Appointment in Samarra (19 page)

“Yes, that’s right, Mr. English. I’m having a pretty good time.”

“Well, I’m not. Or at least not till I came to this table. Are you married, Mrs. Snyder?”

“Yes, I’m married.”

“She’s Dutch Snyder’s wife,” said Lute.

“Oh. Oh, of
course
. Of course. Dutch Snyder. Well, I’ll be God damned. What ever became of old Dutch? I haven’t seen old Dutch in years.”

“He’s dancing,” said Frannie.

“Dancing, is he? He was always a great one for dancing, was our Dutch. So you married Dutch. How nice. How jolly. Do you think Dutch has any Scotch, Luther?”

“No, he only has rye, too,” said Lute.

“What of it? Is that any of my business who has rye or who has Scotch? Well. I think I have to leave you now, my friends. It’s been a great little visit and I want to tell you I enjoyed every minute of it. You be nice to Mrs. Snyder, Luther. She is my ideal woman. But now I have to go. I see little old Al Grecco over there and I think if I play my cards right I could get a drink of Scotch out of him. I understand he knows a fellow that can get it for you.”

“So I hear,” said Lute.

Julian stood up. “Mrs. Snyder—a pleasure. A pleasure indeed. Luther—I’ll see you some other time. Luther and I work together, Mrs. Snyder. We’re buddies. He’s my buddy, and I’m his buddy. He’s my buddy, I’m her Joe. Ju. If a buddy, meet a buddy, looking for the Scutch. If a buddy, meet a buddy, how’s my old friend Dutch? Auf wiedersehen.”

“Auf wiedersehen,” said Lute.

Julian moved away, and they saw him sitting down at Al Grecco’s table, in Helene Holman’s chair. Helene was singing Love for Sale: “Let the poets pipe of love in their childish way; we know every type of love better far than they…”

“Don’t get up, Al, don’t get up,” said Julian.

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Al Grecco.

“I wanted to see you on a business proposition,” said Julian.

“Well,” said Al, rising. “I guess we can—”

“Oh—” Julian put a hand on Al’s shoulder. “Sit down, sit down. We can talk here. I wanted to know if you knew anybody that could let me have some Scotch.”

“Why, sure,” said Al. “What’s the matter? Don’t Lebrix know you? He ought to. I’ll fix it right away. Waiter! Eddie!”

“No, no,” said Julian. “I can get it here all right. They’ll sell it to me. But I don’t want to buy it. I simply don’t want to buy drinks, Al. If there’s anything I don’t want to do it’s buy a drink. I’ll buy
you
a drink. I’ll buy—oh, that man over there, I’ll buy him a drink. But I don’t want to buy a drink. See what I mean?”

“No. I don’t exactly see what you mean, Mr. English.”

“Just call me Mr. English, Al. You call me Mr. English and I’ll call you Al. The hell with this formality. We’ve known each other all our lives. You know, we Gibbsville people, we have to stick together in a place like this. If we don’t you know what happens? Those Hazleton people gang us. What was I talking about just before you said that?”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. About drinks. Uh, if I don’t want to do anything it’s buy a drink. You know why? You want to know why I feel that way?”

“Sure.”

“Well, it’s like love, Al,” said Julian. “You know what I mean? Or don’t you see what I mean? You buy a drink, and that’s all it is, just a bought drink. Whereas, on the other hand, au contraire, au contraire, Al, uh, you uh, uh, somebody gives you a drink and that’s like love. Why, say, who is this?”

“You got my chair, Mister,” said Helene Holman, who had finished her song.

“Not at all,” said Julian. “Sit right down. Don’t apologize. Just sit down. If this is your chair you needn’t apologize. Just sit right down and Al will get another chair for us, won’t you, Al?”

Al pulled a chair from another table.

“Shake hands with Mr. English,” said Al. “He’s a friend of Ed’s.”

“Are you a friend of Ed’s?” said Julian to Helene.

“Yes, I guess you’d call it that,” said Helene.

“Fine,” said Julian. “Ed who?”

“Ed Charney,” said Al.

“Oh-h-h. Ed
Char
ney,” said Julian. “Well, my God, why didn’t you say so? My God. Jesus Christ Almighty, why didn’t you say so? I didn’t think you were a friend of Ed
Char
ney’s. My God.”

“What Ed did you think he meant?” said Helene.

“Oh, I don’t know. Do we have to go into that?” said Julian. “What’s your name?”

“Helene Holman,” she said.

“Oh, yes, yes,” said Julian. “What? Will you say that again, please?”

“Helene, Hol-man,” she repeated.

