Get a Load of This Page 9

  While he waited for the waiter to bring it, he looked round the dim room. There were only two other people, besides the waiter and the barman, in the room—a sailor and his woman companion.

  The sailor was terribly drunk. He was so drunk that he had to hold on to the table very firmly to prevent himself falling to the floor. The woman was talking to him softly and rapidly with a fixed smile on her face. Her big black eyes were hard and suspicious. It was obvious that she was trying to persuade the sailor to spend the night with her.

  Watching these two, the boy forgot for a moment that he was a fugitive. He felt a sudden nausea as he watched the woman’s desperate attempts to arouse the sailor’s interest.

  About a year or so ago the boy had gone with a woman. It was curiosity that made him go with her. It was not that he wanted her, but because he wanted to know. He went with her because he was tired of the sniggers and the whispers of the other boys. He was tired of listening and not knowing what it all meant.

  The house was dirty, and the room seemed soiled, as if the things that had happened there had seeped into the walls, leaving dark stains. Even the woman wasn’t very clean, but he learnt the reason for the sniggers and the whispers, and when it was over and he had got outside, he had been very sick in the street.

  The boy was, and would be, fanatically virginal. He loathed the stirring of lust, which he couldn’t understand, and over which he had no power of control. He hated any contact with anyone. He wanted to live entirely on his own, his pure, horrible little life. Nothing else mattered to him but money. It was for money that he had killed de Babar. It was for money that he had done so many mean things in his young life. And yet, he never had money. It slid through his fingers like grains of sand, urging him again and again to make more by further mean little deeds.

  The waiter brought the beer and put it in front of him. He stood waiting until the boy paid him, then he went back to the bar. The boy drank the beer; he didn’t stop drinking until the glass was empty. Then he set the glass down with a little shudder. His face twisted and he hurriedly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  A telephone rang sharply, startling the boy, so that he nearly jerked the glass to the floor. The barman reached under the counter and lifted the instrument. He listened for a few seconds, then grunted and hung up.

  He leant over the bar and said to the sailor: “You’d better get outta here. The soldiers are coming this way; they’re searching all the bars.”

  The boy heard him. He put his hands on the table so that they should not tremble.

  The sailor sneered. “What the hell do I care?” he said. “I ain’t movin’.”

  The woman said quickly: “Come on, honey. Come home with me where the soldiers won’t worry you.”

  The boy looked at the woman. “Where the soldiers wouldn’t worry him,” he thought. If he went with her, he’d be safe. He shuddered at the thought of being alone with her, but he was more frightened of the soldiers.

  The sailor put his head on his arms. “You go to hell,” he said, and began to snore drunkenly.

  The boy pushed back his chair hurriedly and went across to the woman. “Take me to your place,” he whispered urgently. “Now—at once.”

  The woman stared at him. What she saw didn’t give her any confidence. This was just a down-at-heel bum. A kid without any dough. “Go climb an alp,” she said, “I’m busy.” And she shook the sailor roughly.

  Shivering, the boy pulled out some money. He opened his fist under her eyes and showed her several crumpled bills. “Don’t wait for him—take me.”

  The woman looked down at the notes. She forgot the sailor. A fixed smile came to her lips and she got up. “Sure,” she said, “you come along with me. For that amount of dough I’ll give you a good time. I’m Therese. It’s a nice name, ain’t it?”

  The boy was so anxious to get out of the bar that he didn’t hear what she said. He said, urgently: “Is it far? Come on, let’s get outta here.”

  She went with him into the dark, hot night. “It’s behind the Custom shed,” she said. “Hey, not so fast! Where’s the fire?”

  The boy went on, moving through the narrow back streets fast. He didn’t look back, although he wanted to, because he was scared that Therese would suspect something was wrong and would not give him shelter.

  She almost had to run to keep up with him. “You’re a hot one,” she panted, with a giggle. “I ain’t goin’ to run away—we’ll get there soon enough.”

  The boy shuddered, but kept on.

