A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (8 page)

“
S
AM
isn’t here right now,” I replied in answer to her question. “He’s checking the other concessions. He’ll be back to-night.”

A curious look of relief came over her face. “I was just in the neighbourhood,” she said quickly, “and I thought I’d drop by.” She stood there awkwardly in the bright sunlight and squinted up into my face.

I kept it blank and unknowing. Close neighbourhood. Ninety miles from the city. “Sure,” I said. I had an idea. “Where are you staying? I can have him call you when he gets back.”

“Oh, no. He can’t do that!” she answered. Too quickly, I thought. Her husband must be around somewhere; she wouldn’t want him to
know. She must have guessed what was going through my mind. “You see, I’m travelling around and I don’t know where I’ll be stopping tonight.”

“How about here?” I suggested brightly. “It’s a nice place and I can get you a discount.”

She shook her head.

“Sam will feel bad if I tell him you left without waiting,” I said.

Her eyes were shrewd as she looked at me. “No,” she said definitely. “I’d better not.”

I was disappointed. Suddenly I realized that I wanted her to stay. In a way she was a touch of home and I was glad to see her. The telephone in the bungalow began to ring. I grabbed my towel and started to run toward it.

“Wait a minute,” I called back over my shoulder. “That’s probably Sam calling. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

I pushed open the door and grabbed at the phone. “Hello. Sam?”

“Yeah.” His voice was husky through the receiver. “How’s it goin’?”

“Okay, Sam,” I answered. Excitement crept into my voice. “Miss Schindler’s up here to see you.”

Sam’s voice grew huskier. “What’s she doin’ up there?”

“She said she was just passing through an’ she thought she’d drop in an’ see you.”

“Tell her I can’t get back till late tonight,” he said quickly. “Get her a good room an’ keep her there till I get back.”

“But, Sam,” I protested, “I already asked her. She don’t want to stay.”

His voice grew confidential. “Listen, kid. I’m dependin’ on you. If you ever had a yen for a babe like I got for her, you’d know what I mean. Get her anythin’ she wants, but keep her there. I’ll be back before one in the mornin’.”

The phone went dead in my hand. I looked at it bewilderedly. What did he expect me to do? Kidnap her? Slowly I put the receiver down and turned to the door. Sam had spoken as if I knew what to do, as he would to another man, not a kid. I began to feel a glow of pride as I started for the door, but before I reached it she stood framed in the doorway.

She peered into the bungalow curiously. “May I come in?” she asked.

I stood still in the centre of the room. “Sure, Miss Schindler.” I pushed some boxes from the floor in front of her so she could pass.

“I was supposed to straighten up, but I haven’t had time,” I explained.

She closed the door behind her and I straightened up to face her. My face was flushed.

“Was it Sam?” she asked.

My eyes met her gaze. I nodded silently.

“What did he say?”

“He said for me to get you a room an’ anything you want an’ to keep you here until he comes,” I said boldly.

Her voice grew challenging and suspicious. “He seems pretty sure of himself, doesn’t he?”

I could feel the flush grow deeper and my eyes fell away from her piercing look. I didn’t answer.

She sounded angry now. I had been too wise. Somehow she realized that I knew. “What will you tell him if I don’t stay?” she snapped.

I turned away from her and fiddled with a few of the boxes. I still didn’t answer.

Her hand gripped my shoulder and turned me around. Her face was flushed now. “What will you tell him?” she repeated heatedly.

I looked deep into her eyes. To hell with her. There was nothing she could do to me. I wasn’t in school now. “Nothing,” I said mockingly. I took her hand from my shoulder.

She looked at my hand gripping her wrist, then slowly around the room. I could see she was making up her mind. Her eyes came back to me. “All right,” she said suddenly, “I’ll stay. Clean up this room for me.”

I was startled. “But Sam said for me to get you a room——”

Her voice grew stubborn. “I said I’ll stay here.”

“But it’s all messed up,” I protested. “You’ll be much more
comfortable
up in the hotel.”

She turned toward the door and opened it. “Sam said you were to do anything I wanted if I stayed. I’m staying here.” She stepped over the threshold and looked back at me. “I’m going down to get my car. You can clean up the room while I’m gone.”

