Damnation of Adam Blessing

by Packer, Vin

  “Yes,” Adam said. “It is.”

  He remembered something Melnik had said to him. “You didn’t get yourself into this mess because of that girl. You hardly know that girl. You can’t fight an enemy by boxing with the shadow.”

  Billy was facing him then, and Adam staggered a bit as he moved toward him. He caught hold of Billy’s shoulders, and it was in his mind to strike Billy, but instead, he began to try to tickle him.

  “What the hell!” Billy shoved him away.

  “I only wanted you to laugh,” said Adam. He could see Charity’s face over Billy’s shoulder. The expression was grave now, she was frowning, and her eyes squinting, as though she must look very hard to believe what she saw.

  Adam said, “Yes, it’s me, Chary. It’s Adam.”

  “Billy, let’s get some help,” she said.

  They were both regarding him in a most peculiar way, as though there were actually something very wrong with him.

  Adam held his forehead with his hand. “I — have to use your bathroom,” he said.

  “The hell — ” Billy started to say, but it was too late already. Suddenly before he could reach anywhere, Adam was ill. Over the noise of his own vomiting, he could hear Billy cursing, violently, obscenely. Chary had run to the telephone. Adam began to cry and vomit at the same time. Billy only cared about his suitcases, and he was busy pulling them out of the way, but they were already soiled.

  16

  “From Venice, a postcard saying Chary had a boy, 6 lbs. There is no reason to suspect they would name it after me, and I did not even broach the possibility to Dorothy, but it does not seem unlikely.”

  FROM ADAM BLESSING’S JOURNAL

  Adam glanced at his watch. She was already ten minutes late. Later and later getting off to her meetings every time Ernesto came by. It had been going on for a month. He had moved into Dorothy’s small apartment on the Via Po, the day after Billy and Chary left Rome. Since then he had not touched liquor, not even so much as a glass of wine with his meals; and as he had promised Dorothy, he had not tried to communicate with Billy and Chary, though he knew the address of their apartment in Venice. Occasionally they sent Dorothy a card, and Adam thought how like Billy that was, to pretend a friendship with her, while he ignored Adam. Billy only did it to spite Adam, of that Adam was convinced, but he let Dorothy think what she wanted to.

  “You should be glad they called me instead of the police,” Dorothy had said to him once.

  “But I have no reason to fear the police,” Adam told her.

  “You just don’t get the point, Adam” — her answer.

  It was Dorothy Schackleford who did not get the point. She believed everything Billy said, all about Adam making Chary afraid that night he had gone to their room at the Mediterraneo, all about Adam acting “strangely,” every lie Billy told. Now she wanted to help Adam. Adam, she said, was an alcoholic. She had even tried to drag him to one of her “meetings.” “You can’t just wander around all day with nothing to do,” she said; “once you admit you’re an alcoholic, you’re free, Adam. You can look for work, do something with your life” … Adam smiled to himself. He had plans. He let her go on thinking that he had inherited the Stammbuch from Mrs. Auerbach, that he was living off that money. He even tolerated her harangues about his lack of feeling. Adam did not feel anything, she said, not for anyone. What was the matter with Adam anyway? … He supposed she had still never gotten over being stood up by Adam on the evening of Mrs. Auerbach’s service. Sometimes when she accused Adam of not even being grateful to Mrs. Auerbach for leaving him the Stammbuch, he felt like shouting out the truth. Instead, he sat listening to her with a small grin tipping his lips. He could take it. He knew the score. He could see that before very long, Dorothy Schackleford would turn against him too. Women had always let Adam down in a way that made him look as though he had done the wrong. More and more lately, he thought of the faceless woman plopped down on the straight-back wooden chair in the kitchen of years-ago: “And a lot you care!” she had said…. “And a lot you care!”

  • • •

  Dorothy Schackleford finally left for her meeting, not without admonishing Adam for the hundredth time, “Not even a beer now, Adam. Nothing!”

  “She really has love for you, Adam,” said Ernesto.

  “She wants to save me,” Adam said. They chuckled and Ernesto said, “Still — it is nice someone cares, ah?”

  “If someone does,” said Adam. “People have been known to marry people without caring for them, even have babies with them.”

