"How'd it start?"
"I never thought it started. I was ashore."
"Who'd want to burn her?"
"Why, her owners."
"You owned her."
"I was half-owner. I couldn't burn a ship. I'd like to see those timbers--like to see what shape they're in."
"You can go now, Cap'n, sir."
"That's slim fare to hate on."
"It's better than nothing. I'll get that keel up--soon as I'm rich. I'll do that for you--line the third rock with Porty Point at high water, fifty fathoms out." I was not sleeping. My fists and forearms were rigid and pressed against my stomach to prevent old Cap'n from fading, but when I let him go, sleep lapped over me.
When Pharaoh had a dream he called in the experts and they told him how it was and would be in the kingdom, and that was right because he was the kingdom. When some of us have a dream, we take it to an expert and he tells us how it is in the country of ourselves. I had a dream that didn't need an expert. Like most modern people, I don't believe in prophecy or magic and then spend half my time practicing it.
In the springtime Allen, feeling low and lonely, announced that he was an atheist to punish God and his parents. I told him not to go out on a limb or he wouldn't have leeway to not walk under ladders and cancel black cats with spit and thumb and wish on the new moon.
People who are most afraid of their dreams convince themselves they don't dream at all. I can explain my dream easily enough, but that doesn't make it any less frightening.
An order came through from Danny, I don't know how. He was going away by aircraft and he wanted certain things of me, things I had to make myself. He wanted a cap for Mary. It had to be of dark brown sueded lambskin with the wool on the inside. It had to be of skin like an old pair of sheep-lined slippers I have, had to be like a baseball cap with a long beak. Also he wanted a wind gauge--not the little whirling metal cups but handmade from the thin, stiff cardboard of government postcards, mounted on strips of bamboo. And he called me to meet him before he took off. I carried old Cap'n's narwhal stick with me. It stands in the elephant's-foot umbrella stand in our hall.
When we got the elephant's foot as a present I looked at the big ivory-colored toenails. I told my children, "The first kid who puts nail polish on those toenails gets clobbered--understand?" They obeyed me, so I had to paint them myself--bright red fingernail enamel from Mary's harem table.
I went to meet Danny in Marullo's Pontiac and the airport was the New Baytown post office. When I parked I laid the twisted stick on the back seat and two mean-looking cops in a squad car drove up and said, "Not on the seat."
"Is it against the law?"
"So you want to be a wise guy!"
"No. I was just asking."
"Well, don't put it on the seat."
Danny was in the back of the post office, sorting packages. He was wearing the lambskin cap and whirling the cardboard wind gauge. His face was thin and his lips very chapped but his hands were swollen like hot-water bottles, as though they had been wasp-stung.
He stood up to shake hands and my right hand was folded in the warm, rubbery mass. He put something in my hand, something small and heavy and cool, about the size of a key but not a key--a shape, a metal thing that felt sharp-edged and polished. I don't know what it was because I didn't look at it, I only felt it. I leaned near and kissed him on the mouth and with my lips felt his dry lips all chapped and rough. I awakened then, shaken and cold. The dawn had come. I could see the lake but not the cow standing in it, and I could still feel the chapped dry lips. I got up instantly because I didn't want to lie there thinking about it. I didn't make coffee but I went to the elephant's foot and saw that the wicked club called a cane was still there.
It was the throbbing time of dawn, and hot and humid, for the morning wind had not started to blow. The street was gray and silver and the sidewalk greasy with the deposit of humanity. The Foremaster coffee shop wasn't open, but I didn't want coffee anyway. I went through the alley and opened my back door--looked in the front and saw the leather hatbox behind the counter. I opened a coffee can, poured the coffee in the garbage pail. Then I punched two holes in a can of condensed milk and squirted it into the coffee can, propped the back door open, and put the can in the entrance. The cat was in the alley all right, but he wouldn't come to the milk until I went into the front of the store. From there I could see him, gray cat in gray alley, lapping the milk. When he raised his head he was mustached with milk. He sat down and wiped his mouth and licked his pads.
