People Who Knock on the Door

by Patricia Highsmith

  “I know.” Arthur understood suddenly. It could have been Maggie, if Maggie or he hadn’t had the money. “My father would say—it’s just what she deserved. Death—for her sins.”

  “Oh, no! He wouldn’t if he’d known Eva.”

  “Why not? It’s the principle.—I don’t want to stay in a house with a man like my father—or Robbie.”

  “Robbie?”

  “Just the same. Can’t you see it?”

  The telephone had been ringing. His mother got up.

  In the hall, Robbie said to his mother, “Mom, it’s for you.”

  Arthur put his suitcase and a duffel bag into his car when he drove off at 7 for Maggie’s house. He still hadn’t called Gus. He told Maggie what had happened after she left, including his mother’s being upset about the suicide of the girl called Eva MacNeil.

  “Maybe I’ll sleep at Gus’s tonight, look for a room in town tomorrow. Maybe a cheap dorm at C.U.?” Arthur shrugged. “I dunno.”

  Maggie looked stunned. “My gosh, Arthur!—Won’t your mother talk to your father—”

  “I—don’t—want to beg,” Arthur said softly, though Maggie’s mother was in the kitchen and out of hearing.

  “Have to get something from the kitchen.” Maggie got up.

  There was a nicely crackling fire in the fireplace. The orange and white cat Jasper was sleeping where he always did, at one end of the sofa.

  Maggie came back with a plate of canapés—smoked oysters, black olives. “Forgot these.—Mom says you can sleep here tonight.”

  Arthur drew his hand back from the plate. “I told you not to tell her. It’s a goddamned mess!”

  “There’s a guest room here,” Maggie said.

  At the dinner table, Betty said, “Maggie told me about the difficulties today, Arthur. So you’re most welcome to stay with us tonight. And tomorrow night, too, until you get settled. It’s an awful feeling, not knowing where you’re going to put your head down at night.”

  So later that evening, Arthur was shown into a guest room bigger than Maggie’s bedroom, with a double bed, two windows on the yard at the back, a commodious chest of drawers and a closet. He had taken the Herald up with him to look at rooms for rent, but found only one to share with “40-ish woman,” while the apartments were out of his price range. Still, he fell asleep in the big bed almost as content as if Maggie had been sleeping beside him.

  The next morning, Arthur drove Maggie to the airport. He felt shaky, on the brink of cracking up—whatever that was—and was glad Maggie made the parting quick. One kiss and she was gone, with a promise to write him soon. Arthur went at once to a telephone booth and called Gus’s house. One of his brothers answered and said Gus would be home at noon.

  It was a quarter past noon when Arthur got to Gus’s house, and the family was in the kitchen, at least four of them besides Gus, and his mother seemed to be preparing various hot lunches plus sandwiches. In that chaos, it was easy for Arthur to tell Gus, without being heard by anybody, that he had been kicked out by his father and had spent last night at Maggie’s house.

  “Ho-wolly cow!” said Gus, properly impressed.

  “You don’t happen to know of a cheap room I could rent somewhere,” Arthur said.

  Gus pondered, his blond eyebrows frowning above his glasses. “Well, there’s that dump on Pine Street run by Mrs. Haskins. Four or five rooms and only one bathroom in the house.”

  Arthur knew the place, because he had been there once to meet somebody. It was a cheap and rather noisy rooming house.

  “Too bad there’s not a room to spare here,” Gus said sadly. “But we’ve got an army cot, and you’re welcome to stay in my room.”

  Arthur imagined Gus and himself trying to study evenings in Gus’s small room and shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you. But that’s nice of you, Gus.”

  “Come out with Veronica and me tonight. You look down in the mouth. We’re just going to some roadside place for a couple of beers. After dinner? ’Bout eight?”

  Arthur agreed. Gus would come by the Brewster house in his car, and Arthur could take his car tonight or not, “And I might take you up on that army cot deal—for tonight. I’m shy about bothering Maggie’s mother.”

