Up a Winding Stair

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  “Sure, kid. Maybe it looks that way on the face of it. But you told me about them years and ridin’ the freights before and duckin’ cops. You was scared. You thought you’d wind up like the old man. Fear gives anybody guts.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Could be. Could be. You asked me.”

  “And the work I do to keep in shape. No weakling would put up with that routine for a week.”

  “So it ain’t as simple as I been sayin’. You’re black and white, too. Sure. Like with your fists. You enjoy takin’ people apart, even tough ones. Looks like guts to you. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you got a hell of a lot of strength in you, maybe a lot of good, maybe a lot of things. Cripes, I don’t know. But what I do know I know. You got a weak streak in you, kid, a yard wide and a mile long. That’s all. That I know and you asked me. Remember?”

  Clark slammed his napkin aside and got up from the table. He went through the living room and into the library and threw himself into a chair. Elsie came in to tell him that Mrs. Hicks was on the phone. Clark snapped, “I’ll call her back later.” He watched Elsie leave and wondered, Is she one of the reasons Joey says I’m no good? Couldn’t be, though. I haven’t hurt her. And what the hell, after all, she’s just a colored gal.

  Joey was standing in the doorway, the toothpick drooping from one corner of his mouth. He looked old, the tired gladiator, the sad buffoon. “I’m sorry, kid. Hope you ain’t mad at me. You know I like you, almost like a son. And I didn’t say you was really bad, did I?” He attempted a grin. “Who am I to talk? Joey Malloy, there’s somethin’ choice. You could throw the book at me. But you ain’t gonna be mad, are you?”

  “Forget it.”

  “I shoulda kept my big yap shut. But all I was doin’ was just try’n’a show you what a mistake you’d make with a nice doll like that Ione. That Faye Hicks, now, that’s different. If only she wasn’t married you could take a moose like that to the cleaners and she’d be too stupid to know what hit her. Big difference is, though, you wouldn’t be serious about her. See what I mean?”

  Clark growled, “Why don’t you just shut up before I knock some of your teeth loose?”

  Joey’s jowls sagged lower than ever. “Jees, kid, you and me ain’t had no trouble before. All I was try’n’a tell you — ”

  Clark bolted from his chair and slugged Joey on the point of the chin with a right that traveled from his hip. Joey crumpled like a sack of potatoes and crashed to the floor. Clark stepped over him and looked toward Elsie at the other end of the living room, watching him with fear in her eyes. Clark shouted, “Don’t stand there like a damn fool. Throw some water on him.” He spun away and stalked down the corridor to his bedroom.

  He paced back and forth in his own room, thinking of Ione and Joey and Elsie and flying and what Joey had said and of the old man and of golf and making a living and a hundred other things that swept in and out of his mind and got all mixed up with the feel of someone you could cherish and the delicate perfume of her body in his nostrils. He could not concentrate. He tried to think of one thing at a time, but it was impossible. His brain had stalled on dead center.

  Maybe it would be a good idea to get out and slap some golf balls around. Then he could think better. He changed clothes to a sports outfit and went back down the corridor. He paused for a moment to look into the living room. Joey was sitting slumped over in a chair with his face in his hands. He looked up at Clark, rubbed his bruised chin, and smiled weakly.

  “Feel better, kid?”

  Clark turned away and went out to the driveway. He was about to get into his car when he heard a car swing into the drive behind him and looked around. It was Faye’s Cadillac with the top down. She was at the wheel and Hibbard was at her side. Clark walked back when she stopped and leaned his elbows on her side of the car.

  Faye pouted. “You didn’t call back, you bad boy.” Then she smiled and said brightly, “So we just thought we’d drop by and pick you up. Surprised?”

  Hibbard was looking at Clark with no expression whatever in his unhealthy gray face, but there was a trace of amusement deep in his otherwise dead eyes. Clark was shocked by his appearance. In just the short time since he had last seen the man, Hibbard seemed to have aged another ten years. His clothes were looser than ever, his lips were thin and bloodless, and his cheekbones seemed to be sticking through the skin. His neck was that of an advanced alcoholic, thin and with loose-hanging folds of flesh. Clark frowned and looked away from him.

