The Outsider (37 page)

Bob had not taken off his hat or his coat. Dirty snow melted on his shoes and tiny rings of water were forming on the carpet. Bob spoke in a broken whimper:

“The Party voted to expel me, Gil—”

“I know that,” Gil said calmly.

“But Gil, I don't wanna leave the Party—You got to help me—My life's in the Party—The Party's all I got in the world—I made a mistake—”

“Tell that to the Party,” Gil said, turning and sitting again at his desk.

“Oh, please, Gil—You don't understand—I don't even want to say it, man—You
know
my problem—I'm British—Only the
Party
knows it!” Bob rose and went to the back of Gil and whispered despairingly: “Listen, an hour ago the Immigration men came to my flat, see? Lucky, I didn't go to the door—Sarah went. She told 'em in a loud voice that I was out—I heard 'em talking to Sarah and I slipped down the back stairs—I came here, to
you
, Gil—You're my friend—Gil, for God's sake, don't let 'em do this; don't let the Party do this to me—”

“How do you know it was the Party?” Gil asked.

“But
only
the Party knew!”

“But how do you
know
the Party did it?” Gil demanded.

“Listen, I once heard Hilton threaten another West
Indian Negro like me—He said he could drop an unsigned note to the Immigration folks if he didn't behave—”

“But have you any
proof
that the Party told the Government?” Gil demanded.

Bob shook his head; his eyes were blank and empty. Cross saw the point; if Bob had no proof, what harm could Bob's accusation do?

“Naw; I ain't got no proof…”

Gil rose and stood over Bob.

“Are you accusing the Party of playing the role of a stool pigeon?” he thundered.

Bob winced as though he had been slapped.

“No, no, no!”

“Then what in hell
are
you saying?”

“Gil, listen to me. Ten years ago I had to run off from Trinidad to keep the British from putting me in jail for Party activity—If I go back, they'll snatch me off the boat and take me straight to jail for
ten
years—Ten years in jail in the tropics is death—I mean
death
, man—Don't you understand?”

“I understand,” Gil said, nodding his head. “But that doesn't explain why you fought the Party.”

“I didn't know I was
fighting
the Party…I don't want to fight the Party…”

“You took a position
against
the Party! That's counter-revolution! And for counter-revolutionists the Party has no mercy!” Gil told him.

“Gil, you got to tell 'em to give me another chance…The Party can
hide
me…Let me go to Mexico, anywhere—”

“Who are you to
defy
the Party?”

“I ain't nobody,
nothing…
” Bob slid from his chair and lay prone on the floor. “This is
too
much, Gil—Please, please, don't let 'em do this to me! I was wrong!
I confess! And I'll do anything you say, Gil! You're on the Central Committee and they'll listen to you. I been to Headquarters and they won't even talk to me—”

Cross was stunned. He wanted to rise and place his foot on Bob's neck and cut off the flow of whining words. Gil watched Bob with calm, placid eyes and Cross wondered how many men and women Gil had seen in such prostrate positions of penitent surrender to enable him to stare at Bob with so aloof and yet engrossed a passion.

“Did you meet anybody when you came up here?” Gil asked suddenly.

Bob blinked his eyes bewilderedly. “Meet anybody? No; I saw nobody…Gil,
please
!”

“All right, Bob. You can go now.”

Bob's body galvanized itself to a sitting position on the floor; his hand went to his mouth in dismay.

“Where?”

“I don't care
where
you go—”

“But they'll
get
me, Gil! Look, I'll give my
life
to the Party!”

“The Party doesn't want your life.” Gil smiled.

Cross closed his eyes. His anger was centered against Bob for his weakness. No wonder Gil would not give in! The more merciless Gil was the more Bob would yield. Eva came to the door, her eyes avoiding Bob. Cross could see her legs trembling.

“Gil, dinner's ready.”

“Go ahead and eat, Lionel. I'll join you later,” Gil said.