  When Arthur got back to the Brewster house, he let himself in with the key. “Betty?” he called. No answer, but because the garage door was shut, he hadn’t been sure whether she was out or in. Now he opened the front door again, took a white envelope from the mailbox, and laid it on the hall table. It had no stamp. Then Arthur noticed that it was addressed to him c.o. Brewster. Typewritten. Arthur opened it and read:

  Dear Arthur,

  I regret my anger yesterday but not my decision. It is intolerable to me and I think it would be to most parents to shelter a son or daughter who so deliberately mocks the principles by which his parents live. It is regretable that the young girl concerned is no different from you, and it seems that neither of you learn from experience or care a whit about the feelings of others. I believe it is only by shocking you to reality that you will ever learn anything. Your mother and I ever wish the best for you.

  Your father,

  Richard

  P.S. I had little more schooling than you now when I was forced to quit college and earn a living for my mother and myself.

  Arthur noticed that his father had spelt regrettable with one t. Well, well. Tonight, at any rate, he had a bed at faithful old Gus’s.

  He went upstairs to his room and again packed his suitcase and duffel bag. Then downstairs again to look up the number of C.U.’s Administration Building. A woman answered, and Arthur asked to speak with someone in charge of dormitory places.

  “What is your problem?”

  “I want to know if there’s any room left for this coming semester. I’m a day student now.”

  “The person to tell you will be on duty tomorrow or Friday. The university is not officially open until tomorrow.”

  Ah, well, tomorrow. Arthur went to the kitchen, where the coffee machine’s light showed red, and poured a cup. Then back to his room, where he pulled out a couple of books. One was Do You Really Speak English, required reading for his English class. Before he settled down, he crossed the hall to Maggie’s room and opened its door halfway. He looked at its single bed, its beige and blue curtains at the two windows, at her writing table on the left, slightly untidy with two books taken from the row at the back now lying on the table, and a piece of white paper underneath one. He closed the door again.

  Betty came home around 6, and gave him a shout. “Busy?”

  “No!” He tossed the English book on the bed and went down.

  Betty was in the front hall, hanging up her coat. She rubbed her knuckles against her palm. “Wow, it’s nippy. Have you made any plans? Because I spoke with Warren today. He called from California.”

  “I can stay at my friend Gus’s tonight. Tomorrow—well, at the end of this week I can see about a dorm room, I just found out.”

  “You’d prefer to go somewhere else tonight? Because I told Warren the situation, and he thinks it’s pretty awful. Warren says why not stay here for a few days till you get your bearings. If you find something in a couple of days, fine. Or if we annoy each other, I’ll ask you to leave or you’ll leave on your own.” Betty smiled. “All right? So you don’t have to leave tonight unless you want to.” She went off to the kitchen. “I need a hot coffee. Are you in tonight, Arthur?”

  “Gus is picking me up at eight.”

  “If you want something to eat before, help yourself to the leftover steak in the fridge. It’s very good. I’m going to have a bowl of soup and go to bed. Two hours I was driving around with a couple of the protection committee people, looking at houses that need—repairs and such. And trees that have to be felled.” She lifted her cup of coffee to her li
ps. “Make yourself at home, Arthur. Don’t tie yourself in a knot.”

  Arthur managed a smile, but something made him quite speechless. Maybe gratitude.

  Gus arrived just before 8, and Arthur decided to leave his car and go in Gus’s. Arthur sat in the back. He told Gus and Veronica about Betty Brewster’s offer to let him stay a few days until he found a place.

  “I think your father’s being pretty grim,” Veronica said in her slow, thoughtful way. “I think my family’s pretty old-fashioned, but I honestly don’t think they’d act like this.” She looked over her shoulder at Arthur. “I was saying to Gus just now, I know a girl who invited her boyfriend to stay in the house and sleep in her room over the holidays. Family didn’t mind.”

  Arthur said nothing. The wind through Veronica’s window, open just half an inch, hit him right in the neck and he didn’t care. Gus was driving rather fast, but Arthur didn’t care about that either, because he trusted Gus.

  They stopped at a roadside bar-restaurant called Mom’s Pride, which had disco music on the jukebox, and served beer, hamburgers, steak sandwiches and the usual. Arthur went to the bar-counter and ordered three french fries and three beers and paid for them, then he dropped some coins in the jukebox, one of them for “Hot Toddy,” a favorite of his and Maggie’s. Gus and Veronica went off to dance; then Arthur danced with Veronica.

