Stories of Erskine Caldwell (9 page)

“I’ll wake you in plenty of time, Richard,” she said.

The door was closed after her, and I turned and went into my room. I shut the door and slowly began to undress. After I had blown out the lamp and had got into bed, I lay tensely awake. I knew I could never go to sleep, and I sat up in bed and smoked cigarette after cigarette, blowing the smoke through the screen at the window. The house was quiet. Occasionally, I thought I heard the sounds of muffled movements in Gretchen’s room across the hall, but I was not certain.

I could not determine how long a time I had sat there on the edge of the bed, stiff and erect, thinking of Gretchen, when suddenly I found myself jumping to my feet. I opened the door and ran across the hall. Gretchen’s’ door was closed, but I knew it would not be locked, and I turned the knob noiselessly. A slender shaft of light broke through the opening I had made. It was not necessary to open the door wider, because I saw Gretchen only a few steps away, almost within arm’s reach of me. I closed my eyes tightly for a moment, thinking of her as I had all during the day’s ride up from the coast.

Gretchen had not heard me open her door, and she did not know I was there. Her lamp was burning brightly on the table.

I had not expected to find her awake, and I had thought surely she would be in bed. She knelt on the rug beside her bed, her head bowed over her arms and her body shaken with sobs.

Gretchen’s hair was lying over her shoulders, tied over the top of her head with a pale blue ribbon. Her nightgown was white silk, hemmed with a delicate lace, and around her neck the collar of lace was thrown open.

I knew how beautiful she was when I saw her then, even though I had always thought her lovely. I had never seen a girl so beautiful as Gretchen.

She had not heard me at her door, and she still did not know I was there. She knelt beside her bed, her hands clenched before her, crying.

When I had first opened the door, I did not know what I was about to do; but now that I had seen her in her room, kneeling in prayer beside her bed, unaware that I was looking upon her and hearing her words and sobs, I was certain that I could never care for anyone else as I did for her. I had not known until then, but in the revelation of a few seconds I knew that I did love her.

I closed the door softly and went back to my room. There I found a chair and placed it beside the window to wait for the coming of day. At the window I sat and looked down into the bottom of the valley where the warm river lay. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, I felt as if I were coming closer and closer to it, so close that I might have reached out and touched the warm water with my hands.

Later in the night, towards morning, I thought I heard someone in Gretchen’s room moving softly over the floor as one who would go from window to window. Once I was certain I heard someone in the hall, close to my door.

When the sun rose over the top of the mountain, I got up and dressed. Later, I heard Gretchen leave her room and go downstairs, I knew she was hurrying to prepare breakfast for me before I left to get on the train, I waited awhile, and after a quarter of an hour I heard her coming back up the stairs. She knocked softly on my door, calling my name several times.

I jerked open the door and faced her. She was so surprised at seeing me there, when she had expected to find me still asleep, that she could not say anything for a moment.

“Gretchen,” I said, grasping her hands, “don’t hurry to get me off — I’m not going back this morning — I don’t know what was the matter with me last night — I know now that I love you —”

“But, Richard — last night you said —”

“I did say last night that I was going back early this morning, Gretchen, but I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m not going back now until you go with me. I’ll tell you what I mean as soon as breakfast is over. But first of all I wish you would show me how to get down to the river. I have got to go down there right away and feel the water with my hands.”

(First published in
Pagany
)

F
RIDAY MORNING CLASSES
were over, and Snacker was walking down the third-floor hall of the dormitory to leave his books in his room when Pete Downs saw him. There were a couple of other fellows in Pete’s room, and the door was open. Snacker saw them. He owed Pete forty cents, and he thought Pete was going to say he had to have the money right then.

“Hey, Snacker!” Pete yelled. “Come here a minute.”

Snacker went back to the door and looked inside. Tom and Jack Phillips were sitting on a trunk whistling, and Pete was motioning to him to come inside.

“I haven’t got a nickel on me, Pete,” he said. “But just as soon as I can get it, I’ll pay you back.”

“Forget it, Snacker,” Pete said. “Come over here. I want to show you a sight you’ve never seen before.”

Snacker sat down on the bed beside him and looked at the picture Pete held in front of him.

