Part Two-10
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Or maybe around .’"That was a good time to be living, Biff agreed.
Blount shuffled his feet self-sciously. His face was rough and unhappy. He was ready to leave. Biff was alert to detain him. Tell me—why did you ever e to this town anyway? He knew immediately that the question had not been a politie and he was disappointed with himself. Yet it was queer how the man could land up in a place like this.
Its the Gods truth I dont know.’
They stood quietly for a moment, both leaning on the ter.
The game of di the er was fihe first dinner order, a Long Island duck special, had been served to the fellow who mahe A. and P. store. The radio was turned halfway between a church sermon and a swing band.
Blount leaned over suddenly and smelled Biffs face.
Perfume?’
Shaving lotion, Biff said posedly.
He could not keep Blount lohe fellow was ready to go.
He would e in with Singer later. It was always like this.
He wao draw Blount out pletely so that he could uaaiions ing him. But Blount would never really talk—only to the mute. It was a most peculiar thing.
"Thanks for the cigar, Blount said. See you later.’
So long.’
Biff watched Blount walk to the door with his rolling, sailor-like gait. Theook up the duties before him. He looked over the display in the window. The days menu had been pasted on the glass and a special dinner with all the trimmings was laid out to attract ers. It looked bad. Right nasty.
The gravy from the duck had run into the berry saud a fly, was stu the dessert.Hey, Louis! he called. Take this stuff out of the window.
And brihat red pottery bowl and some fruit.’
He arrahe fruits with an eye for color and design. At last the decoration pleased him. He visited the kit and had a talk with the cook. He lifted the lids of the pots and she food inside, but without heart for the matter. Alice always had
dohis part. He disliked it. His nose sharpened when he saw the greasy sink with its scum of food bits at the bottom. He wrote down the menus and the orders for the day. He was glad to leave the kit and take his stand by the cash register again.
Lucile and Baby came for Sunday dihe little Md was not so good now. The bandage was still on her head and the doctor said it could not e off until month. The binding of gauze in place of the yellow curls made her head look naked.
Say hello to Uncle Biff, Hon, Lucile prompted.
Baby bridled fretfully. Hello to Unca Biff Hon, she gassed.
She put up a struggle when Lucile tried to take off her Sunday coat. Now you just behave yourself, Lucile kept saying. "You got to take it off or youll cateumonia when we go out again.. Now you just behave yourself.’
Biff took the situation in charge. He soothed Baby with a ball of dy gum and eased the coat from her shoulders. Her dress had lost its set iruggle with Lucile. He straighte so that the yoke was in line across her chest He retied her sash and crushed the bow to just the right shape with his fingers. Theted Baby on her little behind. We got some strawberry ice cream today, he said.
Bartholomew, youd make a mighty good mother.’
Thanks, Biff said. Thats a pliment’
We just been to Sunday School and church. Baby, say the verse from the Bible you learned for your Uncle Biff.’
The kid hung bad pouted. Jesus wept, she said finally.
The s that she put iwo words made it sound like a terrible thing.
Want to see Louis? Biff asked. Hes ba the kit.’
I wanna see Willie. I wanna hear WMe play the harp.’
"Now, Baby, youre just trying yourself, Lucile said im-patiently. You know good ahat Willies not here.
Willie was sent off to the peiary.’
But Louis, Biff said. He play the harp, too. Go tell him to get the ice cream ready and play you a tune.’
Baby went toward the kit, dragging one heel on the floor.
Lucile laid her hat on the ter. There were tears in her eyes. You know I always said this: If a child is kept and well cared for and pretty then that child will usually be sweet and smart. But if a childs dirty and ugly then you t expeything much. What Im trying to get at is that Baby is so shamed over losing her hair and that bandage on her head that it just seems like it makes her cut the buck all the time. She wont practice her elocution—she wont do a thing. She feels so bad I just t manage her.’
If youd quit pig with her so much shed be all right.’
At last he settled them in a booth by the window. Lucile had a special and there was a breast of chi cut up fine, cream of wheat, and carrots for Baby. She played with her food and spilled milk on her little frock. He sat with them until the rush started. Then he had to be on his feet to keep things going smoothly.
People eating. The wide-open mouths with the food pushed in.
What was it? The line he had read not long ago. Life was only a matter of intake and alimentation and reprodu. The place was crowded. There was a swing band on the radio.
Thewo he was waiting for came in. Singer ehe door first, very<u></u> straight and swank in his tailored Sunday suit.
Blount followed along just behind his elbow. There was something about the way they walked that struck him. They sat at their table, and Blount talked and ate with gusto while Singer watched politely. When the meal was fihey stopped by the cash register for a few mihen as they went out he noticed again there was something about their walking together that made him pause and question himself.