  “Gus’s dancing improving?” Arthur shouted.

  “What?” asked Veronica, hopping up and down as lightly as a bubble opposite him.

  “Yeee-owrrr! Shamazz!” some male idiot roared in Arthur’s ear for no reason.

  The lights turned into polka dots, blackened, came back to pink.

  A little after midnight, they were rolling along toward town, Arthur in front beside Gus, and Veronica reclining on the backseat, sleepy. Ahead, on the left side of the dark road, Arthur saw a silvery, box-car shape, glowing like a nocturnal insect.

  “Hey, Gus! That’s the Silver Arrow diner, I think. Where Irene works. Remember I told you about Irene Langley? Shall we drop in? For a last coffee?”

  “Sure, old pal,” said Gus, and signaled for a left pull-over.

  Their shoes crunched on the frozen pebbles in front of the place. Three enormous eighteen-wheel trucks were parked facing the diner, dwarfing it, looking ready to attack it.

  Irene was on duty, Arthur saw at a glance. Her peroxide hair and red lips caught the eye at once under the fluorescent lights, and even every cigarette butt that had been dropped on the floor gave Arthur the feeling of looking at them through a microscope. Ten or more men sat hunched on the counter stools, wearing caps and heavy jackets, and more of them, with a woman or two, sat at the booth tables. Besides Irene, there were two other waitresses behind the counter, and all wore white uniforms with silvery collars and caps and broad silvery belts. A jukebox played, but not so loudly as at Mom’s Pride.

  Arthur gave Gus a discreet nod, to indicate that the blond was La Belle Irène. They took three stools at the counter, one man moving over for them so they could sit together.

  “Ah-hah-hah! Naughty fellows you all are!” Irene yelled with a merry laugh to someone far on Arthur’s right.

  The truckers were grinning, Arthur noticed, focusing on Irene.

  “What time y’off tonight?” one asked.

  “Seven o’clock in the morning!” Irene bent with her giggle and spilled coffee from mugs she held in a cluster.

  “Make it earlier if you want to, I bet!”

  Irene leaned toward Gus, Veronica and Arthur, with eyes swimmy from fatigue or the glare. “Good evening, and what’ll you folks have?”

  “Coffee,” said Gus.

  “Same,” said Arthur.

  Veronica didn’t want anything.

  “Mac didn’t say that!” shouted one of the truck drivers at Irene, as she drew coffee from the machine farther to Arthur’s right.

  “She goes to your church?” Gus asked Arthur.

  “My church? My dad’s church,” said Arthur.

  Gus shook his head. “Looks like a hooker if I ever saw one.”

  Irene returned with the coffees. “Oh—it’s Arthur! Oh, goodness! I heard about—Richard turned you out, didn’t he?” Her eyes looked a little more awake.

  “News travels fast,” said Arthur.

  “That’s true.” She pronounced it tree-you in her genteel manner. “I said to Richard—I could take you in and would. To be Christian. But he said that you had to learn the hard way—and repent.” She had put on a frown.

  “Irene! Two beers for number three!” another waitress called out. “And four burgers with for the rail, tell Cookie!”

  Irene moved.

  “Get a load of that,” Arthur said to Gus with a smile, and got up from his stool. “Back in a sec.” He went to the men’s toilet, which had a lot of graffiti on the walls, drawings, phone numbers and C.B. code numbers, some circled in red and blue crayon. Head jobs, Arthur read. Hot patootie massage. Arthur washed his face in water so icy, it sent a chill all over him.

  On the ride home, Veronica’s house being the first stop, the three of them talked about several things, but not Irene. She was too depressing, Arthur supposed, to be even funny.

  22

  When Arthur went downstairs in the Brewster house the next day, he saw an unstamped letter on the hall table addressed to him in his mother’s handwriting. Betty, who had gone out an hour ago, hadn’t wanted to disturb him, Arthur supposed, because he had said he had some work to do before afternoon classes.