  “Sure, I’m surprised,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

  Faye clapped her hands together and cried, “You’d never guess. Never. It’s a simply splendid idea.”

  “O.K., O.K.”

  “But I’ll let you try. I’ll give you three guesses.”

  “Look, Faye. I’m not much in the mood.”

  “Just three, now.”

  “I’m telling you, Faye — ”

  Hibbard said softly, “He isn’t the guessing kind, pet. Think of some other game for him to play.”

  “Oh, now, you two men. You just spoil everything. But all right.” She sighed and said, “We’re all going on a picnic down to Point Lobos. We’re taking all the servants along.”

  Clark gulped and said, “Come again?”

  “Well, you see, once a year, just as regular as clockwork, we bring the whole household staff down from the city for a nice week end at our expense. It’s sort of traditional, you see, and they do have such a wonderful time, the dears. So last night I was worrying about if they were enjoying themselves so much this time and I had this marvelous idea. We’ll all go on a picnic. And of course,” she said, slanting a coy look at Clark, “I thought of you, too.”

  Hibbard said, “He isn’t part of the long three-year tradition.”

  “But I just know you’ll enjoy it, Clark. We’ll have such fun.” She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper: “Naturally, you won’t really have to mingle with the servants. We’ll have our own separate little table. Now, you just get in here and come right along with us and relax for the day.”

  Clark was about to refuse with loud and rude laughter, but then the idea interested him. Maybe it would even be better than golf. Maybe on a picnic he could really relax and get things straightened out in his mind. He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and got in the car.

  They stopped for a second in front of the Lodge and a station wagon pulled out of the parking loop to swing in behind them. Faye informed him that the five occupants were the chauffeur, butler, and three maids. “Such darlings,” she said. “Just priceless, really.”

  They drove slowly through Carmel, then south down the coastal road to the toll-gate entrance of Point Lobos, a few miles below Carmel and at the southern extremity of the bay. Faye paid two quarters to the state ranger on duty and drove slowly west along the narrow paved road.

  Clark looked about with interest, a feeling of oddness, of something being out of perspective, creeping into him. Traveling along the road he could see almost all of the 350 acres of the state park and saw that it was a peninsula projecting like a broken arrowhead into the sea. But it was unlike any other park he had ever seen. There was no grass, no playground, no bandstand, nothing anywhere that was parklike. It was perfectly wild and virgin, except for a few roads and a few trails, with thick stands of pine at the entrance, cypress trees farther out, and rugged-looking cliffs and smooth rocks projecting up out of the angry sea. It was beautiful, probably the most beautiful piece of natural scenery Clark had ever experienced, yet he felt a slight chill in his spine.

  Hibbard, who had been watching him with a tiny smile in his eyes, said, “Rather weird, isn’t it?”

  “It gives me a peculiar feeling.”

  “That’s understandable. This area is unspoiled, untouched. Actually prehistoric. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit to see a dinosaur suddenly stick his head around one of those rocks.”

  “That’s it, all right. That’s the
way I feel.”

  Faye said, “It’s certainly pretty.”

  She turned left around a ridge of pines and drove to a small picnic area on the rocky shoreline just above the water. She selected two tables removed from the others and stopped the car, the station wagon pulling alongside. It was a beautiful location with a sweeping view of the Pacific, the seal rocks above crowded with grunting and barking seals. The day was calm and sunny, with a few scattered clouds in the sky, but the sea was restless and there was spume in the air from the heavy surf breaking and growling around the many rocks jutting up from the bottom.

  The servants went into action at once, with Faye acting as generalissimo. Linen tablecloths were spread over the two rough-hewn tables, then all sorts of boxes and hampers were taken from the station wagon and their contents arranged on the tables. When the servants had finished, the tables, with their glistening array of silver and imported china, could have been put down in any dining room anywhere. A tremendous silver platter served as a complete small bar, with Scotch, bourbon, gin, a thermos ice bucket, swizzle sticks, and mixes for a variety of drinks. The butler immediately poured double drinks for Faye and Hibbard.