What could it be? The suddenness with which the memory opened up deep down in his mind was a shock. The big deaf-mute moron whom Singer used to walk with sometimes on the way to work. The sloppy Greek who made dy for Charles Parker.The Greek always walked ahead and Singer followed. He had never noticed them much because they never came into the place. But why had he not remembered this? Of all times he had wondered about the mute to su angle. See everything in the landscape except the three waltzing
elephants. But did it matter after all？
Biff narrowed his eyes. How Singer had been before was not important. The thing that mattered was the way Blount and Mick made of him a sort of home-made God. Owing to the fact he was a mute they were able to give him all the qualities they wanted him to have. Yes. But how could such a strahing e about? And why？
A one-armed man came hi and Biff treated him to a whiskey on the house. But he did not feel like talking to anyone.
Sunday dinner was a family meal. Men who drank beer by themselves on weeknights brought their wives and little kids with them on Sunday. The highchair they kept in the back was often needed. It was two-thirty and though many tables were occupied the meal was almost over. Biff had been on his feet for the past four hours and was tired. He used to stand for fourteen or sixteen hours and not notiy effects at all. But now he had aged. siderably. There was no doubt about it.
Or maybe matured was the word. Not aged—certainly not—yet. The waves of sound in the room swelled and subsided against his ears. Matured. His eyes smarted and it was as though some fever in him made everything tht and sharp.
He called to one of the waitresses: Take over for me will you, please? Im going out.’
The street was empty because of Sunday. The sun shone bright and clear, without warmth. Biff held the collar of his coat close to his neck. Alone ireet he felt out of pocket.
The wind blew cold from the river. He should turn bad stay in the restaurant where he belonged. He had no business going to the place where he was headed. For the past four Sundays he had dohis. He had walked in the neighborhood where he might see Mick. And there was something about it that was—not quite right. Yes. Wrong. He walked slowly down the sidewalk opposite the housewhere she lived. Last Sunday she had been reading the funny papers on the front steps. But this time as he glanced swiftly toward the house he saw she was not there. But tilted the brim of his felt hat down over his eyes. Perhaps she would e
into the place later. Often on Sunday after supper she came for a hot cocoa and stopped for a while at the table where Singer was sitting. On Sunday she wore a different outfit from the blue skirt and sweater she wore on other days. Her Sunday dress was wine-colored silk with a dingy lace collar. Once she had had on stogs—with runs in them. Always he wao set her up to something, to give to her. And not only a sundae or some sweet to eat—but something real. That was all he wanted for himself—to give to her. Biffs mouth hardened.
He had dohing wrong but in him he felt a strange guilt.
Why? The dark guilt in all men, unreed and without a name.
On the way home Biff found a penny lying half cealed by rubbish iter. Thriftily he picked it up, ed the with his handkerchief, and dropped it into the black pocket purse, he carried. It was four oclock when he reached the restaurant. Business was stagnant. There was not a single er in the place.
Business picked up around five. The boy he had retly hired to work part time showed up early. The boys name was Harry Minowitz. He lived in the same neighborhood with Mid Baby. Eleven applits had answered the ad in the paper, but Harry seemed to be best bet. He was well developed for his age, a. Biff had noticed the boys teeth while talking to him during the interview. Teeth were always a good indication. His were large and very and white. Harry wlasses, but that would not matter in the work. His mother made ten dollars a week sewing for a tailor dowreet, and Harry was an only child.
Well, Biff said. Youve been with me a week, Harry. Think yoing to like it? Sure, sir. Sure I like it.’
Biff turhe ring on his finger. Lets see. What time do you get off from school? "Three oclock, sir.Well, that gives you a couple of hours for study and recreation. Then here from six to ten. Does that leave you enough time for plenty of sleep?’
Plenty. I dont need hat much.’
You need about nine and a half hours at ye, son. Pure, wholesome sleep.’
He felt suddenly embarrassed. Maybe Harry would think it was none of his business. Which it wasnt anyway. He started to turn aside and then thought of something.
?You go to Vocational?’
Harry nodded and rubbed his glasses on his shirtsleeve.
Lets see. I know a lot of girls and boys there. Alva Richards—I know his father. And Maggie Henry. And akid named Mick Kelly------ He felt as though his earshad caught afire. He knew himself to be a fool. He wao turn and walk away a he only stood there, smiling and mashing his h his thumb. You know her? he asked faintly.
Sure, I live right door to her. But in s a senior while shes a freshman.’
Biff stored this meager informatioly in his mind to be thought over later when he was alone. Business will be quiet here for a while, he said hurriedly. Til leave it with you. By now you know how to hahings. Just waty ers drinking beer and remember how many theyve drunk so you wont have to ask them and depend on what they say. Take your time making ge arack of what goes on.’