“Who’s that?” Snacker asked.

“My girl,” Pete said. “Ever see anything in your life to beat that?”

Snacker shook his head.

“She’s all right, Pete,” he said.

“All right!” Pete said. “She’s going to be the best-looking honeybunch at the banquet tomorrow night. That’s how ‘all right’ she is!”

Tom and Jack Phillips were whistling louder than ever. Every time they looked at Pete they began whistling in a higher key.

Pete nodded towards them.

“Don’t let them worry you, Snacker,” he said. “They might think they’re going to have better-looking girls at the dinner, but they’ll be whistling a different tune after they see my girl. She’s coming all the way from the old home town just to show this school what a pretty girl looks like.”

Snacker had forgotten that the football banquet was only one day off. It was the week after Thanksgiving, and the annual football banquet was always given the Saturday night after the holidays.

Tom stopped whistling.

“Who’s your girl, Snacker?” he asked. “Who are you bringing to the banquet?’”

“Me?” Snacker said. “I haven’t got a girl, Tom. I’ll have to go by myself.”

Everybody stared at Snacker.

“You can’t do that, Snacker,” Jack Phillips said. “They won’t let you in at the door unless you have a girl with you.”

Snacker looked at Pete and then at Tom. They nodded. Snacker began to worry. He had forgotten all about that rule.

“You can’t go without a girl,” Tom said. “Don’t you know somebody to bring?”

Jack leaned forward and frowned at Snacker.

“Haven’t you got a girl, Snacker?” he asked.

“Gee-my-nettie!” Snacker said aloud. “I never had a girl in all my life.”

Tom whistled through his teeth, and Pete laughed. They looked at Snacker curiously for a moment.

“That’s too bad, Snacker,” Pete said finally. “You put in a lot of hard work on the squad this season. It would be a shame for you not to go to the banquet and get all you want to eat.”

“You played a full quarter in the Riverside game, didn’t you, Snacker?” Jack Phillips said. “Didn’t you go in at left tackle the last quarter when Chuck Harris got knocked out?”

“Sure,” Snacker said. “And I never missed a day’s practice, either. I was on the scrubs all the rest of the time, but I tried like the dickens to make the first team.”

“You’ve got as much right to go to the banquet as the captain,” Pete said. “It’s a shame you have to stay away just because you don’t have a girl like the rest of us fellows.”

“Maybe I could ask one of the girls in town to go with me?” Snacker suggested eagerly.

Everybody looked at the floor. Pete shook his head. Tom and Jack Phillips shook their heads, too. Snacker knew at once what they were thinking.

“All the town girls have been dated up for the banquet ever since school opened in September,” Pete said. “It’s too late to try to get hold of a girl anywhere else now. I wish we had thought about it sooner, Snacker.”

Snacker sat up.

“How about that Harper girl?” he asked. “You know the one I mean — Frances Harper.”

They looked at Snacker rather hard for a moment, and then they shook their heads and stared at the floor.

“Frances Harper is Chuck’s girl, Snacker. She’s going to sit at the head of the table with Chuck — at the captain’s end.”

“Well,” Snacker said, slamming his books on the table, “if I had known about it in time, I’d have had the prettiest girl in the state here tomorrow night. You can bet your life I would.”

Jack Phillips jumped up.

“The prettiest girl in the state?” he said, laughing. “Stop your joking, Snacker. The prettiest girl in the state lives in Saunderstown.”

“What’s her name?” Snacker asked.

“I don’t know what her name is, but I saw her once in my life. I tried to get introduced to her, but it was at a dance in Saunderstown and there were about forty ahead of me in the line, and I never got within ten yards of her. But when I say she’s the prettiest, I mean just that. Ask anybody if you don’t believe me. If you ever got a chance to see her for yourself, you’d know exactly what I mean. If Saunderstown wasn’t so far away —”

Tom and Pete nodded, looking out the window.

“What’s her last name, Jack?” Snacker asked.

“I think it’s Hampton, but I’m not sure. But it doesn’t matter, because —”

Snacker got up and went to the window and looked out over the campus for a while. It was almost time for lunch.

