Fowlers End (41 page)

I did not know where to hide, I felt so guilty; but he came up to me and held me at arm’s length and said, “Above all things give me loyalty. Lavender, let me kiss you!”

I said, “Certainly not.”

“Just a little kiss?”

“What’s the big idea?”

Then Sam Yudenow made a species of apostrophe, in his fishmonger’s voice, which might have been heard a quarter of a mile away, and attracted half the loafers of the neighborhood. Slapping me as if he had me on a slab and shouting as if he were selling me, he bellowed: “Look at this boy! Oh, Jesus, look at this bloody boy! Did I say boy? Back every word I take. I meant man—man, I meant! You know a codfish has seven million cods at one go? Laventory has got more balls than a codfish. A haddock, even. Copper, correct me if I’m wrong, but I could climb all over him. Yipes, but am I
wowed! Does Sam pick wrong? Does he, arse holes! No, give me loyalty or buggery, and the hell with it! Lavenjuice, stick by Sam Yudenow and Sam Yudenow will stick by you. Regard your salary—what I mean to say, raised as from a certain date. Believe me, I’ll work it out. Don’t bother to thank me! You done me a good turn.... So can’t you even say thank you?”

Copper Baldwin said, “Have you been and done this bastard a good turn? Because if so—”

“I swear I haven’t!” I said.

Sam Yudenow said, “Oh, concerning good turns, O’Toole is out miv good behavior and blood in ‘is eye. Take the advice of an old fool: get
bofe
elbows around the thvoat, put ‘im on the floor face down, get bofe knees in the small
o’ the back, and tug; when you hear a heavy crack, let go. Okay? You got your instructions? Okay. But in dealing miv this layabout, above all wait for that crack. You’ll recognize it; it’s like plucking a flower miv a stalk, only louder. Blood comes out o’ the nose.... Oh, boy, I could kiss you! But I’ll come to that in a minute. First inform O’Toole that Sam Yudenow is thus-and-so. Then take measures.”

“I’ll buy a ruler,” said I, attempting irony.

“Copper’s got a steel tape. Are you made of money? ... I want to embrace you. Copper, you too I want to embrace.”

“Just try it and see,” said Copper Baldwin. But curiosity got the better of him, as it was getting the better of me, and he said reluctantly, “Come clean, piss-face—what’s up?”

“I want you should regard your wages as increased. Fair enough?”

“What have I done?” I cried.

“A certain little something that the others ‘aven’t done,” said Sam Yudenow.

“Speak!” said Copper Baldwin, taking out his tomahawk.

“One thing I don’t like in the Pantheon, and that’s violence. Put that chopper away. You talk to your boss, no choppers—it makes a bad impression, kind o’ style. Got that clear? So put it away, I don’t like it. You could hurt somebody miv a thing like that. Go on, split my head open; see who’s the sufferer! ... To continue, gentlemen, I could kiss you!”

Copper Baldwin cried to high heaven, “My Gawd, what am I going to do with this bastard?” The Almighty gave no answer, but Yudenow continued:

“One other stroke, I mean of luck, like this I can remember. Bless you! And that was this: some Indian rahamajah wants caviar. We’re at war miv Russia—go and
get caviar! What’s caviar? The roe of a fish: fish eggs. Now there’s roe and roe. Herring roe couldn’t pass for caviar, neither could cods’ roe—the tenxture is too fine—but salmon roe, yes; also lobsters’ eggs. The female lobster, all over ‘er belly she’s got eggs. Later comes the cock lobster and you know what they are. All right, so it’s human nature. So long it shouldn’t happen in the genevator room. So what do I do? I scrape off a few lobsters, pack the eggs in ice— and a guinea an ounce to Krassin at the Soviet Embassy. I was unspired.

“Also, they ask me for a fish they call an eel pout. Okay, so I give the bastards a conger what I pump up miv a bicycle pump in the bladder. Ashilling’s worth conger eel— three and a half guineas. Sturgeon I couldn’t raise; only I said I had fillets—I gave ‘em mackerel out o’ season miv a mysterious smile. A guinea a pound, and they should know the difference! It was a veritable
coup d’etat,
believe me. Wrapped in seaweed—that was the showman’s touch—and delivered in a basket on somebody’s head. That shook ‘em. This stinkpot, so he comes back miv the empty basket and says to me, ‘Jesu
s Christ!’So I say, joking, ‘Mistaken identity. What’s up?’So he says, ‘When those bloody foreigners saw me coming in miv a basket on my head they called me comrade. That f—ing mackerel, they said, was full o’ the Craspian Sea. They give me a glass o’ methylated spirits and a pound note and called me comrade. It was the seaweed what done it, Mr. Sam—you are a genius!’And so I am.”

In something like hopeless desperation, Copper Baldwin said, “I’m sorry, for Christ’s sake, but there’s only one thing to do with this twot!”

