Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald UK (Illustrated)

by F. Scott Fitzgerald

  “He’s making magic signs,” whispered the man. “He wants to be sure that the Princess doesn’t get out this door. He must know that the Prince has set the King and Queen free and will be along for her pretty soon.”

  The small boy lingered for a moment; then he went to a window and called an unintelligible word. After a while a woman threw the window open and made an answer that the crisp wind blew away.

  “She says she’s got the Princess locked up,” explained the man.

  “Look at the Ogre,” said the little girl. “He’s making magic signs under the window too. And on the sidewalk. Why?”

  “He wants to keep her from getting out, of course. That’s why he’s dancing. That’s a charm too--it’s a magic dance.”

  The Ogre went away, taking very big steps. Two men crossed the street ahead and passed out of sight.

  “Who are they, Daddy?”

  “They’re two of the King’s soldiers. I think the army must be gathering over on Market Street to surround the house. Do you know what ‘surround’ means?”

  “Yes. Are those men soldiers too?”

  “Those too. And I believe that the old one just behind is the King himself. He’s keeping bent down low like that so that the Ogre’s people won’t recognize him.”

  “Who is the lady?”

  “She’s a Witch, a friend of the Ogre’s.”

  The shutter blew closed with a bang and then slowly opened again.

  “That’s done by the good and bad fairies,” the man explained. “They’re invisible, but the bad fairies want to close the shutter so nobody can see in and the good ones want to open it.”

  “The good fairies are winning now.”

  “Yes.” He looked at the little girl. “You’re my good fairy.”

  “Yes. Look, Daddy! What is that man?”

  “He’s in the King’s army too.” The clerk of Mr. Miller, the jeweler, went by with a somewhat unmartial aspect. “Hear the whistle? That means they’re gathering. And listen--there goes the drum.”

  “There’s the Queen, Daddy. Look at there. Is that the Queen?”

  “No, that’s a girl called Miss Television.” He yawned. He began to think of something pleasant that had happened yesterday. He went into a trance. Then he looked at the little girl and saw that she was quite happy. She was six and lovely to look at. He kissed her.

  “That man carrying the cake of ice is also one of the King’s soldiers,” he said. “He’s going to put the ice on the Ogre’s head and freeze his brains so he can’t do any more harm.”

  Her eyes followed the man down street. Other men passed. A darky in a yellow darky’s overcoat drove by with a cart marked The Del Upholstery Co. The shutter banged again and then slowly opened.

  “See, Daddy, the good fairies are winning again.”

  The man was old enough to know that he would look back to that time--the tranquil street and the pleasant weather and the mystery playing before the child’s eyes, mystery which he had created, but whose luster and texture he could never see or touch any more himself. Again he touched his daughter’s cheek instead and in payment fitted another small boy and limping man into the story.

  “Oh, I love you,” he said.

  “I know, Daddy,” she answered, abstractedly. She was staring at the house. For a moment he closed his eyes and tried to see with her but he couldn’t see--those ragged blinds were drawn against him forever. There were only the occasional darkies and the small boys and the weather that reminded him of more glamorous mornings in the past.

  The lady came out of the cabinet-maker’s shop.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Good. Il dit qu’il a fait les maisons de poupée pour les Du Ponts. Il va le faire.”

  “Combien?”

  “Vingt-cinq. I’m sorry I was so long.”

  “Look, Daddy, there go a lot more soldiers!”

  They drove off. When they had gone a few miles the man turned around and said, “We saw the most remarkable thing while you were there.” He summarized the episode. “It’s too bad we couldn’t wait and see the rescue.”

  “But we did,” the child cried. “They had the rescue in the next street. And there’s the Ogre’s body in that yard there. The King and Queen and Prince were killed and now the Princess is queen.”

  He had liked his King and Queen and felt that they had been too summarily disposed of.

  “You had to have a heroine,” he said rather impatiently.

  “She’ll marry somebody and make him Prince.”

