A House in Naples

by Peter Rabe

  “Thanks. I’ve had mine,” and Bantam didn’t see a thing that might have meant Charley wanted any.

  “Tell me, Delmont, why’d you quit?”

  “It was time, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” said Bantam and offered Charley a cigarette.

  “Thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  Bantam lit one for himself and blew out a thick cloud.

  “That’s weird,” he said. “A guy’s got to have something, and a drunk yet — ”

  “Former drunk.”

  “Former drunk yet. They usually smoke all the time.”

  “I got these,” said Charley and showed Bantam his box. He put two aspirin under his tongue and sucked them.

  “Lets see your tongue,” said Bantam.

  Charley saw that Bantam knew his way around. He bent forward, stuck out his tongue. He lifted it up so Bantam could see the dark spot from the constant irritation. Then he sat back and smiled.

  “Suspicious bastard, aren’t you?”

  Bantam nodded.

  “And a dumb bastard on top of it,” he said and watched Bantam sit up.

  “Now that you’re no lush no more, Delmont, don’t take advantage.”

  Charley just smiled and looked at Faldotte.

  “Would you mind, signore, and give me the privacy of this room with our friend Signor Bantam?”

  “What’s he say?” Bantam leaned forward.

  “He asks,” and Faldotte sounded polite, “whether I would leave the two of you alone.”

  “Precisely,” said Charley. “It would make it more festive.”

  “Festive?”

  “A private nicety between me and Signor Faldotte,” said Charley. “Well?” and he looked from one to the other.

  Bantam nodded and they watched Faldotte leave.

  Charley sat back, dipped one leg over the other. “Now the reason you’re dumb, Bantam, is the way you keep living within your means.”

  “If you got some crooked — ”

  “No, no. Nothing crooked, Bantam. Let me show you. You’ve been here about nine, ten years, right? And all you make is your salary, your stinking salary from the States.”

  “Look, Delmont. Now that you’re no lush no more — ”

  “Yes, I know. All this time you got your contacts with the States you sit here, do your two-hour-a-day job, get your suit pressed, and maybe take in a house once a month.”

  Bantam got red in the face, and if Faldotte hadn’t taken the gun along he might have yanked it out then just to impress. What got him worse than the truth of it was Charley’s offhand touch and that crazy smile. If the bastard would at least laugh —

  “So here’s my thought, Bantam.”

  Bantam relaxed because the voice wasn’t offhand any more.

  “Since the last time you saw me I’ve made my way, like I tried telling you before. A buddy and me got a nice little restaurant down in Naples, all kosher and so forth, and we also work the black market. We’re so good, Bantam, we got more market than supply. Think of it, Bantam.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Good. How’d you like to sell us some rare goods that only a smart cookie like you with smart connections like you can get a hold of?”

  “Like what? An alphabet bomb, maybe?”

  Charley laughed. “You’re a wit, Bantam, but seeing I’m no lush any more you might try being serious. I’ve been making sense, haven’t I?”

  Bantam nodded. It made good sense. “Like what, Delmont?”

  “Drugs.”

  “What drugs?”

  “Never mind what drugs right now. First tell me can you deliver?”

  Bantam got up and smoothed his pants. He sniffed a few times because he liked wasting time when he was sure. Then he said, “Me and the syndicate can get anything, Delmont. If you don’t know that — “

  “I know, Bantam, but you only handle stuff from here to the States. Can you handle it the other way around?”

  “Listen, lush — ”

  “Ex-lush.”

  “Listen, Delmont, I can arrange for it to go straight up in the air and land on Mars or something. I can — “

  “Good enough,” said Charley. “That’s good enough.”

  He liked dealing with Bantam. He had put a bug in Bantam’s ear and Bantam could hear it buzz. It probably said money, money, money, and the sooner the better because after wasting ten years sitting around being errand boy —

  “One thing, though, Bantam. I first gotta test your set up.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What I’m after is pretty rare stuff, Bantam, and expensive. So let’s first make a run that doesn’t cost so much. And if something goes phlooey — “

  “Suits me fine, Delmont” Bantam sounded aggressive. “And the same goes for you. What’s your outfit?”

  “We don’t have a name. We don’t wear bowling jackets that say Mott Street Musketeers or something. We just — ”

  “All right, save it You operate from Naples?”

  “Mostly.”

  “I’m coming down. Just to check around.”

  “Suit yourself, Bantam.” Charley wrote down the address of their place and handed Bantam the paper. “Still think I’m small time, huh?”

  “I don’t know,” said Bantam. “Depends on what you’re buying.”

  “P.V.,” said Charley and watched Bantam look ignorant.

  “That’s where we make the dough, Bantam. P.V. That’s polio vaccine.”

  Bantam was impressed. He saw that Charley had vision. Bantam saw his income go up like a rocket.

  “But first, Bantam, a test run. I want one five-hundred carton of Aureomycin. Two weeks delivery. Can you make it?”

  “I’ll see. First I check your outfit and then we’ll see.”

  “Set it up before coming down to Naples. That way we don’t waste any time and you can always cancel.”

  “You’ll get it. One case of Terramycin.”

