1
“O.K.,” Duddy said, “I’m here.”
Dingleman smiled. He wiped his neck with a handkerchief. “Obviously you’re here,” he said.
“You know why I’m here?”
“Certainly. You read I was in trouble and you owe me five hundred dollars.”
“Oh, a big joke. A very joke.”
“You mean that’s not why you’re here?”
“No such luck. I’m here about New York.”
“Aha.”
“I need some money.”
“Yes?”
“A loan.”
“I see.” Dingleman burst out laughing. He slapped his desk. “Aren’t you afraid that a gangster with my reputation might take you for a ride?”
“Listen, Jerry, one thing let’s get straight from the start. I’m tired of people making fun of me. That includes you. O.K?”
“O.K.”
“I need forty-five hundred dollars.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,”
“Do you really think I’m going to give you forty-five hundred dollars? Loan you, is?”
“I opened the suitcase in the toilet. I took some of the heroin out. I’ve still got it.”
“You’re sweating. Are you frightened, Duddy?”
“This isn’t blackmail. I’ll pay you back. Honest, I will.”
“What if I told you I didn’t have that much money?”
“The world is flat. Somebody once tried to tell me that too.”
“When the trial begins next Wednesday the lawyers will be costing me fifteen hundred dollars a day.”
“I feel for you. How much do your night clubs bring in a week?”
“The night clubs are finished. They cost me money these days. I’m selling out all over before television really gets going here.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“What I’m really interested in these days is real estate. Take my advice, Duddy. Buy land.”
“What do you mean by that? Why should I buy land?” Duddy shouted. “Go ahead. Tell me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Look, let’s not quarrel. I’ll sign a note for the money. I’ll pay you back at the rate of a hundred bucks a month.”
“I haven’t got that much cash to spare.”
“Would you sign for me at the bank if they’d give it to me?”
“I’m not exactly what you call a good credit reference. Besides, any securities I own are tied up in bail money. Sorry, Duddy.” Dingleman looked at his watch. “Come around again some time.”
“You must think I’m kidding. I could go to Cote. If I testified at the trial —”
But Dingleman began to laugh again.
“What’s the big joke?” Duddy asked.
“You carried the suitcase across the border, sonny, not me. They took me off the train, remember? I was stripped. They searched me from top to bottom. I mean that literally.”
“I didn’t know what was in the suitcase.”
“Duddy,” Dingleman said reproachfully, “I don’t pay three lawyers fifteen hundred dollars a day to let that kind of story stand up.”
“It’s the truth but.”
Dingleman didn’t reply.
“It is truth.”
“You must need that money very badly.”
“Oh, I’m the dirty guy, eh? I’m the squealer. What do you call a guy who gets an innocent minor to smuggle dope across the border for him?”
“You got five hundred and fifty dollars for it.”
“I thought the five was a loan.”
“If I had given it to you just like that you would have suspected something. I never expected to get the money back.”
“Please lend me the money. I’ll pay it back. I promise.”
“What do you need it for?”
“Some land.”
“Where?”
“In Southern Siberia. What’s your business? I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”
“Am I being asked to invest or —”
“You’re definitely not being asked to invest.”
Dingleman looked at his watch again. “I’m late,” he said.
“Aren’t you worried I might go to Cote?”
“Go ahead.”
Duddy hesitated. “I’m not scared. Give me the money or I go to Cote.”
“You’re beginning to sweat again. Look at you.”
“You really think they wouldn’t believe me?”
“Duddy, you sold some pinball machines up north. I saw one of them at Rubin’s this summer. How’d you get them into Canada?”
“I imported them.”
“Not in somebody else’s suitcase, I hope.”
“Jeez, I’ve got to get that money somewhere.”
“I wish I could help.”
Duddy walked to the door. “I hope they put you away for life,” he said.
“Maybe they will. Good-by now.”
“How’d you find out about the pinball machines?”
“Good-by, Duddy.”
“Boy, when I was a kid I used to think you were some guy! My father used to — What a dirty son of a bitch you are!”
“Mickey!”
“O.K. I’m going. I’m going.”
“One minute.”
“I thought you were in such a goddam hurry?”
“I’m interested in real estate. I wasn’t kidding about that. If you’re broke and have something you want to part with, or if you know of anything that might —”
“Hanging’s too good for you,” Duddy said, slamming the door.
He knows, Duddy thought. He found out. Oh, Christ. Duddy began to bite his fingernails, he ordered another cup of coffee. Dingleman had said he’d seen the pinball machine at Rubin’s. Twice at least in the last six months Duddy had seen him with Linda. Oh, the dirty dogs. Those odd marks on the lakeshore. Canes my ass — crutches had made them. Choke to death on razor blades, Dingleman. Let them bury you on a Wednesday night with an onion in your stomach. Now I’m in for it, he thought. Jeez. Duddy hurried home and phoned Yvette.
