Now and on Earth (19 page)

Oh, sure. I do know.

It doesn't make sense to me any more than polishing a paragraph for two hours would make sense to them. I don't want it to make sense. If it ever does, I will give up. That will be the end.

Yes, and I am going to get out of it. I will get out of it. As soon as I see Frankie clear of this mess, I am clearing out. They can all do what they please, but I am leaving, I mean it.

If I only knew what to do about Roberta; she is the main problem. I had always thought before that I was the only one who was that way. But now I know that she is, too. And I don't know what she would do. I know there would never be any other man for her.

And Jo has been extremely nervous lately. She seems to sense that I am about ready to take flight, and she will not leave me alone for a minute. She is on the arm of my chair, squeezing my hand, bringing me things, and talking to me from the minute I get home until I go to bed. We can hardly make her go to bed any more before I do. I don't know what Jo would do if I left. I am the only one there who understands her and speaks her language.

Then Shannon. I think I could do something with Shannon if I had the time. Perhaps if I could get her off by herself for a few hours each evening-I don't see how I could, but-

And Mack is trying to learn some new jokes. They still deal with biteys, and they're hardly hilarious. But if he doesn't have anyone to encourage him, he'll never make any progress. Mack looks a lot like the pictures of me when I was his age. He'll grow into one of those big slow extremely sensitive boys. And he's going to need a sense of humor. He's going to have to have it.

And Mom's heart has been bad. I'd hate to think that anything I did made it worse. Made it fatal.

I've been thinking. I might take a room some place here in town. Something just big enough for a typewriter and a table and a bed. I could do my own cooking and washing, so it wouldn't cost very much. I don't think I'd mind writing another thriller if I knew I could use the money to get into some real writing. Roberta could have my unemployment compensation, and I'd finance myself with a few pulps. Of course, it would be kind of difficult living right in the same town with them and not seeing them. And if I did see them, why-

Oh I don't know.

Things could be worse, I guess. Mom has been hinting that Marge should come out. Walter has had his salary attached by about a dozen different creditors, and they've barely got enough to live on, and he's treating her pretty wretchedly, it seems. But I put my foot down there. I simply had to…

Well, there goes the telephone. But Moon is catching it. And, evidently, I'm going to catch it about something. I wonder-

"You tell your mother not to call me here any more, Dillon."

"My mother?"

"Yes, your mother. If she calls down here one more time, why-why you'll-she'll-"

I got off my stool. "What?"

"Well-she just can't do that, Dilly. We're not supposed to get outside calls in here. You know that. If that'd been a girl on the switchboard that didn't know me-"

"I didn't know Mom was going to call you. If I had, I'd've told her not to."

"I'm doing all I can, Dilly. You know I am."

"Mom's getting worried, Moon. So am I. You can't let these things go forever."

"I know it, Dilly. I went to two different loan places last night, and I couldn't do any good. I owe so much money they don't think I'm a good risk. Besides they're afraid I might be-"

He broke off the sentence, and a look that I could not define came into his eyes. "Don't say anything more now. Your fr- Gross is watching."

When Gross drove me home, he asked me what Moon and I had been talking about. Gross isn't at all reticent about inquiring into things that he wants to know. Particularly when they are none of his business.

"Nothing," I said.

"I thought I heard him say something about your mother."

"Well."

"Does Moon go to your house quite a bit?"

"No."

"You've got a sister, ain't you?"

I can't like the guy. I feel sorry for him, but I can't like him. So of course I had to be thrown right up against him where I couldn't get away.

"What did you eat for breakfast?" I said. "Did you and your wife get together last night? How much rent do you pay? What kind of underwear do you have on? Do you think it'll rain, and what in the hell will you do about it?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I guess I'm always butting in where I hadn't ought to be. I just like to talk."

We didn't say anything more until we stopped in front of the house.

"I do appreciate riding with you," I said. "Are you sure a dollar a week is enough?"

"Oh, sure. I'd carry you for nothing, Dilly. You're the only friend I got in the plant."