Biff shut himself in his room downstairs. This was the place where he kept his files. The room had only one small window and looked out on the side alley, and the air was musty and cold. Huge stacks of neers rose up to the ceiling. A home-made filing case covered one wall. he door there was an old-fashioned rog-chair and a small table laid with a pair of shears, a diary, and a mandolin. Because of the piles of neer it was impossible to take more than two steps in any dire. Biff rocked himself in the chair and languidly plucked the strings of the mandolin. His eyes closed and he began to sing in a doleful voice:II went to the animal fair.
The birds and the beasts were t<big></big>here,And the old baboon by the light of the moonWas bing his auburn hair.
He finished with a chord from the strings and the last sounds shivered to silen the cold air.
To adopt a couple of little children. A boy and a girl. About three or four years old so they would always feel like he was their own father. Their Dad. Our Father. The little girl like Mick (or Baby?) at that age. Round cheeks and gray eyes and flaxen hair. And the clothes he would make for her—pink crgpe de e frocks with dainty smog at the yoke and sleeves. Silk socks and white buckskin shoes. And a little red-velvet coat and cap and muff for wihe boy was dark and black-haired. The little boy walked behind him and copied the things he did. In the summer the three of them would go to a cottage on the Gulf and he would dress the children in their sun suits and guide<q></q> them carefully into the green, shallow waves. And then they would bloom as he grew old. Our Father. And they would e to him with questions and he would ahem.
Why not？
Biff took up his mandolin again. Tum-ti-tim-ti-tee, ti-tee, the wedd-ing of the painted doll The mandolin mocked the refrain. He sang through all the verses and wagged his foot to the time. Then he played K-K-K-Katie, and Loves Old Sweet Song. These pieces were like the Agua Florida in the way they made him remember. Everything. Through the first year when he was happy and when she seemed happy even too. And when the bed came down with them<var></var> twi three months. And he didnt know that all the time her brain was busy with how she could save a nickle or squeeze out ara dime. And then him with Rio and the girls at her place. Gyp and Madeline and Lou. And then later when suddenly he lost it. When he could lie with a woman no longer. Mothero-eod! So that at first it seemed everything was gone.
Lucile always uood the whole set-up. She khe kind of woman Alice was. Maybe she knew about him,too. Lucile would urge them to get a divorce. And she did all a person could to try thten out their messes.
Biff winced suddenly. He jerked his hands from the strings of the mandolin so that a phrase of music was chopped off. He sat tense in his chair. Then suddenly he laughed quietly to himself. What had made him e across this? Ah, Lordy Lordy Lord! It was the day of his twenty-ninth birthday, and Lucile had asked him to drop by her apartment when he finished with an appoi at the dentists. He expected from this some little remembrance—a plate of cherry tarts ood shirt. She met him at the door and blindfolded his eyes before he ehen she said she would be ba a sed. In the silent room he listeo her footsteps and when she had reached the kit he broke wind. He stood in the room with his eyes blindfolded and pooted. Then all at once he knew with horror he was not alohere was a titter and soo rolling whoops of laughter deafened him. At that minute Lucile came bad undid his eyes. She held a caramel cake on a platter. The room was full of people. Leroy and that bund Alice, of course. He wao crawl up the wall. He stood there with his bare face hanging out, burning hot all over. They kidded him and the hour was almost as bad as the death of his mother— the way he took it.
Later that night he drank a quart ofwhiskey. And for weeks after------Mod！
Biff chuckled coldly. He plucked a few chords on his mandolin and started a rollig cowboy song. His voice was a mellow tenor and he closed his eyes as he sang. The room was almost dark. The damp chill peed to his bones so that his legs ached with rheumatism. .
At last he put away his mandolin and rocked slowly in ? the darkness. Death. Sometimes he could almost feel it in the room with him. He rocked to and fro in the chair. What did he uand? Nothing. Where was he headed? Nowhere. What did he want? To know. What? A mean-ing. Why? A riddle.
Broken pictures lay like a scattered jigsaw puzzle in his head.
Alice soaping ihtub. Mussolinis mug. Mick pulling the baby in a wagon. A roast turkey on display. Blounts mouth. The face of Singer. He felt himself wait-
fing. The room was pletely dark. From the kit he could hear Louis singing.
Biff stood up and touched the arm of his chair to still its rog. When he opehe door the hall outside was very warm and bright. He remembered that perhaps Mick would e. He straightened his clothes and smoothed back his hair.
A warmth and liveliness returo him. The restaurant was in a hubbub. Beer rounds and Sunday supper had begun. He smiled genially to young Harry aled himself behind the cash register. He took in the room with a glance like a lasso.
