The fear makers, p.7
The Fear Makers, page 7
The seat stuck. I backed away, stepping on the duffel bag, nearly slipping. Immediately, the girl placed a foot against the bag, preventing it from spilling out my duds. Somehow the seat was a little more for me than I’d estimated. Wind began roaring heavily in my ears.
I said for one of them to get on the other side, to help move the seat.
Inside of the car seemed very hot. I tried a couple of times more. I must have slipped. I found myself down in water along the curb. The leg didn’t help me any in getting up. On me came the beam of flashlight. She was saying something.
It was the little guy who found my cane and quietly handed it to me.
With the flashlight on me, I couldn’t see any of them.
Dr. Nathan prowled from around the car, asking something of the girl in German. I was alone. To each other they were talking. The flashlight danced back to the duffel bag.
I said if one of them could give me a hand, we might get at the tools. The light rested on my duffel bag now, where my name was printed, with serial number and rank.
The girl spoke. I still can’t put her voice down. It was like seeing dark ashes where a fire had been and thinking the fire is dead and then glimpsing the vivid, hot smolder under the ashes and knowing the fire is there, waiting. She asked, “You are in the army?”
I slumped down on that half-portion running board. All I had was night. I’d never get home. I should have known better than to try. Once more the voice asked the question. It was as though, suddenly, the girl was asking for all three.
I didn’t care any more. I replied I had been in an army. I wasn’t now.
I was in the darkness and the rain. I was alone. For me, there was to be no home, that night or ever more.
And, I don’t know how the miracle happened.
= 2 =
Next, it was all warm and bright. I was sitting in one of those big chairs in the living room. No doubt water from my soggy clothes was leaking on the chair and down into a rug—green and yellow pattern, this time—and nobody ever said anything about it to me.
On the fireplace mantel I saw the tiger. I remember considering it for quite a few minutes. Maybe, for only a few seconds. I’m still confused. The tiger was crouching. It was the one that always stays on the top shelf of the art and handicraft store. I didn’t know it ever came into a home. It was made of some kind of transparent stone. Inside the stone a small electric light was glowing.
I saw now I’d never before understood about those art store tigers. I’d missed. It may not be sensible, but just seeing a tiger lit up by an electric light inside its stone shape made everything comfortable and faintly funny. That’s what a home should be. Even a thick green and yellow patterned carpet is nice. And a purple one for the hall. And photographs.
“You are better, yes?” asked Mrs. Weil. “Now it is better?”
I said it was a lot better. I sat in that chair and liked sitting in the chair and thought about getting up and I didn’t get up and I apologized for busting in on them like this. With the tire ripped, I didn’t know exactly what to do. Perhaps a bus line was near to Hyattsville?
Hesitantly, Mrs. Weil said it was late for a bus. The girl stood. The cat came over and rubbed against Mrs. Weil’s fat ankles. Dr. Nathan and the little cock-eyed guy looked at me and no one said anything for a minute or so. Suddenly, Mrs. Weil laughed. “So sudden it is, I forget you do not meet my sisters, yet.” She introduced me to the two other women, one older; the other just as short, with the same pink cheeks, not as old, about forty.
I told them my name but they didn’t need to have it told to them because the girl and the two men had seen it on my duffel bag, and now Mrs. Weil and her two sisters knew it. She introduced Dr. Nathan.
He straightened, clicking his heels together.
She said, “At the Swiss Embassy, Dr. Nathan works, Captain. He is a lawyer.” That “is” of hers sounded like “iss.”
Dr. Nathan bowed, very formal and impressive—until his spectacles fell on the carpet. As he extended the bony arm for them, someone giggled.
In the chair it was hard to crane one’s neck in a hurry; when I did look around, the girl was standing demurely enough by the little cock-eyed guy. If it hadn’t been for the light in her eyes, I might have decided I hadn’t heard the giggle, seeing the solemnity of her face.
Mrs. Weil continued, “Dr. Norman Werner. Norman, what do you do with the government? You tell me and always I do not understand.” She laughed. They all laughed. It was almost being home again, with relatives and friends, when the favorite aunt misses on something.
