The Double Hook (9 page)

He was adding up figures on the back of the bag.

That’ll be three dollars and four dollars and a dollar and a half and –

He took a catalogue out of the drawer and searched through it.

That size of bag comes at a buck-fifty bar-lock and all. He put down the figure. Which makes ten even.

James unbuttoned the flap of his shirt and pulled out a bill. It was the five Bascomb had given him. He tried again. This time he got a couple of tens. He gave one to Pockett.

Why don’t you take out all those bills and put them in the wallet? Pockett asked.

The men at the window shifted round again.

I’ve got to be moving on, James said. I’ve got business.

Of course, Pockett said. I’m uncertain in speaking on these things, but you’ve sure got my black-edge sympathy. When’s the funeral for?

James turned away from the counter.

How long, he said, do you think a body would keep in this heat? Up above we do what we can.

It doesn’t bear thinking on, Pockett said.

Outside in the distance the hills bent to the river. There were no trees at all. Only sagebrush. From the street James could see a single sinuous curve of the river, the shadows of the clouds passing over the water as the shadow of the branches had lain for a moment on Lenchen’s throat. The river lay still in the sunlight, its thousand pools and eddies alive beneath its silver skin.

James wanted to go down to the river. To throw himself into its long arms. But along the shore like a night-watch drifted the brown figure he sought to escape.

He asked himself now for the first time what he’d really intended to do when he’d defied his mother at the head of the stairs.

Yet as James stood looking at the river, his heart cried out against the thought: This bed is too short for a man to stretch himself in. The covering’s too narrow for a man to wrap himself in.

From Pockett’s window eyes watched him through the crotches of the hanging chaps. Along the street in front of him was the hotel. To the right the railway tracks disappeared in a
bend of the land. The train would go through in the early morning, some minutes past one o’clock.

James walked down the street towards the hotel. He fingered the pocket of his shirt. He had no idea what a railway ticket would cost. He’d no idea where to buy a ticket to. He knew nothing about the train except that it went to the packinghouse, no way of boarding it except through the loading-pens. All he’d done was scum rolled up to the top of a pot by the boiling motion beneath. Now the fire was out.

He heard a voice at his elbow. One of the men who had been sitting in Pockett’s store was standing beside him. Friendly now. Had come cat-footing through the dust and stood at James’s shoulder.

What you need, boy, he said, is a drink: I’d hate to think that a near stranger had come from above and no one laid a dime on the table to help him through his trouble.

Who said I was in trouble? James asked.

You yourself, the man said. A fellow can’t help hearing what’s said across a counter. There’s no one really wants death. It’s trouble whichway you look at it.

He shook his blond head.

My name is Traff, he said.

Well, James said, let’s go. It’s out of the sun in there. It’s away from the dust.

He turned to Traff.

It’s what might be called friendly of you, he said.

The hotel lobby was empty. The calendar marked the month. The clock the hour. It was quarter to five.

Through the open doors of the lobby and dining-room James could see the Chinese cook slipping about in his black cotton shoes. The cook’s apron was untied and hung loosely from a tape which circled his neck. Everything had a hanging and waiting look.

I want to get a bed for myself, James said.

Paddy’s probably in the bar, Traff said. It’s not always handy being clerk and bartender in one.

When they opened the door into the beer parlour Paddy was leaning across the bar talking to Shepherd and Bascomb. His parrot sat hunched on his shoulder.

It was the parrot who noticed James and Traff first. It raised a foot.

Drinks all round, it said, falling from Paddy’s shoulder to the counter and sidling along.

Paddy looked up.

James Potter, he said. What’s brought you to town?

The parrot swung itself below the inside edge of the counter and came up with a tin mug in one claw.

Drinks on you, it said.

James opened his pocket and pulled out a bill. Paddy brushed the bill beneath the counter and reached for the glasses. The parrot rattled his cup on the bar.

How many? Paddy asked.

Make it a double all round, James said.

Bascomb got up without speaking and went out.

Well, Traff said, that’s what I call friendly. He drew up a chair for James, and sat down opposite Shepherd in Bascomb’s seat.

Paddy brought the glasses.

Since there’s one less, he said, here’s one on you. He took one of the glasses and poured some beer into the parrot’s mug.

What brings you down at this time of year? he asked James.

Trouble, said Traff.

I hope nothing’s happened to Bill, Paddy said.

No, his old lady, Traff said.

James looked up. The parrot seemed to be watching him over the rim of its mug.

She was old, James said, speaking to the parrot. It was the heat that took her and climbing round in the creek bottom.

What would an old woman be climbing around in the creek bottom for? Traff asked.

Drinks all round, the parrot said.

James shoved the two bills which Paddy had put down towards the parrot. The men hitched their chairs closer.

What was your old lady doing in the creek bottom? Traff asked again.

Fishing, James said.

What for? Traff asked.

What would a person fish for but fish, Shepherd said.

No one rightly knew, James said. He emptied another of the glasses which Paddy had brought from the bar.

I suppose you came in to see about the funeral, Shepherd said.

No, Traff said. She’s buried. They had to do it themselves on account of the heat. A person doesn’t lie softer for satin and polish, he said.

People don’t lie easy in our family, James said. He got up.

You’re forgetting your bag, Traff said.

Paddy, he called across, how about fixing this gentleman up with a room.

Paddy took his apron off and threw it across the bar. Just keep an eye out for a minute, he said to Shepherd.

When James turned to follow Paddy, Traff picked up the duffle bag.

Shepherd looked up. How come, he said to Traff, that you’re so well acquainted with Potter?

That’s not your concern, Traff said. It might as well be me as someone else. Besides, he said, is there any law against a man showing himself friendly in case of need?

He followed James out.

The parrot dropped to the floor and came shuffling over to Shepherd.

