A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories (3 page)

The man, his finger on his lips, moved slowly forward and soon stood by her cot.

“What are you doing out so late?” asked the girl, unafraid but not knowing why.

“A friend sent me to make you well.” He touched the lute strings. They hummed sweetly. He was indeed handsome there in the silver light.

“That cannot be,” she said, “for it was told me, the
moon
is my cure.”

“And so it will be, maiden.”

“What songs do you sing?”

“Songs of spring nights, aches and ailments without name. Shall I name your fever, maiden?”

“If you know it, yes.”

“First, the symptoms: raging temperatures, sudden cold, heart fast then slow, storms of temper, then sweet calms, drunkenness from having sipped only well water, dizziness from being touched only
thus
—”

He touched her wrist, saw her melt toward delicious oblivion, drew back.

“Depressions, elations,” he went on. “Dreams—”

“Stop!” she cried, enthralled. “You know me to the letter. Now, name my ailment!”

“I will.” He pressed his lips to the palm of her hand so she quaked suddenly. “The name of the ailment is Camillia Wilkes.”

“How strange.” She shivered, her eyes glinting lilac fires. “Am I then my own affliction? How sick I make myself! Even now, feel my heart!”

“I feel it, so.”

“My limbs, they burn with summer heat!”

“Yes. They scorch my fingers.”

“But now, the night wind, see how I shudder, cold! I die, I swear it, I die!”

“I will not let you,” he said quietly.

“Are you a doctor, then?”

“No, just your plain, your ordinary physician, like another who guessed your trouble this day. The girl who would have named it but ran off in the crowd.”

“Yes, I saw in her eyes she knew what had seized me. But, now, my teeth chatter. And no extra blanket!”

“Give room, please. There. Let me see: two arms, two legs, head and body. I'm all here!”

“What, sir!”

“To warm you from the night, of course.”

“How like a hearth! Oh, sir, sir, do I
know
you? Your name?”

Swiftly above her, his head shadowed hers. From it his merry clear-water eyes glowed as did his white ivory slot of a smile.

“Why, Bosco, of course,” he said.

“Is there not a saint by that name?”

“Given an hour, you will call me so, yes.”

His head bent closer. Thus sooted in shadow, she cried with joyous recognition to welcome her Dustman back.

“The world spins! I pass away! The cure, sweet Doctor, or all is lost!”

“The cure,” he said. “And the cure is
this
…”

Somewhere, cats sang. A shoe, shot from a window, tipped them off a fence. Then all was silence and the moon …

 

“Shh …”

Dawn. Tiptoeing downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes peered into their courtyard.

“Frozen stone dead from the terrible night, I
know
it!”

“No, wife, look! Alive! Roses in her cheeks! No, more! Peaches, persimmons! She glows all rosy-milky! Sweet Camillia, alive and well, made whole again!”

They bent by the slumbering girl.

“She smiles, she dreams; what's that she says?”

“The sovereign,” sighed the girl, “remedy.”

“What, what?”

The girl smiled again, a white smile, in her sleep.

“A medicine,” she murmured, “for melancholy.”

She opened her eyes.

“Oh, Mother, Father!”

“Daughter! Child! Come upstairs!”

“No.” She took their hands, tenderly. “Mother? Father?”

“Yes?”

“No one will see. The sun but rises. Please. Dance with me.”

They did not want to dance.

But, celebrating they knew not what, they did.

I
t was summer twilight in the city, and out front of the quiet-clicking pool hall three young Mexican-American men breathed the warm air and looked around at the world. Sometimes they talked and sometimes they said nothing at all but watched the cars glide by like black panthers on the hot asphalt or saw trolleys loom up like thunderstorms, scatter lightning, and rumble away into silence.

“Hey,” sighed Martínez at last. He was the youngest, the most sweetly sad of the three. “It's a swell night, huh? Swell.”