The little cock-eyed guy said, “Biochemist.” He lit himself another cigarette, undisturbed.
“And this is Elizabeth, his sister,” explained Mrs. Weil. “Also she works for the government.”
I told Elizabeth I was glad she was his sister…
That was the wrong thing to say in this room to these people. I must have been lightheaded. Nobody smiled. Elizabeth didn’t smile. I couldn’t stop looking at her and I knew I should but at least she was the little cock-eyed guy’s sister and that was important because I’d been afraid she might have been something like his wife. Even so, I’d have still wanted to look at her.
I heard someone saying, “If you wish a room for tonight in my house, it is your pleasure.”
“Blease,” said another voice. “It is a bleasure, yes.”
I tried getting up. I couldn’t find the cane. The girl stooped near my chair and she handed me the cane, again, and I had the impression of the green eyes and while I didn’t know anything about green eyes somehow it seemed that green eyes ought to be hard and cold and these green eyes weren’t that way at all. They were sorry for me. That was harder to take than any other kind of eyes, no matter the color.
I said I’d left my baby-carriage in the automobile and that was the second wrong thing I’d said in the room and the silence came in, again, congealing and thick, but at lea$t the green eyes ceased being sorry. For a second they looked surprised—next, angry—then she turned away.
“You will follow me, please, Captain,” said Mrs. Weil…
It was the front corner room on the south side. As soon as
I saw the bed I didn’t need anything else. In about ten minutes, Norman Werner and Dr. Nathan knocked. I pulled on my pants. They’d remembered my duffel bag, going outside for it, into the rain.
And ten or fifteen minutes ago, I’d been assuming one of them had done the slashing of my tire. I thanked them for the duffel bag.
Dr. Nathan removed his glasses. Very rapidly, he said, “About the tire. A friend I have owns a garage. If you wish, tomorrow I ask him to fix the tire. It will not be exbensive. The cost will be low.”
I explained how I’d been planning to leave Washington, D. C., early in the afternoon.
“In the morning I see my friend.” Dr. Nathan stuck the glasses on his nose. “Excuse me, blease. At once, I return. Immediate.”
Dr. Nathan departed. Norman remained to explain about the bathroom arrangements.
Easy and soft, almost as if he were surprised to know this world still had bathrooms, he said he and Dr. Nathan departed from the house early in the morning. Dr. Nathan, myself, and he shared the bathroom for the three rooms on this side of the house.
When he finished, I informed him I didn’t mean to rise tomorrow until around seven-thirty. For me, their bathroom schedule was fine. All I wanted was a bath tonight.
“For as long as you wish, Captain. Formulae for human relationships should include many variables, such as ample time for evening baths. Do you not agree?” He didn’t need an answer to that. He was smiling. Maybe this was Norman Werner’s manner of joking.
Right then, Dr. Nathan returned, carrying a bottle of white wine. His glasses were tilted. He said, “This is Swiss wine. It is very good wine. Although officially I am neutral, berhaps we will drink to a quick beace, no?” His big yellow forehead was perspiring; he was nervous the way someone is when he isn’t certain he’s wanted. He added quickly, “It is good wine, yes. And there is no charge.”
I said any other time a drink was a fine idea—
Suddenly, to me he asked, “Do you know what all day I do? In the war the Swiss Embassy it is charged in Washington with responsibilities for the German Embassy here and all day I sit in the building where those—”
Norman broke in with, “Good night, Captain,” and good-naturedly hooked Dr. Nathan by the arm. Dr. Nathan tried a smile. It wasn’t a good smile. He said, “It is real Swiss wine, Captain. Guaranteed.”
Norman said, “Cheerio,” and ended it by taking Dr. Nathan out, shutting the door. That “cheerio” wasn’t quite right. It came naturally enough, but it didn’t fit with the bald head, the eyes, the aquiline nose, and what was left of an ear.