“I’ve been trying to get you all day,” Yvette said. “Have you got the money?”
“Not yet. Christ almighty.”
“Somebody else is after the land. A Mr. Dingleman.”
Duddy sighed. “What do you mean after it? He’s got the money. Why doesn’t he just buy it?”
“You know Dingleman?”
“It’s Jerry Dingleman. The Boy Wonder.”
“Didn’t you go to New York with him once?”
“Listen, this is long distance. Why doesn’t he just buy?”
“Because our notary found out about the land going up for sale first. He put in a first offer and he’s got an acceptance on paper. There’s something else…”
“Wha’?”
“It’s not important. Skip it.”
“Oh, come on. What else?”
“One of the farmers… well, he hates Jews. He’d prefer to sell to me.”
“God bless him. Listen you get a hold of that fanner and tell him Dingleman is the biggest, fattest, dirtiest, goddam Jew who ever lived. If he gets hold of that land he’s going to build a synagogue on it. You tell him that.”
“Are you coming back tonight?”
“No. Not tonight.”
“Dingleman’s offering more money than we are. Our option’s only good for twenty-one days.”
“I’ll get the money. Don’t worry.”
“There’s something else. According to the agreement I signed we have to put up three hundred dollars option money tomorrow morning. Have you got it?”
“Oh, shit.”
“All right. I’ll get it here.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, tomorrow I’m going to see about the house. Maybe you and Virgie can move in by the weekend.”
Duddy went to see Mr. Cohen at his office. He’d only just sat down when he realized it was a mistake. I should have waited until tonight, he thought, and seen him at home.
“Look,” Mr. Cohen said. “He’s shaved. Gottze dank”
“I’d like to take you up on your offer.”
“He hasn’t even sat down yet. What offer?”
“I’d like to borrow some money.”
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Cohen said.
“You offered to lend me some.”
“Stop shouting. What do you want it for?”
“I’ve got my eye on some land.”
“Where?”
“No, sir.”
“You mean I should trust you and you won’t even tell me —”
“You said you had a soft spot for me. You said —”
“A soft spot, Duddy, but not a hole in the head. You want to come to work for me?”
“No. I want forty-five hundred dollars.”
“Azoi.”
“I’ll pay interest.”
“Duddy, if you’re on to something good and it’s too big for you to handle tell me about it. I might be interested. But to lend money at interest — phooey.”
Boil in acid, Duddy thought. I hope all your teeth fall out. All except one. And the one that’s left should give you a toothache for life.
“You’re still a minor. Your signature is worth kaduchus me.”
“You said you’d help me. That’s why I’m here, Mr. Cohen.”
“Don’t cry, please. I told you that night that I don’t offer loans every day of the week. I’m not the Marshall Plan. Unfortunately, I’ve had a very bad month. Believe me, Duddy, a terrible month.”
“A loan until you get on your feet again. Those were your exact words.”
“But forty-five hundred dollars? Some feet.”
“Lend me what you can.”
“Duddy, I’ve been speculating. Take a look out in the yard and see how high the steel is piled. It’s not moving, Duddy. The bank’s on my neck too. Where’s the land?”
“It’s a good investment. I swear.”
“I’m sure it is. Tell me about it.”
“I’m not looking for a partner. I want a loan. Can you lend me three thousand?”
“Listen, to change the subject for a minute. Your friend Hugh Thomas Calder has got lots of other interests nearby besides the foundry. Who gets the scrap?”
“Funny you should bring that up,” Duddy said, lighting a cigarette. “Hugh and I are having dinner again tonight.”
“He wants your advice on the market maybe?”
“I’ll get you the rest of the scrap. But I want an advance against commission right now.”
“Why don’t you come to work for me? Name the salary.”
“I want three thousand dollars.”
“What guarantee have I got that you can get me the contract? I’ll give you five hundred.”
“You must have got up very late this morning. There —”
“I know. There are other scrap dealers in town — and they’d trust you about as far as they can throw you. Duddy, I’m going to take a gamble. I’ll lend you a thousand dollars. You can give me a postdated check for eleven hundred, just in case. But if you don’t get me the rest of that scrap…”
Duddy picked up a couple of smoked meat sandwiches, hurried back to the house on St. Urbain Street, and tried to locate Aunt Ida. Rosenblatt, the lawyer, thought she was at a hotel in Saratoga Springs. He phoned there, but she was gone. They said she and her son were at the Savoy Hotel in London. Duddy rang up London. Mrs. Kravitz and her nephew had left four days ago. They were staying at the Ruhl Hotel in Nice. He phoned the Ruhl, and Mr. and Mrs. Kravitz were registered there, but they were out. Duddy put in another call for midnight, French time.
