paused. “Wait a minute. One minute.”
He heard her call, “Ellen, bring me my drink.” Then in a moment: “I’m all right. I’m sorry, Nick,” she said not crying anymore but a slight quiver to her voice. “But it’s been such a mess. Old Pete ran out on everything. I mean he was at the funeral and all but I don’t know where he is now. And they decided they weren’t going to let Pierro’s mother know. And the police. Marci’s the only one with any goddam stomach—.” Then she was crying again and Ellen took the phone.
“I’ll write her,” Nick said to Ellen. “Tell her I’ll write. And to come down here if she wants to get away. Tell her I’ll send her the money to come down, will you.”
“I’ll tell her,” Ellen said coolly. “Don’t worry, Nick, I’ll tell her,” she said. “Goodbye, Nick.”
“Goodbye, Ellen,” he said. And hung up and went back to his booth. Nora was drinking a double martini. As he sat down he stared at the martini.
“I think I’m ready to have a drink now, don’t you, Nick,” she said guiltily and uncomfortably.
“No I don’t. And I don’t give a shit,” he said. And after waiting two hours for her to get thoroughly saturated he half carried her from the place and took a cab down to the dock and put her in the boat and started for the Key.
After that night her drinking was periodical. He began to work with an intensity he had never known before; yet he strictly adhered to the schedule whereby he was most productive. As the book occupied more and more of his mind’s time his desire for her decreased as if in proportion. And he did not realize the effect it was having upon her.
Often he wished she would leave, go away. At times when they were fishing she would begin to talk animatedly about irrelevant subjects and usually when he was concentrating on something that was important to his work. He didn’t seem to have the heart to tell her to be quiet; but she felt, from the sudden almost furious way he would begin to fish and move the boat about, that she had said something that was silly or stupid or wrong. When they would go into Naples and she would drink she would almost always become maudlin, often border on the verge of genuine hysteria. She would holler at him: “You’re going to leave me and I’m going to die.” “You hate me, don’t you, Nick.” “You don’t love me.” “You’ve got what you want now you’re like all the rest. Just like the rest.” Then, next day, she would apologize.
But he couldn’t really let her go. She was not ready to go, he knew. She was his responsibility, he felt. One night in mid-April she stole his boat. Larry had seen her drunk at Molly’s and asked her where Nick was, then came out to pick Nick up. After that Nick had to take the plugs from the boat at night.
Several days after that incident Nick had sent half his manuscript to an old Army friend in New York and asked him to get a publisher’s opinion. The Army friend was himself a part time critic for The New Yorker and had been with the public relations unit of Nick’s outfit. After Nick had mailed off the script he had gone out with Nora and gotten drunk. They stayed half-drunk for four days and things were almost as they had been once back in Chicago.
When Nora sobered up she was severely depressed for several days. Twice she had even refused to go fishing with Nick. During her reflections on the beach, while Nick was away, she began to realize that the way she really liked Nick, wanted him, was the way he had been when they were drinking, living in that frenetic way. When he came home that night she asked to speak to him. They were on the beach.
“Nick, I think it’s time I left,” she said.
He studied her for a moment. He was edgy, she could tell.
“Can you cut it,” he said. He had not shaved since he had been drinking and it was warm in the early evening, and his body still hot from the hot afternoon sun, and perspiration on his beard.
“I—I think so,” she said.
“You lie,” he said.
“No, I think I can.”
“Where will you go?” he asked. He seemed so self-assured now, she thought. She hated him when he was like this. He had never been like this. It was as if he had left her standing still, had gone away.
“Miami, I suppose,” she said. “I could get a job. I’ve a good friend that has a restaurant. He’d give me a job as a hostess or something.”
She was sitting on the driftwood which was their favorite spot and he was standing over her smoking, barefeet in the sand. He just stared at her.
“I could get married.”
“Yeah,” he said as if preoccupied.
“Yes, goddamn it, I could. There were lots of men that wanted to marry me. That knew what I was and still wanted to marry me.”
“They know you were a junkie?”
“Sometimes you’re rotten.”
“Maybe. But don’t you think we ought to look at this straight.”
“You know I can get a man, Nick.”
“What good will it do if it makes you stick again.”
She was silent.
“Look,” Nick said, “we should hear about the book soon. If they take the book we can go away together. We can try and make something for ourselves. Why don’t you wait until we hear.”
“You don’t want me, Nick. You’re sorry for me. And I couldn’t live with you knowing that.”
“Maybe, soon, I won’t have to be sorry for you any more. What do you say? Will you stay?”
She was silent again, staring at the sand now in the half-light left by the already departed sun. He gave her a cigarette.
“I’ll stay,” she said exhaling.
“How about a movie? There’s a war picture on in Naples.”
“All right,” she said.
“And only two drinks afterward,” he smiled.
She looked up at him. It was a little difficult to see his dark tanned face now in the half dark but she could tell he was smiling and she smiled too.
“Only two,” she said.
The next two weeks Nick was very irascible waiting to hear from New York. He had taken a job guiding on one of the big boats that had pulled into Naples from Tampa to fish the Glades. Nora had their boat all to herself and spent a lot of time in Naples, going one afternoon over to the Hotel and picking up a ‘trick’ which she milked for over three hundred dollars without Nick’s knowledge, the proceeds of which she used to buy clothes in the smarter shops of Naples, leaving them there with a ‘Will Call’.
Nick’s tour with the Tampa yacht ended profitably, then because of the extreme heat there were few parties and the fish were only hitting in the early morning and late afternoon. But it was spring in the Glades and life was abounding. The fish were fat in the belly with their roe and the mating call of the birds could be heard in the day, and one day Nick saw the rare sight of two porpoises mating. Yet he was edgy with the extra time on his hands. Each morning when he had come back from fishing, before he even ate, he would take Nora in the boat and they would go into Larry’s to see if the
letter had come from New York.
Finally, it came. Indeed, Nick’s friend said, he had a book and one of New York’s oldest established publishing houses would publish it if continued on along the lines Nick had mentioned and did not fall apart.
Strangely, he did not celebrate. He seemed completely overwhelmed. In fact from the way he shook when he first had read the letter Nora had thought positively he had been refused, and later she had hated herself because she knew the instant he opened the letter that a refusal was what she had been hoping for and she wondered what was wrong with her, what kind of a devil she must have inside.
A week after the letter came in Nick had to go into Marco for supplies. When he came back, about three of a cloudless hot naked sunny afternoon, she was in the shack, under the mosquito netting; nude, smoking.
“I’ve got to go into Naples,” he said. “To the library. I should be back a little after dark,” he said.
“Take me with you,” she said.
“I’m only going to pick up a book. I’ll be right back.”
“What’s going to happen after the book’s published.”
“It’s not published yet.”
“Do you have to be so goddamn staid.”
“That’s a good one.”
“Christ, you wouldn’t know. You’re too damn carried away,” she said. She was looking over at him now and ran one hand from her neck down over her body, over her leg. “Do you think I’ve a nice body.”
He studied her, slightly angered now, angered for wanting her suddenly now in the heat of this day.
“You know I do,” he said. Then looked the other way.
“You know why I want to go with you. I’ll tell you why.” I want some ice. That’s why. I need to be cooled off, that’s why.”
He was thumbing through some notes now.
“Ice, Nickie,” she said.
“Why don’t you take a swim,” he said without any trace of sarcasm.
“Maybe I will,” she said. “Maybe after you’re gone I will.”
He turned around and looked at her. “I’ll bring back some ice. And some Coke. And maybe a bottle of rum. You’re right. It’s damn hot—I’ll be back quick as I can.”
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