I thought about Norman in the bath. I thought about all of them in this house, and about the tire. I still didn’t comprehend. I thought about Clark being dead and Megassum claiming he owned the outfit and my tire being slashed. I thought about going down to my car for the work sheets, and decided not to. I didn’t hold up much longer. I disintegrated. Sleep suddenly crawled over me. Perhaps the puppy wailed that night. If it did, I never heard it.
= 3 =
When I awakened the next morning, someone was knocking. I said to come in. She didn’t come in very far. It was Mrs. Weil. She was solid and old, all freshly scrubbed, pinkcheeked, with tiny, quick eyes. She was afraid I’d overslept as Dr. Werner said I wished to get up at seven-thirty.
She was telling me already Dr. Werner and Dr. Nathan had gone. She laughed. “Every morning they go very early.
For one hour they teach. You would not believe it, Captain. In Washington, everybody goes to a school. Maybe now I should go to a school, too?” She laughed again.
After she departed, I waited until I was certain the upper hall was clear. I didn’t know where the other two sisters or Elizabeth Werner slept. Finished with a fast bath, a shave, dressing, I paused on my way downstairs. No one was in the front of the house. Voices came from the kitchen. In here, sitting on white benches with appliqued flowers, eating breakfast, were Mrs. Weil, her two sisters; and, Elizabeth Werner. A big white cat purred, curled on a scatter rug.
Even on that dull morning, Elizabeth Werner’s features had the translucent, white jade coloring. The simple, severe black dress, and what she’d done to her hair couldn’t hide the vivid quality.
All I’d planned to do was enter, thank Mrs. Weil, and tell her I’d be around this afternoon to collect my duffel bag and car.
Somehow, I found myself sitting down with them. I was eating breakfast. I’d never had such a breakfast. On the table were pickled pink salmon and herring, thick toast, coffee, ham, leftover chicken from last night, the half of a big, frosted spongecake, honey, and what they called “schnicken.” These were a kind of unleavened cake. Actually, to me “schnicken” tasted close to blotting paper with too much grease.
I didn’t say so. I admitted “schnicken” were new. The fact is, I guess I lied. I was so pleased with everything else, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to disappoint the old ladies. I said the “schnicken” were fine, too.
So they gave me more. Perhaps Elizabeth Werner knew what was happening. If she did, I didn’t receive any help. I sat there and stuffed. They had different sets of plates and silverware for different kinds of food. One set of plates was the milk set, whatever that was.
Mrs. Weil laughed. She thought it was funny because I didn’t understand she was orthodox. It was all right with me, though. I never saw so much to eat for a breakfast, so well cooked. They must have considered I was starved. My old man would have liked that; my old man could look more starved after just stuffing himself than any other person living. Maybe I inherited something of that look. That’s what comes of having a line of ancestors on both sides from Wales. Perhaps all Welshmen are small and appear as if they’ve never had much to eat even when they’re stuffed.
She asked, “It is good being home, yes?”
I replied I wasn’t exactly home, yet.
“For you, Washington is new, then?”
I explained before the war I’d lived here for nearly ten years although I’d never considered it my home. I said I’d fallen into running an opinion-polling outfit and hadn’t ever been able to pull away from it until the war came.
Her forehead wrinkled into fine lines. She asked, “You have what, please? Excuse me, I do not understand.”
I said an opinion-polling outfit.
She turned to Elizabeth who said, “They ask people questions, Aunt Petroushka, and print the answers in the newspapers. They find out how they will vote for president.” Elizabeth gave me a faint, shy smile. “I am afraid Aunt Petroushka has not quite accepted these modern methods of gathering opinion.”
Firmly, Mrs. Weil said to me, “For fifteen years I have lived here, Captain, and for fifteen years I have my dress shop in Washington. No one ever asks me who I will vote for to print in the newspapers. No one. How can the newspapers know who will be president? It is not true they ask people. I am not asked. I have friends who are not asked.” As if she were aware someone was attempting to tease her, she laughed suddenly, very jolly and good-natured. “No, I am not believing such things.”
I tried to tell her the reason no interviewer had asked her was because, in opinion-polling, only a very small sample was taken. She might wait another fifteen years or tomorrow an interviewer might happen to ask her questions.
