Root of His Evil

by James M. Cain

  “...I don’t know.”

  “I do. You take off your hat and stay here.”

  He was so simple and honest, and it seemed so fine, after all the turmoil and mean schemes I had faced, that I ached to take off my hat, as he said, and let him take charge of me from then on. But I knew the pain inside of me wouldn’t stop if I did. Yet now I knew he was a part of my life, something he had not really been before, and that I had to be honest with him. I got up, put my arms around him, pulled his head down and kissed him. “I want to say something.”

  “I’m listening to you, Carrie.”

  “I think you’re swell.”

  “Go on.”

  “I think you mean more to me than I ever realized you did. I think in a little while I’ll be able to think about you in the way you want me to, and then perhaps I’ll mean still more to you.”

  “If that’s possible.”

  “It’s possible...But now—I’ve got to face the thing out. You’re wrong if you think I married Grant for money, position or anything else except the one reason you would respect. I—loved him—and you have to let me get through this in my own way.”

  “Then I’m not to see you?”

  “I want to see you. You’ll have to let me see you—because I haven’t anybody else. But—oh, I’m all mixed up.”

  “We’ll talk about the weather, is that it?”

  “Yes. And I’m afraid we’ll talk about Grant too, and I’ll be a terrible nuisance, and—”

  “I’ve a fine idea. We won’t talk at all. Would you like that?”

  I pulled him to me again and we stood there for a few minutes, very close, not talking at all.

  There was no taxi when I went out on the street so I started to walk, but I had a sensation in my legs as though I were made of air and would go floating off some place. In spite of what I had said to him at the end it was Lula and the union I kept thinking about, and I knew I had cut every tie that bound me to the world I had left.

  When I came in sight of the apartment house I began to walk faster, then I made myself slow down and fought off the hope I could not help feeling within me. Yet my heart almost stopped beating when I entered the apartment and heard somebody moving about in the bedroom. I paused a moment and pulled myself together, especially so there would be no smile on my face or anything, for I did not want to appear too eager. Then, as casually as I could, I went in there.

  Steamer trunks, shirts and suits of clothes were piled all over the bed and a strange woman, in a maid’s uniform, was standing at the chest of drawers, taking everything out. When she saw me she stopped what she was doing and looked very frightened. It was a moment or two before I could speak. “What are you doing here?”

  “We come for Mr. Harris’s things.”

  She spoke with a German accent and I was slow in understanding her, but the “we” caught my ear. “What do you mean, ‘we’? Who else is here with you?”

  “Mrs. Harris, Miss.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, Miss. She come. She is here.”

  I went in the living room and she was already coming toward me, her arms outstretched. “My dear! I called you. I called you three times. But then the dear boy had to have something to wear and I—”

  “You borrowed his key and sneaked in when you knew I wasn’t here. Because of course you called—three times.”

  When I said that she somehow changed her mind about putting her arms around me but she kept the smile on her face, turned to a chair and started to sit down, at the same time taking charge of me in a very patronizing way. “Sit down, Carrie. I can see we have things to tell each other.”

  I picked up the chair from behind her and pushed it back against the wall so she almost fell down, so at any rate the grand manner had a crimp put in it. “I do the inviting around here. Suppose we stand up.”

  “Very well, my dear.”

  “So you’ve finally taken Grant away from me?”

  “Not I—oh, not I. I don’t think he told you, he’s so kind he couldn’t bear to hurt anybody—but he still loves Muriel, Carrie.”

  “He never loved Muriel.”

  “Ah, if you only knew—”

  “I know all I want to know or need to know. After a month of insulting me, of scheming against me, of torturing Grant in every way that you know, you’ve finally succeeded in making two people unhappy and breaking up their marriage, in doing everything you started out to do. You’ve come here for his clothes and personal effects, and all I have to say to you is, take them and get out.”