  “No, Bantam. I want Aureomycin.”

  “All right, all right. We’ll arrange it after Naples.”

  They both got up and Charley saw he had Bantam.

  “One more thing, Bantam. Your percentage is going to be high, one-fourth, and I know nothing about your operation. You never did it before. So the first run will be on consignment.”

  “You crazy or something? I never — ”

  “You can do it, Bantam. You got the pull in the States, haven’t you? And the standing?”

  “Are you gentlemen — ”

  Then Faldotte came back into the room.

  “We are,” said Charley. He looked at Bantam and smiled. “On consignment.” Then he looked at Faldotte and smiled. “Because seeing I’m no longer a lush and it’s more festive this way.;”

  Chapter 16

  The first day he left her alone. He saw her coming across the garden, saw her talk to Fanny and borrow something. Joe just nodded at her from where he sat, and let it go at that. He saw her again at night. He came back from the osteria late at night and saw her light at the end of the garden. He walked up a way and saw how Martha was sure that she was alone. She was behind the kitchen window, washing her blouse in the sink. She had just taken it off. Joe turned back and went to his house because he wasn’t the kind that looked. He wasn’t interested in just looking.

  So he left her alone the first day, and the second day Charley called saying he’d come back tomorrow. So Joe took his time the second day.

  He walked across just before noon and found her on the terrace.

  “Fanny says she needs the soap and the bucket.” He stayed where he was, one leg up on the terrace.

  “Oh,” she said. “It’s you, Joe.”

  He just waited.

  “I’ll get them for you,” she said and went into the house.

  When she turned back to the door he stood there so she couldn’t get out. But perhaps she was reading things into him. He looked bland enough, came toward her just to take the bucket and the cake of so
ap.

  “If you need something else just drop around. One of the women will give it to you.”

  But it was exactly that blandness which made his presence so strong. That impersonal way of looking at her seemed to kill her identity, made her feel as if her body were not her own.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I won’t need anything else before Charley comes back.”

  Joe turned at the door and said, “He called last night. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Not till tomorrow?”

  “And he says to give you regards,” he lied. He stopped again on the terrace, looked at the Judas tree. “Tell him to cut that some. You get a nice view from here with that tree cut some.”

  She had been glad he was leaving, but when he delayed again to look at the tree it no longer felt like a delay.

  “He will do that,” said Martha. “We talked about it.”

  Joe made a short laugh. He leaned against one of the posts holding the arbor and swung the bucket against his leg. “He’ll be saying that for a while longer. You’ll get used to it.”

  “Oh, no. We will do it when he comes back.”

  Joe laughed again and stopped swinging the bucket. He went to the end of the terrace.

  “Come along across. I’ll give you the shears.”

  He waited till she came and she followed him because that way he would leave her house.

  He went through the kitchen and through the room behind and came back with the shears. He threw them on the table and sat down where he always did.

  “Take them,” he said. “That way he’ll do it sooner.”

  She came to pick up the shears and he said, “Want some aranciata?”

  He had left the door open and Martha could see his two women there. Fanny sat on the bed. She was leaning against the wall and looked at her legs in front of her. The other one was sewing something.

  “Fanny,” he called. “Bring Martha some aranciata.“

  The bed creaked and Fanny got up. She put on one of Joe’s shirts and came into the kitchen.

  “Go ahead, drink it,” said Joe and Martha sat down at the table where Fanny had put the glass. The noon heat had started to creep into the house. Martha sipped the cold drink and watched Fanny go back to the bed. Fanny took the shirt off and lay down on her stomach. She put her head to one side and looked at her hand.

  “You give him the shears,” said Joe. “He’ll get around to it sooner.”

  “I will,” said Martha. She fluffed her blouse in front because she was warm.

  “You’ll learn,” said Joe, “when you know him longer. You known him long, Martha?”

  “I met him in Rome,” she said.

  “You don’t know him long.” He had a spoon in his hand and started to make blunt lines on the soft pine table. “He pick you up in Rome?”

  “I picked him up.”

  She smiled when she said it because she wanted their talk to be light and without meaning. She wanted to keep it that way because it might change Joe’s tack. Where did you meet him, how did you meet him? he wanted to know, and next he would ask what did you see on the bridge, under the bridge —

  “That’s a new one,” he said, and kept pressing lines.

  She laughed again. She said, “He was sick, you know. He was bleeding.” That way she hoped to talk about something else without seeming to.

  “Oh, that,” he said.

  “Yes. At first I thought he was drunk — “

  “Charley don’t drink.”

  “Oh yes. He smelled from it.;”

  Joe just sat for a while. She had told him something. Charley had taken a drink.

  “So he was drunk,” said Joe. “So he got sick from drinking too much and you picked him up.” He laughed and said, “Very romantic.”

  Martha put down her glass and started to get up. Joe waved at her without bothering to look.

  “Don’t mind me. Drink your aranciata.“

  She sat and felt foolish about getting offended. Joe didn’t matter, or what he thought — except this wasn’t true. He mattered because he was digging, trying like Charley had done to make her remember things which she may never have seen. And she would tell him something: she would tell him nothing.