Cross rose and went out of the room, his eyes avoiding Bob who sobbed on the floor. He had no appetite, but he sat at the table and Eva served him. As he chewed his food, he heard Gil's voice rising in accusation, then Bob's voice falling in meek pleas. Then came
a pause during which Bob coughed loudly. Finally there was a sound of footsteps in the hallway. Gil was saying something to Bob at the door, then the door closed. Cross looked at Eva; her eyes were full of fear, and her hand shook slightly as she ate. Gil came briskly to the table, sat, keeping his eyes in front of him. He volunteered no information and acted as though he knew that no one would dare ask for any.

“God, I'm hungry,” Gil said pleasantly and reached for the platter of roast beef.

After he had served himself generously, Gil turned to Cross and asked: “Say, did you see who won the chess tournament in Moscow? I was too busy to buy a paper.”

“No, I don't know who won,” Cross said, slightly nonplussed.

“Do you play chess?” Gil asked.

“No.”

“You ought to learn. It's wonderful for relaxation,” Gil advised him.

As dinner proceeded in silence, Cross was aware that a feeling of tranquility had descended upon him. In his mind Gil had receded far off until he had become a tiny, little luminous figure upon which all of his attention was focussed. It was as if he was squinting his eye along the barrel of a rifle toward some distant and elusive target and at long last the center of the target had come within the hairline of the sight.

After he had drained his cup of coffee, Gil chuckled softly and asked: “What time is it?” He looked at his wrist watch. “Hummm…Ten past nine—I'd better get down and see Herr Herndon.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Cross asked.

“Why?” Gil asked, lifting his brows in surprise.

Cross said nothing. Eva sat stiff, staring with protesting eyes into her empty coffee cup. Then she lifted her
eyes to Gil and Cross saw the light of protest die. God, she's scared, Cross thought. If she's that afraid of him, how she must hate him…!

Gil stood and went into the hallway, then out of the door. Eva rose suddenly, as though feeling that she had to drown her anxieties in activity, and began clearing the dishes from the table.

“I'll help you,” Cross said, taking a stack of plates and starting for the kitchen.

“No, Lionel—”

“Why not?” he said, continuing to clear the table.

“You don't have to, you know,” she said.

“I want to,” he said. He wanted to be near her.

Then they both were still. Coming from downstairs were loud voices. Cross could distinguish the voice of Gil, then that of Herndon. They were at it strongly. The dishes slid from Eva's hands to the table with a clatter, then she clutched the back of the chair till her knuckles showed white.

“Do you think I ought to go down?” he asked Eva.

She shook her head.

“No. If he said no, then don't. He'd be awfully angry, and when he's angry he doesn't speak for weeks—” She caught herself; she had said more than she had intended. “Lionel, really, don't bother with the dishes. Do what you like…” Irritation was in her voice.

He knew that he was making her more nervous; she did not want him to see her state of mind.

“Okay.”

He went to his room and the voices were clearer; he put his ear to the floor and heard shouts that carried sounds of hot anger, but no words were distinguishable. He lay on his bed, then jerked upright; there had come a sharp snapping as of wood breaking, then a dull thump, and all was silent. The door of his room flew
open and Eva stood there, clasping her hands in front of her, staring at him with eyes filled with terror.

“What was that?”

Cross stood and went to her; she clutched his hands tightly.

“Don't you think I ought to go down?” he asked.

“Yes,” she agreed impulsively. Then her body flinched and she shut her eyes in desperation. “No; no; he'd be angry. He'd think that you thought he couldn't handle it—” Tears leaped into her eyes and she turned from him. “If he gets hurt, he'll wonder why we didn't do something. He'll think I did it on purpose—”

“On
purpose
?” he asked.

Yes; she was fighting against a wish for something to happen to Gil; she was longing for someone to put him out of her life…

A hoarse scream came from downstairs.

“I'm going down,” Cross said suddenly.

“Yes, Lionel,” Eva breathed; she was pale, trembling.

