The boatman's usually glum face was alert and smiling. He had enjoyed bringing deliverance. Here was a young man who really wanted to work, Paperman thought, and who did know something about the unforeseeable pitfalls of operating the Club.
But there were things against Gilbert. He was an inscrutable, morose, black lad. He parted with spoken words as though each were a ten-dollar bill. He lived at the top of the Thousand Steps, on Mosquito Hill, behind Government Hill and the Jewish cemetery. The bartender was the key man in this hotel. Church was white, understandable, and tractable. Moreover, replacing a boatman, under the strange labor laws of Amerigo, was apparently impossible.
"We'll see, Gilbert, we'll see. Let's leave things as they are, just for now."
The Negro's thick lips tightened until they disappeared. A murky spark came and went in his eyes, leaving his expression veiled and dull. He walked off down the beach.
Paperman left a note for Lorna at the desk: Please call Anatone first thing. Tell him to fill the emergency tank and, put three days' supply in the main cistern.
He tottered off to bed. So ended his first full day as the owner of the Gull Reef Club.
Chapter Six
The Second Day
I
None of the new proprietor's awakenings so far had been pleasant. The following morning was a change, in that hammering fists on his door were not what roused him. He awoke gagging and choking. The cottage was filled with a smell so strong and so foul that his mind sprang to a wild surmise: a dead rotten whale had stranded on the beach. He groped to the seaward window, but there was no dead whale. He went and looked out at the lawn, noticing that he was still wearing last night's shirt and shorts and mud-caked sandals. He had no recollection of what he had done after leaving the message for Lorna; he had been so played out that it would not have surprised him to awaken on the lobby floor.
Beyond the rise of the lawn which hid the dock from sight, he could see the round bridge of a landing craft painted in fading camouflage patterns. This had to be the garbage carrier, he realized, bearing Anatone's water truck. But could it possibly stink with this strength at this range? He went out to investigate. A black hose from the tank truck on the vessel twisted across the lawn to the main house. Guests, gathered on the terrace with handkerchiefs to their noses, were watching two Negroes working at the truck. Norman clamped his nose between thumb and forefinger and ran to the pier. "Which of you is Anatone?" he said in something like a New England twang.
"Dat me, suh." The thinner and younger of the two, wearing a battered brown hard hat, flashed gold teeth in an easy grin. "De wind sure de wrong way today. Sorry."
"How many more loads do you have to bring?"
"Ten."
"Ye gods, you'll be at it till sundown. There won't be a guest registered in this hotel by then."
Anatone said the wind was bound to change; it never blew from this direction for long, except in the summer. He had already topped off the emergency tank, and there was almost one day's supply in the main cistern. "Goin' for de next load now," he said. The boat captain roared up the engine, and Anatone cast off.
"How much is this costing me?" Paperman yelled.
"Fifty dolla' a load, suh. Fifteen load."
"Seven hundred and fifty dollars? For water?"
"De boat does cost de money," Anatone shouted back amiably from the stern, as the landing craft pulled away. The breeze brought instant relief. Just an ordinary light sea wind, it smelled like a zephyr from a lilac garden after the fumes of the garbage boat.
Millard, in his paper-bag hat, now tramped onto the pier carrying half a dozen suitcases covered with travel labels. Behind him came a big man in a seersucker suit, with a fat red face, sunken eyes, and curly gray hair. A slight, elderly woman in a yellow sun dress leaned on his arm.
"Good morning, please," Millard said to Norman with a sweet smile.
"There he is, Harriet," rasped the man. "Say, you, aren't you this new owner, this Piper, or whatever?"
"Paperman. I'm the new owner of the hotel, yes."
"Well, mister, my wife and I have been coming here for seven years, but by God this club is seeing the last of us. My wife's just thrown up her breakfast. Jesus Christ! Where's that gondola?"
