Gladiator (12 page)

When that period of tribulation passed, Hugo became a man. But he suffered keenly from his unwonted fears for some time. The calm and suave youth who had made love to Iris was buried beneath his frightened and imaginative adolescence. It wore out the last of his childishness. Immediately afterwards he learned about money and how it is earned. He sat there in the dormitory, almost trembling with uncertainty and used mighty efforts to do the things he felt he must do. He wrote a letter to his father which began: “Dear Dad—Why in Sam Hill didn't you tell me you were being reamed so badly by your nit-witted son and I'd have shovelled out and dug up some money for myself long ago?” On rereading that letter he realized that its tone was false. He wrote another in which he apologized with simple sincerity for the condition he had unknowingly created, and in which he expressed every confidence that he could take care of himself in the future.

He bore that braver front through the last days of school. He shook Lefty's hand warmly and looked fairly into his eyes. “Well, so long, old sock. Be good.”

“Be good, Hugo. And don't weaken. We'll need all your beef next year. Decided what you're going to do yet?”

“No. Have you?”

Lefty shrugged. “I suppose I've got to go abroad with the family as usual. They wrote a dirty letter about the allowance I'd not have next year if I didn't. Why don't you come with us? Iris'll be there.”

Hugo grinned. “No, sir! Iris once is very nice, but no man's equal to Iris twice.” His grin became a chuckle. “And that's a
poem
which you can say to Iris if you see her—and tell her I hope it makes her mad.”

Lefty's blue eyes sparkled with appreciation. Danner was a wonderful boy. Full of wit and not dumb like most of his kind. Getting smooth, too. Be a great man. Too bad to leave him—even for the summer. “Well—so long, old man.”

Hugo watched Lefty lift his bags into a cab and roll away in the warm June dust. Then Chuck:

“Well—by-by, Hugo. See you next September.”

“Yeah. Take care of yourself.”

“No chance of your going abroad, is there? Because we sure could paint the old Avenue de l'Opéra red if you did.”

“Not this year, Chuck.”

“Well—don't take any wooden money.”

“Don't do anything you wouldn't eat.”

Hugo felt a lump in his throat. He could not say any more farewells. The campus was almost deserted. No meals would be served after the next day. He stared at the vacant dormitories and listened to the waning sound of departures. A train puffed and fumed at the station. It was filled with boys. Going away. He went to his room and packed. He'd leave, too. When his suit-cases were filled, he looked round the room with damp eyes. He thought that he was going to cry, mastered himself, and then did cry. Some time later he remembered Iris and stopped crying. He walked to the station, recalling his first journey in the other direction, his pinch-backed green suit, the trunk he had carried. Grand old place, Webster. Suddenly gone dead all over. There would be a train for New York in half an hour. He took it. Some of the students talked to him on the trip to the city. Then they left him, alone, in the great vacuum of the terminal. The glittering corridors were filled with people. He wondered if he could find Bessie's house.

At a restaurant he ate supper. When he emerged, it was dark. He asked his way, found a hotel, registered in a onedollar room, went out on the street again. He walked to the Raven. Then he took a cab. He remembered Bessie's house. An
old
woman answered the door. “Bessie? Bessie? No girl by that name I remember.”

Hugo described her. “Oh, that tart! She ran out on me—owin' a week's rent.”

“When was that?”

“Some time last fall.”

“Oh.” Hugo meditated. The woman spoke again. “I did hear from one of my other girls that she'd gone to work at Coney, but I ain't had time to look her up. Owes me four dollars, she does. But Bessie, as you calls her—her name's Sue—wasn't never much good. Still—” the woman scrutinized Hugo and giggled—“Bessie ain't the only girl in the world. I got a cute little piece up here named Palmerlee says only the other night she's lonely. Glad to interdooce you.”

Hugo thought of his small capital. “No, thanks.”