  They rode on abstractedly. The lady thought about the doll’s house, for she had been poor and had never had one as a child, the man thought how he had almost a million dollars and the little girl thought about the odd doings on the dingy street that they had left behind.

  THE ROUGH CROSSING

  The Saturday Evening Post (8 June 1929)

  I

  Once on the long, covered piers, you have come into a ghostly country that is no longer Here and not yet There. Especially at night. There is a hazy yellow vault full of shouting, echoing voices. There is the rumble of trucks and the clump of trunks, the strident chatter of a crane and the first salt smell of the sea. You hurry through, even though there’s time. The past, the continent, is behind you; the future is that glowing mouth in the side of the ship; this dim turbulent alley is too confusedly the present.

  Up the gangplank, and the vision of the world adjusts itself, narrows. One is a citizen of a commonwealth smaller than Andorra. One is no longer so sure of anything. Curiously unmoved the men at the purser’s desk, cell-like the cabin, disdainful the eyes of voyagers and their friends, solemn the officer who stands on the deserted promenade deck thinking something of his own as he stares at the crowd below. A last odd idea that one didn’t really have to come, then the loud, mournful whistles, and the thing--certainly not the boat, but rather a human idea, a frame of mind--pushes forth into the big dark night.

  Adrian Smith, one of the celebrities on board--not a very great celebrity, but important enough to be bathed in flashlight by a photographer who had been given his name, but wasn’t sure what his subject ‘did’--Adrian Smith and his blonde wife, Eva, went up to the promenade deck, passed the melancholy ship’s officer, and, finding a quiet aerie, put their elbows on the rail.

  ‘We’re going!’ he cried presently, and they both laughed in ecstasy. ‘We’ve escaped. They can’t get us now.’

  ‘Who?’

  He waved his hand vaguely at the civic tiara.

  ‘All those people out there. They’ll come with their posses and their warrants and list of crimes we’ve committed, and ring the bell at our door on Park Avenue and ask for the Adrian Smiths, but what ho! the Adrian Smiths and their children and nurse are off for France.’

  ‘You make me think we really have committed crimes.’

  ‘They can’t have you,’ he said frowning. ‘That’s one thing they’re after me about--they know I haven’t got any right to a person like you, and they’re furious. That’s one reason I’m glad to get away.’

  ‘Darling,’ said Eva.

  She was twenty-six--five years younger than he. She was something precious to everyone who knew her.

  ‘I like this boat better than the Majestic or the Aquitania,’she remarked, unfaithful to the ships that had served their honeymoon.

  ‘It’s much smaller.’

  ‘But it’s very slick and it has all those little shops along the corridors. And I think the staterooms are bigger.’

  ‘The people are very formal--did you notice?--as if they thought everyone else was a card sharp. And in about four days half of them will be calling the other half by their first names.’

  Four of the people came by now--a quartet of young girls abreast, making a circuit of the deck. Their eight eyes swept momentarily towards Adrian and Eva, and then swept automatically back, save for one pair which lingered for an instant with a little start. They belonged to one of the girls in the middle, who
was, indeed, the only passenger of the four. She was not more than eighteen--a dark little beauty with the fine crystal gloss over her that, in brunettes, takes the place of a blonde’s bright glow.

  ‘Now, who’s that?’ wondered Adrian. ‘I’ve seen her before.’

  ‘She’s pretty,’ said Eva.

  ‘Yes.’ He kept wondering, and Eva deferred momentarily to his distraction; then, smiling up at him, she drew him back into their privacy.

  ‘Tell me more,’ she said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About us--what a good time we’ll have, and how we’ll be much better and happier, and very close always.’

  ‘How could we be any closer?’ His arm pulled her to him.

  ‘But I mean never even quarrel any more about silly things. You know, I made up my mind when you gave me my birthday present last week’--her fingers caressed the fine seed pearls at her throat--’that I’d try never to say a mean thing to you again.’