"See you in the morning then," I said. "Good night."

Mom was peeling potatoes, and by the way her hands were moving I knew that she was building herself up to jump me before I could say anything to her.

"I called that Moon fellow," she announced. "I told him he'd better show up here with that money or it would be too bad. The idea of a married man running around-"

"Moon's doing all he can, Mom," I said. "And you mustn't call him down there any more. It'll just make him mad."

"He won't get any madder than I am," said Mom.

"But you mustn't, Mom. You might cause him to lose his job. Then we would be in a pickle."

"I thought you said they thought so much of him they wouldn't let him quit?"

"They do; they did. But if someone keeps calling down there when he's trying to work-"

"Well if he don't want to be called, he'd better get the money."

I poured myself a drink. "There's no use arguing, I guess."

"No, there's not."

"We'll have to face it, Mom. Moon can't get the whole two hundred and fifty. I think it'll be a darn tight squeeze for him even to get half of it. We may as well make up our minds that Frankie is going to have to borrow part of the money."

Mom rinsed the potatoes, covered them with water, and placed them on the stove. She got hamburger out of the icebox and began making it into patties.

"She'll have to, Mom," I said.

"She can't, Jimmie."

"Why not? She always has borrowed when-"

"Well"-Mom turned and looked at me defiantly- "she's got to borrow money for Marge to-"

I put my glass down with a bang. "Mom! Are you out of your mind? How the hell-what will we-oh, my-"

"She's already sent it, Jimmie. And if Marge isn't welcome here, if you can't make a place for your own sister when you've got a good job, and-"

Her veined red hands went up to her eyes, and I did not curse or storm. The curtain had risen again, and I saw those hands transforming bits of bread into fish and steamboats; saw them slipping food from her plate, food that she was starving for, to take up to the cold room so that a little boy there might laugh a little longer. And I saw the little girl again, smiling, patient, tossing a ball by the hour, a ball made from an old stocking…

"She'll be welcome, Mom," I said. "Anything I've got she can have."

And I meant it. And there wasn't much else to say.

The first thing that really meant anything-that inclined me to think that something or someone was working against me-happened when I was fifteen; after I'd been hopping bells for a few months.

I didn't go to school that morning. I waited downtown at the street-car stop where I knew Pop would get off; and when he did, I grabbed him and took him into a restaurant, into one of the booths. He was freezing up toward me, even at that time, but he saw that I wasn't drunk, just excited, and he came along.

"Pop," I said, "did you ever hear of a man named S--?"

"I knew him very well," said Pop. "He and I and President Harding crossed the country together on Harding's private train. Let's see… Gaston Means was in the party, too, and Jake Hamon-" "Never mind that now," I said impatiently. "What became of S--?" "No one knows. He was president of a small insurance company. After Harding's death he disappeared with a million and a half dollars in negotiable securities. They never found either him or them."

"How much would the bonding company-or the security company or whatever it is-pay to get that stuff back, Pop? How much?"

"I should think they'd pay 10 per cent gladly. Say a hundred and fifty thousand."

"That's the way he figured it," I said. "Our share would be seventy-five thousand. That's what he told me, Pop."

Pop looked at me sharply. “Who told you?”

”S-- He’s been in town. He’s at the hotel. And he’s on the snow. I took him up a-I took him up some cigarettes last night, and he kept looking at me and asking questions, and finally he asked me if my name was Dillon, an if you weren’t my father. And he said you were the only man in the world he’d trust. And Pop, he’ll tell us where the stuff is hidden. And all he wants is half of the reward and a promise that they won’t prosecute him and-and it’ll be all right, won’t it, Pop? You’ll do it, won’t you?”

I was afraid that he'd say no, because being broke hadn't changed him a bit. But he'd been a lawyer, and he knew that things like that were done every day. And it was a lot better for the stockholders to get part of their money back than none at all. So he said yes, he'd act as intermediary. And then he began to get as excited as I was. He'd put the money in trust for me, he said; well, maybe he'd borrow a little of it if I wanted him to… And I said oh no, Pop, I want you to handle it all. And he straightened up, looking kind of proud and pleased and sure of himself. And I knew that everything was going to be all right between us-for all of us. That it wasn't too late then to make a new start.