"Sir, we've been having a little water problem, but after today-"
"You're telling me? The things that went on with our toilet last night! You've stunk us out of your hotel, Paperman, that's all I know, and you'll stink out everybody else before nightfall, you mark my word. How do you feel, honey?"
"Better now," murmured the woman. "Now that that horrible boat's gone."
The man blinked and stared at Norman. "Wait, you say your name's Paperman? That's an odd name. Where are you from? Not Hartford, Connecticut, by any chance?"
"Hartford, exactly."
"Jesus, you're not poor old Ike Paperman's son, are you?"
"That's right. I'm Norman."
'Well!" The man looked up and down at Norman's unshaven face, tousled hair, creased clothes, and mud-caked feet. "What a small world. I thought you were a Broadway producer or something. I did a lot of business with your father. He was a fine man. I'm George Harmer. Hartford Electric Supply."
Paperman held out his hand. The man shook it awkwardly. "Look, I mean, Norman, can't you do something about that boat? It's going to kill Harriet. She's a high-strung woman and she's just getting over an operation-"
"I'll call off the boat, Mr. Harmer," Norman said. "Immediately, I promise. You're dead right. I just woke up, or I'd have stopped them sooner. They can come another day when the wind's normal."
"How about that, Harriet? Ike Paperman's boy," Harmer said. "Isn't it a small world?"
Lorna looked amazed at seeing the Harmers come to the desk again, and somewhat scared. The man said jocosely, "Okay, girl friend, I'll take the key to twenty-seven again. I call Lorna my girl friend," he explained to Paperman.
Lorna smiled uncertainly at the man. "Mr. Akers in de ole dining room," she said to Paperman. "He does be waiting to talk to you."
"All right. You take good care of the Harmers now. Is Church here?"
"Yes, suh. He come in nine o'clock."
Slipping behind the bellying tarpaulin, Norman saw great stacks of building materials-window frames, door frames, lumber, paneling, pipes, kegs, boxes, toilets, washbasins, and the like-and beyond these, on the lawn, Akers' battalion of laborers sitting or lying in the bright sun. Akers was lounging full length on one elbow on the grass, pouring himself coffee from a vacuum jug. "Ah, the boss!" He rose in a clumsy way to his unbelievable height. "How about this? Everything the job needs, down to the last nail and tile, right here before your eyes." He picked up and flourished a manila folder. "Got the whole inventory here, too, if you want to look at it, with that estimate you wanted. This job's going to be mighty cheap for the A-i materials you've got here."
"That's fine. Why aren't the men working1?"
"Couple of things I have to check out with you. You see, it's this way, Mr. Paperman-"
A woman's scream stopped him; a high, frightening scream, from somewhere on the second floor. "Good Lord," Akers said. There was another weaker scream, and then the deep noises of an angry man, and trampling sounds. Paperman went diving under the tarpaulin into the lobby. George Harmer was coming heavily down the stairs, supporting his wife, whose eyes glanced wildly here and there. "Easy, Harriet, easy. It's perfectly all right now."
"Oh my God," said the woman. "Oh my God."
"PAPERMAN!" bellowed Harmer, assisting his wife to a couch. "You get me a doctor, and fast. If anything's happened to Harriet you're going to have a lawsuit on your hands, brother, for half a million dollars."
"It was so awful, so awful," quavered Mrs. Harmer, lying down, on the couch, and putting the back of her hand over her eyes.
"What happened, for God's sake?" said Paperman.
"Never mind what happened. I can't tell you what happened. Get a doctor!"
The commotion was attracting guests into the lobby. A baldish young man in black swim trunks stepped forward. "I'm a doctor. Can I help? What's her trouble?"
"She's been shocked within an inch of her life, that's all."
Harmer stepped away from his wife's side. The young man, his face grave, sat on the couch beside her and gently took her wrist. "What frightened her?"
"I just can't tell you. Not now." Harmer glared at the ring of guests and especially at Paperman.
