People Who Knock on the Door

by Patricia Highsmith

  When Arthur got to the pawn shop, he found it manned by a boy of about his own age in shirt sleeves, reading a paperback while a transistor played. The place was full of dusty junk, hanging wristwatches, guitars, and old clothes. Arthur said he had a good 50X microscope to pawn, worth two hundred and fifty.

  “The boss isn’t here today. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Arthur had the plastic bag in his hands. “Can’t you take a look? Advance me something on it today?”

  “I’m not allowed to take in any goods. Sorry.”

  That was that. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning.”

  Arthur went into the next public telephone booth he saw to call Maggie. It was now half past 12.

  Maggie’s mother answered. “Oh, Arthur. Just a min—ute. Maggie! For you.”

  Then Maggie said, “Hello, Arthur.”

  “Hi, darling. I got what I wanted. This morning. The name of somebody. Indi.” His grip on the telephone tightened. “By yourself now?”

  “Yes. But Mom knows anyway,” Maggie said softly.

  “My God!—She knows?”

  “Well, she guessed it and I couldn’t lie to her. She noticed I was nervous, so she asked.”

  Arthur felt shame, recalling her mother’s polite but annoyed tone seconds ago. “She’s angry with you?”

  “N-no. She just says I have to do something about it. She said these things happen or something like that.” Maggie’s voice sounded almost the same, calm and even.

  “Maggie—I’m supposed to call at three for an appointment. I’ll try to make it for this weekend. Is that all right? And don’t worry about what it costs.”

  “My mother wants our—It’s not our doctor, but somebody he knows. And we have family insurance, Arthur. As long as my folks know anyway—”

  Arthur felt further alienated, and detested. “I feel it’s my responsibility.”

  “No!—Oh, we’ll talk about that some other time.”

  His fingers writhed on the receiver. “Can I possibly see you tonight?”

  “I can see you after dinner. My dad comes home today around five.”

  Arthur suffered another jolt. “I suppose your mother’s going to tell him.”

  “Um-m—I suppose, because otherwise why’d I be going to the doctor? You shouldn’t worry so, Arthur. It’s not the way you think.”

  A father was not going to take it so casually, Arthur thought.

  “You still there? I asked my mother not to tell him tonight. We might go away this weekend, Mom and I, and get it done.”

  Arthur said that his family was going out to a film tonight, and could she come to his house after dinner? Maggie said she could be there a little after 9. Arthur left the booth shaken and walked his bike along the sidewalk instead of getting on it.

  “Present for your girl?” Tom Robertson asked when Arthur arrived at Shoe Repair with the plastic bag.

  Arthur was putting the microscope in a safe place, under his coat hook at the back of the shop, next to an old raincoat of Tom’s. “Um—yes,” said Arthur. The plastic bag, he realized, came from a women’s shop in town. Since when did Tom know he had a girl? Tom was probably assuming.

  The day was bright with sunshine, and the one tree in view outside the shop bent its branches in the breeze like someone dancing slowly. Maybe the day was a lovely one for lot of people, just not for him and Maggie.

  Arthur was very aware of 3 o’clock when it rolled around, and he did not call Dr. Robinson’s secretary. It was a pretty safe bet that the secretary wouldn’t bother to telephone his house. Arthur hadn’t given his address, though his family’s was the only Alderman listing in the book. He worked till nearly 6, when Tom usually closed, though Tom was always lenient about late-coming customers. When Arthur picked up the plastic bag, Tom Robertson said:

  “You look as nervous as if you’re going to pop the question tonight. I’m very curious what’s in that. Looks heavy enough to be a wedding cake.”

  “Angel food,” Arthur said, letting the bag slip nearly to the floor as if it weighed a ton.

  “Ha! Good luck, boy! See you tomorrow.”

  ARTHUR WAS ALONE IN THE HOUSE when he heard Maggie’s car at nearly 10, and he went out to meet her. They went into the kitchen, because he thought Maggie might want a Coke or coffee, but she didn’t. Arthur asked the question that was on his mind:

  “Does your father know yet?”

  “Well, yes. My mother told him just now. A few minutes ago.” Maggie sat down on the sofa.

  Arthur remained standing. “I can imagine what your father thinks of me. You may as well tell me.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “It’s not like that. Maybe my family’s different from yours.—Did you say anything to your mother?”

  “Good gosh, no!” Arthur hit his forehead. “And if my dad ever found out, he’d throw me out of the house!”

  Maggie smiled nervously, took a cigarette from her jacket pocket, and Arthur sprang to light it. “My mother spoke with a doctor recommended by Dr. Moodie. He can do it Monday morning—in Indi.”

  Arthur knew this was better, surer, than anything he could have come up with. “I’d really like to pay for it, Maggie. You don’t have to tell your folks that, just tell me what the bill is.”

  “But I told you, we’ve got insurance.”

  “All right, but don’t you still pay something?”

  “Honestly—I wouldn’t worry, Arthur.”

  Arthur suddenly thought that her family probably wanted to see the last of him, therefore didn’t want a cent from him. “Your father annoyed with you?”

