“I don’t want anybody but you,” he declared.
“I don’t ever want anybody but you,” she responded.
But Ernie felt no different. “I really mean it.”
“I do too.”
“I mean I never will.”
“Me neither.”
But he wondered if she would have said it without his saying it first. Often she told him she loved him, but that was not enough, even if it were true. She must have loved others before him, and where were they now? She had married him, but had there been any choice? What if she had never met him? Would it all have happened the same way with somebody else? When she amused herself one day with his hair, parting it and combing the sides down instead of upward and back, he felt he was not the man she wanted, and respected her less for her taste.
Alone in the bedroom he shadowboxed before the mirror, but with no desire to return to the gym. All that seemed impossible now; there was not enough time in a day. Though he was up for hours before going to work, still he was usually late, because he could not leave Faye until the moment when he had to leave in frantic haste.
He was broody, he was amorous. While reading, he noticed a minute blizzard falling before his eyes and found himself massaging his scalp in a frenzy. He fell asleep with leaps and twitches and dreamed of being rushed off unprepared for a bout he had forgotten. He saw no one from the Lido Gym, and Ruben Luna never phoned, as Ernie had feared he would. A sense of safety, comfort, luxury, took possession of him. Only to be with Faye, to work, sleep and make love was like a reprieve, an indulgence. At times he wondered if he were losing his nerve.
When Faye bathed, he soaped her with a sense of privilege. Drying her off, he caressed her in admiration. Her short sturdy body showed no sign of pregnancy; her belly was flat except for a tilting of pelvis, a slightly rearward slope from the navel to the tuft of black hair. “You’re in great shape,” he said. “Only you’re wide open.” And squaring off, he tapped her belly. At first she responded with a tolerant smile, soon with impatience, and once with the cry: “Don’t,” her hands at her sides, her heavy breasts, nipples dark and thick, hanging incongruously before his poised fists. Hurt, he turned away thinking she had no sense of humor. That she was already growing bored with him seemed indicated by her occasional disinclination for the daily sexual regimen. He wondered if he was adequate to her needs. One day he did two hundred consecutive sit-ups.
The summer passed in waves of worry and concupiscence, until Faye took employment with the Pacific Gas and Electric Company. Ernie then slept later than ever, ate breakfast with his jaw propped in his palm, and looked out the kitchen window at oiled female neighbors lying back in the lawn chairs, their crying babies filling him with dread. He went out to his Ford and drove along the hot streets.
One day at Dick’s Drive-Inn he walked over to a low maroon car. Slumped behind the wheel, his wan pinched face barely above the door, sat Gene Simms.
“What say, man?”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing. Where you been keeping yourself?”
“Around. What’s new?”
“Nothing.”
Gene Simms was working nights at the box factory, and the two began passing afternoons together. Driving his car or riding in Ernie’s, haggard, frowning, yawning, smoking with yellowed unsteady fingers, a blond oily lock hanging over his forehead, Gene talked mostly on the same subject, his descriptive powers arousing in Ernie a curious agitation and a fear that what he had with Faye might be of a quality below the possible or even the usual.
“There isn’t a one that don’t want it,” said Gene.
“Well, I don’t know.”
“But you got to know what you’re doing.”
“That’s right, sure, they won’t go for just anybody.”
“If the right guy comes along he can score.”
“Everybody’s got a mate somewhere.”
“I don’t care who it is. You know Eleanor MacDonald? I plugged her.”
“I know, you told me.”
“You got to understand their minds. If you can get your knee between their legs you’re usually on your way.”
Home from work in the first hours of morning, Ernie tried not to wake Faye, knowing she needed rest. Slowly he slid into bed, and as she turned to him he slipped his arm about her neck. Until she quieted he stroked her back or hair, her leg if it had fallen over him, then as her breathing settled he held her against him with a protectiveness so tender he was saddened because she was not awake to perceive it.
One afternoon, cruising Main Street with Gene Simms, he saw standing on a corner at parade rest a swarthy soldier in khakis and boots.
“By God, that’s Bonomo,” said Gene, who then yelled: “Bonomo, Bonomo! Hey, man, when’d you get back?” while Ernie drove on without a sideways glance. “Hey, stop, stop, that’s Bonomo. He must be on leave. Stop, for Christ’s sake. Hey, why didn’t you stop, man? What’s the matter?”
“Who the hell are you giving orders to? If you want to get out you can jump out.”
“Well, let’s go back. That was Bonomo.”
“So it was Bonomo.”
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“Because I don’t want to stop, that’s why.”
“Why not?”
“I said I don’t want to!”
Whether Gene understood then or remembered something Ernie did not even know, or whether simply the vigor of that bellow proved conclusive, the subject abruptly ended. In the days that followed, Ernie avoided him, and that night he did not take Faye into his arms.
He lay apart from her in anguish at her faithlessness. If with Bonomo why not with others? Was Bonomo any better than anybody else? Ernie could conceive of no one worse. He was sick with murderous despair over the liberties that had been taken with his wife. Reminding himself that it had happened before she had known him made not the slightest difference, and telling himself that maybe nothing had happened was of no use. His first interest in Faye had come at seeing her riding along Main Street pressed against Bonomo, who was not known for wasting his time.