  Faye’s idea of a picnic was a photographer’s spree. She had brought along three different kinds of cameras, reflectors, tripods, and enough other equipment to staff a studio. She could have aimed a camera in any direction for a good picture, but she was fussy about her backgrounds and particularly liked rocks. When she found one that seemed suitable she posed one of the servants or Clark or Hibbard or a group before it, arranged reflectors to blind their eyes, took an unreasonably long time figuring the light readings, often used the wrong filters, then generally snapped a picture that was either out of focus or badly framed. Somewhere she had watched professional photographers at work and she adopted some of their mannerisms. She kept up a running line of chatter that was supposed to distract and relax the subject, she ran her fingers through her hair, cursed temperamentally, chewed on her nails, and tried to appear absent-minded, the great artist at work. Clark had never watched a performance quite as entertaining or embarrassing.

  But even Faye tired of the sport at last and they all sat down for a late lunch. As Clark knew would happen, the servants took turns waiting on the “master” table. There was hot soup from a thermos tureen, a crisp salad, luncheon meats and cheeses of every kind and description, patés, caviar, and even cold sliced capon with sparkling Burgundy to accompany it. The picnic was topped with fruits and a thermos of hot coffee. Faye believed in equality, at least on a picnic, so the servants enjoyed the same meal. They had arranged it all, anyway, in the Lodge kitchens.

  The meal lasted an hour and a half, during which time Faye had virtually nothing to say, chewing her way placidly and steadily through enormous quantities of food. Hibbard arranged little heaps of food on the table before him, but the platter bar was at his right elbow and he drank his way through the meal. When he could hold no more, for the time being, he staggered to the back seat of the convertible, curled up, and fell asleep.

  For the first time, at the end of the meal, the servants were free to do as they wished, temporarily. They took advantage of Faye’s sated condition to scatter down to the rocks and the little tide pools. Clark was tempted to go with them, but Faye had finished eating, except for an occasional nibble, and was watching him, obviously with something on her mind.

  She swallowed a piece of banana and stared at Clark, and her expression became sad. “Darling, I’ve talked with my attorneys. It’s tragic. It’s really tragic.”

  “Oh?”

  “No hope. They give me no hope at all. Daddy was very shrewd the way he made out that will. What he did, you see, was make Hibbard a benefactor in case of my death or in the event I divorced him. It can’t be broken.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Oh, it’s simply ghastly.” She reached across the table to caress his hand. “For the first time in my life I’m in love and I find myself in a trap. I don’t even know if you’ll wait. I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times and I don’t know the answer. Would you wait, darling? Would you?”

  Clark frowned at her. “I don’t follow you. Wait for what?”

  “Why, for Hibbard, of course. Any ninny can see he isn’t going to last long. The way he drinks?” She sighed. “Even the doctor says that if Hibbard doesn’t stop drinking, he won’t last more than a year or two.”

  “He looks it.”

  “Oh, he does. It’s awful. I asked him if he thought he could taper off, but he said that was impossible. The only way he could do it was to stop completely.”

  “I doubt if he could do it.”

  “That’s just it. He can’t. At least, he hasn’t been able to. So you see what I’m up against. Even though my heart is breaking and bleeding I have to wait.” She said dramatically, “I can do it, though. I can suffer through those years. But can you? That I don’t know, my darling. Can you?”

  Clark said, “No,” and got up from the table. “Sorry, but we seem to be in a blind alley. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a little walk to think things over.”

