Part 38 (1/2)
”But they were dirty.”
”Only a couple of s.h.i.+rts Matilda, forget it.”
”Say that when the next pair of socks are missing.”
”Matilda, sit down. I want to talk about something.”
”Who dat white sinner dere, want to talk.”
”This isn't a joke, Matilda. I'm deadly serious.”
”Mr. Smith, you want to tell me I'm fired.”
”No.”
”What else is deadly serious.”
”I may be going away.”
”Beating it.”
”No. Just going away.”
”So you have no need for my further services.”
”I'd like you to stay in my employ.”
”That what you call this.”
”s.h.i.+t. Matilda.”
”What you said, Mr, Smith.”
”I just want you to come, at the same salary, dust and clean. Put the mail in the safe. Just stop the place from rotting away.”
”Think I need a little sting more in this gla.s.s, Mr. Smith.”
”I'll have a sting more in my gla.s.s too if I may.”
Snow drifting on the window sill. Light across the street. Where has the grey headed father gone, holding head in hands. Over his eight curly headed mistakes. Another Christmas coming. Last week strolling by the river I stepped in and stood in the waiting room of the hospital. Gazing down the long halls. Guards toting guns. Wooden benches. Beds and carts. The dirty sheets piled on the dead.
”I'll do that, Mr. Smith, dust and clean.”
”Thanks Matilda.”
”Mr. Smith, something bothering you. Staring out that window like you got no friends.”
”I'm all right.”
”A cultured gentleman, a Mr. Clementine, phoned yesterday. He said you were expected as guest of honor at the Funeral Director's Exhibition. Said you weren't at Dynamo. I told him to try The Game Club.”
”I was there.”
”He phoned back said you wasn't.”
”I was. In the library.”
”Reading the papers.”
”Yes.”
”Society columns.”
”Yes, as a matter of fact.”
”It's that Miss Tomson. Getting married.”
Smith turning to the window. Kitchen lights on across the street. Watched that little girl sitting at the table get bigger and bigger. Her boyfriend waits for her on the stoop, smoking a cigarette nervously looking up and down the street. Perhaps she dreams of growing up. A Dizzy Darling. Gay, wild, willing. Up on her high terrace just around the corner, could spit or pee right down on the roof of Merry.
”And Mr. Smith, it's bad. That you should be carrying that gun again.”
”Matilda, find my sandals. My foot's hurting in my shoe. Herbert will be back here, in half an hour to pick me up.”
”When does my service here abruptly discontinue, Mr. Smith, sir.”
”Cut it out Matilda.”
”Scared I'll have parties, drink the wine, smoke the cigars,.”
”No.”
”Why don't you admit it.”
”All right.”
”You admit it.”
”Four cases of whiskey. Have vanished.”
”Two.”
”You admit it.”
”Who dat pagan sittin dere.”
”Me dat pagan sittin here.”
”When the flock is thirsty the dark complexioned redeemer leads them to drink. Mr. Smith.”
”I'd prefer the redeemer to lead them to his own whiskey.”