When she sprawled against Ernie, he recoiled, and at last he fell asleep clinging to the edge of the mattress.
For days he was churlish, agitated, glum. One night he woke with a jerk.
“Ernie, what’s wrong?”
“Nightmare.”
“What a pitiful noise you made.”
“Had a nightmare.”
“Poor Ernie, what was it?”
“Nothing.”
“Was something after you?”
“What do you care?”
“Was it about me? Is that it?”
“You were in it. Leave me alone. It wasn’t anything.”
“Did I do something wrong? I can’t help it if I did. I mean because I didn’t really do anything.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t. What was it?”
“It wasn’t anything. Somebody came up and took your hand, that’s all.”
“Just that? Was that all?”
“And you let him.”
“It was your dream. Don’t blame me. Was it just that?”
“Isn’t that enough? You did it right in front of me.”
“Well, that isn’t so bad. Maybe he was my father.”
“He wasn’t your father.”
“Did he look like him?”
“You know who he was.”
“I don’t!”
“You sure?”
“I don’t, I don’t.” She sat up, turned on the bedside lamp and looked down at him in alarm. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t.”
“Ernie, it was just a dream. It isn’t real, it didn’t really happen.”
“Didn’t it?”
“I don’t understand you. I didn’t do that and I wouldn’t and I don’t see why you’re making such a big fuss about it.”
“What if it was Bonomo?”
“Was it him?”
Ernie nodded, watching her eyes.
“I’m sorry, but I mean it’s not my fault. You know I went with him. You went with other girls, too.”
“I know. Don’t get the idea I’m jealous. I’m not. I just don’t see why you couldn’t find something better than that son-of-a-bitch.”
“I did. I found you.”
“Oh, come off it. What if he hadn’t joined the army?”
“I wouldn’t be with him. I never liked him.”
“That just makes it worse. How many other guys didn’t you like?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus, that’s really something.”
“What is?”
“Just that.”
“Not liking him?”
“And letting him have you.”
He saw fear in the gray evasive eyes. She was wearing a pale-blue nightgown and her hand rose to the ribbon threaded through the lace of the neck, then to her hair, the short fingers twisting a dark lock level with her chin.
“I didn’t do that.”
“You can tell me the truth. I know how it is. I accept that. It’s only human. It’s a natural drive. I don’t hold it against you. But why with that rotten bastard? There ought to have been something else available, and I guess there was, too, wasn’t there? It’s only natural with a woman and I accept that. It really doesn’t bother me. That’s just the way things go. How can you fight nature? What’s past is past. It’s just the present that counts. But if I ever catch you with him I’ll kill both of you.”
“Who?”
“With anybody! I know what you were doing before you met me. It didn’t take any great brain to figure that out.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You don’t have to lie to me. Tell me all about it, I don’t care. It’s natural enough—you’re a healthy girl. I’m not jealous, I’m just warning you. Now okay, forget it, I’m not mad, everything’s fine. For Christ’s sake, don’t cry. I’m not mad. What went on before me is your own business, and if anybody wises off I’ll bust his head. Didn’t you know he’d shoot his mouth off to everybody? Didn’t you even think about that? That’s what I can’t stand—knowing that son-of-a-bitch is laughing about it. I’m going to kick ass royal around this shit town. Will you stop crying? I told you I’m not mad. Can’t you understand that? Maybe you loved him, I don’t know, though I don’t see how you could, but maybe you did. I know you got urges. It wouldn’t be right if you didn’t.”
She uttered a wail of such resonant grief, loud and deep like an inhuman moan, that he was frightened.
“Faye?”
She was silently rocking. From between her fingers tears dropped to the sheet. Again that deep animal moaning, terrifying in its immodesty, rose from behind her hands. It was a sound he had never heard before. He sat up, rigid, staring at her bowed head, her clenched and digging fingers, saying: “Faye, it doesn’t bother me, it doesn’t bother me. It really doesn’t bother me. Faye, it doesn’t bother me at all. It really doesn’t bother me.”
15
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be without that man?”
“Uh,” said Billy Tully.
“And he didn’t mean it. He just gets so nervous. You don’t know what you have to take when you’re interracial. Every son-of-a-bitch on the street has to get a look at you. And Earl’s really a peaceable man. He’s even-tempered. He didn’t hurt that guy and he didn’t want to. Just a little nick on the back of the neck. He wouldn’t any more try to assult somebody than you’d get up on that stool and try to fly. He couldn’t. He’s just not made that way. He’s the sweetest-natured man in the world.”
