“Sure,” he said.
She tried to smile. He let her pass and go along the hall to the principal’s office. Her hand trembled as she dialed Mr. Gatsby’s number. “Mr. Gatsby,” she whispered. “I can’t stay here. I’m going home. It’s Wilkins. He’s acting strangely, I’m afraid of him.”
“I’ll be right up,” Mr. Gatsby said quickly.
Wilkins was there in the hall when she opened the door, and he smiled and she nodded, and didn’t know why she nodded. “One moment more,” she said, her voice husky. She hurried to her own room and grabbed her coat and darted along the hall and out the door.
It was still raining. She leaned against the door and trembled. She was ready to run as soon as she felt the door opening. In a little while, when she realized that he was not following her, she knew he had understood her fear of him and had remained back in the corridor, waiting.
She saw the supervisor’s car draw up at the gate.. Mr. Gatsby came running, his feet splashing in the puddles.
“Is it all right, Miss James?” he called.
“I got out all right.”
She told him exactly what had happened and he pondered and said it was a difficult situation. “We know what was in his mind, Miss James,” he said. “But of course he’ll deny it.”
“All I know is I’m afraid of him, Mr. Gatsby. I won’t stay in this school with him.”
“This time he knows it’ll mean his job,” Mr. Gatsby said reluctantly. “But we can’t have you afraid of him. Would you come in with me?”
“I don’t want to go into that school, Mr. Gatsby.”
“If you don’t, he can say anything he wants to and try to make you seem hysterical.”
“All right. Let him try,” she said resolutely, but her face was burning.
Wilkins was pacing up and down the corridor and he turned and stared and went to raise his hand in a friendly silly gesture.
“Wilkins, would you come here?” Gatsby said.
“Sure,” he said but he looked bewildered, not quite sure what was happening.
They went into her room and Gatsby sat down and she sat down beside him and Wilkins stood in front of the desk. It was hard for Gatsby to begin. Miss James twisted her fingers and looked out the window.
“Miss James has told me how you molested her and wanted to . . .”
“I wasn’t molesting her,” Wilkins said quickly.
“You certainly scared her, Wilkins.”
“I know I did. I don’t know why I scared her,” he protested. “I’ve been walking up and down out there trying to figure out how I scared her.”
“You know what it means, Wilkins, if Miss James is afraid to work around here.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I wouldn’t feel I had the right to send another girl here. It means I have to put in a complaint — and — well, Wilkins, this time it really means your job.”
“I guess it does,” Wilkins said slowly. In the long silence he stared at one spot on the wall as if seeing himself going home and telling his wife what had happened. The colour left his face. “Maybe if she’d think about it when she isn’t feeling scared,” he said weakly.
“I’m not scared now,” she said grimly. “I’m not a baby. I know what goes on.”
“But she doesn’t know what was in my mind, Mr. Gatsby.”
“All right, Wilkins, just what was in your mind?”
“Well, she’s a nice girl. She’s been kind to me.”
“I dare say she has.”
“No, I mean appreciative. And very kind in the way she spoke and acted.”
“And you felt encouraged to make a pass at her.”
“No. No,” he protested. “I wanted to show I could appreciate it.” He tried to smile but the smile didn’t go well with his nervousness. “You see, Mr. Gatsby,” he said, “the women teachers have a room all fixed up so they can rest and take their ease. I’ve never let any of the girls from the playgrounds see it. It’s a nice comfortable room. I thought Miss James could use it on the rainy days. It’s got a radio in it. I wanted to show it to her, that’s all.”
“What a joke,” Miss James said. Her face was burning and she knew it and was angry. Her resentment of Wilkins flared up and was stronger than her embarrassment.
“It’s hard to believe your story,” Gatsby said. “You say you were worrying about Miss James’ comfort! Well, it’s just not like you, Wilkins.”
“Why isn’t it like me, Mr. Gatsby?”
“We’ve had experience with you. It’s — well — it’s not the kind of thing you do.”
“How do you know what I can do? How do you know what I’m like?” he asked desperately. “I’m not supposed to be able to be kind and appreciative because you don’t think I’m anything but what you see around here in the schoolyard — dressed like this. Well, I’m other things too.”
“I don’t follow you, Wilkins,” Gatsby said.
“I mean,” Wilkins began, groping to recall an aspect of himself that would convince them they didn’t know him, “you can’t see me making a friendly little gesture. Well, maybe there are lots of things you can’t see me doing.”
“Such as . . .”
“I don’t know,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Maybe — well — playing the piano — or — singing.”
“True.”
“Just the same, I sing.”
“You’re a singer?” Gatsby asked incredulously, and Miss James herself couldn’t resist smiling coldly.
“See what I mean,” he said eagerly. “That’s not like me, either, is it?”
“It’s not the issue, Wilkins,” Gatsby said impatiently.
“Sure it is,” Wilkins insisted. “I tell you something about me and you can’t see me doing it. You’re all wrong. I took lessons years ago. Opera. Listen.” He started to hum “Celeste Aida,” and when he saw their blank, wondering expressions he started to sing the aria in a tenor voice. But his voice broke, his eyes shifted from one to the other; he had a crazy pleading smile. Then he sang out again, and when his voice broke the second time tears came to his eyes and he turned his back on them and walked to the window.