  I stepped very close to her as I said that and I trembled with a desire to slap her face. If I hadn’t already slapped Lula’s face I would have done it, but somehow I couldn’t just go around slapping faces. She started to say something, then didn’t, and stood there with the smile still hanging on her face, but it was beginning to be weak and frightened. I pointed to the bedroom. “Get in there with your maid. Make it as quick as you can and when you’re ready to go you may give me the key that you let yourself in with. I’ll not let you leave here until I have it.”

  “Yes—certainly.”

  She called the elevator boys to help her take the trunks down and when she had gone it was my turn to storm around there and act like a lunatic all by myself. I broke out into a perfect hysteria of rage and kept weeping and moaning because I hadn’t slapped her face. If I had I think my whole future life would have been different, because it would have satisfied me and from then on I would have had no impulse to do anything against her. But I hadn’t slapped her face, and all I could feel was a rising surge of fury against her. She was the only person in my life I had ever hated, and from then I could feel nothing but an obsession to get back at her.

  Around three or four o’clock came the reaction. I began to cry and lay down on the sofa, trying to stop. When I did I remembered that I not only hadn’t had any sleep but I hadn’t had anything to eat either. I went in and bathed my eyes, then went out. At some lunch room down on Second Avenue I had a sandwich and a glass of milk.

  When I came out on the street again I remembered standing there looking around, trying to decide which was uptown and which was downtown. I have no recollection of going back to the apartment or of what I did when I got there. The next thing I knew it was night and I was lying on the bed, still dressed and feeling as though I had been in some kind of stupor. But what woke me was that I was cold. I got up, took off my clothes, put on my pajamas and went back to bed again, under the covers this time. Grant flitted through my mind but I didn’t cry or feel badly that he wasn’t there. I seemed incapable of feeling anything, and next thing I knew it was morning.

  After a night’s rest, however, I was capable of feeling, for a quick stab of pain shot through me when I realized I was alone. I got up at once, so I could be doing something in order not to think. I took a bath, slipped into a suit of house pajamas I had bought, and made myself breakfast. I had cereal, milk, coffee, toast and an omelet, taking time to beat the omelet thoroughly so it tasted good and I could eat every bit of it. When I was through I washed everything up clean and put it back exactly where it had been when I came there. I dressed carefully, went out and walked over to Bloomingdale’s, where I bought a traveling bag which I brought back with me in a taxi. It was what they call airplane luggage, almost as big as a trunk, but it was made out of nice leather and had hangers in it, which I especially wanted for the new things I had bought after I got married. I had the elevator boy bring it up for me and as soon as I was in the apartment with it I changed into the house pajamas again and packed. I was careful to put in everything that was mine and to take nothing that wasn’t mine. When I had finished I put the house pajamas on top and changed into the green dress I had bought before I met Grant, for I didn’t want to wear anything associated with my marriage. I closed the new bag and also the one I had brought when I came.

  That night I called Mr. Holden. I met him for dinner, then brought him to the apartment and we talk
ed. He accepted what I had told him and made no personal advances at all. He spoke at length about his plans for organizing workers in the West and said it would be imperative for him to leave for the Coast within two weeks. I tried to imagine myself going with him, tried to believe I would be lonely after he left. I couldn’t think of anything but Grant and the bitterness I felt against the woman who had taken him away from me.

  Next day I went down into the financial district to look around with a view to starting a business for myself. From what I knew of the eating habits of people in Wall Street, as a result of my work at Karb’s, I felt there would be an opportunity for a place run like a little club, where men could come in, see their friends, be served quickly and get back to their offices without consuming too much time. As a matter of fact, there are a number of luncheon clubs on lower Broadway, but most of them are both expensive and exclusive. What I had in mind was a place to be located right in one of the big office buildings so that the customers could eat without even leaving the building. But of course it was all tied up with the question of rent and the kind of bargain I could make.

