Now and on Earth Read online

  I slid around the question. “Did you want to go some place?”

  She brightened at once. “Let’s do. We’ll all go. Frankie’s sick and Mom will have to take care of the kids. But you and I and Roberta could go, and maybe you’d see someone you knew. Or maybe Roberta wouldn’t want to go. Not an expensive place, Jimmie. Abe Lyman’s at Pacific Square and it only costs two dollars and a half, and we wouldn’t need more than a cocktail or—”

  “I’m afraid we can’t even do that, Marge,” I said. “We’ll try to figure out something for Saturday.”

  “But it wouldn’t cost hardly anything, Jimmie. And you said—”

  “I’ve got to finish that story, too. You know that has to be done.”

  “Well,” she said. “All right. We’ll really go some place Saturday? You promise?”

  “I promise,” I said, rather desperately.

  “Can I go over to the drugstore now and get a coke? I’m about out of cigarettes, too, and—”

  I gave her what change I had in my pockets, and she counted it out meticulously—although not very accurately—and wrapped it in her handkerchief. “Now you remember that, Jimmie. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get some.”

  She started up the walk.

  “Just a minute, kid,” I said. “Why don’t you go over after while? After dinner?”

  “Why can’t I go now?”

  “Well, you can,” I said, “but—” I hardly knew how to put it. “Well, Shannon’s over there and she doesn’t—you wouldn’t enjoy yourself. Having to take care of her, I mean.”

  “Oh.…Well. I’ll wait.”

  We went up the steps together. “And do something else for me, kid. Please don’t go next door to use the telephone any more.”

  “Why not, Jimmie?”

  “Because they know we have a telephone. And that boy works down at the plant. It makes things kind of embarrassing for me. Please don’t do it again.”

  “I guess there’s not much I can do,” she said in a small voice.

  She went into the kitchen. I went on back to the bedroom. Roberta was examining a pair of hose.

  “You’ll have to buy me some new stockings,” she said. “I had these hanging in the bathroom and someone wiped a mascara brush all over them.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “I don’t know why anyone has to do things like that.”

  “I’ll tell her to be more careful.”

  “No, don’t say anything to her, Jimmie. She can’t help it, and she is your sister.”

  “Now what the hell is this,” I said. “You get me worked up to do something, and then—”

  “Well, she is your sister, Jimmie.”

  Mom came in. “What did you say to Marge?”

  “I didn’t say anything to her. I just asked her not to go over to the drugstore right now and not to use the telephone next door.”

  “Well, I’m getting out of here,” said Mom. “I’m packing up my clothes and getting out tonight. I put up with the work and the noise and people biting my head off every time I open my mouth, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you mistreat Marge. I—”

  I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Frankie pushed the door open.

  “Oh. You in here?”

  “No,” I said. “This is my spirit getting ready to take flight. My spirit’s got some sense.”

  Frankie chuckled. “What’s the trouble with Marge?”

  “The same thing that’s always been the trouble with her.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Jimmie. She can’t take it.”

  “All right. I forget.”

  “I called the loan company today. You can get the money.”

  “You didn’t tell Mom? She’ll raise hell with Moon, and it won’t help any.”

  “No, I didn’t tell her. Think you’ll finish the story tonight?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Look, Jimmie. Is Roberta sore about all this? You know I’ll pay you back just as soon as—”

  “No, she’s not sore,” I said, truthfully. “On the contrary, she’s damned well pleased.”

  Frankie looked blank. “What do you mean?”

  “You figure it out. It’ll give you something to think about besides your sins. And get out so I can take a bath.”

  I don’t believe I took one. I had the shower turned on and my clothes off. But, looking back, I don’t believe I bathed. My piles were unusually bad, and I stood up on a chair and got to examining myself in the mirror. And then—I believe—I put my clothes back on again and went out.

  I don’t remember eating supper either, although I suppose I did. I know that when I was back in the bedroom writing afterwards, I had the sensation of having eaten a great deal more than I should have. I had never thought I would see the time when anyone could isolate himself mentally in our house, but I guess I am beginning to.

  At eight-thirty the page in my typewriter was numbered 18, and half-way down was the symbol—30—. I pulled the sheet out, slipped it under the bottom of the others, and reached for a bundle of manuscript envelopes. I didn’t want to look at it again. I couldn’t rewrite it. I suppose it was that fastidiousness which makes certain criminals averse to handling the implements of larceny any more than they have to.

  Jo was lying on the bed, eyes wide. “Are you going out now, Daddy?”

  “Yes.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “You go to sleep.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “NO! And once and for all, go to sleep!”

  She turned over on her side. I gave her a little pat as I went out, but I don’t think it helped much. She’s not used to my hollering at her.

  “Going out?” said Roberta.

  “I’ve got to mail this manuscript.”

  “Why don’t you go along with him, Marge?” said Mom. “You’ve not been out all day.”

  “Oh I guess I’d better not,” said Marge, raising a magazine in front of her face.

  Roberta said, “Now you just go on, Marge. It’ll do you good to get out. I don’t care about walking or I’d go.”

  So I said, “Sure, Marge. Come along.”