  “That again!” Ernesto grunted. “Hey, let’s go to the park! I have new things to work out with you, Adam.”

  “I wish we would do more than talk,” Adam told him. “Isn’t our place built yet?”

  “Adam, it is not America. You wait until you see poor little Civitavecchia. Labor is cheap, but not plentiful.”

  “I want to see it,” said Adam. “Why can’t we go there and see it?”

  Ernesto said, “In time. It will be a big surprise all at once. Then we’ll tell Dorothy all about it, too.”

  Sometimes when Adam was alone during the daytime, when he took long walks through the Borghese Gardens, he fantasized that one day far-off, Luther Schneider would visit Civitavecchia, even bring Timmy with him. Adam would see that they got the best of everything. He would stop by their table and chat with them. In some of Adam’s fantasies, he would hand Schneider an envelope which contained every single cent he owed him, with interest besides. In others, he would hand Schneider a card which said: ADAMO’S, Civitavecchia, Italy — Manager: Adam Blessing. Owner: Luther Schneider.

  Schneider would say: “You know, son, originally I expressed faith in you simply because I feared for Timmy’s safety. But now … Adam, I think of you the same way I think of Timmy.”

  They would become devoted to one another, Schneider and Adam.

  Schneider would say: “I love Timmy, but he’s never been a real son to me, poor little devil. You though, Adam — ”

  Strolling by the ilex trees in the Villa Borghese that evening, Ernesto seemed worried.

  “Is something going wrong, Ernesto?”

  “You are perceptive, Adam, one of the most perceptive people I have ever known. It was not my intention to burden you with more troubles.”

  “But, I haven’t had to do any of the worrying, Ernesto. You’ve done everything!”

  It was true. Ernesto had handled everything. From the very beginning, when Adam had proposed the club in Civitavecchia, it was Ernesto who had gotten an architect to draw up the plans, hassled with builders for a moderate price, gone back and forth to Civitavecchia to pick the land, and oversee the installation of the groundwork; and it was Ernesto who had handled the whole emergency with the equipment, when the workers were drilling for water. Had it not been for his friend, that emergency would have cost Adam ten times the amount. Ernesto’s fiery ways, and his familiarity with the region and its people, had been a priceless asset. Ernesto had refused Adam’s offer of a regular salary. He had been hurt by it. Since his father had recovered so rapidly from his illness, there was no more emergency, Ernesto pointed out, and he would live on his savings until the club was operating. Adam was accustomed to Ernesto’s proud ways by now. As eager as he was to go to Civitavecchia with Ernesto and see the progress that had been made already, he understood Ernesto’s reluctance to have Adam see anything before it was perfect. In the past two weeks, he had snapped a few pictures of the place under construction, but even these he was apologetic about. “You really can’t tell how it will be,” he would say. “I hate to even show you them, but I know your eagerness.” Adam felt a thrill of accomplishment when he viewed the photographs. At last he was on his way to what Melnik had prescribed: a business of his own, and it would be a busy one at that.

  “Adam, I worry. We are spending too much of your money.”

  “But that isn’t so!”

  “I feel bad about letting that rotten whore bribe you!�
�

  “Forget that, Ernesto. A thousand dollars — that was cheap! Listen, I could have been taken for much more. Why won’t you let me tell you about it?”

  Ernesto shook his head. “No. I don’t want to hear. I never should have taken you there in the first place. I feel bad about it.”

  “We have so much to look forward to,” said Adam.

  “I’ve forgotten all about that whore. Besides, I may not even have told her anything!”

  “All the worse. I paid her your money for nothing then.”

  Adam said, “Ernesto, I don’t care! I’ve forgotten it!” “Now in Civitavecchia, more bad news.” “Your father?”

  Ernesto sighed and shook his head. “No, Adam. It’s the installation of the air-conditioning. The way it is now, the lines can’t hold that much power. If we are going to have air-conditioning throughout Adamo’s, we have to make arrangements for extra lines, to connect farther down. Otherwise we knock out everyone’s electricity in the area.”

  “Is that all?” Adam laughed, and clapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “I thought your father was taking a turn for the worse.”

  “I am a thrifty man, Adam.”

