Savage Night (4 page)

I blinked, staring down at her, fighting to come out of the dream. I said, “Jesus, kid. You don’t want to ever—”

I slid the crutch to one side and she started breathing again, but she still couldn’t talk. She was too scared. I looked into the great scared eyes—
watching me
—and it was all I could do to keep from slugging her.

“Spill it,” I said. “Spit it out. What were you doing here?”

“I—I—I—”

I dug my hand into her side, and twisted. And she gasped.

“Spill it.”

“I—I—I w-was a-afraid for you. I—I w-was w-worried about…
Carl!
D-don’t—”

She began to struggle, then, and I lay flat against her. I held her, twisting her, and she gasped and moaned. She tried to pull at my hand, and I twisted harder.

“D-don’t!…I’ve n-never…C-carl, I’ve never…it’s n-not n-n-nice and
Carl! Carl!
Y-you’ve g-got to…I’ll have a b-baby, and—”

…She’d stopped begging.

There was nothing left to beg for.

I looked down, my head against hers so that she couldn’t see that I was looking. I looked, and I closed my eyes quickly. But I couldn’t keep them closed.

It was a baby’s foot. A tiny little foot and ankle. It started just above the knee joint—where the knee would have been if she had one—a tiny little ankle, not much bigger around than a thumb; a baby ankle and a baby foot.

The toes were curling and uncurling, moving with the rhythm of her body…

“C-Carl…Oh,
C-Carl!
” she gasped.

After a long time, what seemed like a long time, I heard her saying, “Don’t. Please don’t, Carl. It’s a-all right, so—so, please, Carl…Please don’t cry any more—”

I
was a long time getting to sleep, and thirty minutes after I did I woke up again. I woke up exhausted, but with the feeling that I’d been asleep for hours. You know? It went on like that all night.

When I woke the last time it was nine-thirty, and sunlight was streaming into the room. It was shining right on my pillows, and my face felt hot and moist. I sat up quickly, hugging my stomach. The light, hitting into my eyes suddenly, had made me sick. I clenched my eyes against it, but the light wasn’t shut out. It seemed to be closed in, under the lids, and a thousand little images danced in its brilliance. Tiny white things, little figure-seven-shaped things: dancing and twisting and squirming.

I sat on the edge of the bed, rocking and hugging myself. I could taste the blood in my mouth, salty and sour, and I thought of how it would look in the sunlight, how yellow and purplish, and…

Somehow I got to the dresser and got the lenses and teeth into place. I staggered down the hall, kicked the bathroom door shut behind me, and went down on my knees in front of the toilet bowl. I threw my arms around it, bracing myself, looking down at the wavering water in the faintly brown-stained porcelain. And then my whole body swelled and shook, and I heaved.

The first one, the first heave, was the worst. It seemed to pull me two ways, forcing the stuff back and throwing it up at the same time. After that it was easier; the hard part was getting my breath, keeping from strangling. My heart pounded harder and harder. The sweat of weakness streamed down off my face, mixing with the blood and the vomit. I knew I was making a hell of a racket, but I didn’t care.

There was a rap on the door, and Fay Winroy called, “Carl. Are you all right, Carl?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. And the door opened.

“Carl! What in the world, honey—?”

I gestured with one hand, not looking around. Gestured that I was all right, that I was sorry, to get the hell out.

She said, “I’ll be right back, honey,” and I heard her hurrying back up the hall and down the stairs.

I flushed the toilet, keeping my eyes closed.

By the time she came back I’d got some cold water dabbed on my face and was sitting on the toilet seat. I was weak as all hell, but the sickness was gone.

“Drink it down, baby,” she said. And I drank it down—a half a glass of straight whiskey. I gasped and shuddered, and she said, “Here. Take a deep drag.” And I took the cigarette she handed me, and dragged on it deeply.

The whiskey stayed down, warming me and cooling me in all the places where I needed warming and cooling.

“My God, honey!…” She was down on her knees in front of me; why she bothered to wear that nightgown I didn’t know, because it didn’t conceal anything. “You get that way very much, Carl?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t had a spell like that since I was a kid. Don’t know what the hell brought it on.”

“Well, gosh, I didn’t know what to think. You sounded worse than Jake does sometimes.”

She was smiling, concerned for me. But there was a calculating look in the reddish brown eyes. Was I a sharp guy, a guy who could give her a lot of kicks? Or was I just a sick punk, someone good for a lousy fifteen a week and no laughs to go with it?

Apparently she made up her mind. She stood up and locked her arms around mine, holding them. She said, “Mmmmmmmmph!” and kissed me open-mouthed. “You tough little bastard!” she whispered. “Oh, you tough little bastard! I’ve got half a notion to—”

I didn’t want that. Yet. I wasn’t up to it. So I started a little rough-house, and that broke the mood.

