“Oh, how is little Walter?” she asked.
“Oh — I—”
“Aren’t you …?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, I saw you going in …”
“Yes?”
“I thought you were Harry’s doctor.” She giggled. “You look like a doctor.”
“I’m just—”
“Well, isn’t it something?”
“Yes.”
“We never cared for her, you know. Not a bit. I’ve never myself liked Southerners. And my husband, well, he spotted her right off.”
“Well, yes—”
“Harry, on the other hand, is good to those children as gold.”
“Yes — I have to be going—” He showed her that he was about to release the door.
“It’s a shame, a hard-working boy like that, and, well, I won’t even say the sort she is. Maybe she’ll work out this time, but she’s no proper stepmother even,” she said hopelessly. “Just running off—”
“Excuse me, I have to go — be going—”
“—better off without her, if you want my opinion. Don’t you believe—”
“I think—” said Gabe, and breaking away, he let fly the door.
He drove back to Chicago as madly as he had left it. He went immediately to the doctor’s office, and by the time he got to the Loop for drinks it was nearly six. A slender, dark-haired girl had sat alone at a table for half an hour, the waitress told him, then paid for her drink and left. He drove home; not till he was there did he remember that he had forgotten the quilt. At nine Libby called. She asked if he would fill in for their baby-sitter on Christmas Eve; their regular girl had gone home for the holidays. He said yes. It would give him something to do the night before he left. It would please Libby and it would please him — if not now, then. He said yes, and then he did not let Libby hang up. He talked and talked; he said more words to her than he had in years. He told her he had gone to the doctor in the afternoon and gotten the second of three penicillin shots. He told her how he had leaned over in a movie and hit his head on the corner of the seat. He had dropped his billfold, tried to pick it up, and whack. He should have gone off instantly to wash it out but had neglected to. He hadn’t realized he had broken the skin. However, had he not gone to the doctor the next day, he might well have wound up with a serious case of blood poisoning. So near the brain … He did not ask to speak to Paul. He saw no way of getting around to it, no cool, calm way even of his making the request that might not send Libby screaming down the hall. And he did not call Jaffe. He had called a day or two before to say that everything was fine, just perfect. There was no sense in calling again. After all, there was nothing for Jaffe to do; he had himself done everything.
He went to bed earlier than he should have, with the result that he slept badly. His head ached all through the night. The doctor had assured him that he would not expire in his sleep; the doctor was a humorous man who took minor ailments lightly. Of course, Gabe had only raised the question lightly — he did not really expect to die. Nevertheless, for long stretches he did not sleep because he would not allow himself to. It was as though his illness might overpower him were he not awake to protect himself. But dozing, he had dreams of struggle and loss, dreams of falling. He was wrestling with Bigoness over a pit alive with monsters. They rolled and rolled, arms locked about one another, and then they fell, onto Bigoness’s rug.
He awoke. The room was dark. He set his mind a task. He tried to figure out the amount of money that would have been appropriate — safe — wise — binding—right—to have promised Harry Bigoness.
5
Gabe:
We will be at the Cape Cod Room (splurge! our sixth anniversary!) of the Hotel Drake (AM 3-4582) from 7–8:30. At Surf Theater (AM 4-9724) till 10:20. Meet train at LaSalle St. Station 10:45. Home by 11:15 thereabouts. Be charming to Mrs. Herz when we bring her home. Very charming. I am nervous — but have not been so expectant in years. Oh brave new world and so on. If Rachel wakes up (she will), expect you to read to her. Bottle may help.
L.
On her way out she handed the note to him. “Here’s where we’ll be,” she had said. At seven-thirty, while they were still at the Drake he wrote a memorandum to himself on the back of Libby’s note.
Have plane ticket.
Take quilt.
Call taxi by ten.
Call airport first, check etc.
Mail applications!
Enough cash.
Call Jaffe.
Call Bigo
Number eight was crossed out. It was then written in again. The process was repeated three times over.
At eight — the Herzes were still enjoying dinner at the Cape Cod Room — Rachel woke up and cried briefly. He gave her a bottle. He stood by the crib, thinking over and over all that he had been thinking over and over for days. There were no new thoughts for him to have. He referred to his list of things to do. At eight-fifteen he telephoned Gary.
“I’d like to speak”—yes, this was safe, this was wise—“to Theresa Bigoness, please.”
He heard the broom bang against the ceiling.
“Hello?”
“Theresa?”
“Uh-huh.”
“This is Gabe Wallach.”
“Who?”
“Martha’s friend … Mr. Wallace.”
“You want to speak to Harry?”
“I wanted to speak with you. Privately. To say hello … Just to make sure everything is all right. Is everything …?”
“… I’m okay.”
“I was sorry I couldn’t get to see you—”
“Uh-huh.”
“—when I came to talk to your husband.”
“Maybe you better talk to him.”
“I wanted to tell you that Mr. Jaffe’s looking forward to seeing you on the twenty-ninth, you know. You remember Sid Jaffe — he got your letter, of course.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Everything’s all right then?”
“I feel okay.”
“And we’ll be seeing you on the twenty-ninth?”
“I’ve got a job.”
“I know. The twenty-ninth, of course, has been taken care of.”
“The mill’s all closed up, I have to work—”
“Hasn’t your husband told you that you’re coming into town on the twenty-ninth?”
Silence.
“Theresa, you’re coming, right? You have to, you know. That was all made clear to you by Mr. Jaffe.”
“I have to work.”
“… I’ve paid your salary for that day, more than your salary already.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Theresa, are you listening to me? You do remember me?”
“I have to go upstairs now.”
“When you were in trouble, Theresa, everybody up here was very kind to you. You were taken care of — weren’t you?”
Again she did not see fit to answer immediately.
“Well, isn’t that so?”
“No.”
“It is so, Theresa. Don’t you remember how unhappy you were?”
“Not everybody was nice to me.”
“Who wasn’t?”
“Not everybody,” she whispered.
“Your husband has agreed to come up to Chicago. Hasn’t he told you that?”