  “I know, but we have to put more money into it, that’s all.”

  “I worry that we will run out.”

  “Dorothy’s been talking to you,” said Adam. “Isn’t that true?”

  He knew that whenever Dorothy could, behind his back, she discussed Adam with Ernesto. It had been Ernesto’s idea to tell her that he was in Rome buying equipment for a new place on the coast — his folks’ place. Dorothy was always comparing Adam with Ernesto; look how busy he is, Adam; and aren’t you ashamed sometimes when Ernesto comes to visit and you see how hard he’s worked all week? … Again, Adam would sit listening with the grin tipping his lips … he would hear Dorothy off in the other room of her apartment, whispering to Ernesto about Adam’s need to be busy, about Adam’s money becoming depleted day by day…. Several times it had become nearly unbearable, and he had begged Ernesto to let him tell Dorothy, but always Ernesto wanted things to be perfect.

  “She tells me you imagine things, Adam. Oh, I know women, but I don’t want you to pretend with me that you have more than you do.”

  “I can prove it,” said Adam, “Let me prove it.”

  “No, no, I don’t want any proof! I trust you. We’re partners.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  “I’m afraid you will be shocked by the amount we need next, Adam. I wonder if you realize how expensive these things are. Me, I’m experienced, even with a place as small as my family’s — but you, Adam.”

  “Well?” said Adam. “How much?”

  “Another $25,000,” Ernesto answered.

  Adam laughed. “So! I’ll make a trip to New York! That amount I don’t have with me, but I can fly to New York and back in less than a week. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind a trip. I think — ”

  “I could probably get the figure down,” Ernesto said. “Say, $15,000.”

  “Oh yes, I have that left. Yes.”

  Ernesto slapped Adam’s knee. “Good! Then you don’t have to leave. I’ll get him down, Adam. I can. I can make different arrangements.”

  “I don’t mind a trip. Really, Ernesto!” The more Adam thought about a quick trip to New York, the more the idea appealed to him.

  “No!” Ernesto said flatly.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need your advice, my friend. This is a crucial time. We are nearing completion.” “But it would only take me — ”

  “No, Adam!”

  Adam was surprised at the sharp tone. He turned and looked at his friend’s face…. But Ernesto smiled then, the large white smile which always reassured Adam: “Adam,” said Ernesto, “I have a fear of planes and of friends on them. Now you will not have to fly in an airplane, and I am glad!”

  • • •

  The next day at breakfast, Adam read in a guidebook of a shop named Sirotta on Via Sistina. Among the various items the shop specialized in, the words “babies’ bibs” had caught Adam’s eye.

  17

  Vittorio Gelsi, 42, of 7 Via Monte Cenci was arrested this morning after a murder attempt. His wife, Maria, is in the hospital. Her condition is reported as critical. During an argument over money, Gelsi admitted stabbing her in the back. Tonia Gelsi, his sister, called police. A sometime “guide” for various tourist agencies, Gelsi was once fired by The Italian-Rome Scenic Tours Association for accepting money in advance from tourists for reservations in non-existent beach hotels in Ostia, Civitavecchia and Umbria. He served a three-year sentence for this offence, and several other, smaller terms for pickpocketing and soliciting as a pimp.

  FROM THE ROME AMERICAN

  The carabiniere smiled at Adam. “But he has admitted it, Signore.”

  In Adam’s hand were the photographs of Ernesto, the same he had seen in the newspaper, above the story of the murder attempt. Vittorio Gelsi, and after his name, a number.

  The carabiniere said, “He has not take your money, I hope. He has take money from Americans before this thing.”

  “No,” Adam lied.

  “Why he call himself Ernesto to you? You call him Ernesto Leogrande? Is that he said his name is?”

  “Vittorio Gelsi. The other name is — a joke. I know his name.” Adam put the pictures on the officer’s desk. “I want to help him. I am his friend.”

  “Pray for his wife, Signore. That will be most help.”

  “Well? Can I see him?”

  “Not against his will, Signore. Prisoners have rights, too. He does not want to see you.”

  “He is embarrassed,” said Adam. “I don’t blame him. I still want to help him.”