The place was crowded and humming with he bowl of fruit in the window was a genteel, artistic display. He watched the door and tio examihe room with a practiced eye. He was alert and ily waiting. Singer came finally and wrote with his silver pencil that he wanted only soup and whiskey as he had a cold. But Mick did not e.
i HE never even had a o herself any more. They were that poor. Money was the main thing. All the time it was money, money, mohey had to pay through the nose for Baby Wilsons private room and private nurse. But even that was just one bill. By the time ohing aid for something else always would crop up. They owed around two hundred dollars that had to be paid right away. They lost the house. Their Dad got a hundred dollars out of the deal ahe bank take over the me. Then he borrowed another fifty dollars and Mister Singer went oe with him.
Afterward they had to worry about rent every month instead of taxes. They were mighty near as poor as factory folks. Only nobody could look down on them.
Bill had a job in a bottling plant and made ten dollars a week.
Hazel worked as a helper in a beauty parlor fht dollars.
Etta sold tickets at a movie for five dollars. Each of them paid half of what they earned for their keep. Then the house had six boarders at five dollars a head. And Mister Singer, who paid
his rent very prompt. With what their Dad picked up it all came to about two hundreddollars a month—and out of that they had to feed the six boarders pretty good ahe family and pay rent for the whole house and keep up the payments on the furniture.
Gee and her did any lunch money now. She had to stop the music lessons. Portia saved the leftovers from the dinner for her and Gee to eat after school. All the time they had their meals i. Whether Bill and Hazel aa sat with the boarders or ate i depended on how much food there was. I they had grits and grease and side meat and coffee for breakfast. For supper they had the same thing along with whatever could be spared from the dining-room. The big kids griped whehey had to eat i. And sometimes she and Gee were dht hungry for two or three days.
But this was iside room. It had nothing to do with musid fn tries and the plans she made. The winter was cold. Frost was on the windowpanes. At night the fire in the living-room crackled very warm. All the family sat by the fire with the boarders, so she had the middle bedroom to herself. She wore two sweaters and a pair of Bills outgrown corduroy pants. Exciteme her warm. She would bring out her private box from uhe bed and sit on the floor to work.
In the big box there were the pictures she had pai the gover free art class. She had taken them out of Bills room. Also in the box she kept three mystery books her Dad had given her, a pact, a box of watch parts, a rhione necklace, a hammer, and some notebooks. Oebook was marked oop with red crayon— PRIVATE. KEEP OUT.
PRIVATE—and tied with a string.
She had worked on musi this notebook all the winter. She quit studying school lessons at night so she could have more time to spend on music. Mostly she had written just little tunes—songs without any words and without even any bass o them. They were very short. But even if the tunes were only half a page long she gave them names and drew her initials underh them. Nothing in this book was a real piece
or a position. They were just songs in her mind she wao remember. She hem how they reminded her—Afrid A Big Fighf and The Snowstorm.’
She couldnt write the music just like it sounded in her mind.
She had to thin it down to only a few notes; otherwise she got too mixed up to go further. There was so much she didnt know about how to write music. But maybe after she learned how to write these simple tunes fairly quick she could begin to put down the whole musi her mind.
In January she began a certain very wonderful piece called This Thing I Want, I Know Not What It was a beautiful and marvelous song—very slow and soft. At first she had started to<dfn>９９ｌｉb?</dfn> write a poem along with it, but she couldnt think of ideas to fit the music. Also it was hard to get a word for the third lio rhyme with what. This new song made her feel sad aed and happy all at once. Music beautiful as this was hard to work on. Any song was hard to write. Something she could hum in two minutes meant a whole weeks work before it was down iebook—after she had figured up the scale and the time and every note.
She had to trate hard and sing it many times. Her voice was always hoarse. Her Dad said this was because she had bawled so much when she was a baby. Her Dad would have to get up and walk with her every night when she was Ralphs age. The only thing would hush her, he always said, was for him to beat the coal scuttle with a poker and sing Dixie.’
She lay ooma the cold floor and thought. Later on—when she was twenty—she would be a great world-famous poser. She would have a whole symphony orchestra and duct all of her music herself. She would stand up on the platform in front of the big crowds of people. To duct the orchestra she would wear either a real mans evening suit or else a red dress spangled with rhiohe curtains of the stage would be red velvet and M.K. would be printed on them in gold. Mister Singer would be there, and afterward they would go out a fried chi. He would admire her and
t her as his very best friend. Gee would bring up big wreaths of flowers to the stage. It would be in New York City or else in a fn try. Famous people would point at her—cCULLBRSCarole Lombard and Arturo Tosi and Admiral Byrd.
百度搜索 The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter 天涯 或 The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.