My Sister's Hand in Mine

by Jane Bowles

  This newcomer was of almost mammoth proportions, and both times that she had seen him he had been wearing a tremendous black overcoat well cut and obviously made of very expensive material. She had seen his face only fleetingly once or twice, but what she had seen of it had so frightened her that she had been able to think of very little else for two days now.

  This man, they had noticed, drove up to the saloon in a very beautiful big automobile that resembled more a hearse than a private car. Miss Goering had examined it one day when the man was drinking in the saloon. It appeared to be almost brand-new. She and Andy had looked in through the window and had been a little surprised to see a lot of dirty clothes on the floor. Miss Goering was completely preoccupied now with what course to take should the newcomer be willing to make her his mistress for a little while. She was almost sure that he would, because several times she had caught him looking at her in a certain way which she had learned to recognize. Her only hope was that he would disappear before she had the chance to approach him. If he did, she would be exempt and thus able to fritter away some more time with Andy, who now seemed so devoid of anything sinister that she was beginning to scrap with him about small things the way one does with a younger brother.

  On Sunday morning Miss Goering woke up to find Andy in his shirt sleeves, dusting off some small tables in the living-room.

  “What is it?” she asked him. “Why are you bustling around like a bride?”

  “Don’t you remember?” he asked, looking hurt. “Today is the big day—the day of the conference. They are coming here bright and early, all three of them. They live like robins, those business men. Couldn’t you,” he asked her, “couldn’t you do something about making this room prettier? You see, they’ve all got wives, and even if they probably couldn’t tell you what the hell they’ve got in their living-rooms, their wives have all got plenty of money to spend on little ornaments and their eyes are probably used to a certain amount of fuss.”

  “Well, this room is so hideous, Andy, I don’t see that anything would do it any good.”

  “Yes, I guess it’s a pretty bad room. I never used to notice it much.” Andy put on a navy-blue suit and combed his hair very neatly, rubbing in a little brilliantine. Then he paced up and down the living-room floor with his hands in his hip pockets. The sun was pouring in through the window, and the radiator was whistling in an annoying manner while it overheated the room as it had done constantly since Miss Goering had arrived.

  Mr. Bellamy, Mr. Schlaegel, and Mr. Dockerty had received Andy’s note and were on their way up the stairs, having accepted the appointment more out of curiosity and from an old habit of never letting anything slip by than because they actually believed that their visit would prove fruitful. When they smelled the terrible stench of the cheap cooking in the halls, they put their hands over their mouths in order not to laugh too loudly and performed a little mock pantomime of retreating towards the staircase again. They really didn’t care very much, however, because it was Sunday and they preferred being together than with their families, so they proceeded to knock on Andy’s door. Andy quickly wiped his hands because they were sweaty and ran to open the door. He stood in the doorway and shook hands with each man vigorously before inviting them to come in.

  “I’m Andrew McLane,” he said to them, “and I’m sorry that we have not met before.” He ushered them into the room and all three of them realized at once that it was going to be abominably hot. Mr. Dockerty, the most agressive of the three men, turned to Andy.

  “Would you mind opening the window, fellow?” he said in a loud voice. “It’s boiling in here.”

  “Oh,” said Andy blushing, “I should have thought of it.” He went over and opened the windows.

  “How do you stand it, fellow?” said Mr. Dockerty. “You trying to hatch something in here?”

  The three men stood in a little group near the couch and pulled out some cigars, which they examined together and discussed for a minute.

  “Two of us are going to sit on this couch, fellow,” said Mr. Dockerty, “and Mr. Schlaegel can sit here on this little armchair. Now where are you going to sit?”

  Mr. Dockerty had decided almost immediately that Andy was a complete boob and was taking matters into his own hands. This so disconcerted Andy that he stood and stared at the three men without saying a word.

  “Come,” said Mr. Dockerty, carrying a chair out of a corner of the room and setting it down near the couch, “come, you sit here.”

  Andy sat down in silence and played with his fingers.

  “Tell me,” said Mr. Bellamy, who was a little more soft-spoken and genteel than the other two. “Tell me how long you have been living here.”

  “I have been living here two years,” said Andy listlessly.

  The three men thought about this for a little while.

  “Well,” said Mr. Bellamy, “and tell us what you have done in these three years.”

  “Two years,” said Andy.

  Andy had prepared quite a long story to tell them because he had suspected that they might question him a bit about his personal life in order to make certain what kind of man they were dealing with, and he had decided that it would not be wise to admit that he had done absolutely nothing in the past two years. But he had imagined that the meeting was to be conducted on a much more friendly basis. He had supposed that the men would be delighted to have found someone who was willing to put a little money into their business, and would be more than anxious to believe that he was an upright, hard-working citizen. Now, however, he felt that he was being cross-questioned and made a fool of. He could barely control his desire to bolt out of the room.

  “Nothing,” he said, avoiding their eyes, “nothing.”