I opened the hatbox and took out the Saturday receipts, all listed and held together with paper clips. From the brown bank envelope I removed thirty one-hundred-dollar bills and replaced the other twenty of them. This three thousand dollars would be my margin of safety until the store's economy could balance. Mary's other two thousand would go back to her account and, as soon as I could do it safely, I would replace the three thousand. The thirty bills I put in my new wallet, which made it very fat in my hip pocket. Then I brought cases and cartons from the storeroom, ripped and tore them open, and began to replenish my exhausted shelves, while on a strip of wrapping paper I listed the goods that had to be reordered. Cartons and boxes I piled in the alley for the collection truck, and I refilled the coffeecan with milk but the cat did not return. Either he had had enough or he took pleasure only in what he could steal.
It must be that there are years unlike other years, as different in climate and direction and mood as one day can be from another day. This year of 1960 was a year of change, a year when secret fears come into the open, when discontent stops being dormant and changes gradually to anger. It wasn't only in me or in New Baytown. Presidential nominations would be coming up soon and in the air the discontent was changing to anger and the excitement anger brings. And it wasn't only the nation; the whole world stirred with restlessness and uneasiness as discontent moved to anger and anger tried to find an outlet in action, any action so long as it was violent--Africa, Cuba, South America, Europe, Asia, the Near East, all restless as horses at the barrier.
I knew that Tuesday, July fifth, was going to be a day larger than other days. I even think I knew what things would happen before they happened, but since they did I will never be sure whether I really knew.
I think I knew that the seventeen-jewel, shockproof Mr. Baker, who ticked the hours, would come rattling at my front door an hour before the bank opening time. He did before I had opened for business. I let him in and closed the doors after him.
"What an awful thing," he said. "I was out of touch. I came back as soon as I heard."
"Which awful thing, sir?"
"Why, the scandal! Those men are my friends, my old friends. I've got to do something."
"They won't even be questioned before election--just charged."
"I know. Couldn't we issue a statement of our belief in their innocence? Even a paid advertisement if necessary."
"In what, sir? The Bay Harbor Messenger doesn't come out until Thursday."
"Well, something should be done."
"I know."
It was so formal. He must have known I knew. And yet he met my eyes and he seemed genuinely worried.
"The crazy fringe will ruin town elections unless we do something. We've got to offer new candidates. We don't have any choice. It's a terrible thing to do to old friends, but they'd be the first to know we can't let the egghead fringe get in."
"Why don't you talk to them?"
"They're bruised and mad. They haven't had time to think it out. Did Marullo come?"
"He sent a friend. I bought the store for three thousand."
"That's good. You got a bargain. Get the papers?"
"Yes."
"Well, if he jumps, the bills are listed."
"He won't jump. He wants to go. He's tired."
"I never trusted him. Never knew what he had his fingers in."
"Was he a crook, sir?"
"He was tricky, played both sides of the street. He's wo
rth a lot if he can dispose of his property, but three thousand--that's a giveaway."
"He liked me."
"He must have. Who did he send, the Mafia?"
"A government man. You see, Marullo trusted me."
Mr. Baker clasped his brow, and that was out of character. "Why didn't I think of it? You're the man. Good family, reliable, property-owner, businessman, respected. You don't have an enemy in town. Of course you're the man."
"The man?"
"For Town Manager."
"I've only been a businessman since Saturday."
"You know what I mean. Around you we could get respectable new faces. Why, it's the perfect way."
"From grocery clerk to Town Manager?"
"Nobody ever thought of a Hawley as a grocery clerk."
"I did. Mary did."
"But you aren't. We can announce it today before that crazy fringe gets set."
"I'll have to consider it from keelson to skys'l."
"There's no time."
"Who had you thought of before?"
"Before what?"
"Before the council burned. I'll talk to you later. Saturday was a big day. I could have sold the scales."
"You can make a nice thing of this store, Ethan. I advise you to build it up and sell it. You're going to be too big to wait on customers. Is there any word at all about Danny?"