  ‘You never have, my precious.’

  Yet even as he strained her against his side she knew that the moment of utter isolation had passed almost before it had begun. His antennae were already out, feeling over this new world.

  ‘Most of the people look rather awful,’ he said--’little and swarthy and ugly. Americans didn’t use to look like that.’

  ‘They look dreary,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s not get to know anybody, but just stay together.’

  A gong was beating now, and stewards were shouting down the decks, ‘Visitors ashore, please!’ and voices rose to a strident chorus. For a while the gangplanks were thronged; then they were empty, and the jostling crowd behind the barrier waved and called unintelligible things, and kept up a grin of good will. As the stevedores began to work at the ropes a flat-faced, somewhat befuddled young man arrived in a great hurry and was assisted up the gangplank by a porter and a taxi driver. The ship having swallowed him as impassively as though he were a missionary for Beirut, a low, portentous vibration began. The pier with its faces commenced to slide by, and for a moment the boat was just a piece accidentally split off from it; then the faces became remote, voiceless, and the pier was one among many yellow blurs along the water front. Now the harbour flowed swiftly toward the sea.

  On a northern parallel of latitude a hurricane was forming and moving south by southeast preceded by a strong west wind. On its course it was destined to swamp the Peter I. Eudin of Amsterdam, with a crew of sixty-six, to break a boom on the largest boat in the world, and to bring grief and want to the wives of several hundred seamen. This liner, leaving New York Sunday evening, would enter the zone of the storm Tuesday, and of the hurricane late Wednesday night.

  II

  Tuesday afternoon Adrian and Eva paid their first visit to the smoking-room. This was not in accord with their intentions--they had ‘never wanted to see a cocktail again’ after leaving America--but they had forgotten the staccato loneliness of ships, and all activity centred about the bar. So they went in for just a minute.

  It was full. There were those who had been there since luncheon, and those who would be there until dinner, not to mention a faithful few who had been there since nine this morning. It was a prosperous assembly, taking its recreation at bridge, solitaire, detective stories, alcohol, argument and love. Up to this point you could have matched it in the club or casino life of any country, but over it all played a repressed nervous energy, a barely disguised impatience that extended to old and young alike. The cruise had begun, and they had enjoyed the beginning, but the show was not varied enough to last six days, and already they wanted it to be over.

  At a table near them Adrian saw the pretty girl who had stared at him on the deck the first night. Again he was fascinated by her loveliness; there was no mist upon the brilliant gloss that gleamed through the smoky confusion of the room. He and Eva had decided from the passenger list that she was probably ‘Miss Elizabeth D’Amido and maid’, and he had heard her called Betsy as he walked past a deck-tennis game. Among the young people with her was the flat-nosed youth who had been ‘poured on board’, the night of their departure; yesterday he had walked the deck morosely, but he was apparently reviving. Miss D’Amido whispered something to him, and he looked over at the Smiths with curious eyes. Adrian was new enough at being a celebrity to turn self-consciously away.

  ‘There’s a little roll. Do you feel it?’ Eva demanded.

  ‘Perhaps we’d better split a pint of champagne.’

  While he gave the order a short colloquy was taking place at the other table; presently a young man rose and came over to them.

  ‘Isn’t this Mr Adrian Smith?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We wondered if we couldn’t put you down for the deck-tennis tournament. We’re going to have a deck-tennis tournament.’

  ‘Why--’ Adrian hesitated.

  ‘My name’s Stacomb,’ burst out the young man. ‘We all know your--your plays or whatever it is, and all that--and we wondered if you wouldn’t like to come over to our table.’

  Somewhat overwhelmed, Adrian laughed: Mr Stacomb, glib, soft, slouching, waited; evidently under the impression that he had delivered himself of a graceful compliment.

  Adrian, understanding that, too, replied: ‘Thanks, but perhaps you’d better come over here.’

  ‘We’ve got a bigger table.’