I was supposed to be standing on the corner of Eighth and Houston Streets at seven-thirty that evening. Alone. S-- would come by in a rent-a-car and pick me up. And we would drive from there to the Trinity River Viaduct on the north edge of town where Pop would be waiting. S-- was no sucker, even if he was walking the mountain tops. In case of a double-cross, I'd be thoroughly mixed up in the deal. Another lousy bellhop trying to pull something crooked. He trusted Pop, yes, but he trusted him a lot more with his son as security.

I went home. I told Mom I was too tired to go to school and to wake me up at six that night-I wanted to go to a show. Pop and I thought that story was best. Mom wouldn't understand things, and she'd be scared, and Marge might spill something.

Well-Mom called me at nine o'clock that night, after Pop had got worried and phoned the house. Mom said I was sleeping so soundly, and she guessed I needed my rest a lot more than I needed to see a show.

That was the last of S-- needless to say. He checked out without bothering to take his baggage.

I went to Lincoln. I enrolled in the College of Arts and Sciences which was the logical-the only practical- place for me to enroll. Then I went around to the two newspapers and applied for a job, and they laughed at me heartily. Why they had applications from graduate students in journalism who were glad to work for the experience! I went to the Western Newspaper Union, not knowing that they only handled boiler-plate stuff, and they laughed heartily also. But a girl in the office took pity on me (or I wonder if it was pity). One of the biggest farm journals in the country was in Lincoln. Why didn't I apply over there?

I did.

I walked in there in my brown Kuppenheimer suit and my snap-brim Stetson, and I was carrying a tweed topcoat I'd paid ninety dollars for. And the PBX girl said why certainly, any of the editors would be glad to talk to me.

I was ushered upstairs and introduced to a young man of about my own age, and he said yes, it was entirely possible that they could do something for me. He was going to the University himself. Several of the editors there were. Just a moment and he'd call some of them in… He called them in, and by God they acted like they were glad to meet me! They wrung my hand and looked at me like I was something good to eat, and they insisted that I "come out to the house" for dinner the next day, Sunday.

Well, hell, I didn't know about those things. I supposed maybe they all rented a house together to cut down on expenses. Two of them came by in a swank roadster and got me, and they took me out to the house, and it looked like they had about a hundred other guests. And I began to get wise then that I'd put my foot in something. But I still didn't know what it was all about.

I didn't know until I'd had a swell dinner and five or six stiff drinks; until I'd been shaken by the hand and slapped on the shoulder and talked to by about fifty guys of the kind that I'd always wanted to talk to-or thought I had. Then in a small room upstairs, with half a dozen of them crowded around me, encircling me:

"But don't you like us, Dillon?"

"Why-why, sure. And I appreciate your being so nice to me. But-"

"But what? It's surely not the money, is it? You're the type of man who's used to the better things of life. You couldn't get decent board and room for much less."

"Well-but I really need a job, right now."

"Didn't we tell you we'd help you? That's what we're here for, to help each other."

"And I'm already enrolled in Arts and Sciences."

"We get enrollments changed every day. Don't need to worry about that at all. And even if you weren't coming in with us, you ought to switch to Agriculture. You can still get English and Journalism, and-and you'll really be prepared to do something then. You know how it is, yourself. You tried to get a job on the newspapers here. The only place that could give you a-any encouragement was the farm magazine."

I surrendered in the end. I hocked half of my wardrobe to get the immediate cash necessary to be pledged, and they enrolled me in the College of Agriculture. And I had a swell time from then on. Oh, swell.

The good brothers taught me how to clean out the furnace and wash dishes, and every six weeks the "scholarship committee" applied barrel staves to my backside in an exasperated effort to make me remember the distinguishing points between rye and barley-or something else equally nonsensical. And I cut open the guts of turkeys looking for symptoms of blackhead. And I felt hens' butts and tried to guess how many eggs they would lay-and they didn't like it. And I cribbed so many problems in farm physics that I lost any sense of being a cheat.