  Marge put down the magazine. “Do you really want me to go?”

  “Of course I do. But hurry, please.”

  She was fifteen minutes “getting ready.” Don’t ask me what she was doing. Roberta gave me fifty cents for stamps; and I drank half a glass of whisky and smoked two cigarettes.

  Finally, Marge came out and said she hated to go looking like that, but—

  I grabbed her by the arm and got her outside.

  I walk very rapidly. After we had gone three blocks, I became conscious that Marge was dragging back on my arm.

  “Going too fast for you?”

  “Well—how far are we going, Jimmie?”

  “To the Post Office. It’d take forever to transfer around there on the bus.”

  “Well hadn’t we better take a taxi?”

  “Marge,” I said, “can’t you—” Then I caught myself. “Honey, if I had the money, you could have a dozen taxis. Don’t you know that you never had to ask or hint for money when I had it? I want you to have fun. I don’t want to deprive you of things. I’m not stingy—”

  “Of course you’re not stingy!” she exclaimed. “No one’d better say you are around where I am. I told Walter that if he was just half as good to me as—”

  “Well, all the money I have is just enough for postage.”

  “But I’ve still got that sixty-five cents, Jimmie—”

  “But Marge! You’ve—I’ve— Look. We won’t go all the way to the Post Office. We’ll get some stamps along here some place and mail it. It’ll still go out in the morning.”

  “But we won’t get to see any people then, Jimmie.”

  “Well—well, maybe we will.”

  We tried two drugstores and neither of them would sell us stamps. They had them, undoubtedly. But we didn’t want to buy anything,
so why should they sell them to us?

  Then I happened to think of a chain liquor store down the hill toward the bay which I had occasionally—well, damn frequently—patronized. They had stamps, and they couldn’t very well refuse to let me have some.

  It was about seven blocks down there. With all the walking around we did, we might as well’ve gone to the Post Office. I mailed the manuscript in a corner box, and we started back up the hill.

  “I’m awful tired, Jimmie,” said Marge. “Can’t we sit down for a minute some place?”

  She was looking at a beer and cocktail bar half a block or so up the street. A place with a cinder drive and a tremendous neon sign and awninged windows. Its patrons were chiefly aircraft workers. That was reason enough for me to stay out of there. With Marge.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Sit down on the curb and rest a minute. Then we’ll go on home and I’ll mix highballs for all of us, and we’ll roll up the rug and dance. How will that be?”

  Marge has moments of awareness. They are becoming rarer, but she still has them.

  “Jimmie,” she said, “what do you think I’d better do?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You know. I’m no good for anything. There’s nothing I can do, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I tried to read those books and magazines you got for me because I thought if I could know some of the things you know, we could talk together again like we used to—and you’d like me better. B-but”— She drew a deep breath—“I couldn’t even do that. I don’t even have the sense to kill myself. Somehow, I still want to keep on living. Tell me what you think I’d better do.”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes. But if it’s anything like studying—”

  “I think you ought to march right down here and have a drink and listen to the music a while.”

  The taut intense look—the awareness—vanished. She almost clapped her hands.

  “Something just told me I ought to come along with you tonight,” she declared. “Here, you take my sixty-five cents.”

  The place had a little dance floor and a coin phonograph and booths in the rear. There were only a few couples there besides us. Most of the business was at the bar out front. I dropped a nickel in the juke box, and we had a brief dance. Then the waitress was there with our drinks.

  She shifted impatiently from foot to foot while I fished out sixty cents. I had seven cents more, change from the stamp money, but I wanted a nickel for the phonograph. Anyway, I didn’t like the waitress’ looks any more apparently than she liked mine, and a dime tip was enough.

  I laid the money on the table, and she still waited.

  Finally she snapped out, “One dollar, please.”

  “What for?” I said.

  “For your drinks. What do you think?”

  “Rum and cokes are twenty-five apiece. The sign out on your bar says so.”

  “That’s at the bar. Back here they’re fifty cents.”

  “You can take mine back,” said Marge. “I didn’t really want—”

  “We don’t take drinks back.”

  “Well you’ll take these,” I said. “Sixty cents is all I’ve got.”

  “Say,” she said, “what kind of a gyp is this? I got to pay for them drinks myself. I got to pay for them before I brought ’em back here to you. You come in here an’ order drinks an’…”

  The music had stopped, and everyone was watching us. Watching and listening. It was my pet nightmare come to life. I got nervous and started to pick up my drink, and the waitress snatched it out of my hand.

  “No, you don’t! I’ll throw ’em down the drain first! You gimme that money, an’ if you ever show up in here again—”

  “What goes on, Mame?” It was Gross.

  “Oh, hello, Butch. This guy’s tryin’ to get out without payin’ for—”

  “Aw nuts,” said Gross. “These people are friends of mine.” He opened his billfold and shoved something into her hand. “Bring me a drink and then bring us another drink all around.”

  The waitress took the money and glanced sidewise at me. “I’m sorry, mister. There’s so many guys come in here, an’ I got to pay out of my own pocket…”

  “That’s all right,” I said. I knew how it had been with Frankie.

  Gross sat down and, naturally, I introduced Marge.