“Stinker!” she laughed, leaning against the wall of the hallway. “Don’t you dare, you naughty bad boy!”

“Flag me down, then,” I said. “I only stop for red flags.”

I looked at her standing there laughing, everything she had on view. And all the time telling me not to look, not to dare. I watched her, listened to her. I watched and listened to myself, standing outside myself. And it was like seeing a movie you’ve seen a thousand times before. And…and I guess there wasn’t anything strange about that.

I shaved and took the bath I’d missed the night before. I got dressed, hurrying it up a little when she called up the stairs to me, and went down to the kitchen.

She’d fixed bacon and eggs and toast, some sliced oranges and french fries. And she’d dirtied up about half the pans and dishes in the place to do it, but it was all well prepared. She sat across from me at the kitchen table, kidding and laughing, keeping my coffee cup filled. And I knew what she was—but I couldn’t help liking her.

We finished eating, and I passed her a cigarette.

“Carl—”

“Yes?” I said.

“About—about what we were talking about last night—”

She waited. I didn’t say anything.

“Oh, hell,” she said, finally. “Well, I suppose I’d better go downtown and see Jake. He can stay away as long as he wants to, but he’s got to give me some money.”

“Too bad you have to look him up,” I said. “You don’t think he’ll be home?”

“Who knows what he’ll do?” She shrugged angrily. “He’ll probably stay away until they find out about you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I hate to have him put himself out on my account.”

She gave me another of those thoughtful looks, her eyes narrowed behind the smoke. “Carl. It will be all right, won’t it? The sheriff—he—it’ll be all right?”

“Why not?” I said.

“You’re going to go to school here?”

“It would be pretty foolish not to,” I said. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Skip it!” She laughed, irritably. “I guess I’m kind of goofy this morning.”

“It’s this town,” I said. “Sticking around a hole like this with nothing to do. You just weren’t built for it. You’ve got too much stuff for the place. I knew it the minute I saw you.”

“Did you, honey?” She patted my hand.

“I should think you could get some kind of singing job,” I said. “Something that would give you a better life.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know,” she said. “If I had some clothes, the dough to look around with. Maybe I could, but I don’t know, Carl. I’ve been out of things so long. I don’t know whether I could work any more, even to get away from this.”

I nodded. I took another step. It was probably unnecessary, but it wasn’t any trouble and it could save a lot.

“You’re afraid, too, aren’t you,” I said, “that things might be made a little unpleasant for Jake Winroy’s wife?”

“Afraid?” She frowned, puzzledly. “Why should—?”

It had never occurred to her, apparently. And I could see it sink in on her now, sink and build and spread. It pushed the color out of her face, and her lips trembled.

“B-but it wasn’t my fault. They can’t blame me, Carl! H-how could they—they wouldn’t blame me, would they, Carl?”

“They shouldn’t,” I said. “I don’t suppose they would, if they knew how you felt.”

“Carl! What can I—My God, honey, I don’t know why I didn’t see that—”

I laughed softly. It was time to call a halt. Her imagination could talk a lot better to her than I could. “Gosh,” I said, “look at the time. Almost eleven o’clock, and we’re still fooling around with breakfast.”

“But, Carl. I—”

“Forget it.” I grinned at her. “What would I know about things like that? Now you run on to town.”

I stood up and began clearing away the dishes. After a long moment she got up, too, but she didn’t make any move toward the door.

I took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “It’s like I said,” I told her. “The town’s getting on your nerves. You ought to run into the city for the weekend.”

She smiled weakly, still pale around the gills. “Run is right. I sure as hell couldn’t ride.”

“Maybe you could,” I said. “You got any kinfolks there? Anyone you ever visit?”

“Well, I have a sister over in the Bronx, but—”

“She’d yes for you? Give you an alibi in case Jake tried to check up?”

“Well, I don’t—Why should I—?” She frowned at me, blinking; and I thought maybe I’d figured her wrong or had crowded her too hard. Then she laughed softly, huskily. “Boy!” she said. “Did I say he was slick? But look, Carl. Won’t it look kind of funny if we both—?”

“We won’t,” I said. “You let me figure it out.”

“All right, Carl.” She nodded quickly. “You don’t—you won’t think I’m a tramp, will you? It’s just that—”

“No,” I said. “You’re not a tramp.”

“I’ll go along as long as I can with a person, but when I’m through, well, I’m through. I just don’t want any part of ’em any more. You understand Carl?”

“I understand,” I said. “Now, beat it, will you? Or you stay here and I’ll clear out. It doesn’t look good for the two of us to be hanging around here alone.”

“All right, honey. I’ll go right now. And—oh, yes, don’t bother about the dishes. Ruth can do them.”

“Will you get out of here?” I said.

And she laughed and kissed me, and got out.