"Not yet. Not so far."
"You shouldn't have given him money."
"Perhaps not. I thought I was doing a good deed."
"Of course you did. Of course you did."
"Mr. Baker, sir--what happened to the Belle-Adair?"
"What happened? Why, she burned."
"In the harbor--how did it start, sir?"
"Funny time to ask. I only know what I heard. I was too little even to remember. Those old ships got oil-soaked. I suppose some sailor dropped a match. Your grandfather was master. I think he was ashore. Just came in."
"Bad voyage."
"That's what I heard."
"Any trouble collecting the insurance?"
"Well, they always send investigators. No, as I remember, it took some time but we collected, Hawleys and Bakers."
"My grandfather thought she was set afire."
"Why, for heaven's sake?"
"To get the money. The whaling industry was gone."
"I never heard that he said that."
"You never heard it?"
"Ethan--what are you getting at? Why are you bringing up something that happened so long ago?"
"It's a horrible thing to burn a ship. It's a murder. I'm going to bring up her keel someday."
"Her keel?"
"I know just where she lies. Half a cable offshore."
"Why would you do that?"
"I'd like to see if the oak is sound. It was Shelter Island virgin oak. She's not all dead if her keel's alive. You'd better go, if you're going to bless the opening of the safe. And I've got to open up."
Then his balance wheel started and he ticked off to the bank.
I think now I had expected Biggers too. Poor fellow must spend most of his time watching doorways. And he must have been waiting somewhere in peeking range for Mr. Baker to leave.
"I hope you're not going to jump down my throat."
"Why should I?"
"I can understand why you were huffy. I guess I wasn't very--diplomatic."
"Maybe that was it."
"Have you chewed on my proposition?"
"Yes."
"What do you think?"
"I think six per cent would be better."
"I don't know whether B.B. will go for it."
"It's up to them."
"They might go five and a half."
"And you might go the other half."
"Jesus, man. I thought you were being a country boy. You cut deep."
"Take it or leave it."
"Well, what kind of volume would it be?"
"There's a partial list over by the cash register."
He studied the strip of wrapping paper. "Looks like I'm hooked. And, brother, I'm bleeding. Can I get the full order today?"
"Tomorrow would be better and bigger."
"You mean you'll switch the whole account?"
"If you play nice."
"Brother, you must have your boss by the throat. Can you get away with it?"
"Just have to see."
"Well, maybe I could get a crack at the drummer's friend. Brother, you must be cold as a herring. I tell you that dame's a dish."
"Friend of my wife."
"Oh! Yeah! I see how it could be. Too close to home is bad news. You're smart. If I didn't know it before, I know it now. Six per cent. Jesus! Tomorrow in the morning."
"Maybe late this afternoon if I get time."
"Make it tomorrow morning."
On Saturday business came in bursts. This Tuesday the whole tempo had changed. People took time. They wanted to talk about the scandal, saying it was bad, awful, sad, disgraceful, but enjoying it too. We haven't had a scandal for a long time. Nobody mentioned the Democratic National Convention coming up in Los Angeles--not even once. Of course New Baytown is a Republican town, but I think mostly they were interested in what was close to home. We knew the men whose graves we danced on.
Chief Stonewall Jackson came in during the noon hour and he looked tired and sad.
I put the can of oil on the counter and fished out the old pistol with a piece of wire.
"Here's the evidence, Chief. Take it away, will you? It makes me nervous."
"Well, wipe it off, will you? Look at that! That's what they used to call a two-dollar pistol--top-latch Iver Johnson. You got anybody that can mind the store?"
"No, I haven't."
"Where's Marullo?"
"He's out of town."
"Guess maybe you might have to close up for a while."
"What is this, Chief?"
"Well, Charley Pryor's boy ran away from home this morning. Got a cold drink there somewhere?"
"Sure. Orange, cream, lemon, Coke?"