  “He had fallen down an embankment but it was the wound which had made him weak, not drinking.”

  “What embankment? The railroad?”

  “By the Tiber. Near the bridge where I live.”

  “He was drunk, all right,” said Joe, because he wanted Martha to make an objection. He would dig from there.

  “But that isn’t true. Because later he drove the car. He walked with pain but not drunkenly, and his thoughts were clear.”

  “Could be,” said Joe. “Drink your aranciata.“

  The bed creaked again because Francesca had turned on her back. She had her legs drawn up, holding her hands around both knees. The other girl was through sewing. She and Francesca talked in low tones.

  “He must have been muddy from head to foot,” Joe said suddenly. “Rolling down that embankment”

  Martha had to think and she remembered that he hadn’t been muddy.

  “Perhaps it was dry there,” she said. “Perhaps he had brushed himself off.”

  “Sure.” Joe held the spoon and dug more. “So you’ve been with him ever since, huh?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “He phoned me from Rome, you know. He didn’t mention you though, the old bastard.”

  She smiled again.

  “Because he must have called you before we met. I was with him all the time after we met.” She finished her drink, held the glass in her hand. “Still, I don’t think he would have mentioned me. Not then.”

  “No?” Joe looked interested.

  She got up to put the glass in the sink. She thought she would change the subject and leave.

  “He might have,” she said, “because he was alone for a while. I went shopping and he went to a bookstore.”

  Joe laughed hard this time, pushed his chair back.

  “To a bookstore!”

  “And why not?” she said. Then she tried to pass him.

  “Because he don’t read, not even the paper. What bookstore was it?” He had stopped laughing.

  “It was called Alivar’s Bookstore, and we went there twice!”

  “A day or so later, to get another book?”

  “Yes. A day or so later,” she said and remembered that Charley hadn’t bought any books. But it didn’t matter to her because now she wanted to leave.

  Joe let her pass. He didn’t think she could tell him much more. She had started to tell him the best right in the beginning. She had said Charley was drunk, maybe not drunk but he had been drinking. He had called up Joe, stone sober, and when Charley had heard that the carabinièri were chasing him, that’s when the bastard had suddenly started to switch. He had sounded hard and he had said he was coming back just the same. With bells on, he had said, and it sounded as if he had just made up his mind. He had started to drink after that, maybe not much, but even one shot with Charley meant something extreme, something big — and it meant Charley was going to do it.

  Next, he was under a bridge at the Tiber.

  Next, that same night, he had kept the girl with him, just like that.

  Next, Alivar, the forger. And only a small job, maybe a day or so.

  And when he showed up in Naples, Charley had a name good enough to go bragging with it to the police.

  “Martha? Wait a second.”

  She turned outside the door. Joe hadn’t followed her; he was in the back room, by the bed.

  “Martha?”

  She came back in because Joe had sat down on the bed. He didn’t look as if he wanted anything from her, just tell her something, perhaps.

  “Bring us a glass of that stuff, willya, Martha? Fanny wants a glass of that aranciata.“

  She thought she’d bring it to her. It was like Joe not to get it himself and the other girl wasn’t in sight. Marth
a poured a glassful from the cold bottle in the icebox and went to the bed. Fanny sat up. That’s when the door went shut.

  “I told Adele to close it,” said Joe. The thin girl had been behind the door. She was leaning against it now.

  “May I have the — ” Francesca started to say. She held out one hand.

  “Shut up,” said Joe. It was off-hand and he never stopped looking at Martha. He pushed Francesca back on the bed so that it bounced. Francesca’s flesh repeated the movement. Then Joe reached for the glass, held it between his knees.

  “Look, Martha, relax.” He watched her. She stood in the room as if she were stone.

  “What do you want?”

  Joe made a bored sigh. He started to pat Francesca’s stomach, then he rubbed with his palm, counterclockwise.

  “Don’t act dumb,” he said.

  The small room felt suddenly clogged, clogged with thick air, and with heat, with the girl on the bed who looked like she was waiting to come awake, and Joe. Thickset Joe with his mouth closed now and his eyes as untroubled and sure as if Martha had already said yes. Or as if it hardly mattered whether she said yes. Adele hadn’t moved from the door. She leaned there looking curious.

  “I don’t want you,” said Martha.

  It surprised Joe when she said it but he had an answer. He even meant what he said.

  “That don’t matter. Take off your clothes.” He sat, waiting for her to do it.

  “Tell Adele to open the door.”

  Joe sighed again. He rubbed one hand through his hair and made an impatient gesture.

  “Look, Martha. Don’t act the nun. Ask any of them, ask Adele. Hey, Adele, you like it here?”

  “Yes,” said Adele. “I like it here.”

  “You see? She likes it. You’ll like it. So come here.”

  Martha’s eyes narrowed a moment, opened again. Adele was still by the door and all Joe had to do was lean forward a little, put down the glass, and touch her. Or he might take his time getting up, put the glass on the dresser, and then grab her around the waist. There was another bed, an empty one, and he would probably take her there. Nothing much showed in Martha’s face. Then she pushed up her hair. She bit her lip just to make it moist.