I watched her close the door. She had me and she knew it. I wondered why she was so angry, I couldn’t have let on that much. I walked over to the window and looked out after her.

She disappeared below the swimming-pool. I could understand how Sam felt. She sold more with her walk than most of the broads up here did in a bathing-suit.

I turned back from the window and looked disgustedly around the room. Mamma’s last letter gleamed whitely at me from the table. I hadn’t answered it yet, in more than a week. Now I wouldn’t have time.

Mamma tied the smock around her as she walked down the stairs. The air was still and quiet and she knew it would be another hot day. She was tired before the day began. She was always tired lately. She hadn’t been sleeping well.

Papa had brought home a tonic for her. She had taken it every
morning
for a week, but it hadn’t helped. Of course she had told him that it had helped her—it made him feel good. A man had to feel useful, and he felt bad enough over the way business was going.

She felt sorry for Papa. Last night in his sleep he had cried. His voice in the dark woke her up and she lay there quietly, listening to the soft, mumbled words coming from his heart. He seemed so bewildered that tears had come to her eyes.

She hadn’t been able to fall asleep afterwards. The night seemed to last forever. Now she was tired again and nothing would help. The muggy heat of the morning didn’t make it any easier. These last few weeks of August were generally the worst. She felt she could not take much more of this heat and wished the summer was over already.

She walked through the kitchen and opened the icebox door and looked in. It was almost empty. She had always taken great pride in keeping a well-stocked icebox. She had always said that she liked to keep enough in the house so that she didn’t have to run out shopping every day. Now something about its bleakness was another ache in her body. The small piece of ice, shrunk from the day before; the almost empty carton of eggs; the half a quarter pound of butter. Even the milk bottle with the small drop of milk in it seemed to hurt her.

She closed the icebox door slowly. The three eggs would do for breakfast. Suddenly she was glad I wasn’t home. She decided to look in the mailbox to see if my letter had arrived.

The sound of the milk wagon came to her. She began to feel better; she would be able to get eggs and butter from him as well as milk. And at least he would put it on the bill so she could use the few dollars she had in the tumbler over the sink for a soup chicken. She hurried to the front door to catch him before he went away.

The milkman was kneeling in front of the storage box when she opened the door. He slowly rose to his feet with a peculiarly guilty expression on his face. “Mornin’, Missus Fisher,” he said in a strained, embarrassed voice.

“Good morning, Borden, it’s a good thing I caught you,” Mamma replied. The words were spilling from her lips breathlessly from her slight exertion. “I need some eggs and butter this morning.”

The milkman shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Gee, Missus Fisher, I’m sorry but——” His voice trailed off into nothingness.

Disappointment etched her face. “You mean you’re all out?”

He shook his head silently. His hand gestured toward the storage box on the stoop in front of her.

Mamma was bewildered. “I—I don’t understand,” she said
hesitantly
, her eyes following his pointing fingers. Then she did
understand
. There was a yellow note in the box. Only the note, no milk.

She picked up the note slowly and began to read it. They were stopping her service. She owed them three weeks’ bills. The eyes she raised to the milkman were filled with horror. Her face was white and sick-looking.

“I’m sorry, Missus Fisher,” he murmured sympathetically.

A spray of water began to fall across the lawn in front of the house. She was suddenly aware of Mr. Conlon, who had been watering his garden. He was watching them.

He saw her glance. “Good morning, Mrs. Fisher,” his voice boomed out.

“Good morning,” she replied automatically. She would have to do something. She was sure that he had seen and heard everything. She looked down at the bill again: four dollars and eighty-two cents. There was just five dollars in the tumbler over the sink.

She forced her voice up into her throat and tried to smile. Her lips were almost white and the smile was more like a grimace on a stone statue. “I was just going to pay you,” she said to the milkman in a purposely steady voice. “Wait a minute.”

She closed the door quickly behind her. For a second she leaned against it weakly; the bill fluttered to the floor from her trembling fingers. She didn’t try to pick it up; she was afraid she would faint if she did. Instead she hurried back into the kitchen and took the money from the tumbler over the sink.

She counted the bills slowly, reluctantly, as if with each re-counting some miracle would make them double. There were only five dollars. She felt cold. A shiver ran nervously through her as she turned and went back to the door.