“Auntie Ida? Hullo. Hullo! Duddy.”
“Duddy, what are you doing in Nice? Come on right up here and we’ll have a drink together. You must Gino. Gino, it’s my nephew.”
“I’m not in Nice. I’m in Montreal.”
“Montreal? Then this is long distance.”
“Yeah. Listen, Auntie Ida —”
“Isn’t that sweet! Gino. Gino. my nephew phoning me from Montreal. Isn’t that sweet? Duddy, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he said, sighing. “I can hear you.”
“What’s the weather like there?”
“Warmish. Listen, Auntie Ida I need —”
“We’ve just come from the Casino. I lost two hundred thousand francs, Duddy, isn’t that just terrible? You must do me a favor. The minute you hang up I want you to call Mr. Rosenblatt to tell him I simply must have my next check right away. I haven’t a penny. Wha — Excuse me a minute, Duddy.” There was a pause. “Gino says he can cable it care of the American Express.”
“Sure thing.”
“You sound so clear. Just like you were around the corner.”
“You don’t say?”
“Are you sure you’re not in the lobby and playing a trick on me?”
“No,” Duddy said, “it’s long
“Isn’t that sweet! Gino, don’t you think he’s sweet? Duddy, you must —”
“I think I’d better hang up, Auntie Ida. It’s —”
“Quick. Give me a lucky number for tomorrow night.”
“Ten. Good —”
“You’ll call Rosenblatt?”
“Right away. Good-by, Auntie Ida.”
“Au revoir. again sometimes.”
Lennie had come in. He was sitting in the bedroom. “It’s nice to have you back, Duddy,” he said. “Just like old times.”
“Yeah.” Duddy slumped back on the bed and groaned.
“Duddy?”
“Mn?”
“Riva and I are going to be engaged.”
“Isn’t that sweet?”
“What?”
“It’s very nice. I’m happy for you.”
“You’re the first person I’ve told. I owe you a lot, you know.”
“Skip it.”
“We’re going to go to Israel together.”
No reply.
“I wish you’d come. I think any Jew worth his salt ought to go. What is there for us here?”
“Balls all squared.”
“I’ve given a lot of thought to what happened to me, you know. To Sandra and Andy… I’ve come to realize that they’re all anti-Semites and out to use you. Every single one of them. They were never my friends. From the very first minute they were out to exploit my racial inferiority complex. They could have ruined me for life.”
“It’s hard to be a gentleman — a Jew, I mean — it’s hard to be. Period.”
“That’s O.K. You have every right to tease me. Don’t think I don’t remember all those foolish things I said in Toronto. You’re some brother, Duddy. Without you —”
“Listen, Lennie, how much did Uncle Benjy leave you?”
“It’s all in trust. I don’t get a penny until I graduate.”
“I see.”
“You need money?”
“Something terrible. And quick, too.”
“I’ve got eighty-five dollars in the bank. It’s yours.”
“Come on,” Duddy said, “I’ll make us an omelet.”
“Like old times.”
Max arrived shortly after Duddy got to work in the kitchen. “Have you seen the paper?” he said. “Boy, the Wonder’s lined up the sharpest battery of legal-eagles in the country. He’s playing it smart too. He’s got Shubert — that’s the brains of the outfit, I figure — and two bigshot goys display. Aw, they’ll wipe the floor with Cote.”
Duddy stared at his father. He won’t lend me any money, he thought, but if I got Lennie to ask him for a loan, pretending he needed it himself, then maybe, just maybe —“You know what they say about Cote closing down all the whorehouses in town? He’s a sadist. He hates dames.”
“I hope they put Dingleman away for life,” Duddy said. “But they should burn his crutches first.”
“I oughta wash your mouth out with soap. What’s the matter with you these days?” Max asked. “That’s what I’d like to know. You’re not happy.”
“Jeez.”
“No. Don’t turn your back on me like that. I can sense these things. Why, I haven’t seen a smile cross your face ever since you moved back in here. Right, Lennie?”
Duddy forced himself to smile. It was hideous. “There,” he said.
“Oi. Lennie, you’re a doctor. Almost, anyway. Diagnose. What’s ailing the kid here?”
“He needs some money, Daddy. He —”
“Lennie, for Christ’s sake —”
“No, Duddy. Daddy ought to know. Maybe he can help.”
That does it, Duddy thought. No chance of getting any money out of him any more.