“I’ll have a girl for you next year, Snacker,” Pete said. “If I had known about it in time this year —”

Snacker paid no attention to what they were saying. He began talking to himself.

“I went out for the team the first day of practice and never missed a single minute all season. I thought sure I could go to the banquet. And, besides, I played a whole quarter in the Riverside game Thanksgiving Day, even if I was on the scrubs the rest of the time.”

Tom heard some of the things he said, and he went to the window beside Snacker.

“It’s too bad, Snacker,” he said, putting his arm over his shoulder. “You’ve got as much right to go to the banquet as I have. But — but they wouldn’t even let the captain of the team in at the door if he didn’t bring a girl. That’s a rule of some kind or other.”

Snacker went out and walked down the hall to his room and left his books on the table. He did not feel like staying there, even until lunch was served, and he went back down the stairs and out of the dormitory. By the time he had reached the Yard, he had made up his mind to do something. He kept on walking toward town, but by the time he reached the campus gate he was running.

The bank on the corner was open. He ran inside and asked how much money he had on deposit. It was four dollars, even. He wrote a check for three dollars and asked for it in silver pieces. He wanted to be able to hold the money in his pocket and feel it there, because if he lost one of the dollars he knew he would never be able to do what he had decided on.

As soon as he left the bank, he went to the barbershop and got into the chair for a haircut. He would have to have his hair cut, because it was nearly three weeks since the last time he had had it trimmed. While sitting in the chair, he began figuring out in his mind how much it would cost to go to Saunderstown and back. The train fare was ninety cents each way. That would leave a dollar and twenty cents. If he ate any meals at all, he knew he would probably spend half of that before he got back. And, besides, he might have to spend some money while he was in Saunderstown. When the barber had finished, Snacker decided he would have to use the other dollar in the bank. He asked the barber to cash a check. When he handed it to the barber, the man said he would have to send it to the bank to get the change. Snacker sat down and waited while the shoeshine boy was taking it there.

“Going away over the week end?” the barber asked. “Isn’t tomorrow night the time for the big football banquet?”

“I’m going away, but I’ll be back in time for the banquet,” Snacker said. “I played on the scrubs all season, and I got into the Riverside Academy game for a full quarter when Chuck Harris got knocked out.”

“That Chuck Harris is the best tackle Forrest Grove ever had,” the barber said.

The shoeshine boy came back, but instead of handing over the change, he handed the barber the check Snacker had written for one dollar.

“What’s this?” the barber asked.

“The bank man said the check wasn’t any good at all,” the boy told him.

The barber looked at Snacker, nodding his head sideways.

“What’s the idea?” he said. “Trying to gyp me?”

Snacker tried his best to explain about the money. It was almost time for the train to leave. Snacker told him that he went to the bank and asked for his balance. It was four dollars, even. He drew out three dollars, leaving one dollar on deposit. That dollar, Snacker kept on saying, was the one he had given the check for. The barber stopped listening and led him to the door. They went across the street to the bank on the corner.

When they got inside, Snacker asked the cashier if he did not have a dollar in his account. The cashier looked at his books for a minute and shook his head.

“There’s a check here that just came in,” he said. “It’s a dollar check, and it wipes out your account.”

Everybody, the cashier and the barber included, was right. Snacker was wrong. He did not see how he could be, but he knew he could not be right if everybody else said he was wrong. He tore up the check and paid the barber forty cents for cutting his hair. That left him eighty cents, not counting the round-trip train fare.

He caught the train just in time and got a seat in the smoker. After he had sat down, he remembered that nobody on the football squad was supposed to break training until the night of the banquet, and he was glad he remembered it, because it would keep him from spending ten cents for a cigar.

It was about seven o’clock in the evening when the train reached the Saunderstown depot. He hopped off the train and made for the restaurant the first thing. He ordered a sliced-chicken sandwich and a glass of milk. That left him with only fifty-five cents.

The telephone book listed fifteen or twenty Hamptons. At five cents a call . . . He decided to write down on a piece of paper two or three of the Hampton addresses, and to try some way to find out where the prettiest Hampton daughter lived. He was certain that most of them would be related, and in that way he could find out where the one he was looking for lived.