Drinks all round, he said, pulling at Shepherd’s ankle.

O shut up, Shepherd said.

Paddy had gone behind the desk in the lobby. He reached for a key. He handed it to James.

That’ll be four dollars, he said.

You giving him the bridal suite? Traff asked.

What’s that to you? James said. Mind your own damn business.

I was only trying to save you, Traff said.

James felt in his pocket for a bill. Paddy unlocked the till and counted six dollars out onto the desk.

James thought: I’ve eight tens, this six and thirty cents. The thirty cents embarrassed him. He took it out and put it down in front of Paddy.

Buy the parrot some beer, he said. It’s little enough he must have to live for. One parrot in this whole bloody universe of men.

He doesn’t seem to care, Paddy said, picking up the dimes. He gets his way because he’s a unique. Men don’t often have their own way. It’s not many have the rights of a dumb beast and a speaking man at the same time.

James turned from the desk. It was six-thirty. In the dining-room men were sitting over empty dishes, their bodies shoved forward, their elbows resting on the cloth. The room was filled with smoke and silence.

James put the bills Paddy had given him in his pocket.

What you need is some hard liquor, Traff said. But I’m not in a position to stand you to that. I know where I can get it, though. Give me the price of a bottle, and I’ll go over while you put your things upstairs. Then we can go round to Felicia’s and see the crowd.

Paddy had stopped at the door of the bar and was listening.

Get on about your business, Traff said to him. You can’t expect Shepherd to wait forever. He’s not paid for doing double duty the way you are.

He took the bill which James gave him and went out.

Paddy walked back across the lobby.

We don’t know any good of Traff round here, he said to James.

When I want your advice I’ll ask for it, James said.

Paddy turned and went back into the beer parlour. James could hear the parrot’s voice raised on a note of authority and the sound of feet bringing men in from outside. He took the seventy-six dollars out of his pocket and put them into his wallet.

He picked up his bag and went to the foot of the stairs. The stairway was quite empty. He looked back over his
shoulder across the lobby. The bar door was half open, and through the opening he saw Paddy looking at him.

When I need any man’s help, James said, I’ll ask for it.

The room above was furnished with a bed, a chair, and a dresser. James locked the door behind him. He opened the drawers of the dresser one by one. There was nothing in the drawers except some folded newspaper, a hairpin, and a chamber-pot. James ran his hand over the striped bedcover and peered underneath the bed. He picked up the chair and set it down again. Then he changed his shirt and socks.

When Traff came back after a long time, James opened the door and went out with him.

Outside, night seeped up from the ground and down from the sky. Through the strip of purple and green light Traff took James down past the stable to the river flats where the half-breeds had settled, and the Chinamen who owned the market gardens. Felicia’s house stood beyond the shacks and outhouses on the clay bank of the river.

Traff opened the door himself.

I’ve brought a friend, he said.

In one corner of the room, on a bedspring and mattress propped up on blocks, sat a woman. In the lamplight and shadow James could not see whether she was young or old.

Bring him in, the woman said. Any friend of yours is welcome. Anyone’s welcome who comes here looking for a little company.

The room was hot. Filled with the odour of bodies and kerosene burning away. Tainted with the damp smell of mud and dead fish.

There was another man in the room and two girls. The girls lay on the end of the bed, their arms linked, their feet shuffling together on the floor. The lamp cast a shadow under the arched hollow between their shoulders and buttocks.

Jimmy brought along a bottle, Traff said. He’s in trouble and needs cheering up.

The woman got up from the bed.

Any friend of Traff’s is all right, she said. Her body was tight in its cotton dress. She went across the room and took the bottle from Traff.

You fellows eaten? she asked.

No, Traff said. What have you got? How about some picked herrings and onions?

You got the price? the woman asked.

Sure, James said. Bring anything. It’s a long time since I ate.

Give us the bottle, Fleeza, one of the girls said, rolling over on her side.

Hands off, Lilly. Traff said. That’s man’s stuff and old woman’s stuff. He reached out and, pulling Felicia towards him, lifted her chin with his fingers.

Everything’s fifty-fifty with this one, he said, and a settled account.

It’s my business, Felicia said. When pleasure’s your business, there’s no call to give more than you get.

The two of them went into the kitchen together. The man who had been sitting on a box got up and followed them.

Lilly twisted round towards James.

Sit down, she said.

The other girl turned over on her belly and propped her chin in her hands.

Where did Traff pick you up? she asked.

He didn’t pick me up, James said. We just happened together. No obligation on either side.

The girl behind Lilly wriggled closer.

What sort of trouble are you in? she asked. Did you pop someone or something?

Shut up, Christine, Lilly said. If a man’s in trouble, he’s got enough to think about without people asking.

Traff looked in from the kitchen, his yellow head gleaming in the lamplight.

Don’t let them bother you, he said. We’ll be out with the food right away.

James knew then why he was drawn to Traff. It was the cap of hair, straight and thick and yellow as Lenchen’s. He looked at the two heads beside him. At the dark faces. At the thin and angled bodies.

Traff means all right, Christine said.

We all mean all right, Lilly said. It’s just there’s no future in it. Drinking and crying, and everything being washed up the next day.

No, James said.

He took out his wallet and put ten dollars on the bed.

They can take it for food, he said. It’s little enough to get shut of eating a mess of picked fish.

Outside James could hear the flow of the river. The air was cooler. The night pressed against his eyes. He slipped down over the slanted edge of the bank to the sandbar. For the first time in his life he felt quite alone. If his mother was there, he could not feel even a vibration of her shadow in the darkness.

But almost at once he heard the clay slipping behind him and the sound of a stone loosed and in motion. In a moment Lilly stood beside him.

What are you doing? she asked.

I don’t know, he said. Looking for something I hope is lost.

Why bother? she asked.