The milkman was standing on the stoop where she had left him, but now he had milk, butter, and eggs in a little wire basket on his arm. She handed him the money silently, and he put it in his pocket and counted out the eighteen cents change into her hand.

“Here’s your order, Missus Fisher,” he said understandingly, not quite meeting her eyes.

She wanted to tell him to keep it, but didn’t dare. Shame coursed
inside her as she took the basket from his hands. She didn’t speak.

He cleared his throat. “It’s not my fault, Missus Fisher. It’s the credit man down at the office. You understand?”

She nodded her head. She understood all right. He turned and ran down the steps as she watched him. Mr. Conlon’s voice boomed out at her.

“It’s gonna be a scorcher today, Mrs. Fisher.” He was smiling.

She looked at him absently. Her mind was far away. “Yes, it is, Mr. Conlon,” she replied gently, and, closing the door behind her, went back into the kitchen.

She put the milk, butter, and eggs into the icebox thoughtfully. The box still looked empty. She felt she should be crying, but her eyes were dry. There was a noise on the stairs. She closed the icebox door quickly. The family was coming down for breakfast.

A few minutes later the milk and butter and eggs were out on the table and they were eating. As she watched them, a slight warmth came into her body.

Mimi was excited. There had been an ad in the papers last night. A&S, one of the downtown Brooklyn department stores, wanted some part-time girls to act as clerks and she was going down there. Papa ate his breakfast silently. His face was drawn and weary, showing the lines that appear when sleep is not restful.

Then the kitchen was empty and Mamma was alone. Slowly she finished washing the dishes. Then she noticed the milk and butter and eggs still on the table. She picked them up and balanced them on her arm. With her free hand she opened the icebox door and put them in. Nothing remained of the little piece of ice; it had melted. She closed the door.

She heard footsteps on the stoop. It must be the mailman, she thought. She ran to the front door and opened it. The mailman had already gone on to the next house. She opened the mailbox quickly, took out a few letters, and turned them over in her hand. Nothing from me. Only bills. She went back into the kitchen slowly, opening them as she walked. Gas, telephone, electricity—all overdue.

She dropped them on the table, holding one more unopened letter in her hand. She didn’t recognize its marking. She opened it. It was a notice from the bank that the mortgage payment on the house was overdue.

Heavily she sank into a chair beside the table. Jarred by the vibration, the icebox door swung slowly open. She sat there staring into the open box. She ought to get up and close the door. Whatever cold was left in it would escape, but somehow it didn’t matter. She didn’t have the
strength to get up and close the door. Nothing mattered any more. There wasn’t even the strength in her to cry. Her body felt terribly weak. She stared into the almost empty icebox until it seemed to grow larger and larger and she was lost in its half-empty, half-cold world.

I
WAS
busy yakking with a broad just after I had closed the
concession
when I saw Miss Schindler come into the casino. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she stood in the doorway looking around.

I had seen her only once before that evening, when I had run over to the bungalow to pick up a few cartons of cigarettes that I needed for the concession. It was one of those nights you feel you can almost reach out and touch the stars that hang so brightly over your head—one of those nights you never see in the city. She had been sitting on the front step of the cottage, and the faintly off-beat sound of music came from the casino. She had looked at me and for a moment I thought she was going to speak, but evidently she changed her mind. She didn’t say a word—just watched me in sulky silence as I picked up the cartons and left. I didn’t speak to her.

I looked down at my watch. Eleven-thirty. The night must have dragged, back there in the bungalow. I had been wondering all evening whether she would come down.

Her gaze settled on me and she started to walk toward me. I shook the girl with me quickly. “The boss’s wife is coming, baby,” I lied. “I gotta report.”

I left the girl with an angry expression on her face, but I didn’t care. I met Miss Schindler before she got halfway across the room. “Hello,” I said, smiling at her. “I been wonderin’ how long you would take to get down here.”

She smiled back at me. It was a real smile and I knew she had got over her mad. “Hello, Danny,” she said. Her eyes met mine. “I’m sorry for the way I acted this afternoon.”

I checked her eyes. She meant what she said. I relaxed suddenly and felt very warm and friendly toward her. “That’s all right, Miss Schindler,” I replied gently. “You were upset.”

Her hand reached out toward mine. “I was lonely back there in the bungalow.”

