The Complete Stories of Morley Callaghan - Volume Two Page 16

  “All right, Walter,” she said willingly. “Let’s forget about it. Kiss me. It’s just as well we’re going to bed early, when we’re sailing in the morning.“

  He kissed her with grave tenderness, and then he said softly, almost to himself, “We ought to feel so happy tonight. Sailing in the morning, with so much to look forward to.” He turned once to see her smiling at him. He smiled himself, then walked away restlessly, for he could not look contented, and he sat down by the window with his chin cupped in his hand.

  His aloof dejection puzzled Eleanor, and after watching him for some time, she said, “What’s the matter with you now, WaIter?”

  “Nothing. I feel fine.”

  “You can’t feel fine while you look so unhappy,” she said, trying to tease him. “Look at me and tell me what you’re thinking about. Give me three guesses.”

  With a bashful grin, Walter shook his head, trying to appear offhand, then he said impetuously, “Did you read the piece in the paper, Eleanor? Why don’t you look at it now and see what you think about it.”

  “You said you don’t care what I think,” she answered, still teasing him with her smile.

  “You know I care, don’t go on like that,” he said.

  She continued to shake her head firmly while he coaxed her, and as he pleaded and looked dejected, she could hardly help laughing. The more he coaxed, the more it delighted her.

  “All right, then, Eleanor, don’t do it,” he said humbly, and at that moment, while he spoke with such humility, she realized fully how necessary her enthusiasm was to him. She realized that there could be no pleasure even in this simple matter for him unless he shared it with her, and she was filled with a warmth and joy that came from seeing how inevitably he was pulled toward her. She smiled and closed her eyes. She could hear the city street sounds far below. In the early morning they would be hurrying to the harbor, rushing to the boat. Again she grew timid. But she felt herself thrust so buoyantly into their life together that she sat bolt upright, breathless.

  A Princely Affair

  Dogs in pursuit and red-coated huntsmen taking fences. Calendar huntsmen on the wall. Captain Bill Oakley in the barber chair was having a shampoo. The barber rubbed lather on Bill’s head, and Bill saw faintly his image in the mirror, his eyes half closed, thinking of the huntsmen who made him think of his wife Nora — all part of a fine tradition.

  He left the barbershop. It was a spring day, a blue sky, and a strong sun. He stood on the corner opposite the city hall, looking into faces of girls passing. He held out some change and the newsie thrust a paper under his arm. He glanced at headlines, then turned pages till he saw the pictures of his wife, wearing the turban. His Highness had danced three times with Mrs. Oakley. In the story she was called His Highness’s dancing partner and the reporter told how he had found her at home as the milkman was passing along the street. Bill, rubbing his smooth cheek, smiled to himself, then laughed excitedly, remembering how he had been awake in bed till the front door had opened and he had heard Nora talking, answering questions. He had stood in his dressing gown at the top of the stairs until the reporter had gone. He had hurried down and kissed her. For a long time they lay awake in bed while she talked about the ball and the Prince, and Bill kissed her passionately, then dropped off to sleep.

  He was folding the paper slowly and carefully, but the city hall clock struck half past one, so he shoved it in his pocket and crossed the road, walking importantly as though many people were looking at him — a stout man in a light coat belted in military style, an old felt hat on the side of his head.

  In the store he smiled easily at men behind the counters. He had been manager in the gents’ furnishings department ever since coming back from the war, and now he did the buying in London and New York. He liked knowing the store executives appreciated his energy, which had made the department a distinguished haberdashery, a conservative store for men, and he was quite satisfied to think the clerks didn’t like him because then it was much easier to fire them. He wanted other managers in the store to be respectful. He liked best his clerks who were carefully polite. Now he walked along the aisles, his belly full, his hair still damp from tonic, his hands linked behind his back, wishing he was more friendly with clerks who might mention seeing his wife’s picture in the paper, but it didn’t happen till John Stanley, the bald-headed clerk in the Underwear, smiled and said, “A lovely picture of your wife, sir.”