As he observed the world it moved very close and then drifted away and then came close again. People, brushing by, were suddenly across the street. Buildings five miles away suddenly leaned over him. But most of the time everything—people, cars, and buildings—stayed way out on the edge of the world and could not be touched. On this quiet warm summer evening Martínez's face was cold.

“Nights like this you wish … lots of things.”

“Wishing,” said the second man, Villanazul, a man who shouted books out loud in his room but spoke only in whispers on the street. “Wishing is the useless pastime of the unemployed.”

“Unemployed?” cried Vamenos, the unshaven. “Listen to him! We got no jobs, no money!”

“So,” said Martínez, “we got no friends.”

“True.” Villanazul gazed off toward the green plaza where the palm trees swayed in the soft night wind. “Do you know what I wish? I wish to go into that plaza and speak among the businessmen who gather there nights to talk big talk. But dressed as I am,
poor as I am, who would listen? So, Martínez, we have each other. The friendship of the poor is real friendship. We—”

But now a handsome young Mexican with a fine thin mustache strolled by. And on each of his careless arms hung a laughing woman.

“
Madre mía!
” Martínez slapped his own brow. “How does that one rate
two
friends?”

“It's his nice new white summer suit.” Vamenos chewed a black thumbnail. “He looks sharp.”

Martínez leaned out to watch the three people moving away, and then at the tenement across the street, in one fourth-floor window of which, far above, a beautiful girl leaned out, her dark hair faintly stirred by the wind. She had been there forever, which was to say for six weeks. He had nodded, he had raised a hand, he had smiled, he had blinked rapidly, he had even bowed to her, on the street, in the hall when visiting friends, in the park, downtown. Even now, he put his hand up from his waist and moved his fingers. But all the lovely girl did was let the summer wind stir her dark hair. He did not exist. He was nothing.

“
Madre mía!
” He looked away and down the street where the man walked his two friends around a corner. “Oh, if I had just one suit, one! I wouldn't need money if I
looked
okay.”

“I hesitate to suggest,” said Villanazul, “that you see Gómez. But he's been talking some crazy talk for a month now about clothes. I keep on saying I'll be in on it to make him go away. That Gómez.”

“Friend,” said a quiet voice.

“Gómez!” Everyone turned to stare.

Smiling strangely, Gómez pulled forth an endless thin yellow ribbon which fluttered and swirled on the summer air.

“Gómez,” said Martínez, “what you doing with that tape measure?”

Gómez beamed. “Measuring people's skeletons.”

“Skeletons!”

“Hold on.” Gómez squinted at Martínez. “
Caramba!
Where you
been
all my life! Let's try
you!
”

Martínez saw his arm seized and taped, his leg measured, his chest encircled.

“Hold still!” cried Gómez. “Arm—perfect. Leg—chest—
perfecto!
Now quick, the height! There! Yes! Five foot five! You're
in! Shake!” Pumping Martínez's hand, he stopped suddenly. “Wait. You got … ten bucks?”

“I have!” Vamenos waved some grimy bills. “Gómez, measure me!”

“All I got left in the world is nine dollars and ninety-two cents.” Martínez searched his pockets. “That's enough for a new suit? Why?”

“Why? Because you got the right skeleton, that's why!”

“Señor Gómez, I don't hardly know you—”

“Know me? You're going to live with me! Come on!”

Gómez vanished into the poolroom. Martínez, escorted by the polite Villanazul, pushed by an eager Vamenos, found himself inside.

“Domínguez!” said Gómez.

Domínguez, at a wall telephone, winked at them. A woman's voice squeaked on the receiver.

“Manulo!” said Gómez.

Manulo, a wine bottle tilted bubbling to his mouth, turned. Gómez pointed at Martínez.

“At last we found our fifth volunteer!”

Domínguez said, “I got a date, don't bother me—” and stopped. The receiver slipped from his fingers. His little black telephone book full of fine names and numbers went quickly back into his pocket. “Gómez, you—?”

“Yes, yes! Your money, now!
Ándale!
”

The woman's voice sizzled on the dangling phone.

Domínguez glanced at it uneasily.