"Give me a Seven-Up. Charley's a funny kind of guy. His boy Tom is eight. He figures the world's against him and he's going to run away to be a pirate. Anybody else would of give him a crack acrost the behind, but not Charley. Aren't you going to open this?"
"Sorry. There you are. What's Charley got to do with me? I like him, of course."
"Well, Charley don't do things like other people. He figures the best way to cure Tom is to help him. So after breakfast they get a bedroll together and a big lunch. Tom wants to take a Jap sword for self-protection, but it drags so he settles for a bayonet. Charley loads him in the car and drives him out of town to give him a good start. He let him out over near Taylor Meadow--you know, the old Taylor place. That's about nine o'clock this morning. Charley watched the kid a while. First thing he did was sit down and eat six sandwiches and two hard-boiled eggs. And then he went on acrost the meadow with his brave little bindle and his bayonet and Charley drove home."
Here it came. I knew it, I knew it. It was almost a relief to get it over.
" 'Bout eleven he come slobbering out on the road and hooked a ride home."
"I think I can guess, Stoney--is it Danny?"
"'Fraid so. Down in the cellar hole of the old house. Case of whisky, only two empties, and a bottle of sleeping pills. Sorry I got to ask you this, Eth. Been there a long time and something got at him, at his face. Cats, maybe. You remember any scars or marks on him?"
"I don't want to look at him, Chief."
"Well, who does? How about scars?"
"I remember a barb-wire cut above the knee on his left leg, and--and"--I rolled up my sleeve--"a heart just like this tattooed. We did it together when we were kids. Cut in with a razor blade and rubbed ink in. It's still pretty clear, see?"
"Well--that may do it. Anything else?"
"Yes--big scar under his left arm, piece of the rib cut out. He had pleural pneumonia before the new drugs and they put in a drain."
&
nbsp; "Well, of course if there was a rib cut, that'll do it. I won't even have to go back myself. Let the coroner get off his ass. You'll have to swear to those marks if it's him."
"Okay. But don't make me look at him, Stoney. He was--you know--he was my friend."
"Sure, Eth. Say is there anything in what I hear about you running for Town Manager?"
"It's news to me. Chief--could you stay here two minutes--"
"I got to go."
"Just two minutes while I run across the street and get a drink?"
"Oh! Sure! I get it. Sure--go ahead. I got to get along with the new Town Manager."
I got the drink and a pint too to bring back with me. When Stoney had gone, I printed BACK AT TWO on a card, closed the doors, and drew the shades.
I sat on the leather hatbox behind the counter in my store, sat in the dim green darkness of my store.
CHAPTER TWENTY
At ten minutes to three I went out the back door and around the corner to the front of the bank. Morph in his bronze cage drew in the sheaf of money and checks, the brown envelope, and the deposit slips. He spread the little bank books with a Y of fingers and wrote small angled numbers with a steel pen that whispered on the paper. As he pushed the books out to me he looked up with veiled and cautious eyes.
"I'm not going to talk about it, Ethan. I know he was your friend."
"Thanks."
"If you slip out quick you might avoid the Brain."
But I didn't. For all I know Morph may have buzzed him. The frosted-glass door of the office swung open and Mr. Baker, neat and spare and gray, said quietly, "Can you spare a moment, Ethan?"
No use to put it off. I walked into his frosty den and he closed the door so softly that I did not hear the latch click. His desk was topped with plate glass, under which were lists of typed numbers. Two customers' chairs in echelon stood by his tall chair like twin suckling calves. They were comfortable but lower than the desk chair. When I sat down I had to look up at Mr. Baker and that put me in the position of supplication.
"Sad thing."
"Yes."
"I don't think you ought to take all the blame. Probably would have happened anyway."
"Probably."
"I'm sure you thought you were doing the right thing."
"I thought he had a chance."
"Of course you did."
My hatred was rising in my throat like a yellow taste, more sickening than furious.
"Apart from the human tragedy and waste, it raises a difficulty. Do you know whether he had relatives?"
"I don't think so."
"Anybody with money has relatives."
The Winter of Our Discontent Page 28
