A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (27 page)

I stood there holding her and looking into the apartment. It wasn’t a big place. They don’t come so big for twenty-five a month. Three rooms and bath. Everything painted white. You don’t get colours for that kind of dough. But it was clean. And it had steam heat and hot water and room enough to do a lot of living.

Room enough for us to buy nine hundred bucks of furniture: a couch and some chairs for the parlour; a big double bed and a dresser with a mirror for the bedroom; a kitchen set and some dishes, pots and pans. It was a lot of dough, but it was worth it even if it left us with next to nothing in the bank. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about some collector moving in behind us.

I put her down.

“Bring the bags into the bedroom,” she told me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said snappily, picking up the valises and following her. Casually I dropped them on the bed. They sank softly into the mattress.

“Danny, take those dirty bags off the bed!” she exclaimed sharply. “This isn’t a hotel; this is ours!”

I laughed aloud as I looked at her. Give a woman a place of her own and the first thing she’ll do is take charge. But she was right. I put the bags on the floor and sat down on the bed. “C’mere,” I said, bouncing up and down on the mattress.

She looked at me suspiciously. “What for?”

“I wanna show yuh somethin’,” I said, continuing to bounce on the mattress.

She took a hesitant step toward me and then stopped. I reached out a hand and pulled her toward me quickly. She fell against me and I rolled flat on the bed, her weight on top of me.

“Danny, what’s got into you?” She was laughing.

I kissed her.

She pulled her face away, still laughing. “Danny!” she protested.

I pushed at the mattress with my hand. “Listen,” I told her, “no squeaks. Just like the salesman said.”

“Danny Fisher, you’re crazy!” Her teeth were very white when she smiled.

I pulled her down on me again. “Crazy about you,” I said.

“Oh, Danny,” she whispered. “Danny, I love you.”

My lips were against her throat. Her skin was smooth, like the satin on a dress in a Fifth Avenue window. “I love you, baby.”

She was looking into my eyes. “Danny, you won’t be sorry,” she said earnestly.

“Sorry about what?”

“That you married me,” she said seriously. “I’ll be a good wife to you.”

I caught her face in my hands. “It’s the other way round, baby. I hope you won’t be sorry you married me.”

I could feel her tears against my fingers. “Oh, Danny,” she said very softly, “I’ll never be sorry.”

The doorbell rang just when we had finished hanging the curtains. “I’ll get it,” I said walking to the door and opening it.

Nellie’s mother and a priest stood there. Mrs. Petito had a small shopping-bag in her hand. She smiled at me. “Hello, Danny.”

“Hello, Mamma Petito,” I said. “Come in.”

She hesitated a moment, embarrassed. “I brought Father Brennan with me.”

I turned to the priest and put out my hand. “Please come in, Father,” I said.

A look of relief crossed my mother-in-law’s face as the priest took my hand. His grip was firm and friendly. “Hello, Danny,” he said in a professionally hearty voice. “I’m glad to meet you.”

Nellie’s voice came from the bedroom. “Who is it, Danny?”

“Your mother and Father Brennan are here,” I called back to her.

She appeared quickly in the doorway, her face slightly flushed. She ran to her mother and kissed her, then turned to the priest and put out her hand. “I’m glad you could come, Father,” she said.

He pushed her hand aside in a friendly manner. “Come now, my child,” he said, smiling, “sure and ye have a better greeting for an old friend and admirer than that.” He placed both hands on her shoulders and gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek.

Mrs. Petito looked at me doubtfully and placed the shopping-bag down on the floor. “I bring some things for the house,” she said.

Nellie opened the bag excitedly and looked in it. She spoke excitedly in Italian, and her mother answered her. Then Nellie turned to me and explained: “Mamma brought some food to the house so that we should never be hungry.”

I turned to Mrs. Petito. People may be different, but their basic concerns are the same. I remembered when we moved to the house in Brooklyn my mother had brought some salt and a loaf of bread to the house for the very same reason. “Thank you, Mamma,” I said gratefully.

Her hand patted my cheek. “You’re welcome, my son,” she said. “I only wish we could do more.”

Nellie looked at them. “How about some coffee?” she asked. “Danny will run down and get some cake and we’ll have a little party.”

