Man Drowning

by Henry Kuttner

  “Singing?”

  “And acting, after a while. Night clubs and video and anything that turns up, at first. He’s done it for others, Nick.” She mentioned a couple of names that I knew.

  “It sounds good,” I said, “but why aren’t you in Chicago, then? Why keep on working in this joint?”

  She laughed, a little unhappily.

  “I don’t have enough money yet. I’ll have to buy my own costumes and put up a front and go to the Pump Room and—all kinds of things, till I’m known. It can’t be done overnight.”

  “Won’t this agent put up any dough?”

  “Oh, no. He’ll get me the right jobs and try to build me up to the big time, but he’s going out of his way to do that much. It is a gamble, you know.”

  “I thought you weren’t taking chances any more.”

  “This isn’t a chance,” she said, very quietly, looking straight at me. “I’ve been trying for this ever since I can remember. You know I have. This is the kind of break I never had before, Nick. When you’ve worked for something all your life and the chance comes, then it isn’t a chance at all—not when you’re willing to,” she shook her head, “to work yourself to death at it. When you’ve tried as hard as I have, it only takes one little push to put you on top.” Then she reached around and rapped on the wooden partition behind her with her knuckles. “No chances at all, see?”

  “I guess our being married must have held you back quite a bit,” I said.

  She gave me a long, steady look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I…feel that it’s my fault. Your having to work here now, and—well, everything.”

  “I was working in a bar when I first met you, Nick,” she said. “I knew what I was doing when I married you. I stopped thinking about a career then. If you mean what I think you mean, that I got a divorce because I wanted a career, then you’re wrong.”

  “I know that, Sherry,” I said.

  “I didn’t start thinking about it again till afterwards. I wasn’t even sure I still had a chance. But I got this job here in Phoenix, and started taking lessons again, and then that agent dropped in one night when the plane was grounded, and—things are starting to work out, really to work out, the way I always wanted. I’m—pretty happy, Nick.”

  “I remember when I first saw you,” I said. “That place in San Diego, remember? You had on something yellow.”

  “It was green.”

  “Was it? I guess it was. You were standing there with the spotlight on you singing ‘Lili Marlene.’ Don’t tell me I’m wrong about that, too.”

  She smiled at me.

  “I’m still in love with you,” I said.

  I saw her tighten up. She folded her arms and looked down at them, and nothing happened for a long time.

  “What are you really doing in Phoenix, Nick?” she asked, without looking up.

  “Is that the way you want to play it?”

  “Stop it, Nick.”

  “I thought it was stopped. Till I saw you again.”

  “Then you’d better stop seeing me.”

  I didn’t move. I watched the shiny black table and Sherry’s face, upside down.

  She pushed the ash tray forward so that it covered the reflection.

  “I’m on my way east,” I said. “New York. I’ve got a job promised me.”

  I don’t know what I was building up to say, but it didn’t matter, because just then Gavotte came back with fresh drinks on a tray. There was an extra shot glass with whisky in it. Gavotte picked it up so it disappeared completely as his big hand folded.

  “Luck.” The shot went down his throat. He sighed.

  “Busy night,” he said. “The rain’s stopped. It was only a sprinkle. How’re you coming?”

  “Fine, Ed,” Sherry said. “Do you need me?”

  “Relax, relax. Not many stags around. Nobody you know, anyway.” He paused, waiting. “Nobody you know,” he repeated. “I’ll give you the word if we fill up. If your feet hurt like mine do, you ought to be happy sitting down. Right, Nick?”

  “Three of us,” I said.

  “Weren’t you driving? I thought I saw you get out of that Chewy across the street.”

  “I did some walking today.”

  “Look,” Gavotte suggested, “why not stick around till after hours? Then—”

  “No,” Sherry said quickly. “I haven’t missed my eight hours since I started working here, and I won’t begin now.”

  Gavotte pulled a cloth out of his pocket and wiped the table, leaning far forward. He straightened.