Gatsby’s astonishment had turned to laughter.
A tuft of greying hair stuck out over the back of Wilkins’ collar and Miss James stared at it and was filled with embarrassment that an affront to her dignity had caused Wilkins to put on a ridiculous, desperate performance to try to save his job.
“You have a nice voice,” she said, faltering as she stood up. “Hasn’t he, Mr. Gatsby?”
“Why, yes, he has,” Gatsby said, controlling himself.
“I didn’t go on with it,” Wilkins said, turning. “It costs money to work on a voice and well, I got married . . . too young, you know.”
It was a relief to hear children running in the schoolyard. “It can’t be raining now,” Miss James said. “I should go out.”
At the door she turned, troubled, for it struck her that even in her sympathy she was being superior.
“Mr. Wilkins, I’m sorry,” she said and she put out her hand. “I apologize.”
“It’s all right,” he said, taking her hand. “It was natural, Miss James, that you took it as you did, coming from me.”
“Well, that’s that,” Gatsby said and he took Miss James’ arm and walked her along the hall. “The point is,” he said, “are you afraid to work here with Wilkins around?”
“Not at all,” she said quickly.
On the school steps they both stood meditating for a moment, then Gatsby laughed. “You know, Miss James,” he said, “he might have had a good voice at one time. Well, it certainly came in handy. So long, Miss James.”
“So long,” she said.
As she watched him crossing the yard to the street of dilapidated rooming houses where doors and windows were opening after the rain and the women were coming out on their stoops, it struck her with a shock that there had been something in her attitude from the beginning that had
provoked not only Wilkins but had been an insult, too, to the whole neighbourhood.
The Faithful Wife
Until a week before Christmas George worked in the station restaurant at the lunch counter. The last week was extraordinarily cold, then the sun shone strongly for a few days, though it was always cold again in the evenings. There were three other men working at the counter. For years they must have had a poor reputation. Women, unless they were careless and easygoing, never started a conversation with them when having a light lunch at noontime. The girls at the station always avoided the red-capped porters and the countermen.
George, who was working there till he got enough money to go back home for a week and then start late in the year at college, was a young fellow with fine hair retreating far back on his forehead and rather bad upper teeth, but he was very polite and generous. Steven, the plump Italian, with the waxed black moustaches, who had charge of the restaurant, was very fond of George.
Many people passed the restaurant window on the way to the platform and the trains. The four men, watching them fre-quently, got to know some of them. Girls, brightly dressed and highly powdered, loitered in front of the open door, smiling at George, who saw them so often he knew their first names. At noontime, other girls, with a few minutes to spare before going back to work, used to walk up and down the tiled tunnel to the waiting room, loafing the time away, but they never even glanced in at the countermen. It was cold outside, the streets were slippery, and it was warm in the station, that was all. George got to know most of these girls too, and talked about them with the other fellows.
George watched carefully one girl every day at noon hour. The other men had also noticed her, and two or three times she came in for a cup of coffee, but she was so gentle, and aloofly pleasant, and so unobtrusively beyond them, they were afraid to try and amuse her with easy cheerful talk. George wished earnestly that she had never seen him there in the restaurant behind the counter, even though he knew she had never noticed him at all. Her cheeks were usually rosy from the cold wind outside. When she went out the door to walk up and down for a few minutes, an agreeable expression on her face, she never once looked back at the restaurant. George, following her with his eye while pouring coffee slowly, did not expect her to look back. She was about twenty-eight, pretty, rather shy, and dressed plainly and poorly in a thin blue cloth coat without any fur on it. Most girls managed to have a piece of fur of some kind on their coats.
With little to do in the middle of the afternoon, George used to think of her because of seeing her every day and looking at her face in profile when she passed the window. Then, on the day she had on the light-fawn felt hat, she smiled politely at him, when having a cup of coffee, and as long as possible, he remained opposite her, cleaning the counter with a damp cloth.
The last night he worked at the station he went out at about half past eight in the evening, for he had an hour to himself, and then worked on till ten o’clock. In the morning he was going home, so he walked out of the station and down the side street to the docks, and was having only pleasant thoughts, passing the warehouses, looking out over the dark cold lake and liking the tang of the wind on his face. Christmas was only a week away. The snow was falling lazily and melting slowly when it hit the sidewalk. He was glad he was through with the job at the restaurant.
An hour later, back at the restaurant, Steve said, “A dame just phoned you, George, and left her number.”
“Do you know who she was?”
“No, you got too many girls, George. Don’t you know the number?”
“I never saw it before.”
He called the number and did not recognize the voice that answered him. A woman was asking him pleasantly enough if he remembered her. He said he did not. She said she had had a cup of coffee that afternoon at noontime, and added that she had worn a blue coat and a tan-coloured felt hat, and even though she had not spoken to him, she thought he would remember her.
“Good Lord,” he said.