She merely shook her head, still laughing. I told her I was quitting the business, anyway.
If it hadn’t been for the tire, everything would have been wonderful that morning. I felt refreshed, after breakfast. Even the headache was resting.
Around 0815 I began worrying about the time. By and by Elizabeth finished her coffee. Everyone sort of stopped talking. Mrs. Weil said Elizabeth was driving in this morning. It might be I would like to go in with her? It would be quicker.
So I asked Elizabeth.
She replied, “I am able to drop you off wherever you wish. This morning I have until ten because last night I worked late.”
I still didn’t know what to say about paying for my room. I would put off asking until tonight. Elizabeth was waiting in the rear alley by the time I was finished assuring the sisters I really had enough to eat to last me until lunch. They acted worried. Mrs. Weil asked if I didn’t have a heavier coat.
I went to my car for the work sheets, walked around the house to the back and climbed into a 1932 model Ford sedan. I said to Elizabeth that anywhere on Connecticut Avenue would be excellent; I said, for that matter, anywhere in Washington would be all right. I could take a cab.
We crossed the Pike. Elizabeth drove along Queen’s Chapel Road. At first, I didn’t say anything more. I wanted to forget about my tire. I tried thinking ahead to the office, to Megassum, planning a few questions for him. Like: Why had he fired the old staff? Was he paying me primarily to do consulting work from the Coast, or did he expect me to bring in more clients for him to earn the money? Why had he loaded the Pont Dulac area with so many more interviews in the higher income groups, cutting down on questioning the labor element?
Anyway, soon we were in the outskirts of Washington, D. C. Neither of us had spoken. After that, it became difficult. You know. One tries to think of something to start the conversation. By the time we’d reached Rhode Island Avenue, I’d discarded four or five introductory gambits. They were all too complex.
We stopped for the light at one of those circles which make Washington so useful for horse-drawn vehicles. Appropriately, the Teamsters’ Union’s home headquarters was on the other side of Logan Circle. Without thinking, I said I bet right now some of those teamsters were looking through the windows and watching the automobiles try to pour into the circle from six different streets and the teamsters would be congratulating themselves on what a gaudy show it was and saying whoever designed Washington had the right idea. Nobody could beat Washington, D. C., but a good team of horses.
Elizabeth slid into gear. “You should see Berlin, Captain.”
I asked if she knew Berlin.
“I once lived there. Washington,” she said, “it is beautiful, when one compares it to Berlin.”
I thought she was joking. She wasn’t. She drove on, toward Connecticut. I looked at her, and at the way she’d done her hair and hidden most of her legs in a dress that was too long.
I don’t know why I said it. I said suddenly if she’d ever loosen her hair and let it hang down her back and put a curl in it and try wearing one of those green strapless evening gowns I remembered I used to see at the Shoreham, so all the warm color of her shoulders and neck showed—I said if she did that, and walked into any place it would be a sensation. I said she’d be beautiful. I said she’d be perfectly wonderful. I guess, maybe, not having been around a girl for so long, being aware of that hidden scent of wild citron near me, I got a little excited. I hadn’t meant to say all that.
I put my hand on the door so I could open it and save her the trouble of telling me I got out here.
Some of the rose petals were in the white almond coloring, although she watched the traffic, looking straight ahead. In her even voice, she said, “Captain, some day when I am fat and have many children I shall tell them once a boy who had fought overseas told me I was beautiful, and I shall remember and be very proud. Where do I turn, please?” She stopped the Ford at the comer of M Street and Connecticut.
I said I could walk. It was only two blocks. I got out on the curb without having to use the cane once. I kept my weight on both feet, too.
She said, “If you should remain in Washington longer than you expect this afternoon before going back for your car, I will leave my office about five-thirty. If it is a little earlier or a little later, it will make no difference. I will give you my phone number.”
I said by 1730 hours I expected to be at least fifty miles west of Washington, D. C., and going farther every minute.
She said, “Good-by, Captain. I hope you get home soon,” and reached for the gear.