He walked away. A warm moon was dimly sensible above the lights of the street. He decided to go to Coney Island and look for the lost Bessie. It would cost him only a dime, and she owed him money. He smiled a little savagely and thought that he would collect its equivalent. Then he boarded the subway, cursing himself for a fool and cursing his appetite for the fool's master. Why did he chase that particular little harlot on an evening when his mind should be bent toward more serious purposes? Certainly not because he had any intention of getting back his money. Because he wished to surprise her? Because he was angry that she had cheated him? Or because she was the only woman in New York whom he knew? He decided it was the last reason. Finally the train reached Coney Island, and Hugo descended into the fantastic hurly-burly on the street below. He realized the ridiculousness of his quest as he saw the miles of thronging people in the loud streets.

“See the fat woman, see Esmerelda, the beautiful fat woman, she weighs six hundred pounds, she's had a dozen lovers, she's the fattest woman in the world, a sensation, dressed in the robes of Cleopatra, robes that took a bolt of cloth; but she's so fat they conceal nothing, ladies and gentlemen, see the
beautiful
fat woman....” A roller coaster circled through the skies with a noise that was audible above the crowd's staccato voice and dashed itself at the earth below. A merry-go-round whirled goldenly and a band struck up a strident march. Hugo smelled stale beer and frying food. He heard the clang of a bell as a weight was driven up to it by the shoulders of a young gentleman in a pink shirt.

“The strongest man in the world, ladies and gentlemen, come in and see Thorndyke, the great professor of physical culture from Munich, Germany. He can bend a spike in his bare hands, an elephant can pass over his body without harming him, he can lift a weight of one ton....” Hugo laughed. Two girls saw him and brushed close. “Buy us a drink, sport.”

The strongest man in the world. Hugo wondered what sort of strong man he would make. Perhaps he could go into competition with Dr. Thorndyke. He saw himself pictured in gaudy reds and yellows, holding up an enormous weight. He remembered that he was looking for Bessie. Then he saw another girl. She was sitting at a table, alone. That fact was significant. He sat beside her.

“Hello, tough,” she said.

“Hello.”

“Wanna buy me a beer?”

Hugo bought a beer and looked at the girl. Her hair was black and straight. Her mouth was straight. It was painted scarlet. Her eyes were hard and dark. But her body, as if to atone for her face, was made in a series of soft curves that fitted exquisitely into her black silk dress. He tortured himself looking at her. She permitted it sullenly. “You can buy me a sandwich, if you want. I ain't eaten to-day.”

He bought a sandwich, wondering if she was telling the truth. She ate ravenously. He bought another and then a second glass of beer. After that she rose. “You can come with me if you wanna.”

Odd. No conversation, no vivacity, only a dull submission that was not in keeping with her appearance.

“
Have you had enough to eat?” he asked.

“It'll do,” she responded.

They turned into a side street and moved away from the shimmering lights and the morass of people. Presently they entered a dingy frame house and went upstairs. There was no one in the hall, no furniture, only a flickering gas-light. She unlocked a door. “Come in.”

He looked at her again. She took off her hat and arranged her dark hair so that it looped almost over one eye. Hugo wondered at her silence. “I didn't mean to rush,” he said.

“Well, I did. Gotta make some more. It'll be”—she hesitated—“two bucks.”

The girl sat down and wept. “Aw, hell,” she said finally, looking at him with a shameless defiance, “I guess I'm gonna make a rotten tart. I was in a show, an' I got busted out for not bein' nice to the manager. I says to myself: ‘Well, what am I gonna do?' An' I starts to get hungry this morning. So I says to myself: ‘Well, there ain't but one thing to do, Charlotte, but to get you a room,' I says, an' here I am, so help me God.”

She removed her dress with a sweeping motion. Hugo looked at her, filled with pity, filled with remorse at his sudden surrender to her passionate good looks, intensely discomfited.

“Listen. I have a roll in my pocket. I'm damn glad I came here first. I haven't got a job, but I'll get one in the morning. And I'll get you a decent room and stake you till you get work. God knows, I picked you up for what I thought you were, Charlotte, and God knows too that I haven't any noble nature. But I'm not going to let you go on the street simply because you're broke. Not when you hate it so much.”

Charlotte shut her eyes tight and pressed out the last tears, which ran into her rouge and streaked it with mascara. “That's sure white of you.”

“I don't know. Maybe it's selfish. I had an awful yen for you when I sat down at that table. But let's not worry about it now. Let's go out and get a decent dinner.”