  “It always amazes me,” said Mr. Bellamy, “how people are able to have leisure time—that is, if they have more leisure time than they need. Now I mean to say that our business has been running for thirty-two years. There hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t had at least thirteen or fourteen things to attend to. That might seem a little exaggerated to you or maybe even very much exaggerated, but it isn’t exaggerated, it’s true. In the first place I attend personally to every house on our list. I check the plumbing and the drainage and the whatnot. I see whether or not the house is being kept up properly and I also visit it in all kinds of weather to see how it fares during a storm or a blizzard. I know exactly how much coal it takes to heat every house on our list. I talk personally to our clients and I try to influence them on the price they are asking for their house, whether or not they are trying to rent or to sell. For instance, if they are asking a price that I know is too high because I am able to compare it with every price on the market, I try to persuade them to lower their price a little bit so that it will be nearer the norm. If, on the other hand, they are cheating themselves and I know…”

  The other two men were getting a little bored. One could easily see that Mr. Bellamy was the least important of the three, although he might easily have been the one that accomplished all the tedious work. Mr. Schlaegel interrupted him.

  “Well, my man,” he said to Andy, “tell us what this is all about. In your letter you stated that you had some suggestions whereby you thought we could profit, as well as yourself, of course.”

  Andy got up from his chair. It was evident to the men now that he was under a terrific tension, so they were doubly on their guard.

  “Why don’t you come back some other time?” said Andy very quickly. “Then I will have thought it out more clearly.”

  “Take your time, take your time, now, fellow,” said Mr. Dockerty. “We are all here together and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t talk it over right away. We don’t really live in town, you know. We live twenty minutes out in Fairview. We developed Fairview ourselves, as a matter of fact.”

  “Well,” said Andy, coming back and sitting on the edge of his chair, “I have a little property myself.”

  “Where’s that?” said Mr. Dockert
y.

  “It’s a building, in the city, way down, near the docks.” He gave Mr. Dockerty the name of the street and then sat biting his lips. Mr. Dockerty didn’t say anything.

  “You see,” continued Andy, “I thought I might hand my rights to this building over to the corporation in return for an interest in your business—at least a right to work for the firm and get my share out of the selling I do. I wouldn’t need to have equal rights with you immediately, naturally, but I thought I’d discuss these details with you later if you were interested.”

  Mr. Dockerty shut his eyes and then after a little while he addressed himself to Mr. Schlaegel.

  “I know the street he is talking about,” he said. Mr. Schlaegel shook his head and made a face. Andy looked at his shoes.

  “For a long time,” said Mr. Dockerty, still addressing Mr. Schlaegel, “for a long time the buildings in that district have been a drag on the market. Even as slums they’re pretty bad and the profit from any one of them is just enough to keep body and soul together. That’s because, as you remember, Schlaegel, there is no means of transportation at any convenient distance and it’s surrounded by fish markets.

  “Besides that,” went on Mr. Dockerty, turning to Andy, “we have in our charter a clause that prohibits our taking on any more men except on a strict salary basis, and, my friend, there’s a list as long as my arm waiting for a job in our offices, if there should be a vacancy. Their tongues are hanging out for any job we can offer them. Fine young men too, the majority of them just out of college, roaring to work, and to put into use every modern trick of selling that they have learned about. I know some of their families personally and I’m sorry I can’t help these lads out more than I am able to.”

  Just then Miss Goering came rushing through the room. “I’m an hour or two late for Arnold’s father,” she screamed over her shoulder as she went out the door. “I will see you later.”

  Andy had got up and was facing the window with his back to the three men. His shoulder blades were twitching.

  “Was that your wife?” Mr. Dockerty called to him.

  Andy did not answer, but in a few seconds Mr. Dockerty repeated his question, mainly because he had a suspicion it had not been Andy’s wife and he was anxious to know whether or not he had guessed correctly. He kicked Mr. Schlaegel’s foot with his own and they winked at each other.

  “No,” said Andy, turning around and revealing his flame-red face. “No, she is not my wife. She’s my girl friend. She’s been living here with me for a week nearly. Is there anything else you men want to know?”

  “Now look here, fellow,” said Mr. Dockerty, “there’s nothing for you to get excited about. She’s a very pretty woman, very pretty, and if you’re upset about the little business talk we had together, there’s no reason for that either. We explained everything to you clearly, like three pals.” Andy looked out of the window.

  “You know,” said Mr. Dockerty, “there are other jobs you can get that will be far more suited to you and your background and that’ll make you lots happier in the end. You ask your girl friend if that isn’t so.” Still Andy did not answer them.

  “There are other jobs,” Mr. Dockerty ventured to say again, but since there was still no answer from Andy, he shrugged his shoulders, rose with difficulty from the couch, and straightened his vest and his coat. The others did likewise. Then all three of them politely bade good-by to Andy’s back and left the room.

  * * *

  Arnold’s father had been sitting in the ice-cream parlor one hour and a half when Miss Goering finally came running in. He looked completely forlorn. It had never occurred to him to buy a magazine to read and there had been no one to look at in the ice-cream parlor because it was still morning and people seldom dropped in before afternoon.

  “Oh, I can’t tell you, my dear, how sorry I am,” said Miss Goering, taking both his hands in hers and pressing them to her lips. He was wearing woolen gloves. “I can’t tell you how these gloves remind me of my childhood,” Miss Goering continued.

