Helen and Tony came to the bandstand in the middle of the set.
Bud looked down from the piano, and Tony said, “We leavin’, mate.”
Bud’s face did not change. His eyes shifted from Tony’s to Helen’s, but his face did not change. She watched him carefully, wanting him to say something, wanting him to say the words that would make everything all right, wanting him to tell her he understood now.
“Good night,” he said.
“I’m takin’ Helen home,” Tony said. “You wanna come along?”
“No,” Bud said. “I’ll stick around here.”
“Bud?” Helen said.
“Yeah?”
“C’mon, Helen,” Tony said. “Le’sh go.”
“Bud, write to me.”
“Sure,” he answered, and then he turned back to the keyboard.
Part Four
22
This was Wednesday.
This was three days since Andy had invaded Bud’s apartment, one day since he’d taken any drugs. One day since yesterday morning, and yesterday morning he’d been left alone with a deck of heroin and a syringe. One day, and more than two months since he’d attended that party at which he’d “blown out his brains.”
He had stuck to his promise. He had sworn avidly before Helen and Bud, and he had not touched another drop, and he had not even sought the drug, and Bud could see the toll he was paying for his abstinence.
It had not been easy to live with Andy Silvera. Andy Silvera was a sick man, sick with the physical torment of withdrawal, sick with the memory of the drug still etched on his mind. Bud had not managed any studying the night before. It was impossible to study with Andy around. But this was Wednesday, and Wednesday carried a test, and the test was at 2:00 P.M. this afternoon.
This was Wednesday, and the walls of the apartment had closed in the night before, like the spiked walls in a neighborhood movie serial, wedging Andy and Bud closer together, biting at them. It was not easy to cater to an invalid — yes, damnit, an invalid — when you had your own worries, and Bud was seriously worried about his tests now. He had flunked one, flunked it in heroic proportions, and the next one hung over his head like a hatchet ready to descend. Sometime during the long night he had hit upon a plan. He would go to the school library this morning and cram for the afternoon test. It would be quiet there, and perhaps he could stuff enough knowledge into his head to rate a passing grade. The library opened at nine, and he would be there when the doors swung wide. But first he had to wash and dress and catch a quick breakfast. He began doing these things, starting with his shoes and socks while Andy kept up a running monologue, while the hatchet swayed dizzyingly above him. The hatchet owned a very keen blade. The hatchet was in the hands of Andy Silvera.
“Why can’t I play some records, Bud?”
“It’s too early in the morning,” Bud said.
“Why do you have to shout at me?”
“I wasn’t shouting. Andy, for Christ’s sake, go back to bed, will you? I’m taking a test today, and I’ve got studying to do, and I’m trying to organize some sort of study plan in my mind. So just, please, please, stop the babbling.”
“Why can’t I play the records?”
“Jesus, if you mention those records one more time... Look, Andy, go back to sleep. You can sleep all morning. I won’t be here. You can sleep then or play records or practice your horn, or whatever you want. But just relax now, will you? What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway?”
“I’m all right.”
“Then try to calm down.”
“Sure, calm down. I can’t calm down. I feel lousy, if you want to know. I feel as if I want to... to bang my head against the wall or something. It wasn’t like this last time. Last time it was bad, but not like this. I... I feel all... all...” He paused and shook his head. “My eyes are burning.”
“Lay down then. Go to sleep. I’ve got to dress. Andy, I can’t flunk this exam!”
“I want to listen to some records.”
“How can you—”
“Don’t argue with me. I’ll kill you, you bastard! I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you argue with me.”
“Now just a minute. Let’s just—”
“I’m sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. This headache, this—”
“Take an aspirin.”
“I took four already.”
“There’s some empirin-codeine in the medicine chest. You can—”
“That’s what I took. But I still have the headache. Why should I have a headache like this? I didn’t have a headache last time. Why should I have a headache now?”
“Have you been vomiting?”
“Yes. I got up twice last night.”
“Maybe your stomach’s empty. Maybe you should eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“How do you know? Why don’t you try? Take some coffee or something.”
“All right, a little coffee maybe.”
“If you put it up now, maybe I can have a fast cup before I go.”
“All right, some coffee.”
“And look, can we knock off the chatter until I get out of this place? I’m trying to think, Andy, believe me. I’m not making a big thing out of nothing. I’ve got to tackle this or I’ll fall flat on my—”
“Oh, who the hell cares whether or not you flunk!”
“It doesn’t matter what you—”
“I shouldn’t have said that either. I should care. I should care whether or not you flunk. Jesus, my head is splitting. Where’s the coffee?”
“In the kitchen cabinet.”
“I’ll make some coffee. Maybe that’ll help. Did you say you wanted some?”
“If you can deliver it fast.”
“All right, I’ll make some coffee.”
Bud buckled his belt and went into the bathroom. He turned on the tap, and Andy followed him, standing in the doorway.
“Is this apartment damp or something?” he asked.
“Damp?” Bud said. “What do you mean?”
“Damp, damp! Jesus, do I have to spell out everything? What does damp mean if not damp? Moist, wet, clammy, damp! How else can you say damp? Don’t you know what damp means?”
“I know what damp means,” Bud said, wearily picking up the bar of soap.
“Well, is it or isn’t it?”
“No, it isn’t. Why?”
“I’ve got this aching in my bones. I feel pain all over.”
Bud began soaping his face. “That’s the drug.” He spat into the sink. “That’s leaving the drug.”
“Then why didn’t I feel this way last time?”
“I don’t know. I thought you were going to make some coffee.”
“I am. Where is it?”
“I told you. In the kitchen cabi—”
“I’m going to take another one of those pills. All right?”
“Sure.”
Bud threw open the cabinet with a soapy hand. He reached for the empirin-codeine bottle and handed it to Andy.
“I’ve got to knock this headache out some way. It’s banging my head apart. Gong, gong, inside my head, like a goddamn crew of riveters. I’ve got to beat this headache.”
He shook two of the tablets onto the palm of his hand. “I need a glass of water.”
“Jee-sus Christ!” Bud exploded.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all! I’m trying to wash so I can get out of this place! Goddamnit, can’t you go into the kitchen? There’re a hundred glasses there. You can take any damn one you like! You can use twelve of them if you want to.”