  “Didn’t you open that box yet?” he asked.

  Sherry moved her head just a little.

  “I forgot it,” she said.

  He hesitated, pushing his lower lip in and out. Sherry waited, and Gavotte, wiping his palms on the cloth he was holding, turned to me.

  “How do you like Phoenix?” he asked.

  “All right.”

  “You from the East?”

  “California.”

  “That’s right, you said you were heading east.” He lifted the empty shot glass, turned it between his fingers, and set it back on the tray. Watching his hand, he said, “Why don’t you open it, Sherry? See what’s in it?”

  “It’ll keep.” Her face had that mask a woman can put on—no expression at all.

  Gavotte glanced toward the bar, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth slowly, and picked up the tray. He began to turn away. Then, his puffy face unhappy, he swung back and rocked from one foot to the other.

  “Somebody gave Lillian a corsage of roses,” he said. “It doesn’t go with her dress. She was telling me.”

  “All right, Ed,” Sherry said quietly. She reached down and took the florist’s box from the seat beside her. She put it on the table and began sliding the green ribbon off.

  Gavotte, I saw, was leaning forward again, with the damnedest expression on his face. I couldn’t make it out. He looked scared and unhappy and worried—but pleased, too. I sat there watching. Sherry was moving just a little slower than was normal for her.

  She opened the box, took out a little envelope, and held it in her left hand. With the other she spread the tissue paper. There was a yellow orchid in the box, speckled with brown.

  Sherry said, “Would that suit Lillian’s dress, do you think?”

  “Yeah,” Gavotte said. Sherry pushed the box toward him, but he didn’t take it.

  “Who’s it from?” he asked, his eyes fastened on the envelope Sherry was holding.

  She tore the envelope, card and all, in half and dropped the two pieces in the box with the orchid. Then she pushed the box away till Gavotte had to take it or let it fall off the table.

  “Give it to Lillian, will you?” she said.

  “Sure. Sure I will. You bet. Nick, stick around, why don’t you?” He relaxed and gave me a loose grin. “Have fun, kids,” he said, and went off with the orchid and his tray under one arm.

  Sherry picked up her glass and took a long drink.

  I waited.

  “All right,” she said, with a tired sigh. “Now let’s relax. Where were we?”

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “Oh—Ed’s one of those people who tries to handle everything his way. And he’s usually wrong. When he’s drinking, he’s always wrong. But he keeps right on trying.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t have to. It’s got nothing to do with you, has it? Don’t you understand that yet?”

  “Maybe I never will.”

  “I can’t help that. It’s been nice seeing you. That’s all there is. If you look for anything else, you’ll just be disappointed. Finish your drink.”

  “What time do you get off?”

  “After you’ve said good night.” She smiled a little.

  “You’re sorry I dropped in, aren’t you?”

  “No. Of course I’m not.
But what’s the use of—”

  “Ever since you saw me tonight, you’ve been walking on eggshells. You can’t fool me about that. Something’s wrong, Sherry. What is it?”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” she said. “Not a thing in the world.”

  “I don’t believe you. I’m…going to keep on sitting here until you tell me.”

  “Oh—damn!” she said, and started sliding her knuckles against the palm of her other hand. “Of course I’m nervous! And you know what I’m nervous about. You. What did you expect, after—everything?”

  I rubbed my hand across my forehead.

  She went on angrily, “All along I’ve been wondering how long it would be before you started to make trouble. Because you always do.”

  “Not any more.”

  “How do I know? Of course I’ve been walking on eggshells, and I don’t like it, and I don’t ever intend to do it again. We’re divorced. I don’t have to worry about that temper of yours any more. I always was afraid that some day you’d get into trouble you couldn’t get out of, but I don’t have to worry about that any more, either. Whatever happens to you—it’s your responsibility, Nick, not mine.”

  “It’s not like that any more,” I said. Then there was nothing else I could say. I reached out quickly and got hold of her hands.