“I know how you feel,” I said slowly, looking down at her hand where she touched my arm. “Sometimes I feel the same way up here. In the city you don’t notice it, but up here in the country the sky is so big you feel kinda small.”

We stood there in awkward silence for a moment, then I heard the band go into a rumba. I smiled at her. “D’ya wanna dance, Miss Schindler?”

She nodded her head and I led her to the dance floor. She came into my arms and we picked up the rhythm of the music. She was light on her feet and easy to dance with.

“You dance very well, Danny.” She smiled up at me. “Do you do everything else as well?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Schindler.” I shook my head ruefully. I knew I was a good dancer, though; after three summers up here I had to be. “But Sam says I got a good sense of rhythm. He says that’s why I’m a good boxer.”

“You still want to be a fighter?” she asked curiously.

“I never wanted to be one,” I replied, “but Sam says I’m naturally good at it an’ that I can make a lotta dough when I’m old enough.”

“And money is that important?”

I could feel the sure movement of her hip under my hand as I led her through an intricate dip. “You tell me, Miss Schindler,” I parried. “Isn’t it?”

She had no answer for that. Nobody had an answer when you talked money. She looked up at me. “We don’t have to be so formal up here, Danny,” she said with a smile. “My name is Ceil.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

Then we were dancing and I was humming the music half under my breath. Siboney—tum tum, ti tum—tum tum, ti tum—Siboney. There was something about rumba music. If you really like it, you can lose all sense of time when you’re dancing. I liked it and I could tell that she did too. It was the way the music brought us close
together
. It was as if we had danced together many times before.

Abruptly the orchestra switched into
Auld
Lang
Syne
and we were mildly surprised. We stood awkwardly smiling at each other.

“That’s all for the night, Ceil,” I said. “It must be twelve o’clock.”

She checked her watch. “Exactly.”

“Thanks for the dance, Miss Schindler.”

She laughed. I was surprised to hear her laugh. It was the first time since she came up here. “I told you—Ceil.” She smiled.

I laughed too. “I enjoyed the dance, Ceil,” I said quickly, “but now I gotta scrounge up a room for myself or I’ll be sleeping on the porch.”

Her voice was filled with dismay. “Did I put you out of your room?”

I smiled down at her. “It’s okay, Ceil, you didn’t know.”

“I’m really sorry, Danny,” she said contritely. “Will you be able to get a place?”

I grinned. “I won’t have any trouble.” I turned to leave her. “Good night, Ceil.”

Her hand caught at my arm. “I’d like a drink, Danny,” she said quickly. “Can you get me one?”

There was a nervous look on her face—like you get when you’re waiting for someone and you don’t know whether they’re going to show. I felt sorry for her. “I got some cold three-point-two stashed away for Sam that I can let you have,” I said. Three-point-two beer had just been legalized the spring before.

She shuddered delicately. “Not beer. Anything else?”

“Sam’s got a bottle of Old Overholt in the cottage. I can get you some seltzer and some ice cubes.”

She smiled. “That will be fine.”

I unlocked the small refrigerator behind the concession counter, I took out a bottle of seltzer and a tray of ice cubes, and locked the refrigerator again.

The casino was almost empty when I came back to her. “Here you are,” I smiled. “I’ll carry it up to the bungalow for you and show you where the liquor is.”

She followed me into the night. As we left the casino someone turned out the lights, and the grounds were plunged into darkness. I felt her hesitate beside me. “Hold on to my arm,” I suggested. “I know my way around here.”

I expected her to rest her hand on my arm, but instead she slipped her arm under mine and walked very close to me. I was so conscious of her that several times I almost stumbled. I could feel my face warm and flushed when I turned on the light just inside the cottage door.

I stood there looking at her. There was laughter deep in her eyes. She had me all mixed up. I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m still thirsty, Danny,” she said pointedly.

Turning to the bureau in hurried confusion, I pulled open a drawer and took out a bottle.

She was on her third or maybe her fourth drink and we were sitting on the cottage steps when the telephone began to ring. She had been laughing at me, trying to tease me into taking a drink.

I jumped to my feet, went inside, and picked up the receiver. She
followed me, but not so quickly. By now the whisky had hit her and she was slightly rocky, but she was next to me at the telephone when I answered it.

Sam’s voice crackled through the receiver and roared through the darkened room. “Danny?”