  “Look, over there,” Therese said, as they stepped into a dark square, “that’s my joint—where the stairs go up the side of the house.”

  The boy said, “Lead the way.” His whole body was tense with listening, but he could hear nothing that alarmed him.

  They went up the stairs, and Therese groped her way into her room and fumbled for some matches. “Just wait a second, honey,” she said, “I’ll get the lamp goin’. You’ll be fallin’ over somethin’ an’ hurtin’ yourself.”

  The boy felt the bile in his stomach rise. He stood in the darkness with his back to the room, looking down on to the dark square.

  The lamp flamed up suddenly and Therese adjusted the wick. She walked over to the window and pulled the faded cotton curtain. “Come on in, handsome,” she said, “an’ shut the door.”

  With the light behind him, the boy no longer felt safe. He moved further into the room, and shut the door. He stood looking round uneasily. The unfinished wooden walls were decorated with cheap lithographs, and immediately over the bed was a photogravure sheet of a nude, taken from some magazine. A faded, rather ghastly Chinese screen partially concealed the small bed, and the inevitable Singer sewing-machine stood against the wall.

  The boy said, “Put the lamp out.”

  Therese threw back her head and laughed at him. “Don’t you wantta see what you’re buyin’,” she said, “or are you coy?”

  The boy hated her with all his vicious little soul. He said, “Put out that lamp.”

  Therese took the hem of her skirt and raised it over her hips. She was naked under the dress. The boy felt the blood surge into his face. He shifted his eyes, feeling revolted and frightened. Therese had quite a nice little body, but the proximity of any woman nauseated him.

  Therese stared at him. “What’s the matter with you,” she said sharply, letting her skirt fall, “don’t you like me anymore?”

  The boy wanted to scream that she was the filthiest thing he’d ever seen, but he stopped himself in time. Outside, the soldiers were looking for him. With Therese he was safe for a little while. He must not risk anything.

  He said: “I’m all right. The lamp worries me—that’s all.”

  Therese held out her hand. “It’s cash, honey. That’s the way I run my business.”

  The boy hated parting with the money. He hated parting with his money almost as much as he hated being shut in with this whore. The money was buying him safety and he pushed the crumpled bills across the table. Therese scooped them up and shoved them down the top of her stocking.

  “There,” she said, “now you can have the lamp out.” She leant forward and blew sharply down the glass funnel. As she leant forward, her breasts swung against the thin cotton of her dress. The boy stepped back. He thought, “In another minute she will be coming to me.” He blundered across the room to the window and drew the curtain aside.

  Therese said: “What’s up with you, honey? Don’t you feel well?”

  The boy didn’t hear her. He was looking on to the dark square. Three soldiers were standing in the shadows. Now and then one of them moved, and the moonlight glinted on a naked bayonet. He hastily dropped the curtain and stepped back. His hot hands touched Therese’s bare arm, and he jerked away.

  “Come on, honey,” Therese said, “let’s get it over. I got to get out again tonight.”

  The boy stepped away from her voice, collided with the screen and abruptly sat on the bed. Before he could
rise, Therese put her arms round him and drew him down. His hand touched the soft inner part of her thigh, and he stiffened with the horror of it.

  She said, “I bet you ain’t had a woman before.” She said it quite kindly.

  “Don’t touch me,” the boy almost whimpered; “getaway from me.”

  Therese put her hand down on him. “Don’t be screwy. You got nothin’ to be scared of.”

  Under her touch, a long-forgotten lust stirred in him. The quickening of his blood terrified him, and he threw her away from him so violently that she rolled on to the floor. He sat up in the dark. His shirt was plastered against his thin chest, and his eyes glared into the suffocating darkness.

  For a moment there was a thick silence in the room, then she said, “All right, John, if that’s the way you want it.”

  He swung his legs to the floor. “That’s not my name,” he said unevenly.

  He heard her get to her feet and grope over to the table. “I don’t care a——what your name is, John. You’re gettin’ out of here quick.”