  “I’ve been cold these last few days,” said Arnold’s father, “so Miss Gamelon went into town and bought me these.”

  “Well, and how is everything going?”

  “I will tell you all about that in a little while,” said Arnold’s father, “but I would like to know if you are all right, my dear woman, and whether or not you intend to return to the island.”

  “I—I don’t think so,” said Miss Goering, “not for a long time.”

  “Well, I must tell you of the many changes that have taken place in our lives, and I hope that you will not think of them as too drastic or sudden or revolutionary, or whatever you may call it.”

  Miss Goering smiled faintly.

  “You see,” he continued, “it has been growing colder and colder in the house these last few days. Miss Gamelon has had the sniffles terribly, I must concede, and also, as you know, she’s been in a wretched test about the old-fashioned cooking equipment right from the beginning. Now, Arnold doesn’t really mind anything if he has enough to eat, but recently Miss Gamelon has refused to set foot in the kitchen.”

  “Now what on earth has been the outcome of all this? Do hurry up and tell me,” Miss Goering urged him.

  “I can’t go any faster than I’m going,” said Arnold’s father. “Now, the other day Adele Wyman, an old school friend of Arnold’s, met him in town and they had a cup of coffee together. In the course of the conversation Adele mentioned that she was living in a two-family house on the island and that she liked it but she was terribly worried about who was going to move into the other half.”

  “Well, then, am I to gather that they have moved into this house and are living there?”

  “They have moved into that house until you come back,” said Arnold’s father. “Fortunately, it seemed that you had no lease on the first little house; therefore, since it was the end of the month, they felt free to move out. Miss Gamelon wonders if you will send the rent checks to the new house. Arnold has volunteered to pay the difference in rent, which is very slight.”

  “No, no, that is not necessary. Is there anything more that is new?” said Miss Goering.

  “Well, it might interest you to know,” said Arnold’s father, “that I have decided to return to my wife and my original house.”

  “Why?” Miss Goering asked.

  “A combination of circumstances, including the fact that I am old and feel like going home.”

  “Oh my,” said Miss Goering, “it’s a shame to see things breaking up this way, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my dear, it is a pity, but I have come here to ask you a favor besides having come because I loved you and wanted to say good-by to you.”

  “I will do anything for you,” said Miss Goering, “that I can possibly do.”

  “Well,” said Arnold’s father, “I would like you to read over this note that I have written to my wife. I want to send it to her and then I will return on the following day to my house.”

  “Certainly,” said Miss Goering. She noticed there was an envelope on the table in front of Arnold’s father. She picked it up.

  Dear Ethel [she read],

  I hope that you will read this letter with all that indulgence and sympathy which you possess so strongly in your heart.

  I can only say that there is, in every man’s life, a strong urge to leave his life behind him for a while and seek a new one. If he is living near to the sea, a strong urge to take the next boat and sail away no matter how happy his home or how beloved his wife or mother. It is true also if the man is living near a road that he may feel the strong urge to strap a knapsack on his back and walk away, again leaving a happy home behind him. Very few people follow this urge once they have passed their youth without doing so. But it is my idea that sometimes age affects us like youth, like strong champagne that goes to our heads, and we dare what we have never dared before, perhaps also because we feel that it is our last chance. However, while as youths we might conti
nue in such an adventure, at my age one very quickly finds out that it is a mere chimera and that one has not the strength. Will you take me back?

  Your loving husband,

  Edgar

  “It is simple,” said Arnold’s father, “and it expresses what I felt.”

  “Is that really the way you felt?” asked Miss Goering.

  “I believe so,” said Arnold’s father. “It must have been. Of course I did not mention to her anything concerning my sentiments about you, but she will have guessed that, and such things are better left unsaid.…”

  He looked down at his woolen gloves and said no more for a little while. Suddenly he reached in his pocket and pulled out another letter.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I almost forgot. Here is a letter from Arnold.”

  “Now,” said Miss Goering opening the letter, “what can this be about?”

  “Surely a lot about nothing and about the trollop he is living with, which is worse than nothing.” Miss Goering opened the letter and proceeded to read it aloud:

  Dear Christina,

  I have told Father to explain to you the reasons for our recent change of domicile. I hope he has done so and that you are satisfied that we have not behaved rashly nor in a manner that you might conclude was inconsiderate. Lucy wants you to send her check to this present address. Father was supposed to tell you so but I thought that perhaps he might forget. Lucy, I am afraid, has been very upset by your present escapade. She is constantly in either a surly or melancholic mood. I had hoped that this condition would ameliorate after we had moved, but she is still subject to long silences and often weeps at night, not to mention the fact that she is exceedingly cranky and has twice had a set-to with Adele, although we have only been here two days. I see in all this that Lucy’s nature is really one of extreme delicateness and morbidity and I am fascinated to be by her side. Adele on the other hand has a very equable nature, but she is terribly intellectual and very much interested in every branch of art. We are thinking of starting a magazine together when we are more or less settled. She is a pretty blonde girl.