He went quickly into the hallway. He realized as he went down the steps that he was acting more as a kind of proxy for the feelings of Eva than his own.
I
really don't care, he thought. When he reached the landing of the first floor, he paused. There came to his ears the sound of grunts, scuffling feet, and the thud of blows. He crept on tiptoe to the door and placed his ear to the panel. Yes, they were fighting…Was the door locked? He turned the knob; the door swung in and Cross looked at the two men grappling with each other. Gil lashed out with his right fist, bashing Herndon a crushing blow on the ear and sending him reeling backwards. Herndon collided with a table and when he turned Cross could see that he had the fire poker in his right hand. Cross looked quickly at Gil and saw what he had not seen when he had first looked into the room. Gil
was bloody, his face covered with reddish streaks where the fire poker had ripped into his flesh.

Both men were oblivious of Cross who stood in the doorway with a bitter smile on his face. Cross could barely contain his bubbling glee as he watched the bloody battle. Which man did he hate more? Many times during the past twenty-four hours he had wished both of them dead and now he was looking at them batter each other's brains out…Let 'em fight it out, he said to himself.

He spun round at the sound of footsteps behind him on the stairs. Eva was descending with wild eyes, her hair flying behind her. He grabbed her shoulders and held her, wanting to keep her out of the room. Eva twisted loose and ran to the doorway. Cross followed and stood behind her. Eva grabbed hold of both jambs of the door and screamed as she saw Gil sinking to the floor under the blows of Herndon's fire poker.

Herndon turned and stared at Eva, still clutching the poker in his right hand. He had the look of a man struggling to awaken from a dream. Then Cross saw the muscles of Herndon's face twitch as he advanced menacingly toward them.

“Get out, or I'll kill you both!” Herndon growled.

Eva screamed again, backed violently into Cross, then turned and ran up the stairs. Before Cross could move, Herndon was upon him and he ducked in time to save his head a swishing blow from the poker which caught him on his right shoulder, leaving a searing line of fire in his flesh. He leaped aside and watched Herndon stumble toward the rear of the hall. Cross felt for his gun, then decided that he would run. It was not fear for Herndon that was making him abandon the fight; he was hoping that Herndon would reenter the room and battle again with Gil…He took the stairs four at a
time and was halfway up when he heard another scuffling lunge behind him; he paused and glanced back. Gil had rushed out of the room and had grabbed Herndon; the two men now wrestled for possession of the fire poker, rolling, clawing, going from Cross's sight as they fell through the doorway back into the room. Cross caressed his bruised shoulder and looked upward; the door of Gil's apartment was open and he heard Eva's frantic voice.

“Don't you understand? I want the police! For God's sake—”

Cross entered the hallway. Eva thrust the telephone into his hands.

“Lionel, here; call the police…I can't make the operator understand anything.”

“Okay,” he breathed.

“Are you hurt?”

“Not much…”

He picked up the telephone, placed the receiver to his ear and heard the metallic hum of the line. He jiggled the hook, then paused, turning his head as another burst of sound came from downstairs. Eva sprang through the doorway, heading for downstairs.

“Eva!” he called after her.

Good Lord, what ought he do? She'll get hurt down there with that Fascist…Her sense of guilt's making her overreact to help Gil…He left the phone and ran after her, catching her on the landing and dragging her back into the apartment.

“No, no,” he told her. “You can't go down there…
You
call the police—”

“I don't know what to do,” she whimpered.

“I'll go down and help Gil,” he said.

Eva stared at him helplessly, her body moving indecisively. He thrust the telephone into her hands and ran
from the room, stumbling down the stairs. In the lower hallway, he stood, hearing the sound of the fight. He debated: yes; he
had
to help Gil…What would Gil say if he did not? His failure to go to Gil's aid would be something he could never explain…

Again he stood in the doorway of Herndon's apartment. They were still fighting. Herndon was rushing at Gil again, the poker raised to strike. Gil backed off, his hands lifted to protect his face and head. Herndon crashed the poker into Gil's hands which seemed to wilt under the blow. The poker flew from Herndon's fingers and clattered to the floor. Gil snatched it up quickly and, with it, charged into Herndon, his face livid with fury; he whacked two telling blows home to Herndon's head and face and Cross heard the tinkling of glass shards as Herndon's spectacles broke and showered from his eyes.