“Duddy would like to borrow some money, Daddy.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Max reached into the kitchen drawer for his backscratcher. “Money,” he said, “is the root of all evil. In olden times they used the barter system. I favor it.”
Duddy grinned in spite of himself. Standing behind his father, he reached out to touch him. Gently, however, almost surreptitiously, just in case he moved away.
“For instance,” Max said, “I would drive a guy from Windsor Station to… let’s say the town of Mount Royal, and if he was, let’s say, a baker he would give me six loaves of bread, or maybe three loaves and a tasty cake. You think that’s so bad?”
“Will you lend him the money, Daddy?”
“How much?”
Duddy gaped. “Are you kidding?”
“Combien?”
“Well, I’ve got to raise thirty-five hundred dollars,” he began, “but —”
“Whew! Water, please. My heart.”
“Listen, Daddy, it’s for something good. It’s for land. If it works —”
“Your last brain wave ended in bankruptcy.”
“This is land, Daddy. Valuable land. I already own plenty of it and in the eighteen months since I bought it its value has doubled. Daddy, it’s a lake. A whole lake. It’s gonna be ours — it’s gonna belong to all of us — and you’ll be able to retire. We’ll be rich.”
“What’s under the lake? Oil.”
“Jeez.”
“Talk to him, Duddy. You mustn’t get impatient.”
“Yeah,” Max said, “and you could smile. It wouldn’t hurt you.”
“All right. Let me put it this —”
“A smile, please. Just a little one.”
“There.
“So, did it hurt you? What did it cost you that smile?”
“Let me put it this way, Daddy. Dingleman is fighting me for the land. He’s dying to have it.”
“You mean to say you’re competing with the B.W.?”
“Right.”
“I can smell the burning fingers. I’m sitting right here waiting for my omelet and —”
“It’s coming,” Lennie said.
“— and what do I smell? Burning fingers.”
“His you smell. Not mine. Help me, Daddy. Please help me.”
“You know,” Max said, “I’ve seen plenty in my time. I have eyes and I see. Every day they come into Eddy’s with sure winners, but —”
“This is not a horse, Daddy. It’s land.”
“— but do I ever bet? Ixnay. That’s how come I’ve got money in the bank.”
“How much?” Duddy asked, grabbing him by the arm.
“I’ve worked hard, you know. There’s my old age to think about. If you think I’d risk my whole roll —”
“How much can you let me have?”
“He’s never asked you for anything before,” Lennie said. “Come on, Daddy. Be a pal.”
Duddy began to bite his fingernails.
“You’re ganging up on me,” Max said.
“Jeez.”
“You’ve put me in a position where if I don’t lend you any money I’m suddenly an s.o.b. Who put you through school? Do you know that when you had the mumps I stayed up with you three nights running? (At a great personal risk, brother, because I never had them, and you know about what the mumps can do to a grown man, I suppose?) I missed Lux Theater and the last game of the Little World Series when you had the chickenpox. Some fathers, you know —”
“I give up,” Duddy said.
“He never told you the whole story, Daddy. He came to get me in Toronto. If not for Duddy I would have been expelled from medical school.”
“Aw.”
“One minute,” Max said, “I’m not paying Duddy a reward for helping you. He did that because you’re his brother. Not for money. We’re one family and we should stick together, just like the Rockefellers. In our own small way, I mean.”
“All right. You said it. Help him then.”
“He won’t help me. Not in a million years. He’s pulling my leg.”
“Would you help a boy who talked to his old man like that?”
“Wow!”
“If I was John D. Rockefeller would he talk to me like that?”
“He’s nervous, Daddy. He’s excited.”
“I was just on the verge of offering him —”
“I’m going out for a walk before I go nuts,” Duddy said.
“Wait,” Lennie said. He took a deep breath. “Daddy, how much can you lend him?”
“A thousand dollars.”
Duddy stopped. “Are you kidding?” he asked.
“I’m not kidding but, frankly speaking, I feel I’ve just kissed a grand good-by.”
“You see, Duddy, I told you he’d help you.”
“I can see it,” Max said, “right before my eyes. A bill with one thousand printed on it. It has wings this bill and it’s flying away from me. Flap, flap, flap go the wings. Wham! There she goes through the ceiling. Good-by grand.” Duddy began to scratch his head.
“It’ll be interesting to see what happens,” Max said, “When I come to you for help in my declining years. Well, couldn’t you give us a smile? It’s cost me enough.”
