Plexus (62 page)

“He sure knows how to take the lead,” said George. “I wonder if Kitty's still up?” he added impulsively.

“Jesus, don't let's try that!” I cautioned. “It's too late.”

“You never know,” says George. “I'd like to twine my fingers around that rosebush before going to bed, wouldn't you?”

“I'd like a good drink, if you ask me,” said I.

“That's an idea. Let's go to the caboose and see what's there.”

We took the long way around, skirting Kitty's house. The lights were out, but George insisted on giving the signal—two low whistles—just in case. “If she's not dead to the world,” said George, “she'll sneak out and follow us.” We strolled leisurely to the caboose.

We put the lantern on the stove, opened the flask which still contained a few drops, and sat there with ears cocked.

“You're taking a hell of a chance, George. You can get twenty years for this.”

“If I could only get it in,” he replied, “it would be worth it.”

“You can have her,” I said, “I'm clearing out.”

“Don't do that, Hen. Wait a few minutes and I'll go with you.”

I waited a few minutes, then got up.

“Maybe she's down by the bridge, waiting for us,” said George.

We strolled down to the bridge. Sure enough, there she was. “Oh, George,” she cried, “I thought you'd never come.” She flung her arms about him passionately. I walked away, saying I'd keep watch. I stood at the crossroads for almost a half-hour. I had doused the lantern, of course. “The fool!” I thought to myself. “He won't be happy until he knocks her up.”

Finally I heard them coming. “Well, any luck this time?” I asked, after we had seen Kitty off.

George groaned. “Let's go down to the river. I think I've got blood all over me.”

“Oi yoi!” I whistled. “So that's it! Now you're really in for it.”

“Guess we'll have to go back to the city soon,” said George.

“What? Are you going to leave her in the ditch?”

“She won't tell on me. I made her promise.”

“I'm not thinking of you, you bastard, I'm thinking of
her.”

“Oh, we can fix it up when she comes to the city,” said George. “I know a medical student who'll do the trick.”

“Supposing she gets a hemorrhage?”

“She won't,” said George. “She's too healthy.”

We didn't speak for a while.

“About Una,” says George suddenly. “I've been thinking it over, Hen. I think the best thing is for you to see her yourself. I might only make a mess of it.”

“You bastard!”

Another streak of silence.

“I think I'll leave in a day or two,” I said, as we neared the house.

“Might be a good idea,” said George. “You don't want to wear out your welcome.”

“I'd like to pay something for my board,” I said.

“You can't do that, Hen, they'd be insulted.”

“Well, I'll buy them something, then.”

“O.K.,” said George.

After a pause, he added:

“Don't think I'm not grateful for all you've done.”

“It was nothing,” I said. “Some day you can take care of
me.”

“I'm sorry about Una … I really don't.…”

I cut him short. “Forget it!”

“It would be a shame to lose her, Hen.”

“Don't let that worry you. I'm not giving her up.”

“This Carnahan … she's engaged to him, you know.”

“What?
Why didn't you tell me that before?”

“I didn't want to hurt you,” said George.

“So that's it? Listen, I'm leaving tomorrow by the first train.”

“Don't get panicky, Hen! They've been engaged for three months now.”

“What?
Jesus, it beats me how you could keep such a thing quiet.”

“I thought it would blow over. I'm sure she's not in love with him.”

“But she might marry him just to spite me,” I retorted.

“That's true.… But she'd regret it for the rest of her life, if she did.”

“And what good would that do me? Listen, you're a chump, do you know that?”

“Don't get sore, Hen. What could I do? If I had told you, you'd have been miserable. Besides, we hadn't seen one another for a long while.”

“Why not be honest about it? You simply don't give a shit one way or the other, isn't that it?”

“Come on now, don't be foolish!”

“George,” I said, “I like you just as much as ever, I can't help liking you, we've been so close all these years. But I'll never trust you again. You had a right to let me know.”

