At the top of the steps Suzy became a breathless, shy girl, and, as anybody knows, there is nothing more indestructible and deadly than a shy young girl. She paused to get her breath and then knocked on the door and went in and forgot to close the door—which was good for Whitey No. 2.
Doc was sitting on his cot gloomily regarding the pile of collecting paraphernalia on the floor.
“I heard you was hurt,” Suzy said gently. “I come to see if there was anything I could do.”
For a moment Doc’s face lightened, then gloom descended. “This shoots the spring tides,” he said, staring at the white cast. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Does it hurt much?” Suzy asked.
“Some. It will hurt more later, I guess.”
“I’ll go down to La Jolla with you.”
“And turn over rocks that weigh fifty or a hundred pounds?”
“I ain’t put together with spit,” said Suzy.
“Can you drive a car?”
“Sure,” said Suzy.
“You can’t do it,” he said. And then, from way down in the deep part of him, there came a bubbling shout, “Sure you can! I need you, Suzy. I need you to go with me. It will be terribly hard work and I’m pretty near helpless.”
“You can tell me what to do and what to look for.”
“Sure I can. And I’m not entirely helpless. I can use my left hand.”
“It’s a cinch,” said Suzy. “When do we start?”
“I’ve got to go tonight. If we drive all night we can make the tide at seven-eighteen tomorrow morning. Think you can make it?”
“Cinch,” said Suzy. “If you need me.”
“I need you all right. I’d be lost without you. But you’ll be a tired kid.”
“Who cares?” said Suzy.
“I want to ask you something,” said Doc. “Old Jingleballicks has set up a foundation for me at Cal Tech.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have to work there.”
“Fine.”
“I don’t know whether I oughtn’t to throw it in his face.”
“Why don’t you?”
“On the other hand, there’s all the wonderful equipment.”
“Fine,” said Suzy.
“I don’t like to work for anybody.”
“Give it back.”
“But there’s an invitation to read my paper before the Academy of Science.”
“Do it then.”
“I don’t know whether I can even write the paper. What shall I do, Suzy?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong with that? Say, Doc, I got to do a couple of things. Take me maybe two hours. That too long?”
“Just as long as we start by evening.”
“I’ll come back soon’s I finish.”
Doc said, “Suzy, I love you.”
She was headed for the door. She whirled and faced him. Her brows were straight and her mouth taut. Then she took a slow breath and her lips became full and turned up at the corners and her eyes shone with incredible excitement.
“Brother,” said Suzy, “you got yourself a girl!”
40
I’m Sure We Should All Be as Happy as Kings[127]
In the Palace Flop house, Suzy sat on a straight chair surrounded by the boys. She wore a look of furious concentration. Her feet were on two bricks and she held a barrel hoop in her hands. Propped in front of her was a board on which were chalked “ignition key,” “speedometer,” “choke,” and “gas gauge.” On the floor on her right side stood an apple box with a mop handle sticking upright out of it.
“Try her again,” said Mack. “Turn the key and reach up with your right toe for the starter.”
Suzy put her foot on a chalk spot on the floor.
“Chug-a-chug-a-chug,” said Hazel happily.
“Push out your clutch.”
Suzy pushed her left foot down on a brick.
“Now bring the gear to you and back.”
She moved the mop handle to low gear.
“Ease up the gas and let in the clutch. Now clutch out, away from you and forward. Give it gas. Now clutch out and straight back. There, you done it good. Now do it again.”
At the end of an hour and a half Suzy had driven the straight chair roughly a hundred and fifty miles.
“You’ll do all right,” said Mack. “Take it slow. If you can get two miles out of town without ramming into something, you can tell him the truth. He ain’t going to turn back then. He’ll tell you what to do. I’ll get her started and kind of lined up with the street.”
“You’re a bunch of nice guys,” said Suzy.
“Hell, if Hazel can go to all the trouble to break—oop, sorry—the least we can do is see he gets some good out of it. Come on now—whang her through the gears again!”
The evening was as lovely as the day had been. The setting sun pinked up the little white caps on the bay and lighted the serious pelicans pounding home to the sea rocks. The metal cannery walls seemed a soft and precious platinum.
Doc’s old car stood in front of Western Biological, its backseat loaded with buckets and pans and nets and crowbars. All Cannery Row was there. The Patrón had set out pints of Old Tennis Shoes along the curb. Fauna’s hair blazed in the setting sun. The girls gave Suzy quick little hugs. Becky was in romantic tears.
Joe Elegant looked out his lean-to door. He thought he would go to Rome after his book was published.
Doc held a list in his hand and checked equipment.
Only Mack and the boys were missing. And here they came down the chicken walk, balancing among them the tripod and the long black tube. They crossed the track and the lot and they set the tripod down beside the automobile.
Mack cleared his throat. “Friends,” he said, “on behalf of I and the boys it gives me pleasure to present Doc with this here.”
Doc looked at the gift—a telescope strong enough to bring the moon to his lap. His mouth fell open. Then he smothered the laughter that rose in him.
“Like it?” said Mack.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Biggest one in the whole goddam catalogue,” said Mack.
Doc’s voice was choked. “Thanks,” he said. He paused. “After all, I guess it doesn’t matter whether you look down or up—as long as you look.”
“We’ll put her inside for you,” said Mack. “Give me one of them pints. To Doc!” he cried, and under his breath he whispered to Suzy, “Turn the key. Now, starter.”
The ancient engine roared. Doc was sipping from a pint.
“Clutch out—to you and back,” Mack said. “Let in the clutch.”
Suzy did.
The old car deliberately climbed the curb, ripped off the stairs of Western Biological, careened into the street, and crawled away, scattering lumber as it went.
Doc turned in the seat and looked back. The disappearing sun shone on his laughing face, his gay and eager face. With his left hand he held the bucking steering wheel.
Cannery Row looked after the ancient car. It made the first turn and was gone from sight behind a ware house just as the sun was gone.
Fauna said, “I wonder if I’d be safe to put up her gold star tonight. What the hell’s the matter with you, Mack?”
Mack said, “Vice is a monster so frightful of mien, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.” He put his arm around Hazel’s shoulders. “I think you’d of made a hell of a president,” he said.
127
I’m Sure We Should All Be as Happy as Kings: Poem 25 (“Happy Thought”) by popular Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–94) in his