Duddy sent Yvette a certified check and told her not to worry, he’d raise the rest of the money in time. Meanwhile he urged her to quit her job and come into town with Virgil. But twenty-two hundred dollars, he thought, where am I going to get it? The bank, of course, was out of the question after he’d already gone bankrupt once. He went to see Rosenblatt, picked up the keys and the deed to the house on Mount Royal, and hurried over to see his own lawyer.
“I’m sorry,” the lawyer said, “but it’s airtight. You can’t sell, you can’t take out a mortgage, and you can’t even rent.”
“Some gentleman. Some son of a bitch. Listen, what about the stuff inside the house? The furniture, the books — He’s got a fortune in liquor stashed away in the basement.”
“I don’t advise it. You’d never get even a third of what it was worth.”
But when Yvette arrived with Virgil the following afternoon there was an enormous moving van parked outside and the men were busy inside.
“What on earth’s going on here?” she asked.
“Aw, I’m getting rid of some of the old furniture.”
“Duddy, those are antiques. What are — They’re not taking the books too? You haven’t sold your uncle’s library?”
“Quack-quack-quack. Can’t you keep your face shut once in a blue moon?”
“Duddy, you can’t do this. You’ve got to stop them. Your uncle left you this house as a trust.”
“My uncle’s dead. I’ve got to go on living. When I’ve got the money we’ll furnish the house according to our own tastes.”
“Oh, Duddy, this is terrible.”
“Terrible? It’s robbery. Seven hundred and fifty bucks I got for the works.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Listen, my little hatchka, not a British lord and this isn’t the old ancestral home. Lots of that furniture was stinky and uncomfortable anyway.”
“If your uncle knew…”
“Awright, he’s spinning in his grave. If he’d set it up so that I could take out a mortgage on this place everything would be fine. I wouldn’t have had to sell the furniture to a robber and I wouldn’t be in such a spot either. Under normal circumstances I could raise at least ten thousand on a first mortgage on this house.”
“There’s not a decent sentiment in your body.”
“I eat babies too, you know. Come around tomorrow morning at eight and you’ll see. Listen, do you mind sleeping on a mattress on the floor? It’s only for a couple of weeks.”
“Couldn’t you sell the mattress?”
“Where’s Virgie?”
“In the taxi. Is there a bed for him at least?”
“Oh, you’re smart. You’re so smart.”
Duddy couldn’t sleep that night. Long after Yvette had scrubbed the floors and done her best to make a huge empty house seem hospitable, even as she slept exhausted on the mattress beside him, he scratched his head, bit his fingernails, and lit one cigarette after another. Fifteen hundred dollars, he thought, it might as well be fifteen thousand. Blood, he heard, sold for twenty-five dollars a quart. McGill paid something like ninety-eight cents for a man’s body. Was there anything valuable he could steal? His stamp collection, that ought to be worth fifty dollars. Jeez, he thought, if one thousand people would lent me two dollars each or two thousand people one dollar each … This is crazy, he thought. It’s not that much money, speaking objectively. I can raise it.
When Yvette rose at seven Duddy was in the kitchen, preparing an enormous omelet. He was singing. “I’m going to call Hugh Thomas Calder,” he said.
“Don’t count on anything.”
“He likes me. He takes a fatherly interest.”
“Just don’t count on anything.”
“What’s fifteen hundred dollars to him? Beer money.”
“Are you going to eat all those eggs?”
“They’re for the three of us. Hey, we could rent rooms here. There’s nothing in the will that says I can’t have friends staying with me.”
“What would your tenants do for furniture?”
“Sometimes I wonder what I’d do without you. Really, you know. You’re wrong about Calder. I’m his pal. Maybe I ought to ask him for more than fifteen hundred. A round figure, you know. Not too little, either. Those guys are never impressed if all you need is pin money. You’ve got to use psychology.”
Yvette went to wake Virgil.
“Well there, Mr. Roseboro, how do you like your new abode?” Duddy asked.
“He’s in a good mood,” Virgil said.
“Yes,” Yvette said. “Take care.”
“I’ll ask him for five thousand,” Duddy said. “Excuse me.” And he went to phone.
“Does Duddy need more money?” Virgil asked.
“Don’t you say a word,” Yvette said.
“But —”
“You heard me, Virgil.”
“That son of a bitch,” Duddy said, re-entering the room, “that king among anti-Semites, I’ll see him strung from a lamppost yet.”
“What happened?”
“Coffee, please,” Duddy shouted.
“You were in such a good mood,” Virgil said, grinning.
“You know, Virgil, sometimes you just give me one long pain in the —”
“Duddy!”
“Coffee, please.”
“All right. Here you are. Now what did he say?”
“If I have to make it my life’s work I’m going to see that Calder dreck Anti-Semitism’s gone out of style. He doesn’t know that yet but. I’m going to spread the word around about him. Hitler, that’s what he is. Worse, maybe.”