  I saw the superintendent of several large buildings and while most of them were full up, one place had a space and they were willing to make concessions, so that things looked very favorable. The next two or three days I put in talking to the restaurant supply houses and they were very attentive to me and willing to extend credit, so that even with my limited capital it looked as though I would be able to make a start. And yet I didn’t seem able to make up my mind about anything and would come home every night and sit there and look at my packed luggage and think about Grant. Then Mr. Holden would call and we would go to dinner, and when I would come home again and go to bed and it would be all gray and depressing and I didn’t seem to take any interest in whether I could start a business or not.

  One day I came home earlier than usual and found a note from Mr. Hunt saying he had called and giving his number, with the request that I call him. My heart began beating fast, and I called.

  “Carrie, I’ve got to see you.”

  “What about?”

  “Money.”

  It was a disappointment, but after a moment I said: “I’m amply provided for, thank you.”

  “I said I had to see you and all I want to know is, are you home or aren’t you?”

  “...Yes.”

  “I’m coming down.”

  So in a half hour he was there. Before he arrived I phoned the desk that he was to be sent up and then I hurriedly got out Scotch and a seltzer siphon and opened the Scotch. He took the drink I made for him, crossed his legs and remarked: “God, but Granny’s a fool.”

  “I thought we had agreed that Grant was the victim of something he couldn’t very well help.”

  “I hate victims of things they can’t very well help. I hate victims. Even a Chinese war victim has a very stupid look, to my eyes. Did you ever notice those people? They don’t really look bright.”

  “So?”

  “Granny’s a victim. To hell with them all.”

  “The Chinese children don’t look so stupid. They look sweet.”

  “Granny’s no child.”

  “He is to me.”

  “To me he’s a fool—just a plain fatheaded sap. And if you take that to mean that I think you’re all right—O.K., that’s what I do think. However, that’s not what I came here for.”

  I waited and he kept rubbing the moisture on his glass with his thumb, which seemed to be a habit of his, and then he said: “I’ve been selected to buy you off.”

  “...I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, find out how much you’ll take to get a divorce and forget the whole unfortunate incident. I believe they stipulate a trip to Reno, so the thing can be washed up quickly and quietly.”

  “...Well. I had thought of you as a friend.”

  “That’s exactly the way I think of myself.”

  “This doesn’t sound much like it.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I’m surprised how unpleasant it sounds. It has a regular Judas ring to it. Nevertheless, it’s supposed to be friendly—on my part, at least. But I’m only the fiscal agent.”

  “If you don’t mind, I don’t want to hear any more.”

  “Carrie.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hunt?”

  “Suppose you call me Bernie.”

  “All right, Bernie, but I warn you if I hear any more about this I’m liable to pick up an ice cube and hit you in the eye with it. I’ve taken quite a few things in the last few days and this could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Why did you come up here with any such proposal as this? If you think I’m ‘all right’ does that mean I could be bought off just like some floosie?”

  He came over and half knelt beside me and touched my hand. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Now comes the friendly part. What did I tell you the last time we talked about this?”

  “You mean at your home that day?”

  “Yes.”

  “...You told me I was sunk.”

  He was so straightforward there was no use pretending I didn’t remember. He must have seen that it upset me, for he waited a moment before he went on. Then he said, very quietly: “That’s right. That’s what I told you. Carrie, you’re still sunk. It’s all over. Now it’s simply a question of how much.”

  “It’s simply a question of me being sick of the whole miserable mess, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  “Let’s go into that. Why not?”

  “That woman, for one thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “Do you think I’d give her the satisfaction of thinking she could—buy me off?”

  “Listen: When I take money off a louse I figure she’s still a louse but I’ve got the money.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at this and he laughed too. “And believe me, when I say louse I don’t mean butterfly. I’ve been her son-in-law for five years and I never saw anything like her. But never mind that, let’s get back to you. There’s twenty-five thousand bucks in it for you if you’ll get on the train for Reno in some kind of reasonable time and my advice is: take it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “All right then, here comes the real Judas part, only I’m selling them out this time, not you. Things haven’t been going as well with them as perhaps you think. You’ve heard of Uncle George, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uncle George is the senior partner in the brokerage house of Harris, Hunt and Harris. I keep him out of the brokerage business pretty well, so that part’s all right. But I can’t keep him out of the Harris estate. He manages that, and he made mistakes. Do you want the details?”