  “You’re a lot better looking than your brother,” he said. “Dilly, you’re sure she’s your sister? She’s not your daughter, now, is she?”

  Marge ducked her head and looked up at him kittenishly. “Now Mr. Gross! Jimmie’s only three years older than I am. You shouldn’t say things like that.” She gave him a delicate tap on the arm.

  “Oh that’s all right. Dilly won’t get mad. Dilly’s the best friend I’ve got.”

  It may have been true, relatively speaking. Anyway, I couldn’t very well deny it to his face. And I was grateful for being pulled out of a hole.

  They danced, and then they kept on dancing, and I noticed that Marge’s jaws were moving pretty steadily. But—well, I sat there smoking and drinking and my mind drifted off onto something else. A dozen other things.

  When I came out of it, it was eleven-thirty.

  Marge didn’t want to leave then, but a reminder as to how Roberta was going to feel induced her. Gross drove us home.

  “If you’ll wait just a minute,” I said, “I’ll get you the money for those drinks.”

  “What’s the matter?” he said, an ugly note creeping into his voice. “Ain’t I good enough to buy you a drink?”

  “We’re both working for wages,” I said. “You need your money as much as I need mine.”

  He didn’t say anything. Marge said afterward that I was “awful cool” toward him and it was no wonder I made him mad. But I don’t think that had anything to do with what happened. He saw a chance to push himself ahead at my expense and he would have done it, eventually, no matter what I said or did.

  I got the money and virtually pulled Marge out of the car. And we started up the walk to the porch. Then I saw that Gross had stopped the car and was rolling down the window. I hesitated, thinking he had something to say. He did have.

  “Good night, Comrade,” he called.

  And his mean cackle floated back to us as he raced away.

  I grabbed Marge. “What did you tell that guy?”

  “W-why nothing, Jimmie. I was just telling him about the books I’d been reading and he wanted to know why, and—yes, I did tell him about how you got out here.…”

  24

  He didn’t come after me the next morning, of course. I was sure he wouldn’t, and I didn’t wait for him. I wouldn’t have gone at all if I hadn’t been afraid not to. I was sure that if I stayed away, Gross would spill everything he knew (and I couldn’t find out from Marge just how much he did know). I thought that if I was there, within reaching distance, he might think twice before he said anything. I should have known better. Physically, at least, there wasn’t any comparison between Gross and me.

  I couldn’t eat anything. I didn’t have any stomach. I took a couple of stiff drinks, but they stopped at my tonsils and made a round trip before I’d gone a block.

  I got through the gate safely and went inside. It was almost seven but there wasn’t anyone in the stockroom that I could see. I sat down on my stool and sort of pulled myself together. Then the whistle blew, and I saw Gross stick his head around the corner of a rack at the far end of the room. I stared straight at him, and he marched boldly out. Behind him came Moon, Murphy, and the others.

  I turned around to my desk and waited. Went to work. There wasn’t anything else to do.

  They all kept away from me that morning. All except Murphy, that is. About ten o’clock he came around to look at a card. As he studied it he said from the corner of his mouth:

  “I’m taking off at noon. If you’ve got anything at home you want to get rid of, give me a note and I’ll do it for you.”

  I didn’t
have anything. If I had, I wouldn’t have fallen for a gag as old as that. At least, I thought it was a gag.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I don’t have anything I’m afraid for anyone to see.”

  “Okay. I know how you feel.”

  I didn’t go outside at noon, badly as I wanted a smoke. I was afraid my legs would tremble if I walked around very much. And, somehow, I felt safer inside.

  One o’clock came. Two. Two-thirty. One hour to go. And I knew I wasn’t going to get through it. The skies were going to fall before I could get out of there.

  Suddenly I didn’t care if they did. I ceased to be afraid. I had worried all I could and been afraid all I could, so I just stopped. Perhaps you’ve had the same sort of thing happen to you.

  Three o’clock.

  The phone rang. Moon picked it up. He has been very quick to answer the phone since Mom started calling. I hoped it wasn’t Mom this time. I knew it wouldn’t affect what was going to happen to me, but I just didn’t want her to call. I didn’t want to go out of there with Moon hating me any more than he did.

  “How about a shortage on wing, Dilly?” he said phlegmatically. “Can you get it out?”

  I nodded. And then, because I wanted to get everything in order, because as long as I live I will have to make changes, do things I think should be done, I said:

  “Why don’t we have a Purchased-Parts shortage to tie in with it? I’ve been thinking lately why worry about plant parts when we don’t have the rivets and other stuff to put them together with?”

  “All right,” said Moon. “You go tell Vail to give you his shortages.”

  “Don’t you think you’d better tell him?” I said.

  He turned away without answering.

  I got off my stool and walked up to Purchased-Parts. Vail was weighing up bolts on the computing scales. Busken was sacking.

  “What do you say, Red?” said Vail.

  “How about giving me a shortage on wing?” I said.

  “What do you want with it, Red?”

  “I want it to—”

  “Want it to send to Russia, Red?”

  “Now look here,” I said. “Moon told me to—”

  Then I jumped three feet in the air.