  Finally I said, “Any way you want it, Sherry.”

  Then I let go of her hands and got up and walked away.

  “That’s the way,” she called after me softly. “Get out of town, Nick.”

  Chapter 4

  The crowd at the bar was beginning to thin out, and I caught a glimpse of Gavotte, flushed and smiling. He raised his hand to me and made an O with thumb and forefinger. I gave him a soft salute, excused myself around a couple arguing in the doorway, and reached the street. The night was clear now. The stars were shining. I went across to the Chewy, found a rag in the side pocket, and polished up the windshield. After that, I got in and started the motor.

  I drove off fast. At the intersection, I nearly ran into a car that had the right of way crossing, so I jammed on the brakes and stopped in a hurry, while the other guy swerved out and glared. After he’d passed, the road was clear. I swung around in a U turn, eased to the curb, and stopped. Ahead of me, half a block away, were the green neon lights of the bar.

  I lit a cigarette and sat. A warm wind began to blow from somewhere. People walked along the sidewalk, but nobody paid any attention to me. A long time passed. After a while, a yellow convertible, a Cadillac with the cloth top up, swung in and parked in front of the Green Lantern. It was a nice piece of machinery, built for power, but even at this distance I could see the dents and places where the paint was scraped off. That model had only been out for about a month, so I figured the driver must have worked hard.

  More time passed. Once or twice a lighted cigarette butt sailed out from the driver’s side of the yellow convertible. I thought about going to look in the bar, to make sure Sherry was still there.

  Then she came out. She started away from me, and I pressed the starter button and let the motor catch and idle. I automatically gunned it a few times, not hard, while I watched through the windshield.

  Sherry had stopped and turned toward the Cadillac. I saw an elbow sticking out over the door. Then the door opened, and a man got out. He was short and heavy-set, but he had his back to me, so that was all I could see of him. He and Sherry were talking. I sat there. Once I reached for the ignition key, but changed my mind. Then the man moved slightly, and I saw he was holding Sherry’s arm.

  He wasn’t getting tough or anything, and probably nobody else would have noticed a thing. I couldn’t be sure, myself. But I thought Sherry was trying to get away. Not trying to pull her arm free, just waiting for the moment when he’d let go of her and she could start walking away.

  I pushed in the clutch, shifted to low, and slid the Chewy slowly forward till it was about six feet behind the Cadillac. Then I turned off the motor and got out. I walked around between the cars and stepped up on the sidewalk.

  “Hello, Sherry,” I said.

  The man stopped talking and turned around, and at the same time Sherry moved toward me, so he wasn’t holding her arm any more. I couldn’t tell anything by her face. It had that masked, placid look. “So there you are, Nick,” she said, and looked back at the man. She lifted one hand. “Good night, Mac.”

  Mac stood there. He was a funny character. Or maybe not funny, exactly. His clothes were good, damned good—a sports outfit—and must have been tailored to fit his short, stocky body. He wasn’t wearing a hat. His face would have been handsome if there’d been less of it. Every feature was a little too much. He wasn’t fat, the most you could say was that he was pudgy. With most faces, there’s some feature that stands out—with Sherry, it’s her eyes first, with those dark eyebrows over them, and then the mouth second. Some people have big noses or thick lips or long cheeks that make them look horsy. But with Mac every feature looked as though it had been put in carefully and then emphasized. He had yellow hair that looked silky and was combed straight back. The light, sleek shine of it drew your attention. But then so did his eyes.

  They were smudged in, very far apart, and the lids were clayey and sooty at the same time. His eyes were pale. He looked just a little like Fritz, the blond kid in the “Katzenjammers.”

  I looked him over carefully. He stuck out his lower lip like a child and scowled at me. All right. I let it go at that. I hadn’t been introduced. Sherry was back at the Chewy by now, so I went after her and opened the door to let her get in. When she did, I slammed it and went around to the other side, noticing, as I did, that Mac had got back into the convertible.