  “Do you think so, John?”

  “Oh, very lovely,” John said, piling up underwear.

  Bill leaned against the counter. He encouraged John to talk, not paying much attention to what he was saying, but liking the tone of respectful enthusiasm, and feeling generous, he casually mentioned His Highness two or three times. He didn’t speak of his wife again, for John knew all about her people in England, her fondness for theatricals, and social connections in the city. John understood about Bill’s wife in an entirely different manner than some of the men on the floor, who gossiped behind Bill’s back, wondering how she could run around with wealthy people on his salary.

  “Yes, His Highness has gone to Montreal,” Bill said, moving away.

  He went upstairs to the mezzanine office and stood at the railing looking out over the main floor at all the electric globes on the ceiling, the clocks, and the clerks behind the counters. He stood, his thumbs hooked in his vest pockets at his glass-topped desk, inspecting with critical satisfaction three pictures of his wife pressed under the glass. He took the newspaper from his pocket. The stenographer watched him spread the paper on his desk and carefully clip stories of the ball, the interview with his wife, and pictures, folding them neatly and putting them in his inside suit coat pocket. He went downstairs and through the book department, the Stationery, the Notions to the Jewelry on the other side of the store, and had a long conversation with Steiner, the manager, showing him pictures and reading aloud from the clippings.

  He hadn’t felt so good in months but the afternoon passed slowly. He dictated a few letters, not finding words readily, and three times he stopped to ask the stenographer to phone his wife, but always there was no answer. At a quarter to five he quit work impatiently.

  Nora was asleep on the chesterfield in the front room. He stood besides her, liking her face and neck. Her face always satisfied him unless she had a cold in the head. Then her beauty seemed to collapse. He touched her shoulder gently and her eyes opened. “Oh, Bill,” she said.

  “The little queen, the fairy princess,” he said.

  She yawned: “I could have slept for two hours yet, Bill dear, I don’t feel like getting supper.”

  “Not a bite, not a tiny bite?”

  “Oh, heavens, Bill.”

  “Tired, Nora?”

  “Frightfully tired, and some silly fool phoned three times this afternoon.”

  “I phoned, Nora.”

  “You did? Well, I’m certainly glad I didn’t bother answering.”

  “If you’re very tired, I’ll get my own supper.”

  “Oh, hell, you needn’t do it. I guess I’ll do it,” she said.

  Disappointed, he put his hands in his pockets, for he had expected to come home and talk happily. She was rubbing her eyes. She said meekly: “Kiss me, Bill.” He kissed her. “Kiss me again, Bill, a nice kiss.” So he kissed her again.

  She began to get supper in the kitchen, saw herself in the mirror, and fixing her hair she became good-humored, humming a song. They sat down at the kitchen table. She began to talk about last night and he listened while she told stories about members of His Highness’s party, and how she had said to His Highness that her husband was a military man and had often talked about taking up fox hunting.

  “And you have, haven’t you dear?” she said.

  “I sure have.”

  “All you need is a horse.”

  “And a red coat,” he said good-naturedly.

  After eating he suggested they take a walk down to the park. She had wanted a house near a
park and the water so in summer evenings she could be reminded of Old Country beaches, but she said people would stare at her tonight, so they sat on the back porch watching kids in the yard next door pitching horseshoes. It was a new district and trees were in most yards on the hill. The air was good, a breeze blowing off the lake. They watched the kids pitching horseshoes till she said suddenly: “How would you like me to go to Montreal for a couple of days?”

  “Lord, what’s the big idea?”

  “Captain Albert suggested it last night.”

  “Listen, Nora, have a heart, what about the money?”

  “I said you wouldn’t mind at all but would be delighted. I said you would be honored. Was I right in saying that, Bill?”

  “Oh, I guess so.”

  “It certainly doesn’t sound like it.”

  “Did His Highness really suggest it, honestly?”

  “He must have, Bill. I’ll bet ten pounds on it.”

