The Box (10 page)

Chapter 10

Turk, of course, thought all along that Quinn meant to sleep with the girl.

“I understand,” he said, “how you, a civilized Westerner, might feel shy with a woman whom you love. But this one?” and he pointed at the girl who was walking between them. “This one, as you saw on the table…”

“Stop talking a minute,” said Quinn. “Now listen close.” They were leaving the quarter and turned down the main street, walking towards the lights which started a few blocks away. “You and me,” he said, “maybe we’ll do a thing or two together, and then maybe we won’t. I haven’t got a plan, I haven’t even got anything that amounts to a notion. All I’ve got right now is a bug itch and an annoyance.”

“If you’re worried about not having any money,” Turk said, when Quinn interrupted again.

“And don’t try doing my thinking for me, all right?”

“All right,” said Turk, “All right,” and he shrugged.

“I was going to say, if you and I should maybe do something together, seeing I’ll be here a month or so, then I’ll need your help.”

This was nothing new to Turk, but he was happy to see how Quinn, though still fresh out of the box in more than one way of speaking, how he was starting to move and think in a way Turk understood. Turk had known how Quinn would need help. What he hadn’t known came next.

“I’m not interested in money, Turk. I’m interested only in being left alone. I feel bugged and I itch. When I scratch myself it isn’t to make an income. You got that?”

Turk got none of it.

“All I want from you are two things. One, information.”

“What do you wish to know?”

“Nothing right now. Just listen, huh?”

Turk didn’t understand that either.

“And two, I might need another set of eyes, like in the back of my head, so I don’t get jumped in some dark alley.”

“Ah, you are already afraid of Remal.”

“I got jumped once already,” said Quinn. “In return, seeing as you’re a greedy bastard, maybe I can help you in getting a slice or two out of Remal’s racket.” Quinn sighed, feeling tired. “I have a little background for it,” he said.

And so he had made another small move, still without seeing which way he was tending.

Quinn showed the way to Whitfield’s house, and when they got there he told Turk to wait downstairs, in the dark yard. He is shy with that child, thought Turk, as if she were a woman and he not too sure about being a man. It is a Western disease.

The light was on in the room with the couch and the door to the bedroom was closed. This meant, Quinn figured, that Whitfield was drunk and asleep in his bed and that he, Quinn, was to use the couch for the night. The couch was still full of books. The girl, who looked amorphous in her big, loose robe, stood in the middle of the room waiting for Quinn to show her what to do next.

“Sit down,” he said and waved at the couch.

She went to the couch and started to take the books off, to make room.

“No, no, just sit there, goddamit,
sit,”
and he showed her by pushing her down.

Her face stayed as always, mouth closed, eyes big and dumb. Her face was thin, which made her look old, and the skin was smooth, which made her look young. Quinn didn’t concern himself much with any of this.

“Now stay put. Sit. And no sound.” All this he showed her.

From the next room he heard a wild splashing. And then, “I say there, is that you, Quinn?”

He even sleeps in that tub, so help me—

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, “I just got in.”

“Are you dumping the books? I’m terribly sorry I forgot about those books.”

“That’s all right. Sorry I woke you.”

“Not at all, not at all. But you’ll need a pillow and a blanket. I say, Quinn, would you mind terribly getting the stuff yourself. Open the door.”

“I don’t need anything. Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t he ridiculous. Open the door.”

Quinn went and opened the door. The light was on in the bedroom, too, and of course Whitfield was not in his bed. Everybody seems to know about this boat tonight, Quinn thought, and looked at Whitfield in his tub, face wet, knees drawn up to make room for the black-haired girl who was in the water with him. This one did not have a child’s body. She was full-fleshed and she glistened. Quinn thought of wet rubber.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Whitfield was saying, “but you’ll forgive me if I don’t get up.”

“I understand fully,” said Quinn, and them he meant to tell Whitfield to go on with his bath and that he himself hadn’t meant to go to sleep right now, anyway. But Whitfield at that point spotted the girl on the couch and he was shocked.