“What did he say, Duddy?”
“He won’t lend me the money. He had hoped we were friends. What in the hell’s a friend for if you can’t borrow money from him when you need it? He — he’s hurt. Can you imagine? I’ve hurt the bastard’s feelings. Oh, those white men. He ought to swallow a golf ball, that’s what. The core of the ball should be stuffed with cancers and it should take years melting in his stomach,” he said, getting up.
“Aren’t you going to drink your coffee?”
“Aw, stuff it. I’m going out for a walk.”
Duddy walked down to Park Avenue with his head lowered and his hands stuffed belligerently into his pockets. Guys rob banks every day, he thought, they rake in fortunes on the ponies, and me? Aw. Maybe, he thought, I should try Dingleman again? But he decided there was no point. A rich wife, he thought, that’s what I need, but that kind of a deal takes time. You just can’t find and pursue and bleed one in a week. All that work, he thought, so much struggle, heartache, nights without sleep, scheming, lying, sweats, fevers, and for what? Bubkas. a failure. All I needed was to be born rich. All I needed was money in the crib and I would have grown up such a fine, lovable guy. A kidder. A regular prince among men. God damn it to hell, he thought, why was I born the son of a dope? Why couldn’t my old man have been Hugh Thomas Calder or Rubin, even? What’s fifteen hundred bucks anyway? A piss in the ocean, that’s what. But I haven’t got it. Duddy thought of forging Mr. Cohen’s signature on a check, depositing it to his own account, and writing another check against it, but dismissed the idea as unsound. There was a black market in babies, he’d read that in Time, it was just his luck not even to have one of those. Maybe, he thought, if I got a passport, mailed it to Hersh, and asked him to sell it for me in Paris… He’d never do it. (There’s not enough time, either.) The stock market, he thought, guys with no brains are shoveling it in like snow, but you’ve got to have a stake to start with. Suicide? Boy, would they ever be sorry to see me go. Virgil would — Virgil!
Wow, he thought suddenly, smacking the side of his face, why didn’t I ever think of that before?
“Jesus Christ almighty!”
Yvette was waxing the dining room floor when Duddy returned from his walk. He came with a bouquet of flowers for her, a book of poems for Virgil, and a bottle of whisky.
“You got the money?” she said.
“No.”
“You’re sick?”
“Wrong again.”
Duddy waited restlessly, answering questions with curt nods, until Yvette went out to do the shopping. Then, turning his most expansive smile on Virgil, he asked, “Join me in a drink, kid?”
“A small one.”
“You know something, Virgie, the two of us just don’t sit around and chew the fat enough any more. We don’t know each other as well as we could.”
Virgil ducked his head. He grinned.
“Once,” Duddy began, “when we had the apartment on Tupper Street, I interrupted you while you were writing a letter to your father.”
“That’s right. I remember.”
“Now you’re obviously one of my most treasured friends, but —”
“Gee whiz, Duddy.”
” — but what do I know about your father? Nothing. Maybe —”
“I’ll tell you all about him,” Virgil began enthusiastically. “My father’s name is John. He was born on January 18, 1901. He’s five foot ten with graying hair and lovely blue eyes and —”
“Maybe. . I mean for all I know he’s…” Duddy hesitated. He jumped up and began to chew his nails again. “… well, a man of means, as they say.”
Virgil looked grave.
“Virgie?”
He averted his eyes.
“I’m talking to you, Virgie.”
“Well, he’s not exactly broke.”
“Here, old chap, let me refresh your drink.”
“No thanks. I think I’ve had enough.”
“Aw, Gwan.” Duddy poured him a stiff one. “Cheers.”
Virgil hesitated.
“Cheers, Virgie.”
“Cheers.”
“You know, Virgie, we’re buddies. Real buddies. Isn’t that true?”
“Sure, Duddy.”
“And a friend in need, as they say, is a friend indeed. Right?”
Virgil, looking somewhat bewildered, a little oppressed, said, “Yvette ought to be back soon, huh?”
“Sure. How’s your poetry coming along?”
“All right, I guess. No, as a matter of fact, my muse hasn’t exactly been —”
“Jeez, I wish I had your talent.”
“Do you mean that, Duddy?”
“Why, I’ll bet E. E. Cummings would give his left ball for some of the stuff you’ve written. You make that Patchen look sick. Someday, boy, I’m going to be proud to have known you when.”
“Would you like me to read you some of my more recent efforts?” Virgil asked, and he began to wheel his chair towards the door.
“Later. Here, let me refresh your drink.”
“But I haven’t even finished this one.”