Mamma Petito shook her head. “I gotta go home an’ cook supper. Father Brennan, he come along to wish Nellie luck.”

Nellie turned to the priest smiling. “Thank you, Father. I’m so glad you could come. I was afraid you might——”

The priest interrupted her. “Oh no, Nellie, nothing like that. Of course I’m disappointed that you didn’t let me marry you, but this is the next best thing.”

A look of doubt crossed her face. “But I thought because of him we couldn’t get married in church.”

The priest turned to me, smiling affably. “Would you object to being married in the true Church, son?” he asked.

Nellie answered before I could. “That’s not a fair question, Father,” she said quickly. “Neither of us spoke about it before.”

He looked at her. The smile was gone from his face now. “You realize of course, my child, that while your marriage is recognized by the Church, it is not sanctioned by it.”

Nellie’s face was pale. “I know that, Father,” she answered in a low voice.

“Have you ever thought about children?” he continued. “What religious benefits they might receive, but will be deprived of?”

This time I answered. “If I understand rightly, Father, the Church will not discriminate against children because of the faith of their parents.”

He looked at me. “Does that mean you are willing to allow your children to be brought up within the Church?”

“It means, Father,” I said simply, “that my children will be free to believe in what they choose. Their faith or lack of it will be a matter of their own election, and until such time as they are old enough to decide that for themselves, I am perfectly willing to allow them to attend their mother’s church.”

Nellie came over to me and took my hand. “I think it’s a little early to be talking about things like that. After all, we’ve only been married a short while.”

The priest looked at us. “As a Catholic, Nellie, you are fully aware of your responsibilities. Therefore it is always best to decide things like this beforehand so that no unhappiness may result.”

Nellie’s face was pale. “I appreciate your concern and your visit, Father. Please feel sure that we will do what is right for both of us, and feel free to visit us again when you’re in the neighbourhood.”

Not a sign crossed his face. “A priest’s life,” he sighed, “is sometimes filled with many difficult decisions. He is only a human being in the last analysis, and like all people can only prey for divine guidance in his actions. I hope and pray, my child, that my visit with you will have a good and proper effect.”

“We are grateful for your prayers, Father,” my wife replied politely, her hand still in mine.

I followed Father Brennan slowly to the door, where he put out his hand. “Glad to have met you, my son,” he said, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice. I’m sure he thought I was the Devil’s child from the way he shook my hand this time.

The door closed behind him, and Nellie spoke to her mother rapidly and angrily in Italian. Her mother raised her hand in protest and answered in a stumbling fashion. Tears came to her eyes. As the argument grew hot and heavy, I stood there dumbly, not knowing what they were saying. Then as quickly as it had begun, it was over and Nellie’s mother clasped her arms about her daughter and kissed her.

Nellie turned to me apologetically. “My mother is sorry she brought him here. She meant well and hopes you are not insulted.”

I looked at her mother for a moment; then I smiled. “Don’t be sorry, Mamma Petito,” I said slowly. “I know that you meant
everything
for the best.”

Then Mamma Petito’s arms were around me and she was kissing my cheek. “You’re a good boy, Danny,” she said stumblingly. “All I ask is that you take good care of my Nellie.”

“I will, Mamma,” I promised, looking at Nellie. “You can be sure that I will.”

After her mother had gone we finished straightening up the
apartment.
It was still early afternoon. I sat down in the parlour and turned on the radio. Soft music filled the room.

Nellie came into the parlour and stood next to me. “What would you like for dinner?” she asked seriously.

“You mean you can cook too?”

A reproving look crossed her face. “Don’t be silly, Danny,” she said quickly. “What would you like?”

“What do you want to cook for?” I asked. “We’ll eat out tonight and celebrate.”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “It’s too expensive. It’s time we started watching our money until you get a job. After that we can eat out if you like.”

I looked at her with a new respect. It had been growing on me all day that she was a lot more grown up than I had given her credit for being. I got to my feet and turned off the radio. “Make whatever you like and surprise me,” I said. “I’ll take a run uptown to the agencies and see if there’s anything doing.”