“My
dear
Quinn! But forgive me, and while I don’t wish to impose on your own good judgment—eh, where did you pick that up?”

“In the quarter.”

“Now, Quinn, please, let me try and be friendly. We have, you don’t seem to know, a terrible disease problem here, and unless you are very sure…”

“Forget it, it doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?
Please
. Quinn, send her away and in no more than half an hour I will send you this one. I’m quite certain of this one and I’m really trying to be friendly.”

“I can hardly think of anything friendlier,” said Quinn. “But I’m not sleeping with the one on the couch.”

“Oh? Tell me about it. What do you do?” Whitfield showed polite interest.

“Look. Friendliest thing you can do for me right now is yell across to her to stay put here till I get back. I won’t be long.”

“Well,” and Whitfield shrugged, “not that I understand it.” Then he yelled across at the girl to stay put. He spoke in Arabic, but the girl didn’t answer or even open her mouth. She only nodded. Quinn started to close the door.

“No, leave it open,” said Whitfield from the tub. “I don’t want her to steal anything.”

Quinn stopped, then smiled at the picture. He went downstairs. In the dark yard Turk stepped up to him.

“Done?”

“No,” said Quinn. “Just starting.” And then he told Turk to stay in the yard and see that the girl did not leave.

“She won’t,” said Turk, “not if you told her to stay. Besides, I feel you may need the eyes in the back of your head tonight.”

“I doubt it. Yet.”

“Mister Quinn,” said Turk, “I won’t tell you how to think, but please do not tell me what I feel in the air. What I feel is getting darker and thicker. So I will watch out.”

“I’m only going to…”

“I know where you are going. Since you did not sleep with the girl, it stands to reason.”

“Maybe you also know why I brought her up there.”

“No,” said Turk. “In some ways you do not think as clearly as I do. This makes it hard to understand your reasons. But you go,” said Turk, “and I will watch out.” He disappeared in the shadows again.

Quinn wasn’t sure what Turk intended. Walking in the darkness, he felt a strange sense of safety which he knew was connected with nothing real.

Bea’s house sat in a dark garden and no light showed anywhere. Like a midnight visit which once happened to me, it struck him, but then he rattled the gate to make a noise because he could not find a bell. Nothing happened for perhaps a minute, but when Quinn got ready to call out a servant came running up to the gate. He spoke no English but understood that Quinn wanted in. He opened the gate because there had been no orders to keep it closed.

He took Quinn to a downstairs room where he lit a lamp. After that, nobody showed for about fifteen minutes.

The room looked dull, drapes too dark and heavy, furniture dark and heavy. There was also a vase of large flowers, but they did not make the room gay. He saw a box of cigarettes on a round table and without thinking about it took one, lit up and smoked. He watched his hand, how it held the cigarette, flipped ash. The damnedest thing, he thought. It’s really the damnedest thing to forget that I used to smoke. And what else did I forget—When he was done with the cigarette he felt tense and hostile. He could recall nothing else which he might have forgotten, but it had suddenly struck him that he had no clear idea of what he wanted with Remal. Then he heard the footsteps coming down a hall. I’ll let it go till I see him, he thought. That should help—

But when the door opened it wasn’t Remal who came in. Beatrice smiled at Quinn as if she was really pleased to see him. She brushed her hair back with one hand. She wore no make-up and looked as if she had been asleep.

“What exciting hours you keep,” she said.

And you too, he thought. And she’s not wearing a thing under that dress, which is why she looks this soft and slow. Or the no-lipstick face does it. A real face in bed on a big, deep pillow—

“I didn’t come to see you,” he said without any transition.

She sat down on a couch and didn’t know what to say. But then she laughed. She took a cigarette from the boy and kept eyeing him.

“It was about the last thing I expected you to say, Mister Quinn,” and she gave a low laugh again. “Not the way you were looking at me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. Do you have a light?”

He lit her cigarette for her, watching the end of the match and nothing else.

“If Remal is here, I’d like to see him for a minute.”

She leaned back and blew smoke.

“You must have been talking to one or the other of everybody, seeing that you know exactly what goes on in my house.” She made a small pause and then, “He won’t like it.”