  ‘But we’re older and more--more settled.’

  The young man laughed kindly, as if to say, ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘Put me down,’ said Adrian. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘One buck. Call me Stac.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Adrian, startled.

  ‘It’s shorter.’

  When he had gone they smiled broadly.

  ‘Heavens,’ Eva gasped, ‘I believe they are coming over.’

  They were. With a great draining of glasses, calling of waiters, shuffling of chairs, three boys and two girls moved to the Smiths’ table. If there was any diffidence, it was confined to the hosts; for the new additions gathered around them eagerly, eyeing Adrian with respect--too much respect--as if to say: ‘This was probably a mistake and won’t be amusing, but maybe we’ll get something out of it to help us in our after life, like at school.’

  In a moment Miss D’Amido changed seats with one of the men and placed her radiant self at Adrian’s side, looking at him with manifest admiration.

  ‘I fell in love with you the minute I saw you,’ she said audibly and without self-consciousness; ‘so I’ll take all the blame for butting in. I’ve seen your play four times.’

  Adrian called a waiter to take their orders.

  ‘You see,’ continued Miss D’Amido, ‘we’re going into a storm, and you might be prostrated the rest of the trip, so I couldn’t take any chances.’

  He saw that there was no undertone or innuendo in what she said, nor the need of any. The words themselves were enough, and the deference with which she neglected the young men and bent her politeness on him was somehow very touching. A little glow went over him; he was having rather more than a pleasant time.

  Eva was less entertained; but the flat-nosed young man, whose name was Butterworth, knew people that she did, and that seemed to make the affair less careless and casual. She did not like meeting new people unless they had ‘something to contribute’, and she was often bored by the great streams of them, of all types and conditions and classes, that passed through Adrian’s life. She herself ‘had everything’--which is to say that she was well endowed with talents and with charm--and the mere novelty of people did not seem a sufficient reason for eternally offering everything up to them.

  Half an hour later when she rose to go and see the children, she was content that the episode was over. It was colder on deck, with a damp that was almost rain, and there was a perceptible motion. Opening the door of her state-room she was surprised to find the cabin steward sitting languidly on her bed, his head slumped upon the upright pillow. He looked at her listlessly as she came in, but made no mov
e to get up.

  ‘When you’ve finished your nap you can fetch me a new pillow-case,’ she said briskly.

  Still the man didn’t move. She perceived then that his face was green.

  ‘You can’t be seasick in here,’ she announced firmly. ‘You go and lie down in your own quarters.’

  ‘It’s me side,’ he said faintly. He tried to rise, gave out a little rasping sound of pain and sank back again. Eva rang for the stewardess.

  A steady pitch, toss, roll had begun in earnest and she felt no sympathy for the steward, but only wanted to get him out as quick as possible. It was outrageous for a member of the crew to be seasick. When the stewardess came in Eva tried to explain this, but now her own head was whirring, and throwing herself on the bed, she covered her eyes.

  ‘It’s his fault,’ she groaned when the man was assisted from the room. ‘I was all right and it made me sick to look at him. I wish he’d die.’

  In a few minutes Adrian came in.

  ‘Oh, but I’m sick!’ she cried.

  ‘Why, you poor baby.’ He leaned over and took her in his arms. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was all right upstairs, but there was a steward--Oh, I’m too sick to talk.’

  ‘You’d better have dinner in bed.’

  ‘Dinner! Oh, my heavens!’

  He waited solicitously, but she wanted to hear his voice, to have it drown out the complaining sound of the beams.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Helping to sign up people for the tournament.’

  ‘Will they have it if it’s like this? Because if they do I’ll just lose for you.’

  He didn’t answer; opening her eyes, she saw that he was frowning.

  ‘I didn’t know you were going in the doubles,’ he said.

  ‘Why, that’s the only fun.’

  ‘I told the D’Amido girl I’d play with her.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I didn’t think. You know I’d much rather play with you.’