Manulo considered the empty wine bottle in his hand and the liquor-store sign across the street.

Then very reluctantly both men laid ten dollars each on the green velvet pool table.

Villanazul, amazed, did likewise, as did Gómez, nudging Martínez. Martínez counted out his wrinkled bills and change. Gómez flourished the money like a royal flush.

“Fifty bucks! The suit costs sixty! All we need is ten bucks!”

“Wait,” said Martínez. “Gómez, are we talking about
one
suit?
Uno?
”

“
Uno!
” Gómez raised a finger. “One wonderful white ice-cream summer suit! White, white as the August moon!”

“But who will own this one suit?”

“Me!” said Manulo.

“Me!” said Domínguez.

“Me!” said Villanazul.

“Me!” cried Gómez. “
And
you, Martínez. Men, let's show him. Line up!”

Villanazul, Manulo, Domínguez, and Gómez rushed to plant their backs against the poolroom wall.

“Martínez, you too, the other end, line up! Now, Vamenos, lay that billiard cue across our heads!”

“Sure, Gómez, sure!”

Martínez, in line, felt the cue tap his head and leaned out to see what was happening. “Ah!” he gasped.

The cue lay flat on all their heads, with no rise or fall, as Vamenos slid it along, grinning.

“We're all the same height!” said Martínez.

“The same!” Everyone laughed.

Gómez ran down the line, rustling the yellow tape measure here and there on the men so they laughed even more wildly.

“Sure” he said. “It took a month, four weeks, mind you, to find four guys the same size and shape as me, a month of running around measuring. Sometimes I found guys with five-foot-five skeletons, sure, but all the meat on their bones was too much or not enough. Sometimes their bones were too long in the legs or too short in the arms. Boy, all the bones! I tell you! But now, five of us, same shoulders, chests, waists, arms, and as for weight? Men!”

Manulo, Domínguez, Villanazul, Gómez, and at last Martínez stepped onto the scales which flipped ink-stamped cards at them as Vamenos, still smiling wildly, fed pennies. Heart pounding, Martínez read the cards.

“One hundred thirty-five pounds … one thirty-six … one thirty-three … one thirty-four … one thirty-seven … a miracle!”

“No,” said Villanazul simply, “Gómez.”

They all smiled upon that genius who now circled them with his arms.

“Are we not fine?” he wondered. “All the same size, all the same dream—the suit. So each of us will look beautiful at least one night each week, eh?”

“I haven't looked beautiful in years,” said Martínez. “The girls run away.”

“They will run no more, they will freeze,” said Gómez, “when they see you in the cool white summer ice-cream suit.”

“Gómez,” said Villanazul, “just let me ask one thing.

“Of course,
compadre
.”

“When we get this nice new white ice-cream summer suit, some night you're not going to put it on and walk down to the Greyhound bus in it and go live in El Paso for a year in it, are you?”

“Villanazul, Villanazul, how can you say that?”

“My eye sees and my tongue moves,” said Villanazul. “How about the
Everybody Wins!
Punchboard Lotteries you ran and you kept running when nobody won? How about the United Chili Con Carne and Frijole Company you were going to organize and all that ever happened was the rent ran out on a two-by-four office?”

“The errors of a child now grown,” said Gómez. “Enough! In this hot weather someone may buy the special suit that is made just for us that stands waiting in the window of SHUMWAY'S SUNSHINE SUITS! We have fifty dollars. Now we need just one more skeleton!”

Martínez saw the men peer around the pool hall. He looked where they looked. He felt his eyes hurry past Vamenos, then come reluctantly back to examine his dirty shirt, his huge nicotined fingers.

“Me!” Vamenos burst out at last. “My skeleton, measure it, it's great! Sure, my hands are big, and my arms, from digging ditches! But—”

Just then Martínez heard passing on the sidewalk outside that same terrible man with his two girls, all laughing together.

He saw anguish move like the shadow of a summer cloud on the faces of the other men in this poolroom.