“All right, Hen, have it your own way.”

We said no more. We went to bed in silence—after George had washed himself thoroughly. I half hoped he'd get a good dose of clap.

In the morning I said good-bye to everyone. When I got to New York I stopped at a shop and sent the folks a huge box of chocolates, not knowing what the hell would please them.

From then on, George Marshall was no longer my twin brother.…

“So that's how you lost Una?” said MacGregor.

“Yep! When I got back I found that she was married. Had married just three days before.”

“Well, Hen, it was all for the best, I guess.”

“That sounds just like George.”

“No, seriously, why try to buck Fate? Supposing you
had
married her? In a year or two you'd have separated—if
I know you.”

“Better to separate than never to marry.”

“Hen, you're a chump! To hear you, I'd say you were still in love with her.”

“Maybe I am.”

“You're nuts. If you were to run into her tomorrow, in the street, you'd probably run away from her.”

“Maybe I would. But that has nothing to do with it.”

“You're hopeless, Hen.” He turned to Trix. “Did you ever hear the like of it? And he calls himself a writer! Wants to write about life but doesn't know human nature.” He turned square around. “When you get ready to write the great American novel, Hen, see me! I'll give you a few facts of life to set you straight.”

I laughed outright.

“All right, wise guy, go ahead and laugh. When your smoke dreams clear away, come to me and I'll untangle the mess for you. I'll give you two more years with this … this what's her name … yeah,
Mona
. Mona, Una … sort of go together, don't they? Why don't you choose a gal with an ordinary name, like Mary, Jane or Sal?”

Having delivered himself of this, MacGregor felt a little mellower. “Hen,” he began, “we're all saps. You're not the worst guy in the world, not by a long shot. The trouble is, we all had big ideals. But once your eyes are opened you realize that you can never change the setup. Sure, you can
make minor changes—revolutions and all that—but they don't mean a thing. People remain what they are, whether Royalists, Communists, or just plain Democrats. Everyone for himself, that's the game. When you're young it's disheartening. You can't quite believe it. The more faith you have, the greater the disillusionment. It'll take another fifty thousand years—
or more!
—before there's any fundamental change in humanity. Meanwhile we've got to make the best of it, isn't that so?”

“You talk exactly like your old man.”

“That's true enough, Henry.”

He said it soberly. “Shows you that we're not as original as we thought we were. We're getting old, do you realize that?”

“You may be—I'm not!” I said bluntly.

Even Trix had to laugh at this. “You're just kids, the two of you,” she said.

“Don't fool yourself, sister,” said MacGregor, going over to her and fondling her. “Because I still have a pair of balls doesn't make me a youngster. I'm a disillusioned old man, believe it or not.”

“Then why do you want to marry me?”

“Oh, I don't know,” said MacGregor wearily. “Maybe just to have a change.”

“I like
that,”
said Trix, slightly offended.

“You know what I mean,”
said MacGregor. “Jesus, do we have to become romantic—just to please this guy? I want a home, a real home, that's what! I'm sick of running around.”

Trix looked at me dumbly. She shook her head.

“Don't take him seriously,” said I comfortingly. “He always puts things in the worst light.”

“That's it,” chirped MacGregor. “Now let me hear you say something nice about me. Tell her not to worry, I'll settle down soon enough. Prove to her what a good husband I'll make.… No, hold on! Better not say anything. You have the goddamnedest way of gumming things up.”

“Let him talk!” said Trix. “I'm curious to know what your friend Henry really thinks of you.”

“You don't think he'd tell you the truth, do you? That guy's as slippery as an eel. He talks of George Marshall but … well, if I didn't know him so long and so well I'd have dropped him ages ago.”

“Henry,” said Trix, “do you really think I should marry him?”

“Don't ask me to answer that,
please.”
I tried to laugh it off.

“You see,” said MacGregor. “He couldn't say yes or no, just like that. Now what
do
you mean, Henry? It is Yes or No?”