I cleared up the dishes and put them away. I uncovered an old rusty hammer and went out into the back yard. There was part of a packing crate lying against the alley fence. I knocked some nails out of it, walked around to the front, and went to work on that gate.

There hadn’t been much of anything wrong with it in the beginning; a couple of nails in the hinges would have fixed it up fine. But just letting it go—trying to slam it when it couldn’t slam had damned near wrecked it.

I was still hard at it when Kendall came home from the bakery to lunch.

“Ah,” he said, approvingly, “I see you’re like me, Mr. Bigelow. You like to keep busy.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s something to pass the time.”

“I heard about your—uh—little difficulty last night. I’m glad to see you’re taking it in your stride. I—uh—don’t want to seem presumptuous, but I’ve taken a strong personal interest in you, Mr. Bigelow. I’d have been very disappointed if you’d allowed your plans to be upset by a drunken bum.”

I said, yeah, or thanks, or something of the kind.

“Well,” he said, “shall we go in? I think lunch must be ready.”

I told him I’d just finished breakfast. “I guess you’ll be the only one eating lunch, Mr. Kendall. Mrs. Winroy’s gone to town, and I don’t imagine Mr. Winroy will be here either.”

“I’ll tell Ruthie,” he said, quickly. “The poor child’s liable to go to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

He went on inside, and I went back to work. After a moment he came out again.

“Uh, Mr. Bigelow,” he called. “Do you know where Ruth might be?”

“I haven’t seen anything of her,” I said. “I didn’t know whether she was supposed to come home at noon.”

“Of course she is! Certainly.” He sounded a little annoyed. “She gets out of her last morning class at eleven, and she’s always here by eleven-thirty to start fixing lunch.”

“Well,” I said, and picked up my hammer again. He fidgeted on the porch uncertainly.

“I can’t understand it,” he frowned. “She’s always here by eleven-thirty. She has to be to fix lunch and get the beds made before she goes back to school.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can see how she would.”

I finished working on the gate. I lit a cigarette, and sat down on the steps to rest.

Ruth. Ruthie. I’d dreaded facing her after last night. She’d asked for it, creeping in on me that way, and yeah, yeah, she’d wanted it, and she’d said it was all right. But someone defenseless, someone—a
baby…

But now I wanted to see her. I wanted to see her more than anything in the world. It was like part of me was missing.

I puffed at the cigarette. I flipped it away, and lit up another one. I thought about her—me—swinging along on that crutch, head down, afraid to look at people, afraid to see them looking. You do all you can, and it’s still not enough. You keep your head down, knocking yourself out. You take all the shortcuts…

I got up and started around the house. I almost ran…Kendall had said she was always here by eleven-thirty. She had to be to do the things she had to do. And she’d have to race to do it. She’d have to take all the shortcuts.

I jerked the alley gate open, and looked up the line of high board fence. I looked just as she turned into the alley, pulling herself along on the fence, using the crutch as a cane.

For a moment I was sicker than I’d been when I first got up. Then, the sickness went away, gave way to anger. I ran to meet her, cursing the whole world and everybody in it.

“For Christ’s sake, honey!” I took the crutch out of her hand, and drew her arm around my shoulder. “Are you hurt? Stop a minute and get your br—”

“N-no!” she panted. “J-just let me l-lean on you s-so—”

Her face was smudged, and the left side of her coat was all dusty and dirty. Apparently the end piece of the crutch had worked loose, and she’d taken a hell of a fall.

“Where did it happen?” I said. “Why didn’t you ask someone for help? My God, baby, you shouldn’t—”

“H-hurry,” she gasped. “Please, C-carl.”

I hurried, letting her use me as a crutch. And I didn’t ask any more foolish questions. What difference did it make where the accident had happened, whether she’d been struggling for two blocks or six—two thousand miles or six thousand?

I got her across the back yard and up the steps. Hurrying, hurrying, the two of us one person. And her pounding heart, pounding so hard that it seemed to come right out through the skin, was my pounding heart.

I helped her into the kitchen and pushed her into a chair. She struggled to get up, and I pushed her down into it hard.

“Stay there!” I said. “Goddammit, stay there! If you don’t sit still, by God I’ll slough you!”

“I c-can’t! Mrs. W-winroy—”

“Listen to me!” I said. “Will you listen, Ruth? Everything’s going to be all right.”

“It w-won’t!” She was rocking in the chair, weeping helplessly. “Y-you don’t understand. Y-you don’t know how it is. She’ll f-fire me, and I j-just can’t—I’ve g-got t-to—”

I slapped her across the face, two quick hard slaps with the palm of my hand and the back of it.

“Want to listen?” I drew my hand back, ready to swing at her again. “Just tell me what you want to do. You want to listen or do I knock your head right off of your shoulders?”