  The officer shrugged. He smiled at Adam. “You can make a complaint if he has take your money.”

  “I don’t want to make a complaint! Don’t you see?”

  “No.” The carabiniere smiled again.

  “If his wife is all right, will he be released?”

  “He attempt murder, Signore.”

  Adam sighed. “I will go see his wife.”

  “Sì, Signore.”

  “I will do all I can for him,” said Adam. “That is not the business of the questúra,” said the police officer.

  The questura was in an old palazzo in the center of Rome. The walls were khaki-colored, and there was an institutional atmosphere, brightened by the handsomely uniformed carabinieri stationed at the outer doors. As Adam came into the heat outside, he saw Dorothy taking pictures of the carabinieri. She smiled and waved at him, and it irritated him that she was not upset. At dinner last night, she had said she was just glad Ernesto had not gotten his hands on the money of the Fellow’s Foundation. He had mentioned a building in Umbria to her, ideal, he had told her, for a headquarters for the Fellow’s. The government would lease it for very little; there were just a few things to be repaired, and Ernesto had promised to get an estimate for the Fellow’s, and handle the negotiations.

  Adam had said, “But even if he is a crook, don’t you feel something for him?”

  “Sorry for him,” had been her answer. “In fact, I’m going to speak about him at our next session.”

  Dorothy knew nothing about the $25,000 Ernesto had taken from Adam. Nor about the additional $15,000 he had failed to collect from Adam before his arrest. That money, plus $5000 more was all Adam had left, other than the $10,000 in the safety deposit box in South Orange, New Jersey.

  When Dorothy saw Adam, she waved and called to him, snapping his picture as he walked toward her.

  “Did you see him?”

  “No.”

  “This isn’t going to make you start drinking, I hope.” “No.”

  “I have to be back at the office in half an hour. Adam, I wish you’d visit Fellow’s. Just to see it. Not join it. Just see it.”

  “I have things to do.”

  “No gifts, Adam. Please, don’t send any more gifts to Ven
ice.”

  “I didn’t send gifts! I sent a gift. A baby-bib!” “Returned.”

  “All right, they returned it. That was weeks ago, and it’s all over. I don’t mind telling you that I don’t even think about Chary any more. Let her do as she pleases. I have too much on my mind now. A way to help Ernesto.”

  “You mean, Vittorio.”

  “Don’t nag at me, Dorothy.”

  “Do you have something wrong with your eyes, Adam?” “No.”

  “They look funny,” she said. “Almost as though you were crying.”

  “Before I go to the hospital,” said Adam, his head turned away from her so she could not see his eyes, “I’ll stop by and pick up the mail at the apartment.”

  “Remember to call me if we hear from Shirley? I’m dying to know when she gets here.”

  “By now,” said Adam, “she’s probably dancing again.”

  Dorothy Schackleford was saying something about Shirley Spriggs having vowed not to dance for two years, and only one year was up, but for some reason, Adam was fighting back his tears with a greater urgency then, so that he was forced to cut short their conversation with the excuse that he needed a men’s room, and that he would meet Dorothy at the Via Po apartment when she returned from work.

  • • •

  In the small trattoría where he found a men’s room, Adam stayed to have lunch. He ordered Zuppa di cozze, and a mezzo-lítro of soáve. It was the first alcohol he had tasted since he had seen Billy and Chary, less than two months ago. Yesterday in Civitavecchia he had ordered a whisky in a place called Cucci’s, but he had been unable to lift the glass, his hands were trembling so, his eyes filling with tears to a point where he felt people staring at him.

  It was in Civitavecchia that he had finally begun to accept Ernesto’s deception. Even after he saw Ernesto’s picture in the paper, and went for the first time to the questúra to straighten out what he felt was an alarming case of mistaken identity, he was unconvinced that Ernesto had deceived him. He had gone to Civitavecchia a day later on the bus. As he rode along the old Via Aurelia, he smiled at the idea Ernesto had taken his money with no intention to ever build an Adamo’s. Adamo’s would be there, perhaps even finished (except for the air-conditioning, which he had never had the opportunity to pay Ernesto for). Despite Ernesto’s wrongs, their dream of Adamo’s in Civitavecchia was not among them.