“Before we have discussions,” said Sam Yudenow, “I beg you, please, as a gentleman to put dahn that hatchet. Copper, I’m sorry, but I’m made that way. Rahnd Fowlers End they wouldn’t mind, but I was brought up under cir
cumstances, and one o’ these circumstances was:
Before civilized discussion, do me a favor and put dahn that bloody chopper!
Copper, bury that hatchet. But not in me.... I thank you, and a very nice combination tool it is, too—” Sam Yudenow took the tomahawk out of Copper Baldwin’s nerveless hand—“good Sheffield steel. Trust you, Copper, to pick a good tool. Why, God save the King, you could
thvow
a job like this! Thus—” and he threw it underhand, so that the sharp head of it buried itself in the lintel of the door. Then he went on: “Do me a favor, don’t run for a ladder. A lick o
’ paint and a bit o’ lettering, it could be an off-angle ad for
Dr. Fu Manchu.
You’re good boys, you asstimulate my think-box: what the doctors call the ‘Kotex.’ But enough!”

“The point, come to the bleeding point!” Copper Baldwin shouted.

“Points are dangerous,” said Sam Yudenow. “That bastard Booligan put a tack on my chair. Thank Gord I missed it, but if I ‘ad got that point—I am a light man—puss would have walloped. And I loathe cats. So I’m a fool? Take advice from a fool, please. Cats are fow. The fowness of cats you ‘ave to live to see. Only one kind cat is worse than a male, and that’s a female. To change the subject: ever try to get rid (Godbolt aside) of a dead cat? In civilized society, you thvow the cat into Godbolt’s. But where will you find society? And what is society? I ask only to be informed. Charleston, bl
ack bottom, waltzes—society! But the most classical kind o’ cats ‘as got blue eyes. Ever see a blue-eyed cat? Simonese, two colors. Copper, believe me, a Simonese—so it roars like a proper little lion; therefore, beware!”

“If you do not come to the point—” Copper Baldwi
n began.

Sam Yudenow said, “What’s he talking about, point? What does the man mean, point? I beg your pardon, Copper, so which were you referring to what point? ...
Okay, to please you I’ll come to it. But before I come to this point everybody’s wages is practically doubled as from a period to be mutually agreed. Can I say fairer?” I said, “Talk sense.”

Then Sam Yudenow said, “It was wonderful, it was so wonderful! I got that piss-bag by the bloody bladder. Simple enough? You know who I mean: I mean Godbolt. He outsmarted me, he thought, ha-ha! Sure, he chewed my balls off, et cetera, oh yes? Not on your life! ... Gentlemen, before anything I want you should read the Holy Books. I thank you. So what is the whole philosophy?
Do unto others!
Go on then, do—but let it be ‘unto others.’ So I’ll tell you about ‘unto others’as it should be unto you, mind you! Across the road that shitpot, Godbolt, got wind. So what of, did he get wind? O
f the property deal at Ullage. Naturally that twicer wants to get in on it, this property deal. That dirty rotten bastard wanted to cut in on me, because Godbolt ‘ad his filthy suspicions. So why cut in on me? This I ask you.... So, instead o’ coming to me like a
Covered Wagon
and offering his hand, what does this crap-hound do? You would scarcely believe this, Lavender, being a gentleman, but this cowson son-of-a-bitch makes inquiries as to whom the Ullage property belongs to. So it turns out, this particular part o’the property belongs to Hacker and Hacker. What this implies you know, eh?”

“Which Hacker?” I asked.

Copper Baldwin said, “What ‘Acker?”

“Which, what, who, where, why? Next thing we’ll get et ceteras. I will take the
which.
I refer to Hacker the Breaker. As it ‘appens, ‘e is my wife’s brother. Any shame in that? If so, step outside.... Now, you are my dear and loyal friends and ‘ave stood by me as such. My dear and loyal friends didn’t take old Sammy for a mug: miv one eye open, Sam Yudenow sleeps, if at all. Sam Yudenow is a helpless party; therefore his spies must be everywhere.
Believe me, gentlemen, I’m not a strong man. At any minute I could drop. Therefore, in your wife’s name put it and make a separate Limited Company. It’s the only way to live.”

“And what ‘ave you been up to now with this Limited Company, you sod?” asked Copper Baldwin.

“Who, me? What’s all this? What d’you want? What d’you mean? What’re you saying? What d’you know? ... I’ll reply: The answer is, literally, it makes nothing. But you boys ‘ave done me a turn, and it is my will that ‘enceforward your wages should be increased substantial.”

Copper Baldwin said, “The detail, Smallpox, let’s ‘ave the detail, will you?”

“For you, anything.... Well, it seems A.A.A.A. is going to build rahnd Ullage. I told you—”

“I
told
you!”
cried Copper Baldwin.