"It was so awful," moaned the woman.
The doctor lifted her hand away from her eyes, and pushed back her lids. Paperman said in anguish to the husband, "What was it? Did she see a scorpion?"
"A scorpion? Listen, mister-"
The doctor said, "Your wife's all right. Give her a little brandy and let her catch her breath. And everybody should go away and leave her be," he added to the clustering guests.
"I never drink brandy," said Mrs. Harmer, with her hand over her eyes. "A drop of Cherry Heering, maybe. Just a tiny taste."
Paperman darted to the bar. To his annoyance, Church was not in sight. He rattled the bottles around until he found the Cherry Heering, and brought a small glassful back to the lobby. Harmer sat beside his wife, patting her hand. The doctor was dispersing the guests with good-humored hand waves. "Come, ma'am, sit up. Just take a sip or two," the doctor said.
"How soon can I take her away from this place, Doctor?" growled Harmer.
Mrs. Harmer was drinking like a baby from the glass in the doctor's hand. He smiled. "Any time, really. She's all right."
The husband grabbed Paperman's elbow. "Look after her for just a second, Doctor, will you? Just one second." He dragged Norman across the lobby, behind the desk, and into the tiny office, banging the door shut. "All right, brother, now here it is. My wife and I went back up to our room, see? I opened the door for her. She went in first. She let out a scream and all but fell dead on my hands. You know that bartender of yours? That skinny kid with a beard?"
"Yes?" said Norman, with an awful presentiment. "Well, brother, right there on the bed, this bartender of yours was slipping it to our chambermaid! Right there in broad daylight, on our bed. And my Harriet had to see a thing like that! The chambermaid!"
Too upset to think clearly, Paperman babbled, "Really? Are you sure?"
"Am I SURE?" The man exploded, his face going purple. "What the hell? Do you think I'm too goddamned old to even remember what it looks like? I'm telling you what we both saw! Harriet damn near died. I had to carry her back down the stairs. Am I sure!"
Paperman groaned, and buried his face in his hands.
This mollified Harmer and he said in more normal tones, "I tell you, that isn't the worst of it. He never even stopped. He looked at us over his shoulder and sort of smiled in a sickly way, and said, 'Oh, hi. I thought you checked out,' and went right on with it. That's when Harriet screamed again. Paperman, you've got a sex maniac there."
Paperman moaned through his hands. "I hired him only yesterday. It was an emergency-"
"Yes? Well, this is a bigger emergency. That boy's crazy. For one thing, the girl's pregnant as a hippo."
"Oh no, no. Not the pregnant one," Paperman mumbled, rocking his head from side to side. "Not Esm,."
"That's her name. Esm,."
Paperman's hands uncovered a bristling, haggard, drawn, deeply sad face. "Mr. Harmer, I can't blame you for leaving. I won't argue with you. I'll get rid of him."
Harmer said uncomfortably, "I mean, I feel sorry for you. But I've just got to take Harriet somewhere else."
"I completely understand," Paperman said with a gasping sob.
"Holy Christ, man, are you crying? Don't cry. That's no way."
"I'm not crying," said Paperman. "I'm allergic. When I'm under pressure these attacks hit me. I'll be all right."
It was true enough. The swelling in his nasal ducts, the stinging in his eyes, the involuntary tears, were coming on severe and fast. It was his first allergic attack since the coronary; he had thought that pattern was broken up for good, and here it was appearing again.
"Well, okay. Good luck. You've really got yourself into something here, Paperman, that's all I can say." Harmer left, closing the door gently behind him.
Paperman began feeling in his pockets for Kleenex. What a misery this was, now! He had not even brought the medicines for his allergy; he would have to cable Henny to airmail them-Rap, rap, rap at the door; bony knuckles striking hard. "Yes, come in," he wheezed.
Akers came stooping through the doorway. "I hate like hell to disturb you, but we ought to get those men started working."