“I know he won’t,” and Quinn smiled.

She had not seen him smile before and had wondered, after the one time she had seen him in the hotel, how he might smile. She had speculated what a smile might do to his face which she remembered as looking still or indifferent, the eyes in particular. That’s the difference, she thought. The eyes changed. They had not been looking for anything, but now they were. And the smile? It smiles at something I know nothing about, and that’s why it bothers me—

She got up and said, “I’ll get him for you.” When she was by the door, she added, “I thought you were on a curfew?”

“You must have been talking to one or the other of almost everybody, too,” said Quinn.

“No. Just Remal.” She came back into the room and stubbed her cigarette out in a tray. “Quinn?”

I wish she’d go, he thought. I don’t know what to think of her. She’s less simple than anyone here—

“You know, it would be easier if you had come to see me. I’m much easier to see.”

“I wouldn’t come because you’re easy.”

He had said it without thinking. She started to smile but then didn’t because he was not smiling. They looked at each other with an unexpected quiet between them. Then she took a quick breath and turned away. Of course, he wants to see Remal. And I want anything I don’t know. So, of course—

She walked out and Quinn did not watch her. He did not have to watch her to know what she looked like, how she walked, how she felt. She feels like me, he thought. Or the way I did those first few days here—And Quinn almost felt as if he had lost something.

When she got to the bedroom she saw Remal standing on the other side of the open French doors. He stood on the dark balcony and was stretching, and at the end of the stretch he made a sound which was a lot like a purr. He is a big cat and needs a jungle. No, he is too sly and too educated but he is a big cat in bed. I like him there but nowhere else. A big cat in bed. What a way to think of a man: a cat.

“
Cheri
,” she said, “it’s for you.”

He turned and when he saw her he smiled and came into the room. “For me? What is it?”

“Quinn is downstairs.”

She thought she could hear something snap when his face changed. The smile was gone, as if his thin mouth had bit into the smile and made it break into pieces, and his black female eyes became black the way Chinese lacquer is black and cold. He said nothing and walked past her, out the door.

Remal’s face had not changed at all when he walked up to Quinn, and Quinn saw the same thing there which Beatrice had seen. But he reacted differently than she had—not with a fright which was kept still with silence, but clear dislike. Remal kept standing.

“Since you left your quarters after dark, I will place you under house arrest, Mister Quinn.”

I don’t exist for him. Except as a violation of law—

“Sit down, won’t you,” Quinn said. He was surprised at his own calm.

“This can’t possibly take long. I’ll stand.”

Quinn shrugged. He said, “I’ll be here about one month, no more. If for that length of time you want to stand like that, look like that, then suit yourself. Except I don’t like it.”

“I’m too polite to laugh,” said Remal. “However, I will have you jailed.”

“I don’t think you can afford that,” said Quinn.

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Of course.” Quinn got up, walked around the small table.

“And you want?” said Remal. He said it only because it was the next logical question, but not because he was really concerned. He must go, of course. Perhaps I will have him killed.

Quinn stopped walking and turned. It was suddenly all very simple. And if the mayor can feel as straight as I do now, all this can be over. It felt almost as simple as coming out of the box.

“I want you off my back,” said Quinn. “You understand the expression? I want you to leave me alone.”

“Are you leaving me alone?”

“It comes to the same thing,” said Quinn. “I want no part of your troubles. I want no part of your schemes. I’m not interested in you.”

“You make me sound like I don’t exist,” said Remal, and he thought again, I may have to have him killed.

“I wish to hell you didn’t exist, that’s a fact,” and Quinn meant it. “But while you do, I don’t want to get jumped in the dark, I don’t want your curfews. That’s what I mean by getting off my back.”

It was that simple. Quinn took a deep breath and knew this: if he gives the right answer now then he
is
off my back. I don’t even feel angry any more. He can be of no importance. If only he gives the right answer now—

Upstairs, Quinn could hear someone walking, then the sound of a chair. That’s the woman, he thought. What if Remal were not here at all—