“
You mean—you mean you want me to go out and eat—now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“But you ain't—?”

“Forget it. Come on.”

Charlotte sniffled and buried her black tresses in her black dress. She pulled it over the curves of her hips. She inspected herself in a spotted mirror and sniffled again. Then she laughed. A throaty, gurgling laugh. Her hands moved swiftly, and soon she turned. “How am I?”

“Wonderful.”

“Let's go!”

She tucked her hand under his arm when they reached the street. Hugo walked silently. He wondered why he was doing it and to what it would lead. It seemed good, wholly good, to have a girl at his side again, especially a girl over whom he had so strong a claim. They stopped before a glass-fronted restaurant that advertised its sea food and its steaks. She sat down with an apologetic smile. “I'm afraid I'm goin' to eat you out of house and home.”

“Go ahead. I had a big supper, but I'll string along with some pie and cheese and beer.”

Charlotte studied the menu. “Mind if I have a little steak?”

Hugo shook his head slowly. “Waiter! A big T-bone, and some lyonnaise potatoes, and some string beans and corn and a salad and ice cream. Bring some pie and cheese for me—and a beer.”

“Gosh!” Charlotte said.

Hugo watched her eat the food. He knew such pity as he had seldom felt. Poor little kid! All alone, scared, going on the street because she would starve otherwise. It made him feel strong and capable. Before the meal was finished, she was talking furiously. Her pathetic life was unravelled. “I come from Brooklyn ... old man took to drink, an' ma beat it with a gent from Astoria ... never knew what happened to her.... I kept house for the old man till he tried to get funny with me....
Burlesque
... on the road ... the leading man.... He flew the coop when I told him, and then when it came, it was dead....” Another job ... the manager ... Coney and her dismissal. “I just couldn't let 'em have it when I didn't like 'em, mister. Guess I'm not tough like the other girls. My mother was French and she brought me up kind of decent. Well....” The little outward turning of her hands, the shrug of her shoulders.

“Don't worry, Charlotte. I won't let them eat you. To-morrow I'll set you up to a decent room and we'll go out and find some jobs here.”

“You don't have to do that, mister. I'll make out. All I needed was a square and another day.”

Charlotte sighed and smoked a cigarette with her coffee. Then they went out on the street and mixed with the throng. The voices of a score of barkers wheedled them. Hugo began to feel gay. He took Charlotte to see the strong man and watched his feats with a critical eye. He took her on the roller coaster and became taut and laughing when she screamed and held him. Then, laughing louder than before, they went through Steeplechase. She fell in the rolling barrel and he carried her out. They crossed over moving staircases and lost themselves in a maze, and slid down polished chutes into fountains of light and excited screaming. Always, afterwards, her hand found his arm, her great dark eyes looked into his and laughed. Always they turned toward the other men and girls with a proud and haughty expression that pointed to Hugo as her man, her conquest. Later they danced. They drank more beer.

“Golly,” she whispered, as she snuggled against him, “you sure strut a mean fox trot.”

“So do you, Charlotte.”

“I been doin' it a lot, I guess.”

The brazen crash of a finale. The table. A babble of voices, voices of people snatching pleasure from Coney Island's gaudy barrel of cheap amusements. Hugo liked it then. He liked the smell and touch of the multitude and the incessant hysteria of
its
presence. After midnight the music became more aggravating—muted, insinuating. Several of the dancers were drunk. One of them tried to cut in. Hugo shook his head.

“Gee!” Charlotte said, “I was sure hopin' you wouldn't let him.”

“Why—I never thought of it.”

“Most fellows would. He's a tough.”

It was an introduction to an unfamiliar world. The “tough” came to their table and asked for a dance in thick accents. Charlotte paled and accepted. Hugo refused. “Say, bo, I'm askin' for a dance. I got concessions here. You can't refuse me, see? I guess you got me wrong.”

“Beat it,” Hugo said, “before I take a poke at you.”

The intruder's answer was a swinging fist, which missed Hugo by a wide margin. Hugo stood and dropped him with a single clean blow. The manager came up, expostulated, ordered the tough's inert form from the floor, started the music.