Slowly Vamenos stepped onto the scales and dropped his penny. Eyes closed, he breathed a prayer.

“
Madre mía
, please …”

The machinery whirred; the card fell out. Vamenos opened his eyes.

“Look! One thirty-five pounds! Another miracle!”

The men stared at his right hand and the card, at his left hand and a soiled ten-dollar bill.

Gómez swayed. Sweating, he licked his lips. Then his hand shot out, seized the money.

“The clothing store! The suit!
Vamos!
”

Yelling, everyone ran from the poolroom.

The woman's voice was still squeaking on the abandoned telephone. Martínez, left behind, reached out and hung the voice up. In the silence he shook his head. “
Santos
, what a dream! Six men,” he said, “one suit. What will come of this? Madness? Debauchery? Murder? But I go with God. Gómez, wait for me!”

Martínez was young. He ran fast.

Mr. Shumway, of SHUMWAY'S SUNSHINE SUITS, paused while adjusting a tie rack, aware of some subtle atmospheric change outside his establishment.

“Leo,” he whispered to his assistant. “Look …”

Outside, one man, Gómez, strolled by, looking in. Two men, Manulo and Domínguez, hurried by, staring in. Three men, Villanazul, Martínez, and Vamenos, jostling shoulders, did the same.

“Leo.” Mr. Shumway swallowed. “Call the police!”

Suddenly six men filled the doorway.

Martínez, crushed among them, his stomach slightly upset, his face feeling feverish, smiled so wildly at Leo that Leo let go the telephone.

“Hey,” breathed Martínez, eyes wide. “There's a great suit over there!”

“No.” Manulo touched a lapel. “
This
one!”

“There is only one suit in all the world!” said Gómez coldly. “Mr. Shumway, the ice-cream white, size thirty-four, was in your window just an hour ago! It's gone! You didn't—”

“Sell it?” Mr. Shumway exhaled. “No, no. In the dressing room. It's still on the dummy.”

Martínez did not know if he moved and moved the crowd or if the crowd moved and moved him. Suddenly they were all in motion. Mr. Shumway, running, tried to keep ahead of them.

“This way, gents. Now which of you …?”

“All for one, one for all!” Martínez heard himself say, and laughed. “We'll all try it on!”

“All?” Mr. Shumway clutched at the booth curtain as if his shop were a steamship that had suddenly tilted in a great swell. He stared.

That's it, thought Martínez, look at our smiles. Now, look at the skeletons behind our smiles! Measure here, there, up, down, yes, do you
see?

Mr. Shumway saw. He nodded. He shrugged.

“All!” He jerked the curtain. “There! Buy it, and I'll throw in the dummy free!”

Martínez peered quietly into the booth, his motion drawing the others to peer too.

The suit was there.

And it was white.

Martínez could not breathe. He did not want to. He did not need to. He was afraid his breath would melt the suit. It was enough, just looking.

But at last he took a great trembling breath and exhaled, whispering, “
Ay. Ay, caramba!
”

“It puts out my eyes,” murmured Gómez.

“Mr. Shumway,” Martínez heard Leo hissing. “Ain't it dangerous precedent, to sell it? I mean, what if everybody bought
one
suit for
six
people?”

“Leo,” said Mr. Shumway, “you ever hear one single fifty-nine-dollar suit make so many people happy at the same time before?”

“Angels' wings,” murmured Martínez. “The wings of white angels.”

Martínez felt Mr. Shumway peering over his shoulder into the booth. The pale glow filled his eyes.

“You know something, Leo?” he said in awe. “That's a
suit!
”

Gómez, shouting, whistling, ran up to the third-floor landing and turned to wave to the others, who staggered, laughed, stopped, and had to sit down on the steps below.

“Tonight!” cried Gómez. “Tonight you move in with me, eh? Save rent as well as clothes, eh? Sure! Martínez, you got the suit?”

“Have I?” Martínez lifted the white gift-wrapped box high. “From us to us!
Ay-hah!
”