  “Oh, he said why didn’t I have the pill like a bright girl. But he’s not angry.—He’s right.” Maggie sat leaning forward. Her eyes met his a couple of times; then she looked down at the floor.

  The minutes were slipping by. His family might be back in half an hour. “Maggie—” As he approached her, she stood up.

  His arms were around her, and he heard her gasp. She seemed to hold him just as tightly, and he shut his eyes, as he did when he spoke to her on the telephone. “God, I do love you, Maggie.”

  “For how long?”

  Arthur laughed. “Maybe always.”

  “Mom says—” Maggie stood back, but Arthur gripped both her hands. “She says I’d better be realistic. You, too. That we have four years ahead if we both finish. Four years when we’re mostly separated. She wants me to finish college and so do I want to.”

  “But we will!”

  Maggie pulled her hands away. “Sometimes you look so serious, I get scared.

  “Oh, Maggie!” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, turned in a circle, and faced her again. “I have to ask you a question. Are you going to be sorry about this—the—”

  “The operation. No. I’ve thought about that.—I know, I’ve read about girls being depressed—afterward. I don’t think I will be. I know it’s best if I have it done.”

  And if they ever married, Arthur thought, there would be a time for children, but he found he hadn’t the courage just now to say this. He saw Maggie glance at the front door, though the house was silent.

  “We could take a drive now,” Maggie said.

  “Yes, sure.—Or would you like to go over and meet Norma next door? Norma Keer.” Arthur went into his father’s study.

  “Who’s she?”

  Arthur looked through the study window and saw a glow of light at the side window of Norma’s living room. “Our next-door neighbor. Widow about sixty. Likes people to drop in. She’s sort of—” He couldn’t think of a word for Norma’s good nature. “She’s supposed to be dying of cancer or something, but she’s very cheerful.”

  “Gosh!”

  “Shall I call her and see if we can come over? Just for a couple of minutes. You giv
e me a sign if it’s boring.”

  “Sure, if you want.”

  Arthur dialed. “Hi, it’s me. I’m right next door and—” He laughed. “Yes, all right! I’m with a friend—girl called Maggie, and I wondered if we could come over for a couple of minutes?”

  It was fine if they came over.

  Arthur turned out the lights, except one, lest his father remark on his wastefulness, and locked the front door.

  “Well, you kids! Come in,” said Norma, in stockinged feet. And the TV was on with its sound turned off, and a book lay open on the sofa—just as usual.

  Arthur introduced Maggie.

  “What pretty girls you have, Arthur!” Norma murmured.

  “Girls plural?”

  “Come in the kitchen. What’ll you folks have? Seven-Up, ginger ale, gin and tonic—rum—and no beer, because I’m trying to watch my weight.”

  Maggie asked for a gin and tonic. Her eyes seemed to take in the entire house, while Arthur, who knew the one-story house well, simply enjoyed the change of scene, the safety it offered from the imminent arrival of his family next door. They sat in the living room. It dawned on Arthur that Norma was the least bit tipsy tonight. Forgivable, maybe, if she wasn’t going to live another whole year, as she frequently said.

  “I think I’ve seen you—in the First National,” Norma said to Maggie. She gently touched her hair, which looked like translucent reddish fluff. “You’ve finished high school, too, like Arthur?”

  “Yes, just now,” Maggie said.

  “Arthur’s one of my favorite beaux. Hope you appreciate him, Maggie.”

  Arthur laughed.

  “What’ll I do when all the nice young people are gone away to college this fall,” said Norma, sadly.

  “Meet some more,” Arthur said. “Gus Warylsky’s staying, going to C.U. You know him—tall blond fellow? We did some work together in your yard a couple of times.”

  “Oh, yes, Gus! Another nice one, true.” Then Norma asked Maggie about her college. And what was she going to study?

  Arthur didn’t listen. He was thinking about Maggie, and Monday. Maggie declined another drink, but went with Norma back to the kitchen when Norma freshened her glass. Arthur stayed where he was. Then Maggie followed Norma out of the kitchen and bent to look at a table, Norma’s dining table, in the area between kitchen and living room.

  “Beautiful,” Maggie said, touching its surface with her fingertips.

  “Thank you, Maggie,” said Norma. “Inherited it from an old aunt. It’s from Italy.”

  Arthur had never paid any attention to the table. It was handmade and probably a few hundred years old, he realized. And Maggie liked it very much. From his armchair, Arthur looked at the X-legged table as if he had never seen it before. If Maggie liked this—one day he and Maggie would have furniture like this, he promised himself. Nothing with varnish on it, nothing of formica, nothing of chrome! Maggie wanted to leave.

  “I’m supposed to be home by eleven,” Maggie said. “Thank you for the drink, Mrs. Keer.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Arthur said.

  “You’ll just have to walk back!”

  “And so what?”

  Arthur declined Norma’s invitation to come back later if he wished. He wanted to be free to stay with Maggie, because he couldn’t predict her: She might want to go to the quarry tonight. But she drove toward her house.

  “What time are you taking off tomorrow—you and your mother?” Arthur asked.

  “Sometime in the morning. We’re all going to the Sigma Port Hotel where Dad always stays. Then Sunday afternoon I’ll be in the hospital, because they want me to sleep there the night before. All very proper.” Maggie gave a nervous laugh.