“Oh. Helene
Hol
man. You’re the one that married Dutch Snyder. How is old Dutch? Does he still dance as much as ever?”

“I never heard of him,” said Helene.

“Neither—did—I,” said Julian. “You’re my pal. Neither did I. And I don’t want to again. My goodness that’s a nice gown you have on.”

“I like it,” she said, smiling at Al.

“Miss Holman is a very, very good friend of Ed Charney’s,” said Al.

“That’s fine. I like that,” said Julian. “And I’ll tell you something else.
I’m
a very
very
good friend of Ed Charney’s.”

“Oh, I know,” said Al. “I was just telling you, Miss Holman is, too. A very good friend. You know what I mean?”

“You don’t have to draw a map, do you?” said Helene.

“You mean—Miss Holman is Ed’s mistress? Is that what you mean?” said Julian.

“Yes, that’s what he means,” said Helene.

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” said Julian, and then: “Except—I do like that dress. I like that dress.”

“I like it,” said Helene.

“So do I,” said Julian. “How about you, Al? What’s your opinion on Miss Holman’s dress? Come on, speak up.”

“It’s all right,” said Al. “It’s all right.”

“I should say it is,” said Julian. “How about dancing, Miss Holman?”

“She’s tired,” said Al.

“Well, in that case, she better go to bed,” said Julian.

“Hey,” said Al.

“What do you want?” said Julian.

“Nothing. Only remember what I told you about Miss Holman and Ed,” said Al.

“My friend, I’ve already forgotten that little bit of gossip,” said Julian. “I’m not a bit interested in Miss Holman’s affairs, am I, Miss Holman?”

“Not a bit.”

“Right,” said Julian. “So let’s dance.”

“Check and double check,” said Helene, and got up and went to the dance floor with Julian.

Everyone in the big room watched them. She was a good dancer, and so was Julian. And they
danced,
which was a kind of disappointment to several persons, who expected another kind of exhibition. It also was a kind of surprise to Helene, and a kind of surprise to Al Grecco. When they sat down again Al relaxed and was able to laugh at the things Julian said. Presently they were joined by Carter Davis. After he was introduced he said: “Caroline wants you.”

“I happen to know she doesn’t,” said Julian.

“Well, she does,” said Carter.

“Carter, sit down before there’s an ugly scene,” said Julian.

Carter hesitated, and then sat down. “All right,” he said, “but only for a minute. Ju, you’ve got to—”

“Did you all meet my friend Mr. Davis?” said Julian.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, they met me,” said Carter.

“So they did,” said Julian. “Well, let’s talk about something else. Books. Uh, Miss Holman, have you read
The Water Gipsies
?”

“No, I don’t believe I have,” said Helene. “What is it about?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Julian. “I got it for Christmas, or rather a member of my family did.”

“A member of your family,” said Carter.

“Yes, a member of my family,” said Julian. “My wife, Miss Holman. Mr. Davis, this is Mr. Davis right here, he gave my wife
The Water Gipsies
for Christmas. What did you give me, pal?”

“You know what I gave you,” said Carter.

“Of course I do, and I’m a bastard for not remembering it.” Julian leaned forward to explain to Helene and Al: “Mr. Davis gave me a tie, from Finchley’s. All the way from Finchley’s. Do you remember which tie you gave me, Carter?”

“Sure I do,” said Carter.

“I’ll bet you five dollars you don’t,” said Julian. “Al, you hold stakes. Here’s my five. Is it a bet, Carter?”

“I don’t want to take your money,” said Carter.

“Oh, yes you do. Oh, yes you do. Put up your five bucks. There, Al. Now.

“How can we prove it?” said Julian. “Oh, I have an idea. You tell me what kind of tie it was, and then go over to Caroline and repeat the description of the tie, see? And if you’re right she’ll shake her head yes, and if you’re wrong she’ll—”

“She’ll shake her head no,” said Carter. “Okay.” He got up and went over to the table.

“Do you want to dance some more?” said Julian.

“Don’t you want to wait till your friend proves who won the bet?”

“The hell with him. I just did that to get rid of him,” said Julian.

“But you lose five bucks,” said Helene.

“Yeah, you lose five bucks,” said Al.

“It’s worth it,” said Julian. “I got rid of him, didn’t I? Come on, let’s dance.”

“Check and double check,” said Helene. They ignored Al completely and went to the dance floor. “Is that your wife?” said Helene.

“Which one do you mean?” said Julian.

“Oh, I know Kitty Hofman,” said Helene.

“Well, my wife is the other girl, yes,” said Julian. “You’re a swell dancer, or have I said that before?”

“No, you didn’t say it before. You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. English.”

“Oh, call me Malcolm.”