She wanted to know if he would come and see her at half past ten that evening. Timidly he said he would, and hardly heard her giving the address. Steve and the other boys started to kid him brightly, but he was too astonished, wondering how she had found out his name, to bother with them. The boys, saying goodbye to him later, winked and elbowed him in the ribs, urging him to celebrate on his last night in the city. Steve, who was very fond of him, shook his head sadly and pulled the ends of his moustaches down into his lips.
The address the girl had given him was only eight blocks away, so he walked, holding his hands clenched tightly in his pockets, for he was cold from nervousness. He was watching the automobile headlights shining on slippery spots on the sidewalk. The house, opposite a public school ground on a side street, was a large old rooming house. A light was in a window on the second storey over the door. Ringing the bell he didn’t really expect anyone to answer, and was surprised when the girl herself opened the door.
“Good evening,” he said shyly.
“Oh, come upstairs,” she said, smiling and practical.
In the front room he took off his overcoat and hat and sat down slowly, noticing, out of the corner of his eye, that she was even slimmer, and had nice fair hair and lovely eyes. But she was moving very nervously. He had intended to ask at once how she found out his name, but forgot about it as soon as she sat down opposite him on a camp bed and smiled shyly. She had on a red woollen sweater, fitting her tightly at the waist. Twice he shook his head, unable to get used to having her there opposite him, nervous and expectant. The trouble was she had always seemed so aloof.
“You’re not very friendly,” she said awkwardly.
“Oh yes I am. Indeed I am.”
“Why don’t you come over here and sit beside me?”
Slowly he sat down beside her on the camp bed, smiling stupidly. He was even slow to see that she was waiting for him to put his arms around her. Ashamed of himself, he finally kissed her eagerly and she held on to him tightly. Her heart was thumping underneath the red woollen sweater. She just kept on holding him, almost savagely, closing her eyes slowly and breathing deeply every time he kissed her. She was so delighted and satisfied to hold him in her arms that she did not bother talking at all. Finally he became very eager and she got up suddenly, walking up and down the room, looking occasionally at the cheap alarm clock on a bureau. The room was clean but poorly furnished.
“What’s the matter?” he said irritably.
“My girlfriend, the one I room with, will be home in twenty minutes.”
“Come here anyway.”
“Please sit down, please do,” she said.
Slowly she sat down beside him. When he kissed her she did not object, but her lips were dry, her shoulders were trembling, and she kept on watching the clock. Though she was holding his wrist so tightly her nails dug into the skin, he knew she would be glad when he had to go. He kissed her again and she drew her left hand slowly over her lips.
“You really must be out of here before Irene comes home,” she said.
“But I’ve only kissed and hugged you and you’re wonderful.” He noticed the red ring mark on her finger. “Are you sure you’re not waiting for your husband to come home?” he said a bit irritably.
Frowning, looking away vaguely, she said, “Why do you have to say that?”
“There’s a ring mark on your finger.”
“I can’t help it,” she said, and began to cry quietly. “Yes, oh yes, I’m waiting for my husband to come home. He’ll be here at Christmas.”
“It’s too bad. Can’t we do something about it?”
“I tell you I love my husband. I do, I really do, and I’m faithful to him too.”
“Maybe I’d better go,” he said uncomfortably, feeling ridiculous.
“Eh, what’s that? My husband, he’s at a sanitarium. He got his spine hurt in the war, then he got tuberculosis. He’s pretty bad. They’ve got to carry him around. We want to love each other every time we meet,
but we can’t.”
“That’s tough, poor kid, and I suppose you’ve got to pay for him.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have many fellows?”
“No. I don’t want to have any.”
“Do they come here to see you?”
“No. No, I don’t know what got into me. I liked you, and felt a little crazy.”
“I’ll slide along then. What’s your first name?”
“Lola. You’d better go now.”
“Couldn’t I see you again?” he said suddenly.
“No, you’re going away tomorrow,” she said, smiling confidently.
“So you’ve got it all figured out. Supposing I don’t go?”
“Please, you must.”
Her arms were trembling when she held his overcoat. She wanted him to go before Irene came home. “You didn’t give me much time,” he said flatly.
“No. Irene comes in at this time. You’re a lovely boy. Kiss me.”
“You had that figured out too.”
“Just kiss and hold me once more, George.” She held on to him as if she did not expect to be embraced again for a long time, and he said, “I think I’ll stay in the city awhile longer.”
“It’s too bad, but you’ve got to go. We can’t see each other again.”
In the poorly lighted hall she looked lovely. Her cheeks were flushed, and though still eager, she was quite satisfied with the whole affair. Everything had gone perfectly for her.
As he went out the door and down the walk to the street he remembered that he hadn’t asked how she had found out his name. Snow was falling lightly and there were hardly any footprints on the sidewalk. All he could think of was that he ought to go back to the restaurant and ask Steve for his job again. Steve was fond of him. But he knew he could not spoil it for her. “She had it all figured out,” he muttered, turning up his coat collar.
The Complete Stories of Morley Callaghan - Volume Three Page 26