  “No.”

  “They were pretty serious. George got clever, just after we got in the war and for a while it was fine, but then afterwards the Harris millions began to melt. That might be the reason Grant can’t get the money he wants to dig up those Central American Indians. And it might be the reason that George was so enthusiastic when Mama decided that Grant ought to marry Muriel. That’s all conjecture. I’m not admitted to the inner councils of the Harris estate, but this much I know: things aren’t so good. Twenty-five thousand dollars, if you take it now, is a good offer. It’s about all they can pay. If you wait too long the offer may be withdrawn. They may not be in a position to pay anything...Carrie, take it.”

  “I told you—I can’t do it.”

  Twelve

  THE NEXT DAY I DRESSED to go out and resume preparations for starting a business. But somehow, after I got my hat on, I didn’t want to go out. I kept sitting there and all I could think of was: $25,000, $25,000, $25,000. It kept drumming through my head and I tried to get my mind off it but couldn’t. I kept telling myself that at a time like this, when all that I really wanted was to come out of it with a clear conscience, I shouldn’t let my interest in money cause me to do something which later I would be ashamed of. But I kept thinking about it and not only that, I kept calculating al
l the things I could do with it, for of course, with that much capital, I could start a business at once, and a much bigger business than I had had in mind when I had started my inquiries a few days before. And then I thought: Well, why not take it? Next thing I knew I had taken off my hat and was sitting there in the bedroom at the head of the bed looking at the telephone. Under it, with one corner sticking out, was Mr. Hunt’s note with his number on it. I lifted the telephone. Then I clapped my hand on the contact bar at once. For it shot through my mind: If I call him, then it’s going to be $25,000. If I don’t call him, then he may call me.

  I put on my hat again and went gaily out. I felt better than I had felt in a month. I walked down to the St. Regis, went into the King Cole Room and had a martini cocktail. Then I went into the dining room and had a fine lunch. It cost three dollars without the tip, and it was worth it. I walked over to the Music Hall, saw a picture. When I got back to the apartment there was a wire notice and when I called it was from Mr. Hunt, asking me to call him. This made me feel in the humor for a nice dinner, with pleasant talk about grand opera, and literature and the capitals of Europe. I called Mr. Holden.

  Next morning I was awakened by the phone ringing. I was afraid to answer for fear it would be Mr. Hunt and that they had put him through without finding out whether I wanted to talk. So I just let it ring. Then I bathed and dressed quickly and made myself some breakfast. Two or three times the phone rang and I didn’t answer, but I thought it advisable to stay in. It was a long wait, but shortly after lunch here came the ring on the buzzer and when I opened the door he was there. I had rubbed all the rouge off my face so I looked very white, and acted very sad. Also, I acted quite absent-minded, and waited at least five minutes before remembering to fix him a drink. He began practically where he had left off, telling me to take the money, that I would have to get a divorce eventually and that I was a fool to let this opportunity slip by to cash in on it for whatever I could. I listened in a very melancholy way, and then, as he got well warmed up, I buried my head in a sofa pillow and began to weep, at any rate as well as I could, though I was afraid to let him see my face for fear there wouldn’t be any tears in my eyes. But when I could feel them running down my cheeks I straightened up and let him put his arm around me and pat me and wipe them away with his handkerchief. Then I began to talk in a very desperate way about the six sleeping tablets I took last night so I didn’t wake up until one o’clock this afternoon and how I was going to take more and how if they didn’t work I was going to throw myself from the window, and then I wept very loud and said: “After all she’s done to me—and she thinks—she can—get rid of me—for twenty-five thousand bucks.”