“Aw. Gwan. Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
Duddy sat down, rose quickly, and began to pace. He cracked his knuckles. “You know what I’ve been asking myself, Virgie? Where did you and Yvette get all the money to cover your hospital bills? How come Yvette was able to put her hands on three hundred bucks for the notary? Questions like that. That’s what I’ve been asking myself.”
Virgil’s head began to droop.
“How much have you got, Virgie,” Duddy asked, kneeling beside his wheelchair, “and where did you get it?”
“I’m not supposed to say. I promised Yvette.”
“Aha.”
“She made me swear I wouldn’t lend you one cent. She says I can’t afford to gamble.”
“She’s right too, you know,” Duddy said, rising. “That girl’s certainly got her head screwed on right.” The bitch, he thought.
Virgil smiled, relieved.
“But I’d never dream of asking you for a loan, Virgie. I’m only inquiring because I want to help you to invest your money wisely. Let’s say you had as much as five thousand,” Duddy said tentatively, never taking his eyes off Virgil, “or maybe ten… Ten, Virgie?”
“Well, I… ” Virgil looked away. “Yvette’s taking a long time,” he said feebly.
“Where’d you get it?”
“My grandfather left me some. Well, in his will he left me… some, you know…”
“No kidding?”
“You mustn’t tell Yvette I told you.”
“Of course I won’t. But you know what, Virgie? That money’s rotting in the bank like a lousy old apple left in the sun. Every day you leave it there it’s worth less and less. It depreciates. You know what the real value of the dollar is today? Forty-five cents. Tomorrow it’ll be forty-four and next year, wham, forty maybe… A guy’s got to invest his money and invest it wisely. Where is it, Virgie?”
“What?” he asked, lifting his head heavily.
“Where do you keep the money? In a Montreal bank.”
“The Bank of Nova Scotia on Park Avenue,” he said, his voice beginning to wobble.
“You don’t say?”
Virgil bit his lip. He nodded.
“Are you O.K., Virgie?” Duddy asked, kneeling beside him again.
Virgil nodded again. “A headache,” he said.
“I’m only asking you all these questions because I want to help. You know what, Virgie? Real estate, that’s the thing. All the wise money’s going into real estate today.”
It seemed to Duddy that Virgil’s eyes were glassy, but he didn’t feel so hot himself, his own hands were clammy. It’s not like I’m this, he thought.
“I’ll tell you something, Virgie,” Duddy said, pouring himself another drink, “I close my eyes and before me I see a lovely spread of land before a lake, the land is all yours, and on it is a pretty white house and in the basement is a printing press… Health Handicappers, needy ones, come and go… I see you in the picture… Happy? Happy.”
“I can’t,” Virgil screamed so sudden and loud that Duddy started.
“Wha’?”
Virgil gripped the arms of his wheelchair. His eyes were bloodshot. “I promised Yvette. I can’t.”
“Virgie, what are you yelling about? You can’t what?”
“Yes,” Yvette said, entering the room. “You can’t what, Virgil?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Here comes the United States Cavalry. Right on the dot too.”
“What were you doing to him, Duddy?”
“Breaking his arms. Trying out the Chinese water torture. Jeez.”
“I can’t,” Virgil muttered. His head fell, bobbed between his shoulders, and he began to sob brokenly.
Yvette set down her parcels with a bang and wheeled Virgil out of the dining room. “I’ll speak to you later,” she said to Duddy.
Duddy poured himself a stiff drink. Speak your heart out, you lousy, chazerFlorence Nightingale, he thought. A lot I care. I’m going to get that land no matter what, see? I’m not giving up now, he thought, taking a big gulp of his drink. Duddy sat down on the mattress and began to drink even more quickly. An hour passed before Yvette returned.
“He’s sleeping,” Yvette said. “What did you do to upset him?”
“I bopped him one. Wham! Right on the spine.”
“You’re drunk.”
“A big deal.”
“Pour me one.”
“You’ve got hands. Pour yourself one. I’m going out,” he said. “I require some ozone.”
Duddy didn’t return for dinner. He stayed away for hours. He walked all the way downtown, played the pinball machines, drank some, chatted with whores in chromium-plated bars, stared into department store windows, weaving, his nose pressed against the refreshingly cold plate glass, drank some more, walked his feet sore, rested, was told to move on twice, and finally staggered into a taxi.
Yvette had waited up for him. “Did you try to get any money out of Virgil this afternoon?” she asked.
“F– Virgil,” he said. “You don’t even ask how I am? Maybe —”
“How are you?” she asked.
“Drunk and sad.”