“He’ll get out,” said Tully, glancing at her in the mirror, her eyes darkly circled, nose dented, mouth bracketed with lines, her lips red and sorrowful and with a fullness, for an instant there beyond the reflected bottles, like the fullness of his wife’s lips. He turned to her, but her face was down and her lips, blocked from his view by her mass of curly hair, could not be like his wife’s because his wife would not have worn that hairdo. His wife had had taste, which had the effect of disqualifying the woman beside him. He turned back to his drink with a pleasurably melancholy sense of fidelity. Impressed by the breadth of his love, he resigned himself. Hopefully he had come to sit by this woman, Oma, whom he remembered as having once intrigued him, but now he felt only indifference. As she talked on, he looked wearily down the lighted bar, lined with beer bottles, glasses, brown bare arms and hot-sauce bottles filled with salt. He had spent the day picking peaches.
“He’s so jealous. I wouldn’t put it past him to be out already, spying on every move I make.”
Tully glanced at the open doorway. Mournful Mexican howls came from the jukebox. On a calendar above the ranks of Thunderbird and Silver Spur, a bare-breasted Aztec maiden lay sleeping at the feet of a warrior, flanked by two giant bottles of Cerveza XX, against a background of snow-capped volcanoes.
“He won’t let me talk to people. He’s so possessive. He’d never let me out of his sight. And he’d get so mad at me. You know when we talked last time, you and me, way back then? You know what he did to me afterwards? He raped me.”
Tully turned to the brown eyes, the lids puffy, eyebrows a short stubble under bluish penciled lines.
“He just picked me up and threw me on the bed. Well, don’t look at me like that. I’m not ashamed to say it. I’ve never been ashamed of the act of love. I believe it’s a part of life.”
Tully was regaining his interest. “Sure, why not? I mean, after all, if people like each other.”
“I don’t mean free love. I got no use for that.”
“Well, free, depends what you mean free. If it’s not free can you call it love?”
“I mean real love. I’m talking about love, not just sex. When you’re really in love you marry for life. That’s the only way it can be. I don’t consider my second marriage sanctified. I should of stayed true to Frank.”
“Who’s that?”
“My first husband. He was a full-blooded Cherokee.”
“You married an Indian?”
“What’s wrong with that? You think you’re any better?”
“I’m not knocking it.”
“Just watch what you say. I won’t stand for any insults against Frank. I heard enough smart talk when I married him. My family turned against me, and he was cleaner than any of them. They talk about Indians drinking. I never saw Frank drunk. I said to hell with all of them. He was the handsomest man I’ve ever known. I still wear his wedding ring.”
Tully looked at the gold band. “What happened, you split up?”
“No.”
“But you’re not married any more.”
Oma paused before replying: “I’m a widow.”
He lowered his eyes. “Uh. Too bad. What happened to him?”
“He was shot.”
“No kidding. Who did it?”
“He was a police officer. He was killed in the line of duty. He’d only been on the force two weeks and he didn’t know what they do to you. He was too brave to be careful. A couple of guys were holding up a bar and he was right there, he and another officer. They got the call and they were right there before the men got off the sidewalk, and Frank jumped out of the car first and they killed him.”
“Where was this?”
“Oakland. We moved up there after we got married and Frank worked in the post office, but that didn’t pay enough and he didn’t like it. Then he heard they needed policemen, and he was big. We didn’t even have time to have children. I married white next time and all he was good for was running us off an embankment. Marrying him was the biggest mistake of my life. He had unnatural desires.”
“He did?”
“The white race is in its decline. We started downhill in 1492 when Columbus discovered syphilis.”
“What did he want to do?”
“White men are animals.”
“We’re not so ba
d.”
“White man is the vermin of the earth!”
“All right, not so loud.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. Who do you think killed the American Indian? I don’t care who hears me. I know I’m making a nuisance of myself to all these goddamn Mexicans sitting here just waiting for me to leave so they can get comfortable without any gringos around. To hell with these greaseballs. They don’t know who their real friends are.”
“What are you going on about? Take it easy.”
“You can just shut your damn mouth. What do you know about it?”
“What did you say to me?”
“I said you can shut up. And keep your hands off me, too.”
“What did you say? Listen, I don’t have to take that. You’re liable to get backhanded right off that stool someday.”
“See if I care one bit. That’s all I need. Go ahead if it’ll make you happy.”
“Forget it. I was kidding.”
“Get it out of your system, go on, if it’ll do you good, if that’s what you need to feel like you’re somebody.”
“Oh, Christ,” said Tully, turning away.
“Knock some teeth out while you’re at it. I still got a few of my own in there the others were nice enough to leave me.”
“God almighty. I wouldn’t hit you.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard. What you waiting for? There’s nothing I can do to stop you. It ought to be a big lift for you. Just the thing you need. Don’t let it worry you. Far be it from me to spoil anybody’s fun. Go on, since you got your mind made up. If that’s how you get your kicks, I guess I’ll do as well as anybody else.”
Groaning, elbows on the bar, he put his face in his hands and for a moment it was as if his wife were again berating him. “Okay, okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said into his hands, his one impulse to mollify her, to keep her with him by his penitential pose. “I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry, believe me. Listen, I’m sorry. Will you listen to me? I’m sorry.”
Fat City Page 8