  She struck a match and relit the lamp. She was quite naked, except for her shoes and stockings. The crumpled bills he had given her made a disfiguring lump in her leg. She adjusted the wick carefully and then turned. The boy saw she was furiously angry and he suddenly felt frightened of her. She mustn’t turn him out now. He would run into those soldiers, waiting outside for him.

  He said hurriedly: “Don’t get mad. I don’t want it that way, see?”

  She came and put her arms on the top of the bed rail. Her heavy breasts swung away from her olive-skinned body. “What way do you want it, John?” she said. She looked like the great grandmother of all the whores in Cuba.

  “Can’t a guy feel lonely and talk to a dame?” he said, not looking at her. If she knew he was scared she would play hell with him.

  Therese said, “You came here to talk?”

  “Sure, can’t a guy pay you to talk to him?”

  This got Therese. She ran her fingers through her thick, black hair. “I guess you’re screwy,” she said at last. “We ain’t got anythin’ to talk to each other about. You better get outta here.”

  The boy slid off the bed and wandered to the window again. Maybe the soldiers had gone. He lifted the curtain a trifle and peered into the street. The shadowy silhouettes were still there. He straightened and backed away from the window. Therese watched him curiously. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Why do you keep lookin’ out of the window?”

  The boy stood by the table. The ray of the lamp lit his white, pinched face. Therese could see a faint tick in his cheek.

  She suddenly felt compassion for him. He looked so lonely and frigid.

  “Aw, come on,” she said, “you’re just a kid. I’ll show you a good time.”

  The boy shook his head.

  Her patience snapped. “Listen, John,” she said, “if you don’t want it—get out. I’ve got a livin’ to make. You can’t come in here usin’ up my time like this.”

  “My dough’s all right, ain’t it?” the boy said, squeezing up a little spark of vicious anger. “It pays for me to stay here, don’t it?”

  Therese pulled on her dress and smoothed it over her big soft hips. “That dough’s about used up. What do you expect—an’ all night run?”

  Someone rapped on the door. The boy slid across to Therese. He put one slender hand on her arm and his grip nearly made her cry out. His dead black eyes frightened her. “I’m not to be found here,” he said in her ear. “Look, I’ve got a gun.” He showed her the heavy Luger. “You’ll go with me.”

  Therese was scared. She knew she had got herself mixed up in politics, and her mouth went suddenly dry. She said, “Get under the bed.”

  The boy dropped on his hands and knees. He slid out of her sight. The knock sounded again on the door. She walked over and jerked it open.

  The soldier looked at her with interest.

  She flashed him a smile. “Why, honey, you just caught me. I was on my way.”

  The soldier shifted uneasily. He was a family man and whores scared him. “You got a man in here?”

  Therese shook her head. “Come on in. You got a little present for me?”

  The soldier spat on the floor. “I ain’t wastin’ dough on a whore like you,” he snarled. “What were you doin’ foolin’ with the curtain?”

  She laughed. “Don’t get sore, honey. I saw you boys out there an’ I thought you wanted some fun. Come on in.”

  The soldier pushed past her and walked into the room. Therese felt her heart fluttering against her ribs. She knew that if the boy was found she’d have a bad time. She closed the door and went over to the soldier, who was looking round suspiciously. She put her arms round him. “Put your big gun down,” she said; “gimme a little somethin’. I’ll give you a good time.”

  The soldier shoved her away angrily. “You better stay in tonight,” he said gruffly. “We’re lookin’ for the guy who killed General de Babar. The streets ain’t goin’ to be too healthy.”

  The boy, lying flat under the bed, could see the soldier’s thick boots as he stepped to the door. He saw them hesitate, turn and come back. He saw them stand before Therese’s shoddy mules. Then he heard Therese catch her breath. She said: “No, you don’t. You gotta give me somethin’ first. Stop it, damn you! No, you can’t get away with this. You gotta give me somethin’.”

  The thick boots pushed the shoddy mules across the room until they stopped against the wall. “You lousy, rotten bastard!” he heard her say.