  “That’s all very well, and I might even afford it, but it’s expensive, though. No. It’s too expensive.”

  They talked about the trip to Montreal till it got dark and the boys pitching horseshoes went away and the air became chilly. Sitting on the porch in the twilight Bill felt that Nora had become a wonderful, strange woman he could never expect to touch. He had thought of arguing about Montreal, but watching her, he was in no mood for it, and as they went into the kitchen, he took hold of her clumsily, kissing her till she said: “Oh, Bill, be good, heavens, Bill.”

  Before they went to bed he intended to say firmly she should not go away, but when they got into bed, Montreal and all his old thoughts became unimportant and he was happy until she went to sleep. Then he discovered he was not sleepy, his eyes were wide open, and he worried about her going away. Everything had been simple and fine. He had a hard time getting to sleep.

  He phoned home twice from the department store next morning, the first time to talk till she could honestly convince him, the second time to tell how enthusiastic he had become. He agreed to have dinner downtown and afterward take her to the station. Later he talked agreeably to young Staines at the tie counter, whom he had threatened to fire two days ago. He made jokes with his assistant manager, J.C. Carlton, and in an offhand manner told him his wife was joining His Highness in Montreal. As soon as he spoke to Carlton he regretted it because Carlton had nothing whatever to say. Then he stood at the mezzanine rail, looking down at the department. John in Underwear saw him and smiled politely. Bill nodded graciously.

  They had dinner at the King Edward but he didn’t eat much, the curve of her white throat seemed to astonish him. They took a taxi to the station, and he carried her coat and hatbox and a redcap carried her bag. He sat in the coach with her for fifteen minutes and talked as though words although difficult were essential. He said almost shyly: “Nora, I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re away, but I’ve never been so proud of you, Nora.”

  “I’m happy, Bill. I’m the luckiest thing. I’m lucky beyond words.”

  “No, you’re not, Nora, you belong, I tell you.” When he said it, he held her hand tightly, breathing slowly, and enjoying a feeling of exhilaration.

  But when he stood on the platform and she waved from the train window, he felt lonesome, and jerked the brim of his old slouch hat well down over his eyes. Walking along the station tunnel and glancing at the hard smooth walls he felt utterly unimportant. No place to go. The tunnel was long and his footsteps sounded loud and made him more lonesome. He walked faster to get out of the tunnel. At home, he sat in the front room in his stockinged feet, his collar off, and played records till he got sleepy and went to bed.

  He read in the papers two days later that his wife had danced with His Highness in Montreal. In the office he clipped news stories and asked the stenographer to pin them together. The stenographer giggled when he asked her to take a wire to his wife: “Read about it this morning. Have a good time, Bill.” He put his feet on the desk, linked his hands behind his head, seriously sober because great people in the world were entertaining his wife. He felt like talking about fox hunting, or better still, actually trying fox hunting.

  He got a short note from Nora in which she hoped he was getting along all right. His Highness had left Montreal, but she was staying on because a man had talked to her about the stage and there was an opportunity. The note bothered him. His Highness had gone, Montreal seemed far away. He sent money and advised her to come home at once. In the evenings he walked in the park alone and sat on the bench by the water.

  Waiting to hear from her he was surly in the department, and the stenographer did her work efficiently. Usually he ate in the Palm Room with managers of different departments, and a favorite sweet mustard pickle was always on the table, but now he ate over on Adelaide Street in a Chinese restaurant, saving thirty cents a day. A letter from New York surprised him, made him indignant, but at least it was good to hear that she hoped to get a small part in a big company, opening in New York in the fall. Her influential Montreal friends had been useful in New York, and she knew how anxious Bill was that she should be successful. He read the note in the kitchen, the envelope resting on a tin of canned food on the table, and tried to feel enthusiastic but his heart was beating too loudly.