“Yeah, Sam.”

“I can’t get up there tonight like I said.”

“But, Sam——” I started to protest.

The sound of a woman’s laughter echoed in the phone. Ceil drew in her breath sharply beside me. Her face seemed very white in the darkness.

Sam seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Tell this guy that’s waitin’ for me that I got jammed up an’ that I’ll be up tomorrow after lunch to close the deal, y’ unnerstan’?”

“Yeah, Sam.” I understood all right. “But——”

“Okay then, kid,” Sam shouted into the phone, “I’ll see yuh tomorrow.”

The phone went dead and I hung up. I turned to her. “Sam got jammed up on a deal,” I said clumsily. “He can’t get up here tonight.”

She was staring at me, weaving a little bit. But she wasn’t rocky enough not to know the score. “Don’t lie to me, Danny!” Her voice was husky with rage. “I heard him!”

I looked at her. There was a hurt expression on her face. That was the second time that evening I’d felt sorry for her. I started for the door. “I guess I’d better be going, Ceil.”

I felt her hand clutch at my arm and I turned in surprise. I saw her other hand swinging and I ducked. I wasn’t fast enough. The side of my face was stinging from her slap and then she was swinging wildly at me with both hands.

In the dark I grabbed at her wrists and held them. “What the hell are you trying to do?” I gasped.

She was trying to pull her hands free, but I was too strong for her. Her voice was husky and bitter as she spilled the words out over me. “You think it’s funny, don’t you?” she shouted. Her voice echoed out into the night.

I tried to hold her with one hand and cover her mouth with the other. Her teeth sank into my fingers and I pulled my hand away with a cry of pain.

She laughed wildly. “That hurt, didn’t it? Now you know how I feel! Now maybe it won’t be so funny!”

“Ceil!” I whispered urgently, my heart pounding. “Please be quiet. I’ll get thrown out of here!” The night watchman didn’t give
a damn what went on up here as long as you didn’t make any noise.

But I didn’t have to worry, for now she was leaning against me weakly and sobbing. I stood there quietly, not daring to move for fear I’d start her off again.

Her voice was muffled against my chest between her sobs. “No good, no good. You’re all alike. No good.”

I smoothed her hair. It was soft under my fingers. “Poor Ceil,” I said softly. I was really sorry for her.

She looked up at me. Her eyes couldn’t seem to focus in the darkness. She weaved slightly as I held her. “Yes,” she agreed with me. The rage had mixed with the liquor and had made her more rocky. “Poor Ceil. Only Danny knows how she feels.”

Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “Danny knows why Ceil came here?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say to her.

Her arms went around my neck, she turned her face up to me. “Danny feels sorry for Ceil,” she whispered. “Kiss Ceil.”

I stood there woodenly, afraid to move. I wasn’t looking for any more trouble.

She tightened her arms around my neck and pulled my face down to her. Her voice whispered to me: “Danny knows why Ceil came here and he wouldn’t let her go away without, would he?”

I stared down through the darkness at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were soft across her mouth. I began to laugh suddenly. This was for me.

My arms tightened around her and I kissed her. Again and again. The press of her teeth was strong against my lips. She seemed to wilt in my arms and go limp. I picked her up and carried her toward the bed.

The night was quiet and I was listening to her soft breath against my shoulder. I touched her eyes gently, they were closed; her cheeks, they were wet, she had been crying; her lips, they were bruised and slightly swollen and moved under my fingers. I leaned forward to kiss her.

Her face turned under mine, her lips moved. “No more, Danny. No more, please.”

I smiled to myself and sat up in the bed. I stretched and felt my body tingling and warm. I left the bed and walked to the door and opened it. The night air was cool and soothing on me.

I went down the steps and on to the grass, flexing my toes into the ground and feeling the strength of earth seeping up into me. I raised my hands to the night sky, trying to touch the shining stars. I jumped
high in the air after them and fell, rolling over and over on the ground, laughter bubbling deep in my throat.

This was the joy of discovery. This was what I had been created for, this was why I was here in this world. I scooped up a handful of earth and rubbed it in my palms. It trickled through my fingers to the ground. This was my earth, my world. I was part of it and it was part of me.

I turned and went back into the cottage and stretched out beside her. In a moment I was sound asleep.