  Dearest Arthur,

  Phoned Gus and he said he thought you were still at the Brewsters’. Can you come for lunch today, Thursday? Am home alone. Didn’t want to bother Betty B. by phoning.

  Love from your

  Mom

  It was ten to twelve. Arthur telephoned. “Sure, I can come, Mom. See you in about fifteen minutes.”

  Earlier that morning, Arthur had helped Betty shift a bookcase to another wall of a room, which had involved taking all the books out and putting them back in the same order. Arthur had been happy to be of use, especially since Betty had been so grateful. Warren got bored at the mention of such jobs, Betty said.

  Arthur left his car at the grass edge in front of his house.

  “Hello, Arthur, how are you?” She kissed his cheek.

  “Fine. Why not?—And Betty said I could stay at her house till I found something.”

  “Isn’t that nice of her?—I didn’t see her this morning, just dropped the letter in the box. Must call her and thank her. Is Warren there now?”

  “No, but Betty talked with him on the phone. It’s even his idea that I’m—could stay a few days till I found somewhere.” Arthur enjoyed saying that, because Warren Brewster’s attitude was so different from his father’s. “However—I’m inquiring about a dorm room this afternoon.”

  They were in the kitchen, and Arthur smelled corned beef and cabbage, one of his favorite dishes. He took a beer from the fridge at his mother’s suggestion.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, the dorm idea,” his mother said cheerfully. “I spoke with Mama Tuesday night. Told her—you know. So we agreed, Mama and I, that we could see about your dorm fees and the tuition, too. The important thing is not to worry,” his mother finished in a rush, as if she was embarrassed.

  Arthur felt a little embarrassed. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “So if your father wants to make such a fuss”—she slid cabbage onto a big white platter, around a rosy mountain of corned beef—“he’ll just have to make it all by himself.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  “Yes, because I told him straight off Tuesday night after I’d spoken to Mama. He thinks we’re spoiling you, but—I just want you to know we’re not all such stiff-necks in this family. I’m glad my side of the family can co
me through.—Now let’s talk about something else.” She smiled at him.

  They sat down and began their lunch.

  “Oh, Mom, last night I went by the Silver Arrow with Gus and his girlfriend. You know, where Irene works? Truck-stop? You bet! Really a pretty tough place. All the truckers kidding with Irene. Trying to make a date with her.” Arthur laughed.

  “Really, Arthur? That bad?” asked his mother, looking amused.

  “And Dad’s trying to save her soul. Question, has she got a soul to save?—Hello, Rovy!”

  The cat had jumped onto his bench seat.

  “I went to Eva MacNeil’s funeral this morning.”

  “This morning, Mom?”

  “Yes. Not many people, because her family’s in Chicago. Five of us from the Home, I’m glad to say. Very touching somehow—a girl of twenty-two. And Richard just can’t understand my feelings. The world’s full of such girls, he said, as if she were a delinquent—which she wasn’t. And what about the young man involved, I said to him. Seldom a mention of them, good or bad. Well—” Here his mother took a few seconds. “I must say her boyfriend wasn’t at the funeral. I understand this was one of those accidents, a short affair. I know she didn’t try to reach the boy. I think he was from out of town. Eva even went to work the same day she took the pills. She didn’t tell anyone she was so depressed.”

  Arthur could imagine it: one night in bed, or afternoon, or any time, then pregnancy, then death. It suddenly struck Arthur that his father would consider suicide a sin, also.

  “Sacredness of life, Richard talks about. Here’s a good place to—show it or uphold it, one would think. Young girl ‘in trouble,’ as they used to say.—Sometimes Richard’s attitude seems so like the Catholics’, I get worried. I shouldn’t say Catholic, I’m sure, but I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  “Fundamentalist,” Arthur replied promptly.

  After lunch, his mother found a spare suitcase and a couple of sturdy plastic bags, and into these they put more of Arthur’s belongings. He took the “Jupiter” Symphony from the living room, a present from his grandmother at Christmas, because Betty had a record player, and at any rate he wanted it with him. He took also Mozart’s string quartet in D Minor, belonging to him. His mother said he should feel free to come to the house whenever he wanted to, and she gave him back his keys, one to the front door, one to the garage door, which were on the same ring.