  Just as I settled down behind the steering wheel, the Cadillac’s exhaust roared and the big car jumped backward. Mac must have snapped out his clutch with the accelerator pressed way down. I didn’t have time even to brace myself; I automatically threw out my arm in front of Sherry, pressing her back, and the next second we got a jolt that made my teeth rattle. It was just luck that I’d forgotten to tighten the brake or leave the gear in reverse. We backed up, the way a billiard ball does when another one hits it. I grabbed the steering wheel, which had hit me hard under the breastbone. Then I saw the Cadillac was starting forward, as fast as it had backed up. Blowing out exhaust smoke, it accelerated and kept going.

  Now I knew why the convertible’s paint-job looked so bad.

  “You all right, Sherry?” I said.

  I heard her whistle softly. “I’m fine. You?”

  “If I thought I could catch up with that Cadillac, I’d like to try it.”

  “Are you hurt, Nick?”

  “No. Wait a minute.” I got out and took a quick look at the radiator and the front axle; then I got in again. “I guess the car’s all right. Who is that…that guy?”

  “His name’s McElroy. Ted McElroy. He’s from back east. Rich man’s son—you know, Nick.”

  “What was he up to just now? Does he make it a habit?”

  “Driving like that? He certainly does. Phoenix is getting rich on the fines he pays.”

  “I don’t mean that. What was he trying to pull with you?”

  “Oh. Oh—that was nothing, Nick.”

  “You got in this car pretty quick.”

  “Well, of course. But only to save myself an argument. This happens almost every night.” She reached for the door handle. “Thanks for waiting, Nick.”

  “Don’t hurry away.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “All right. I’ll drive you home. I remembered a couple of things I wanted to tell you.”

  “It’s no good, Nick,” she said, and pulled the door handle up. I reached over and got hold of her wrist. She tried to pull free.

  “For God’s sake,” I said, “are you afraid of me, Sherry?”

  I felt the resistance leave her arm. I let it go, and sat there, feeling helpless and miserable. I had no idea what
to do next. I hadn’t had any plans anyway. Things had worked out okay up to this point—at least, I was talking to Sherry—but now what? I put my hands on the steering wheel and looked at my fingers.

  Her hand moved toward mine and patted it twice, but she didn’t leave it there.

  “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  “So am I.”

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing you don’t know already. I said I’m sorry. Oh…hell. I’ll drive you home now.” I hesitated. “To the door, I mean. Or I’ll drive you to the bus stop or whatever you want.”

  When she didn’t answer, I depressed the clutch and slipped in the gear. The Chewy rolled forward. I waited for her to tell me where to turn, but she kept quiet, so I drove straight on along North Central.

  After a while we passed Encanto Park and the auto courts started in. Then, suddenly, the desert began. I didn’t remember making any turns, but we were on a good road, not a highway but a paved, empty road that rolled on smoothly under the headlights.

  I didn’t try to touch her. I was completely satisfied, and if this could have gone on forever without stopping, I’d have had no kick at all. There was just Sherry and myself, in the warm, closed home of the car, hurrying along through the night.

  “We’d better go back, Nick,” she said.

  I slowed down and woke up. I hadn’t been noticing the scenery. The paved road had, sometime or other, changed over to an unimproved dirt one, but the rain hadn’t been hard enough to do more than lay the dust. There weren’t any car lights visible, but we had been climbing a long slope, and, as I turned around, a big splash of light, far away, showed where Phoenix was. I stopped the car and turned off the motor. Then I reached for Sherry, and I was kissing her, and it was the way it had always been, just the two of us, and nothing else mattered a damn.

  On the way back to Phoenix neither of us said very much. Once Sherry asked me if I wanted a cigarette, and when I said yes, she lit it for me. When we got into the city, she told me the way, and after a time we pulled up in front of a medium-sized apartment house.