  He told John in Underwear a good story of show people and large offers made to his wife and John was so impressed Bill felt better, and thought that it was only natural her splendid success with His Highness should lead into other fields. So he wired the New York address, asking for clippings about the show. At the end of the week he got some clippings but her name wasn’t mentioned. She explained that everything was satisfactory, and there was some baby talk that made him happier than he had been all week.

  He expected her to write and ask for money, but days passed, and he avoided thinking about it. The last time he went over to the jewelry department to see Steiner he began by explaining that his wife was having an extraordinary success and an account of it should be in the local papers. Then he talked suddenly about women who managed to live on easy street for next to nothing, arguing excitedly with Steiner about such women. He left Steiner to go down to the wash-room, and was surprised at the expression on his face in the mirror. He washed vigorously, combing his hair. Back in the department, he was caustic and critical of the clerks and fired Staines at the tie counter. He had a suspicion Staines was talking behind his back.

  He went home one evening two months after she had gone away, and found a large brown envelope in the mailbox. He tugged at his hat brim, and sat down in the front room, fumbling with the envelope. There was a picture of Nora in an ermine wrap, and a long letter, asking him if he liked her in the wrap, and calling him “dear old Bill.” She had worn the wrap doing advertising work for a furrier, and she had liked it so much, it almost made her sick to take it off. The note was friendly, but he was disappointed, and sat back in the chair, holding the picture in both hands.

  The ermine wrap was a clear picture for him, and a thought that he resolutely resisted was growing stronger, but he couldn’t get rid of it, as long as he had the picture in his head. He went out on the back veranda, talked with Mrs. Johnston next door, and was startled to realize he wasn’t paying attention to words he was using, and his hands were clammy. Restless, he went into the house and stretched out on the couch, closing his eyes, dealing with the thought. He wanted to give Nora a wrap similar to the one in the picture because no one else in the world would give it to her. His head was tired. Such a wrap would cost at least two thousand dollars, wholesale through the store. It would take another mortgage on the house to get two thousand dollars. He lay there, exhausted mentally, thinking of Nora in the wrap till his hands began to burn and he sat up quickly, feeling feverish and unreasonable, then exultant and determined. In bed he was too tired to sleep. He couldn’t find work in the office next day, his thoughts far away, so he put his elbows on the desk, assuring himself only one person could ever make him happy and nothing should prevent him getting happ
iness. Although it was absurd and ridiculous to send the wrap, it was tremendous.

  At noontime he went to a discount company and arranged for a second mortgage on his house. He asked the man to rent the house as soon as possible, as he was moving. Outside, he walked rapidly. It was a warm day. He was sweating and should have taken off his belted coat. He looked straight ahead. He thought vaguely that many girls were wearing pretty scarves this summer, and rubbed his forehead with a big soiled handkerchief.

  The manager of the fur department was impressed when Bill ordered the ermine wrap and showed the picture of his wife. Bill felt better, listening to him. He took the picture back to his office and told the stenographer to type a contract, the names to be filled in later. The contract had fine clauses such as, “of the same quality as the one in the picture,” “of the best lining obtainable,” and of course it was necessary to show the stenographer the picture.

  The first week in September Bill moved from the house at the beach, and took a room in a cheap apartment house on Dundas Street. When he paid a month’s rent in advance to the janitor, and sat down on the bed, looking at the oatmeal wallpaper and the thickly varnished floor, he was eager to feel he was denying himself for her, and that where he lived was unimportant. He was trying to make up his mind whether it would be better to take the wrap to New York, or simply send it. Nervously he wondered why he hesitated to go and see her, and assured himself it was because the surprise would be greater if he sent the wrap.

  He carried the wrap home from the store one night and spread it out on the bed. He was excited and stroked the fur with the palm of his hand, thinking of Nora’s white skin, and the wrap around her shoulders. He stood up straight, aware that the wrap was out of place in the small untidy room, and feeling strangely guilty, he went over to the window and pulled down the blind. He quickly covered the fur, and put it in the closet, his head dizzy, the room shifting. He ate very little, then hurried downtown, to send it to New York.