An hour later I was trying to peer through a misted window as the bus hurtled southeastward. I saw mostly darkness, a few dumps of lights, flickering neon signs.
And then, as we crossed the state line into Indiana, there were rosy glows in the sky, sudden flares, views of lighted factories and mills, and one stretch of highway seemingly lined with nothing but taverns, junkyards, and adult book stores.
About ninety minutes after leaving O'Hare Airport, with frequent stops to discharge passengers, we pulled off the road at a street that seemed devoid of lighting or habitation.
'Athens,' the driver called.
I struggled from my seat, lifted my suitcase from the overhead rack, and staggered down the aisle to the door.
I bent to look out.
'This is Athens?' I asked the driver.
'This is it,' he said. 'Guaranteed.'
'Thank you,' I said.
'You're welcome,' he said.
I stood on a dark corner and watched the bus pull away, splashing me from the knees downward. All I could feel was regret at not staying aboard that bus to the end of the line, riding it back to O'Hare, and returning to Manhattan by the earliest available flight. Cold, wet, miserable.
After a long despairing wander I came to what might be called, with mercy, a business district. Most of the stores were closed, with steel shutters in place. But I passed a drugstore that was open, a mom-and-pop grocery store, 365
and at last — O Lord, I gave thanks! — a liquor store.
'A pint of brandy, please,' I said to the black clerk.
He inspected me.
'Domestic?' he said.
'Anything,' I said. 'Anything at all.'
He was counting out my change when I asked if there were any hotels in the immediate area.
'One block down,' he said, pointing. 'Then two blocks to the right. The New Frontier Bar and Grill.'
'It's a hotel?'
'Sure,' he said. 'Up above. You want to sleep there tonight?'
'Of course.'
'Crazy,' he said, shaking his head.
I followed his directions to the New Frontier Bar and Grill. It was a frowsy beer joint with a dirty front window, a few customers at the bar with blue faces from the TV set, and a small back room with tables.
The bartender came right over; it was downhill. The whole floor seemed to slope towards the street.
'Scotch and water, please,' I said.
'Bar Scotch?'
'All right.'
He poured me what I thought was an enormous portion until I realized the bottom of the shot glass was solid and at least a half-inch thick.
'I understand you have a hotel here,' I said.
He looked at me, then bent over the bar to inspect me closely, paying particular attention to my shoes.
'A hotel?' he said. 'You might call it that.'
'Could you tell me your rates?'
He looked off into the middle distance.
'Five bucks,' he said.
'That seems reasonable,' I said,
'It's right next door. Up on flight. The owner's on the desk. Tell him Lou sent you.'
I quaffed my Scotch in one meagre gulp, paid, walked outside, and climbed the narrow flight of stairs next door.
The owner-clerk, also black, was seated behind a desk inclosed in wire mesh. There was a small hinged judas window in front.
He was a husky man in his fifties, I judged, wearing a T-shirt with a portrait of Beethoven printed on the front.
He was working a crossword puzzle in a folded newspaper.
He didn't look up. 'Five bucks an hour,' he said. 'Clean sheets and running water. Payable in advance.'
'I'd like to stay the night,' I said. 'To sleep. Lou sent me.'
He wouldn't look up. 'What's an ox with three letters?'
he said. 'With a long tail and short mane.'
'Gnu,' I said. 'G-n-u.'
Then he looked up at me.
'Yeah,' he said, 'that fits. Thanks. Twenty for the night.
Payable in advance.'
He opened the window to take the bill and slide a key on a brass medallion across to me.
'Two-oh-nine,' he said. 'Right down the hall. You're not going to do the dutch, are you?'
'Do the dutch?'
'Commit suicide?'
'Oh no,' I protested. 'Nothing like that.'
'Good,' he said. 'What's a four letter word meaning a small child?'
'Tyke,' I suggested.
Oh, what a dreadful room that was! So bleak, so tawdry. It was about ten feet square with an iron bed that had once been painted white. It appeared to have the promised clean sheets — threadbare but clean — but on the lower third of the bed, the sheet and a sleazy cotton blanket had been covered with a strip of black oilcloth. It took me awhile to puzzle that out. It was for customers too drunk or frantic to remove their shoes.
I immediately ascertained that the door could be double-locked from the inside and that there was a bolt, albeit a cheap one. There was a stained sink in one corner, one straight-backed kitchen chair and a small maple table, the top scarred with cigarette burns. There was no closet, but hooks had been screwed into the walls to compensate, and a few wire coathangers depended from them.
I went into the corridor to prowl. I found a bathroom smelling achingly of disinfectant. There was a toilet, sink, bathtub with shower. I used the toilet after latching the door with the dimestore hook-and-eye provided, but I resolved to shun the sink and tub.
I went back to my room and hung up my hat and overcoat on a couple of the hooks. After a great deal of struggling, I opened the single window. A chill, moist breeze came billowing in, still tainted with sulphur. It didn't take long to realize that there was no point in sitting around in such squalor, and soon I had reclaimed my hat and coat and headed back downstairs.
'Going to get something to eat,' I said to the owner-clerk, trying to be hearty and cool simultaneously.
'A monkey-type creature,' he said. 'Five letters.'
'Lemur,' I said.
The New Frontier Bar and Grill had gained patrons during my absence; most of the barstools were occupied, and there were several couples, including a few whites, at tables in the back room. All the men were big, wide, powerfully built, with rough hands, raucous laughs, and thundering angers that seemed to subside as soon as they flared.
I was pleased to note the bartender remembered what I drank.
'Scotch?' he asked as if it were a statement of fact.
'Please. With water on the side.'
When he brought my drink, I asked him about the possibility of getting sandwiches and a bag of potato chips.
'I'm a little fandangoed at the moment,' he said. 'When I get a chance, I'll make them up for you — okay?'
'Fine,' I said. 'No rush.'
I looked around, sipping my shot glass of whisky. The monsters on both sides of me were drinking boilermakers, silently and intently, staring into the streaked mirror behind the bar. I did not attempt conversation; they looked like men with grievances.
I turned back to my own drink and in a moment felt a heavy arm slide across my shoulders.
'Hi, sonny,' a woman's voice said breezily.
'Good evening,' I said, standing. 'Would you care to sit down?'
'Sit here, Sal,' the man next to me offered. 'I got it all warmed up for you. I'm going home.'
'You do that, Joe,' said the woman, and a lot of woman she was, too, 'for a change.'
They both laughed. Joe winked at me and departed.
'Buy a girl a drink?' Ms Sal asked, swinging a weighty haunch expertly atop the barstool.
'A pleasure,' I said.
'Can I have a shot?' she asked.
'Whatever you like.'
'A shot. Beer makes me fart.'
I nodded sympathetically.
'Lou!' she screamed, so loudly and so suddenly that I leaped. 'The usual. I've got a live one here.'
She dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes from a stuffed purse. I struck a match for her.
'Thanks, sonny,' she said. She took a deep inhalation and the smoke just disappeared. I mean, I didn't see it come out anywhere.