“Now then, did you try to get any money out of —”
“You’ve got a voice like a knife being sharpened,” he said. He began to giggle.
“Answer me.”
“Has he got any?”
Yvette hesitated.
“Jeez. Has he?”
“No,” she said.
“Listen,” he said, “you’re beginning to remind me of my family. That’s a fact. I’m always in the wrong. Why?”
Yvette’s face flushed.
“W,” he said, plucking one finger, “H,” he said plucking another. “Y. Cue-wesh-tion mark.”
“I’ll help you undress,” she said.
“You can look,” Duddy said in a falsetto voice, “but don’t touch.” And in a moment he was snoring.
He was surly at breakfast and Virgil, embarrassed, did not say much either.
“What are your plans for today?” Yvette asked.
“I’m just going to hang around my house for a bit,” he said, “if you and Virgil don’t mind.”
“We’re going out for a walk,” Yvette said quickly.
After they’d gone Duddy began to chain-smoke. It’s their fault, he thought, they wouldn’t help me, they’re forcing me into it. Pushing me, he thought, and he went into Virgil’s room. The checkbook wasn’t even hidden. Jeez, he thought. It was on top of the dresser with the passbook. Duddy took a quick look at Virgil’s bank balance, whistled, noted his account number and ripped out two checks. He forged the signature by holding the check and a letter Virgil had signed up to the window and tracing slowly. This is a breeze, he thought. But the signed check frightened him. He concealed it in his back pocket. I’ll wait an hour, he thought, well, three quarters anyway, and if they show up before then I’ll tear up the check. If not — Well, they shouldn’t leave me alone for that long. Not in my desperate condition.
Duddy waited an hour and a half before he attempted to make the phone call. Even then he hung up three times (See, he thought) before he lit another cigarette off his butt and actually put the call through. Disguising his voice, he told the bank manager, “This is Mr. Roseboro speaking.” He gave the address. “I’m sending Mr. Kravitz down to have a check certified for me, please.”
Duddy hung up and waited. Just as he expected, the bank manager called back to check. “Yes,” Duddy said, “Mr. Kravitz just left. Thanks a lot, sir.”
Duddy’s heart began to bang as soon as he entered the bank, but nobody questioned the signature on the check, and so he rushed down to his own bank with it and deposited it there. Zowie, he thought. Rushing into the house, he announced, “I’ve got the money.”
“Really,” Yvette said.
“Duddy can do anything,” Virgil said.
“You said a mouthful, kid.”
But when the phone rang Duddy started. “I’ll take it,” he said swiftly. It wasn’t the bank. “All right,” Duddy said, “we’re all going out to dinner. Uncle Duddy pays.”
He got them out of the house as quickly as he could. Each time Yvette asked him where he had got the money Duddy winked and said, “I found it under my pillow.”
“He can do anything he puts his mind to,” Virgil said. “Duddy’s going to be a tycoon.”
Early the next morning Yvette left for Ste. Agathe to see the notary. Duddy met her at the station when she returned the same evening. He took her to a bar nearby. “Everything go O.K.?” he asked.
“The land’s all yours now,” she said.
“At last,” he said. “Jeez.”
“Are you happy?”
“Boy, would I ever like to see Dingleman’s face now. The Boy Wonder? They’ll soon be calling him the One-Day Wonder. You wait.” Duddy had some papers with him. He tried to produce them casually. “Oh, you’d better sign these,” he said.
Yvette looked puzzled.
“It’s about the land. You sign over all the deeds to my father. Just a formality, you know.”
She hesitated.
“What’sa matter? Your feelings hurt?”
“Give me a pen,” she said sharply.
“Listen, it’s just a legal formality. My lawyer insisted. In case you were in an accident like. Aw, you know.”
“What if your father’s in an accident?”
“Will you just sign, please?”
Yvette signed.
“Well,” Duddy said. “Cheers.”
But she didn’t lift her glass.
“Listen, if my father’s in an accident the land automatically goes to me. But if you were —”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Oh, boy. This is going to be a night. A real night.”
“I’d like you to take me home, please.”
All the lights were on downstairs.
“Virgil,” Yvette called.
There was no answer.
“Maybe he went out dancing,” Duddy said.
Yvette walked ahead into the living room. “Oh,” she said, holding a hand to her cheek. “Oh, no.”
Virgil lay twisted on the floor beside his overturned wheelchair. His face was thin and white and drying blood dribbled down his chin.
“He’s had a fit. Duddy. Oh, Duddy.”
Above him the telephone receiver dangled loosely.
“Get me some hot water, Duddy. Quick!”
But Duddy had gone. Yvette reached the window just in time to see him pass outside.
Duddy ran, he ran, he ran.