The bright sunlight blinded me for a moment as I came out of the hallway, and I stood in front of the house for a moment. Then I started toward the subway station. A shadow fell across my path and stood in front of me. Without looking up, I started to walk around it. A hand fell on my arm and a familiar voice came to my ears.

“Now that you’re back and settled down, Danny, the boss feels you owe him a visit.” I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. I had been half expecting him ever since I had returned. I knew they would never forget.

Spit was standing there, a slight smile on his lips, but none in his eyes. He looked very neat, too, in his dark expensive-looking tailored suit and freshly laundered shirt. He had so much clothing on that for a moment I almost didn’t believe it was him.

“I’m in a hurry,” I said, trying to step around him again.

His hand tightened on my arm. His other hand moved slightly in his jacket pocket. I could see the dull outline of his gun. “You’re not in that much of a hurry, Danny, are you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not,” I agreed.

He gestured toward the kerb. A car was standing there, its motor running. “Get in,” he said sharply.

I opened the door and climbed into the back seat. The Collector was sitting there. “Hello, Danny,” he said quietly, and hit me in the stomach.

The pain tore through me and I doubled up and fell forward on the floor of the car. I heard the door behind me close quickly and the car started off.

Spit’s voice seemed to float in the air over me. “Cut out the rough stuff. The boss’ll be sore.”

The Collector’s voice was sullen. “I owed the son of a bitch that.”

Spit grabbed my collar and pulled me on to the seat beside him. “Don’t say anything to the boss about this or next time yuh’ll get worse.”

I nodded my head and swallowed. A few minutes passed before I was feeling good enough to realize what he had said. “Next time”—that meant, for some reason I didn’t know, that I was off the hook. I wondered what had happened. I knew Maxie Fields was not the forgiving type.

The car swung to a stop in front of his store. Spit got out in front of me, the Collector behind. Together we walked into the narrow hallway beside the store and up the stairs to Fields’s apartment. Spit knocked at the door.

“Who is it?” Fields’s voice roared through it.

“It’s me, boss,” Spit answered quickly. “I got Danny Fisher with me.”

“Bring him in,” Fields shouted.

Spit opened the door, pushed me through it, and followed me into the room. My stomach still hurt, but I was beginning to feel better. At least I could stand up straight now.

Maxie Fields stood like a huge Gargantua behind his desk. His eyes glittered at me. “So you couldn’t stay away?” he said heavily, coming around his desk toward me.

I didn’t answer—just watched him coming toward me. I wasn’t afraid of him this time. Spit had tipped me off without knowing it. I saw Maxie’s open hand flying at my face and instinctively ducked away from it.

A sharp stabbing pain in my kidneys straightened me up. Spit, standing behind me, had jabbed me with the butt end of his knife. This time I caught Maxie’s swing flush on the cheek. I rocked on my feet unsteadily, but didn’t speak. Talking wouldn’t do me any good.

Fields grinned at me viciously. “You’re not the only one who couldn’t stay away.” He turned and bellowed into the other room: “Ronnie, bring me a drink. An old friend of yours has come to pay us a visit.”

I turned to the other door, my ears ringing. Sarah was standing there, her wide eyes fixed on mine, a drink in her hand. For a second we stared at each other, then her eyes fell and she walked slowly across the room to Fields. Silently she handed him the drink.

He was smiling maliciously at her. “Ain’t you gonna say hello to your old friend?”

She turned to me, her eyes dull and vacant. “Hello, Danny.”

“Hello, Sarah,” I answered.

Fields looked at me, the drink still in his hand. “Just like old times, isn’t it, kid?” He took a sip of the drink and almost emptied the glass. “Nothing has changed, has it?”

I was watching Sarah’s face. It was still and impassive, with no flicker of expression. “Nothing has changed,” I answered quietly.

“Ronnie couldn’t stay away from her sweetie. She came back all by herself, didn’t she?” Fields asked.

I thought I saw a moment’s fire in her eyes, but it passed too quickly to be sure. “Yes, Max,” she said dully, like an automaton.

Fields pulled her close to him. “Ronnie can’t live without her Max, can she?”

This time I could see her lips trembling. “No, Max.”

He shoved her away angrily. “Get in the other room,” he roared.