“Let us be calm,” Sam Yudenow said. “You told me, I told you; no arguments. To continue—I told you A.A.A.A. was setting up in Ullage. If you’d saved your money instead o’ plundering it, you could’ve bought a bit. Never mind. By Sam Yudenow, what is past is past. From the gutter you ‘ave come, to the gutter you will go. Whereas, meanwhile, who should get wind of it but that twicer, Godbolt? And what does ‘e do, this swine? Like a snake he creeps until he finds the representatives o’ Hacker and Hacker. You know ‘is style—like Lord Bacon said, ‘Some men are born shits, some achi
eve shitness, and others have it thrust upon them.’ Godbolt is all thvee. Behind my back he went to buy me out. And so he did, the rotter, for twelve thousand pounds. And ‘ow d’you like that? Miv, mind you, the lease on the Hippodrome at Ullage for eleven thousand pounds! The lengths to which a certain class people will go! As for the depths, don’t ask. Lavendrop, it’s kind o’ disgusting, kind o’ style, no?”

“What is?” I asked.

“That people should take other people for fools, that’s what I mean. You done a lovely stroke, and believe me, Sam Yudenow won’t forget it.... But that crab-louse at Ullage, Johnny Wills, to play such tricks with me! Confidentially, between us, d’you know what he actually did? ‘E made a bid for the Pantheon—my Pantheon! Can human discrepancy rise to lower depths? So all of a sudden Wills is a duke or something? To offer to buy my Pantheon!”

“What did you say to him?” I asked.

“Have I no integrity? What did I say to him!... “Yes,’of course! But it only goes to show.... Well, now you got the whole picture. Oh, give me a little profit and a quick return! Go put money into Ullage: no good. And I hate these shady deals; they make bad feelings.... Who’s got the rest o’ the stock?”

“Some firm,” I said.

“Daniels, find out. And I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll substantially raise you. Can a man say more?” “Not much more,” I said.

Sam Yudenow said to Copper Baldwin, “And what are you laughing at like a monkey?” “Thoughts.”

“Mend seats. Think in your spare time.”

SAM YUDENOW rode away in his big car but came back before six o’clock with ferocity written in every line of him. Brandishing his fist in my face, he shouted, “Twicer! What is this, a new deal? Fascist! Communist! Anti! F—ed pig!”

I said, “Of course, if you want to be offensive ...”

“To be offensive? Do
I
want? May you drop down dead! I wish you no harm, layabout, only I want you should ‘ave black cholera and worms should eat you; nothing more. I’m a reasonable man.... What’s wrong miv a banker’s draft? Why not buy a few shares Daniels Copper? They say, ‘No!’ So why no—whereas before, meantime, it was yes? Only because suddenly there is mixed in, already, a City firm stockbrokers which they control the majority shares. So who’s Whistler? Also Morgan? Whistler and Morgan, answer me that! And who’s—? Never mind.... What’s the point, Laventory and Strype not sell
ing, what, I want to know?”

I said, “Don’t ask me.”

“And what did you mean, may I ask, by playing a double-double game miv me and Godbolt? Shut up! A civil question demands a bloody civil answer. Talk, and talk fast. Look me straight in the eyes. Only never let me see the sight o’ your face again. Go on. Shut up!” Yudenow was frantic. I found Copper Baldwin’s bottle of gin and poured him a glass, which he drank, saying, “Take this muck away!—” handing me the empty glass—“There’s too much goings-on around my circuit. Give me a drop more, I ploppitate. After all I’ve done for mankind! ... Kind o’ style, I mean to say.” Gradually, it came o
ut that in the City, he had also stopped at the offices of Anglo-American Automobile Associates; but the latest proprietor of the Ullage Hippodrome, acting on his first and last inspiration (he was never to need anoth
er) had been there before him and got to see one of the high executives. Here occurred one of those incidents that make business history: in effect, it was to real estate something like what the interchangeable part was to industry.

The managing director of A.A.A.A., a man named Roper, said he didn’t know what Godbolt was talking about. Then he considered the matter—Henry Ford had gone to Dagenham in Essex, AA.A.A. in secret was investigating various hitherto unusable properties, and Ullage, if added to the list, would appear to involve few landowners, primarily Mr. Godbolt and a Limited Company. As it happened, Ullage he calculated would come out at half the price of the other sites and need no more than two miles of railway line.

God knows what happened thereafter in the City. I was in no mood to inquire of my Uncle Hugh. But even I, in Fowlers End, could not help knowing that Godbolt was dealing for what was to him a fortune, but it was a sum that AA.A.A. regarded as next door to nothing. Fifty-seven thousand pounds—it was as simple as that: Godbolt had brought Ullage to Roper’s attention. For Sam Yudenow the crowning humiliation came several days later when Godbolt called upon him and offered him an immense cigar, which Roper had given him, saying, “Take this. I always knew the Lord would put you on the path of Righte
ousness.” Then Yudenow again had a species of hysterics—but these were nothing, I imagine, to what he had when he heard the outcome of the deal.

I am quite sure that it was Yudenow who, out of sheer spite, fomented what happened next at the Pantheon. It was no longer his property, but he could not keep away from it. I see this as a kind of
crime passionel
with retroactive jealousy at work, saying,
I don’t want you any more, but nobody else is going to enjoy you.
Fowlers End will not soon forget that Saturday night. There was something in the air; we knew that the enemy was coming.