  The boy didn’t watch any more. He wanted to be sick.

  Later, the soldier said: “If I catch anything after this, I’ll come back with a bullet for you.”

  The boy heard him go out and slam the door. He crawled out from under the bed. Therese had gone into the little bathroom and had shut the door. He heard her running water.

  When she came back, her face was wooden, but her eyes smouldered. The boy stood silently watching her. She was suddenly conscious of the heavy gun in his hand. She took one look at his set face, and she knew he was trying to make up his mind if he should kill her.

  She said sharply: “Don’t look like that. It won’t get you anywhere.”

  The boy had decided she was right, and he put the Luger in his hip pocket. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Terror had exhausted him.

  Therese sat down beside him. “De Babar killed my husband,” she said. “I hate the whole goddam bunch of them. I’m glad you killed him. That lousy sonofabitch wanted killing.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” the boy said tonelessly.

  Therese went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “If they get you, it’s goin’ to be tough. What are you goin’ to do?”

  “I didn’t kill him, I tell you,” the boy said savagely.

  “You don’t have to be scared of me,” Therese said, patiently. “I’m glad you killed him. I’ll get you out of here.”

  The boy looked at her suspiciously. Her big eyes were quite tender. He wanted very much to smash his fist in her face. He got to his feet and walked away from her. His fury at being trapped like this made him physically sick. Her sudden sentiment sickened him.

  She saw his uncertain look, and she misread it. “Aw, hell, you’re only a kid,” she said. “Don’t you worry. I’ll fix it for you.”

  It took a great effort to control his voice. He said, “How?”

  She got off the bed. “I’ll show you. Stand in front of the lamp; I want to look into the street.”

  Unwillingly, because she had told him to do something, and he felt that no woman should tell him to do anything, he moved so that his back completely shadowed the lamp.

  He watched her cautiously pull aside the curtain and glance into the dark square. Then she turned her head and nodded. “They’ve gone,” she said; “now I’ll show you.”

  She went over to a battered chest of drawers and pulled out a black, cotton dress. She threw it on the bed. A brassiere and a pair of knicker
s followed. She went on her hands and knees and hunted the chest of drawers. The boy, standing watching, could only see her broad hips as her head disappeared out of sight. He shifted his eyes uneasily.

  At last she found what she was looking for and she climbed to her feet, in her hand she held a pair of shoes.

  She nodded at the clothes. “Get into them,” she said, “you’re about my size. Then we’ll go out together. It’ll be easy.”

  The boy couldn’t believe his ears. He stood glaring at her. The rage boiled up in his guts.

  “Do hurry,” she urged. “Can’t you see it’s the only way out for you?”

  “You asking me to put those things on?”

  Therese could hear the cold hate in his voice. For a moment he scared her, then she forced a little laugh. “Now don’t get mad,” she said, “these soldiers ain’t looking for a girl. You’ll be able to get away easily. Can’t you see that?”

  The boy knew she was right. But the thought of putting those things on struck at his little manhood. He told himself that he’d rather be found and killed than put them on. But when Therese started pulling off his coat, he just stood frozen and let her.

  “Come on,” she said impatiently, “don’t stand there like a dummy. Help yourself. Get your pants off, don’t mind me. I’ve seen all you’ve got, an’ it don’t worry me any.”

  As if in some repulsive nightmare, the boy stripped. He stood on the coconut matting, thin, a little dirty, and shuddering.

  Therese looked him over with a kindly, mocking smile. “You ain’t much of a picture, are you?” she said, lightly. “I guess you want buildin’ up.”

  The boy told himself that when all this was over he’d come back and kill her. Right now he couldn’t do anything. He had just to suffer his humiliation.

  Therese pushed him on to the bed and tossed the knickers in his lap. “Get ’em on,” she said, “then I’ll fix your front up.”

  The feel of the silk against his bony thighs broke the last shred of his self-control. He sat there, his fists on his knees, and his eyes wild, swearing softly through his full lips. Even Therese was shocked at the things he said.