I held my tongue.

“That means no,” said MacGregor.

“Don't be so quick!” said Trix.

“Well, Henry, nothing like being honest,” said MacGregor. “I guess you know me too well.”

“I haven't said one thing or another,” said I. “Why jump to conclusions? By the way, what time is it?”

“There you are! Now he wants to know the time. That's Henry to a T.”

“It's only two-thirty,” said Trix. “Let me fix you some coffee before you go.”

“Fine,” said I. “And is there any cake left?”

“See, now he's all alert. Always wide-awake when you mention food. Jesus, Hen, you'll never change. I guess maybe that's what I like about you—you're incorrigible.” He sat down close beside me, flicked the ash off his cigar, and proceeded to unburden himself. “Tess has all sorts of connections, you know. She'd like to see me on the bench. The thing is, I can't run for judge and start divorce proceedings—
see what I mean?
Besides, I'm not so sure I want to be a judge. Even on the bench you can't keep your skirts clear, you know that. Still, I'm not much good as a lawyer, to be frank with you. Can't work up any enthusiasm.…”

“Why don't you pull out and try something else?”

“Like what—selling tires? What
can
you do, Henry? One job's as bad as another.”

“But isn't there anything you're keen about?”

“Frankly, Hen, no! I'm just a lazy bugger at heart. I want to float along with the least effort.”

“Then float!” I said.

“That's no answer. Now, if I had a hankering to write, it would be different. But I don't. I'm not an artist. And I'm not a politician. I'm not a ball of fire either.”

“Then you're licked,” I said.

“I don't know, Hen, I wouldn't say that. There must be lots of things a fellow can do without getting all heated up.”

“The trouble with you is,” I said, “you always want someone to make up your mind for you.”

“Now you're talking,” said MacGregor, suddenly more cheerful, though why, I couldn't understand. “That's why I want to marry Trix. I need someone to steady me. Tess is like a wet sponge. Instead of putting some backbone in me, she lets me fall apart.”

“When are you going to grow up?” said I.

“Come on now, Henry, don't hand me that line. You're just a big boy yourself. Running a speakeasy, think of it! And you were going to set the world on fire. Ho ho! Ho ho!”

“Give me time. I may fool you yet. At least, I know what I'd like to do. That's something.”

“Can you do it?
That's the question.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Henry, you've been trying to write ever since I knew you. Other writers your age have had at least a half-dozen books published already. You haven't even finished your first book—or have you? Come, come, get wise to yourself!”

“Maybe I won't begin till I'm forty-five,” I said jokingly.

“Make it sixty, Henry. By the way, who was that English writer who began at seventy?”

I couldn't remember his name either at the moment.

Trix appeared with the coffee and cake. We moved back to the table.

“Well, Hen,” he began again, helping himself to a huge slice of cake, “all I've got to say is—
don't weaken!
You may yet be a writer. Whether you'll be a great one, I can't predict. You've got a hell of a lot to learn.”

“Don't pay any attention to him,” said Trix.

“Nothing bothers
him,”
said MacGregor. “He's even more obstinate than I am, and that's saying a lot. The truth is, it hurts me to see him wasting his time.”

“Wasting his time?” echoed Trix. “And what about
you?”

“Me? I'm lazy. That's different.” He gave her a broad grin.

“If you're thinking to marry me,” she rejoined, “you'll have to get on your toes. You don't think I'm going to support
you
, do you?”

“Will you listen to that, Henry,” howled MacGregor, chuckling as if it were a great joke. “Now who said anything about wanting to be supported?”

“Well, how
will
we live? Not on what you earn, I'm sure.”

“Tush tush!” said MacGregor. “Honey, I haven't begun to work yet. Just wait till the divorce is granted, then I'll get down to brass tacks.”

“I'm not so sure I want to marry you,” said Trix. This in dead seriousness.