  What he wanted to think about was Ione, not Faye. He walked down to the waterline, jumped across some tide pools where Faye could not follow, and went out a slim finger of rock to pause looking over the ocean. Spume was heavy in his face and biting salt air filled his lungs. His mind seemed to be clear of the morning’s confusion, yet he felt enervated and dispirited. He faced it and knew it for what it was. His bright little dream had collapsed. He told himself that Joey had been 90 per cent wrong, yet there was a grain of truth in what he had been saying. Five years was one hell of a long time to make like an eager young pro and battle the circuit, even with Ione at his side. There would be good times, of course, but also hazardous lean ones, days, probably, when he would be broke. That he would not be able to take. He had promised himself never to be broke again. Jees, he thought, why should I when I’ve come this far? No sense to it. Why should I take chances like that, even for a gal like Ione? This is a good setup here, the best we’ve run into so far. We can clean up. One year from now, with all the dough I can pick up around this place, I should be loaded. Is it sensible to kill a thing like that? Is it smart? You know the answer to that. So all right, Ione will get wise sometime during that year and that will end that. What the hell. Plenty more of ’em around and maybe a couple with no strings attached, like that five-year wait.

  He balled his hands into fists and thought angrily, Why the devil do I have to run into blind alleys at every turn? Never anyone else. Only me. Only me.

  And that stupid, drunken Hibbard, he thought, in the way, spoiling everything. If I only had guts enough to knock him off! Would anyone lose by that? Hell, no. Not even Hibbard. He’s killing himself anyway, slowly and painfully. But that was no good, either. You had to have a plan and something was always wrong with it, some little thing you failed to think about, and you wound up in the gas chamber. Plans of that sort were never any good. Always a weak link somewhere.

  He was so enraged and frustrated, however, that the idea itself had a strong appeal for him. If only it could be done without a plan …

  He stood there for a long while, staring angrily out over the sea, then turned and made his way back to shore. Faye and Hibbard, now awake, were waiting for him in the convertible. The servants had already packed the station wagon and had gone, probably with great relief. Clark got in the car and hoped they would go directly home. It was late afternoon and he wanted to catch Joey before he went out. He wanted to apologize for slugging him.

  Faye, however, had other plans. She insisted, over Clark’s protests, that no one but a fool would leave the area without a walk around the most interesting part of all, the Headlands. Besides, she had some pictures she wanted to take out there. She drove up to the far end of the road, where it made a hairpin turn, and stopped the car in a small parking area. She got out with a camera and light meter slung over a shoulder and becko
ned to Clark. He was boiling with anger, but got out to join her. Hibbard, too, decided to go along, though Faye gave him a dark frown. He got out of the car, staggered uncertainly for a moment, leaned against Clark, then seemed to be all right.

  They followed a dirt trail single file through dense thickets of chaparral into Lobos Grove, the only remaining natural grove of Monterey cypress. Faye snapped two or three pictures, then exclaimed rapturously over one spot she wanted to use as background for a snapshot of Clark and Hibbard. The headland at that point dropped off almost vertically to the sea a hundred or more feet below. Just opposite was a huge granite rock known as South Point projecting up from the sea with its smooth, fiat face toward the headland. Between was a channel of water a few hundred yards long and twenty or thirty feet across. At each surge of the sea the water was compressed in the channel and a comber ten feet high came through as if shot from a fire hose. It was an awesome sight and terrifying in its power.

  Faye posed Clark and Hibbard together and tried to get the channel in the background, but was not satisfied. She looked around, saw that no park rangers were about, and asked the two men to move farther out the point. Signs warned against going farther and there was even a rope fence to keep the curious back, but Faye insisted there was no danger. Rather than argue about it, Clark stepped over the rope and moved farther out the point, picking his way along the tops of the rocks. Hibbard wavered a moment longer, then followed him. Faye called and told them when to stop. They were standing directly above and on the lip of the cliff and the wild channel of water below.

  Hibbard looked down and shuddered. “You know,” he told Clark, “no one has ever come out of this water alive.”

  “Who the hell would be dumb enough to get in it?”

  “Fishermen. They fish off the rocks farther down and around the other side of the point. Sometimes they get too close to the water and a breaker comes along bigger than the others and sweeps them off. They never get back.”