Well, how could they get me a job on a farm paper, dumb as I was?

They got me a job in an all-night restaurant. I got the others myself.

Hell, in case you're interested, is actually the College of Agriculture of the University of Nebraska. You can take my word for it.

I was going with Lois. She was wearing my pin. We hadn't started fighting yet. I was very much in love with her and very humble. I knew that when I became uncomfortable or wanted to lash out, it was only because of the money angle, because I was on the defensive. I knew that if I could show any tangible assets, if I could assure her folks that I would complete my four years and have something for emergencies, their attitude would be completely different. They weren't unreasonable. They simply didn't want her to lose her head over someone who already had more than he could take care of, and who, admittedly, acted on impulse rather than logic.

I knew this. And-then-I knew they were right. And…

I almost didn't open the letter. I thought someone was trying to sell me some stocks and bonds, and I didn't want any. But I did open it, and it was from Blackie Martin.

Blackie and I hopped bells together. He was a kind of stand-offish kid, and he didn't stay at the hotel long. But he'd always liked me, and after he went to New York, he'd dropped me a card now and then. I didn't always write back. The only time I'd written since I'd been in Lincoln was right after I joined the fraternity- when I wrote everyone I could think of on the fancy house stationery. I suppose he got the idea that I was in the money.

He knew something. He wouldn't say how, but he knew it. Cord Motors was going to take a hell of a jump. I was to get on it with as much as I could on as narrow a margin as I could. I-we--could clean up. He'd trust me to give him his split. He "knew I was honest."

Well, I started to laugh it off; but I couldn't do it. Something told me that it was straight goods. Blackie wasn't given to popping off, and I knew he'd always liked me. Everything fitted. He was working for a broker, he was on the level, and he liked me. And I had a hundred and fifty in the bank.

…I'd been saving it up to repay the student-loan I'd gotten when I first enrolled in school. The thing was long past due, and they'd been riding me pretty hard. I'd even drawn a check for the full amount the day before, and I'd intended mailing it. But they didn't have anything but three-cent stamps at the confectionary across from the "house." So I hadn't. I'd be damned if I'd spend an extra penny for those birds.

Well, I went down to the bank and I drew a check to "Cash" for the hundred and fifty. And the guy that had been standing behind me when I got it followed me right to the door and stopped me. He was one of those big bony guys with a head like a quail-trap, and a little button of a nose, and a come-to-heaven smile, and the seat of his blue-serge pants looked like he'd been carrying books in it. I don't know where guys like that come from. I don't think they're born. And I can't figure out how they always get on the boards and committees of this and that and the other; how they always manage to run things. They do though, by God.

"Ha, ha, Dillon," he giggled. "I'll bet you were looking for me, weren't you?"

"Now you don't need to get sarcastic," I said. "I'm going to pay your damned loan."

"Don't swear, Dillon. I might lose my temper. Ha, ha. Give me that money."

"Ha, ha," I said. "I'll send you a check tomorrow. I've got to pay a hospital bill with this."

"You won't need a hospital now, Dillon. Ha, ha." And he took the money. He clawed it right out of my hand.

I don't know which made me maddest at the time- losing the money, or walking into a fast one like that.

I knew by the end of the week when Cord jumped twenty-eight points in a day. If I'd had 150 shares at a dollar margin-but I didn't have. When Blackie Martin wrote me, I marked the letter "Moved, address unknown" and sent it back.

I know I mustn't start thinking that way. But it's hard not to at times. I didn't need anyone to help me. I've never wanted anyone to. All I've ever asked is to be left alone. And no one will ever leave me alone. Someone is always doing what's best for me; making me do what I should do, from their standpoint.

But I mustn't begin thinking that it was deliberate. That, baldly, there is a plot against me. It is becoming harder not to, but I know I must not.

I must not!