  He bit his lip. “I’ll be thinking about you every minute—Monday.”

  In her driveway, he said a quick good-bye, afraid to linger, and set out at a trot for his house. Maggie had said he could telephone her at the hospital Monday afternoon, the All Saints Hospital. She knew there would be a telephone in her room.

  His family was home and in the living room, all except Robbie, whose room light was on and his door open. His father was standing with a glass of beer, wearing one of his new shirts, a boldly striped blue-and-white that hung outside his trousers. It seemed to Arthur that his church activities had inspired him to buy flashier clothing. Very strange.

  “Hello, Arthur, where’ve you been?” asked his grandmother.

  “Went in to say hello to Norma for a few minutes.”

  “And she gave you a couple of drinks I suppose?” He added to Joan, “Round the clock bar next door.”

  “Oh, Richard—” said Arthur’s mother. “You had a phone call a few minutes ago, Arthur. “A girl named Vera—no, Veronica. She said there’s a party on at her house and Gus is there. She thought you might like to come over.”

  Arthur sucked his lip. “No. But thanks for the message, Mom.”

  Robbie entered the living room just as Arthur was about to leave it.

  “Here they are, my specials,” Robbie said. He had both fists clenched and extended. “Bought five.”

  These were fishhooks with double and triple barbs, which Arthur gazed at with fascination, as did the others. They lay on Robbie’s open palms, and in his enthusiasm, he had stuck his palm with one, and a little blood came, which Robbie dismissed as “nothing.”

  “With this one here, a fish can’t get away.” Robbie said, as if it were imperative to catch a fish.

  The hooks made Arthur think of the operation Maggie was going to have Monday morning. Hook it and tug it out. But from what he had read, the operation was rather a scraping. He had read about desperate women using coat hangers, however, and dying from it. Arthur did not care to look at the hooks any longer and went off to his room. He felt even slightly faint.

  10

  The sunshine early Saturday morning, beautiful as it was, struck Arthur as a curtain rising on a first act of tragedy, or doom. Maggie was going away this morning with her parents. Arthur had to keep telling himself that it was for “the best,” that it was what Maggie wanted.

  He was inspired to buy Maggie a present, and the one he had in mind wasn’t a big one: a beige and blue scarf he had seen in a window the day he had visited the pawn shop. The forty- nine-dollar scarf had been out of the question then, but now it wasn’t. He left the house around 10. His mother had been ironing, his father poring over papers in his study. His grandmother had taken his mother’s car to do an errand. His grandmother could stay another week, which pleased Arthur. He cycled toward the street of the pawn shop, then to the street in which was the rather expensive shop for women’s accessories. Arthur bought the scarf. It was of heavy silk. The beige and dark blue, set in an irregular diamond-shaped pattern, were the colors of Maggie’s bedroom, the colors of her curtains, anyway, and he supposed that Maggie liked them. The salesgirl put the scarf into a pretty, flat square box. Then Arthur, with his spirits lifted a little, rode on his bike to the Chalmerston public library to change books and browse in the science shelves for an hour or so.

  It was nearly noon when he got home. His grandmother was back, and Arthur’s mother told him that she and his grandmother were going to make curtains for the whole house.

  “Isn’t that nice?” His mother turned with a large spoon in her hand to look at Arthur. She was making an orange cake, she had told Arthur.

  “Sounds great—curtains.”

  Arthur went to his room and put the box for Maggie in his second drawer, which contained folded shirts. He felt unhappy, vague about everything. Even Maggie. Would the operation somehow change her and turn her against him—next week, by Tuesday? Was his father going to put up the nearly nine thousand dollars for Columbia or not? Arthur wanted very much to speak with his mother about the Columbia money now, to find out his fat
her’s attitude through her, if he could, but his grandmother was in the house and might overhear, and Arthur did not want to appear to be hinting for money from his grandmother. His father, at best, would make him aware of every dollar, every hundred dollars that college would cost, even though his father was now poking ten-dollar bills into the limp purple bag that they passed around in church, Arthur had noticed, instead of his former couple of singles. Columbia might be a dream. And so might Maggie, he realized.

  He didn’t want to see or speak to anybody in the kitchen, his mother, grandmother, and now Robbie, back from fishing, so he left quietly by the front door and no one noticed. It was near enough to 1 to go to Shoe Repair.

  That afternoon, Gus Warylsky came into the shop with a pair of shoes that needed new heels.

  “Good party last night?” Arthur asked.

  “Yeah. Veronica’s birthday.—Greg wrecked his car afterwards. Did you hear?”

  “Where would I’ve heard?” Not the first car Greg had smashed up, Arthur knew. “Hurt anybody?”

  “Broke his own nose. The girl with him was okay, but the car’s a write-off. Dumb show-off. That guy ought to have his licence taken away for a year.”

  Arthur didn’t comment. Greg’s father had political influence in the town, and Greg would be driving again as soon as he got another car.

  “Might buy some shoes, too,” Gus said, looking around.

  “What kind you want for them big feet?—What size do you take, twelve? Fourteen maybe?”