“Is that your name? Malcolm? I thought he—oh, you’re giving me the razz. Okay.”

“No, I’m sorry. My name is Julian. Call me Julian.”

They said no more until the music stopped, and as they stood there, Julian applauding and Helene standing with her hands folded in front of her, he suddenly said: “Are you in love with any person?”

“Isn’t that a personal question?” she said.

“Of
course
it is.
Are
you?”

“What makes you ask that all of a sudden?” she said.

“I wanted to know. I—” the music continued. “I wanted to ask you to go out with me. Will you?”

“When do you mean? Now?”

“Yes.”

“It’s awful cold out,” she said.

“But you will?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I have a room here.”

“No, I want to go outside. Out in the car.”

“Well, maybe that’d be better. We can’t stay long. I have to sing again in about a half an hour. Oh, I better not go. Your wife will see us, and so will Al.”

“Will you go?” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

They glided to the edge of the floor and broke into a walk and disappeared. Three persons, over and above all the others in the big room, saw them go. Three persons: Caroline, Al Grecco, Foxie Lebrix.

In a little while Julian fell asleep in the car, and Helene went back to the house by herself. It was long after three when Julian felt himself being shaken and came slowly half awake. “Wha’?” he said.

“Don’t wake him up,” someone said.

“We have to wake him up to put his coat on. Come on, Ju. Snap to.” It was Whit Hofman. “Come on.”

“Here, let me,” said Kitty Hofman. She started to get in the car.

“Get away,” said her husband. “Come on, Ju. Carter, get in the other side. Here, take his coat. I’ll hold him up and you put his coat around him and the two of us can put his arms in the sleeves.”

“I know,” said Kitty. “Let’s put snow on his face.”

“Oh, drop dead,” said Whit.

“The snow might be a good idea,” said Caroline.

“Who sai’ pu’ snow my face?” said Julian.

“Are you awake, Ju?” said Whit.

“Sure I’m ’wake,” said Julian.

“Well, then, put your coat on,” said Whit. “Here. Hold the other arm, Carter.”

“I dowanna put my coat on. Why do I have pu’ my coa’ on? Hu? Who do I?”

“Because we’re going home,” said Whit.

“Go on, darling, put your coat on,” said Kitty.

“Oh, hello, Kitty,” said Julian. “How about a dance, Kitty?”

“No, we’re leaving,” said Kitty.

“Oh, get out of the way, Kitty, for Christ sake,” said Whit.

“I think I’ll go to sleep,” said Julian.

“Come on, Julian. Snap out of it,” said Caroline. “Everybody wants to go home and it’s freezing out here. Put your coat on.”

Without another word Julian put his coat on, scorning all assistance. “Where’s my hat?” he said.

“We can’t find it,” said Whit. “The hat check girl said she must have given it to someone else by mistake. Lebrix said he’d buy you a new one.”

“Turn your collar up,” said Caroline.

Julian turned up the deep collar of the coat, which was a husky garment of raccoon skins. He slumped back in a corner of the car and pretended to go to sleep. Carter sat in the other corner and Kitty Hofman sat in the middle of the back seat. Caroline sat up front with Whit, who was driving Julian’s car. The whooping of the wind and the biting crunch of the tire chains in the snow and the music of the motor were the only
sounds that reached the five persons in the car. The married four understood that; that there was nothing to be said now.

Julian, lost in the coonskins, felt the tremendous excitement, the great thrilling lump in the chest and abdomen that comes before the administering of an unknown, well-deserved punishment. He knew he was in for it.

When he was a boy, Julian English once ran away from home. In a town the size of Gibbsville—24,032, estimated 1930 census—the children of the rich live within two or three squares of the children of parents who are not rich, not even by Gibbsville standards. This makes for a spurious democracy, especially among boys, which may or may not be better than no democracy at all. In any case, in order to get a ball game going the sons of the Gibbsville rich had to play with the sons of the non-rich. There were not even nine, let alone eighteen, boys of Julian’s age among the rich, and so the rich boys could not even have their own team. Consequently, from the time he was out of kindergarten until he was ready to go away to prep school, Julian’s friends were not all from Lantenengo Street. Carter Davis would stop for him, or he would stop for Carter, when they were going to play baseball or football. They would go down the hill to Christiana Street, the next street, and join the gang. The gang’s members had for fathers a butcher, a motorman, a “practical” surveyor (that is, a surveyor who had not gone to college), a freight clerk, two book-keepers for the coal company, a Baptist minister, a neighborhood saloonkeeper, a mechanic in a garage (which he called a garridge), and a perennial convict (who was up this time for stealing 100,000 cigarettes from the Gibbsville Tobacco Company).