The Story of My Wife (28 page)

"Upset it?"

"Yeah, ruin the whole deal."

"Ruin it? How?"

"He is a troublemaker, I tell you."

"But how can he ruin it?" I again asked and probably turned white as I did. Needless to say, a lot depended on whether or not the certificate I now held in my hand was worth anything.

"Who is the bastard?" I demanded. And from then on that's what Kodor called him, too. "Yes, a little bastard, a real pain in the ass, who got wind of something and is now raising all sorts of questions about our agreement."

"About the agreement?"

"Yeah, he is suing us already. But I am suing him back."

"Why, this can be none other than that rascally little doctor," I exclaimed. "The one with the squint."

"How did you know?" Kodor asked.

There was a moment of silence.

"What sharp eyes he has," he then said to no one in particular. "But really, how did you figure it out?"

"Oh well," I laughed, though my conflicting emotions just about knocked me over. After all, it's no mere trifle when a cunning man like he is willing to compliment you, and in matters of business, too. ... So I notice things, eh? I have eyes too, it seems ... I almost burst into song, I tell you.

"So what does the cheeky bastard want?" I again said, treating the man already like dirt. "I was there when the agreement was concluded; nobody then said anything about collateral."

For that's what he was suing for; the cheeky bastard was demanding collateral from Kodor. He did some snooping around and found out that the firm Kodor had sold the oil to in return for those notes was in deep trouble. It may have been in good shape at one time, he said, but no longer. For this very reason Kodor promised to give them a note at the time of the sale, that evening, in fact, when we met for supper at the Brighton. Indeed, their participation in the venture hinged on this.

What is more, he demanded a kickback from the sale price for himself, and not a modest one either—considerably more than what I was supposed to get. Now there was real insolence for you.

I maintained that he was entitled to nothing; every word he uttered was sheer impudence. Why did I maintain that? May my stern judges forgive me but sudden rapture is a strange thing. And money does make you blind, especially if you don't yet have it. I kept saying that although I didn't pay
too
much attention at that time (why should I have? the deal didn't interest me all that much, I was too busy entertaining the ladies, those refined and charming ladies), but it was plain to see that the thing was settled, just about wrapped up. That whole evening seemed like an occasion to celebrate. Those gentlemen said as much, each and every one of them agreed that everything was perfectly all right. I deliberately emphasized this last point, and told Kodor I was willing to repeat it in court if he so wished.

In other words I offered my services, without his asking for it. Which was odd; I was surprised he didn't laugh in my face.

"Eh, what do you know?" he said. "You know nothing." But he very quickly changed his mind. "If it comes to that, you may testify," he assented.

By then, however, I came to my senses, at long last, and almost burst out laughing.

I just about saw myself running into a wall, blindly, like a cow.

So that's what he wanted me for. The buying and selling had nothing to do with it. And here I was giving him pointers, telling this scoundrel what he ought to do, explaining to him how he should conduct his business . . .

It was quite a spectacle, I must say, and quite a follow-up. I was left with a jumble of painful, burning impressions, above all with the memory of Mrs. Cobbet's beautiful body, and with the thought: How did I end up there, at that woman's doorstep?

Ah, the human animal . . . what an ungrateful creature. Her flat, her letters, her inviting Kodor up just then, and all the other odd happenstance that evening began spinning around in my head . . . until at one point everything stopped.

Is that the kind of woman she was? I thought rather sadly. I could still see her scurrying off after the movies, stepping very lively indeed. Because even then she was
so
busy. She still had pressing business to attend to.

Oh yes; if somebody had jumped on me from a fourth-floor window, I wouldn't have been more surprised. For that was the key to the puzzle, the solution to the great mystery, the explanation for all that passionate devotion—Kodor kept a little angel especially for his business associates, and what a shapely little angel, at that.

For who can say no with her around? Wasn't it she who sent me here, who asked me to entertain his friend? And didn't she have a similar mission at the Brighton? Wasn't she there to create the right mood, to win over wavering hearts for Kodor's schemes?

But then I had a good laugh over it all. Maybe it's better this way, I thought to myself. I can rest assured that I wasn't such a heartthrob after all.

Still, at moments like these, you do feel kind of dumped on. As if submerged in a tub of water, I couldn't bring myself to budge. For it didn't really make me feel good to know that Mrs. Cobbet was that kind of a woman—an ordinary procuress. (In some ports they call them soft grandmothers—aha, I even remembered that.)

But how can I back out of this shabby affair?

For one thing I must show I am above it all.

I first asked: "Couldn't these people lose their shirt?"

Kodor had fine antennae; he perked up immediately.

"Lose their what?" he asked jauntily. And proceeded to toy around with the phrase, as was his wont, testing the waters as it were. "Why shouldn't it be possible for them to lose their shirt? What an original question. Couldn't it also happen to me? Who'd spare
me
from a similar fate? If you bite into something hard, you've got to expect to crack your teeth. If you like big profits, you must be prepared to lose a lot. It goes with the territory."

I was still trying to make light of the matter.

"Look here, pal, don't take me for
such
a fool. Can't this thing lead to a nice case of perjury in the end?"

"Perjury?" he asked pensively.

"Why, sure. I mean, it's not as if I am able to prove anything. I didn't really pay any attention to you people, you know that yourself. I was busy entertaining the ladies. And eating. I can't be at all sure anything was settled that evening."

"You are right, you can't," Kodor said. "Then again, it depends . . . But you are right: you can't be sure," he repeated, rather absently. Then, in a manner that was quite exquisite, he moved his lips, ever so gently.

"But is it so terrible if something is not definite?" he suddenly asked. But like a real con artist: quickly, secretively. "No need to put too fine a point on it," he added amid inimitable smiles. But as I say, it was a brief nothing, a flicker. As if he—no, not even he but the wind—had momentarily lifted the veil off some deep dark secret.

But then he began to sound off again, blustering as usual:

"Now
you think of this? Did I ever ask you for anything? Didn't you volunteer to testify? And tell me, have you found yourself a job already?"

Oh, how I would have loved to clobber him just then. But all I said was:

"You have some nerve, Kodor." And got up from my chair.

"Why? Weren't you quick to pooh-pooh that piece of paper. . . ? The marquis has no need of stocks," he declared sarcastically.

I turned to him now and even grabbed hold of his arm.

"Look here, I have no job and you know it. So what you are doing is dragging an unemployed man into your crooked schemes."

He didn't withdraw his arm, didn't even wince, though I squeezed it hard.

"Shut up, you hear?" he said instead. "What are you, a squeamish virgin? A knight in disguise? Why all this fuss? Just say I don't want it. As simple as that. I want no part of it." And with his free hand he reached for the telephone, which just then began to ring.

"Hello, Lotty dear. I have this Jacob fellow with me. Yes, he is here in the other room. (Why he had to say that I don't know.) No, no, I am no longer in bed." (What that was supposed to mean I couldn't figure out, either.) Then he began talking about me again. And what he said was roughly this:

"I had no idea he was such an ass. (I must say that upon hearing this, I began to feel a little better.) To tell you the truth, I don't know how to handle him. That's why I wanted you to be there too when I put him to work. (Those were his exact words: 'When I put him to work.') Your sweetness, your mere presence, is bound to have an effect on him, you
are
such an angel. (This was said quite sarcastically, to be sure.) He is quite taken by you, my dear, in case you didn't know. Yes, yes, of course I noticed it, with an oaf like him, how can you not notice? Our discussion? (His voice turned rude all of a sudden.) That's none of your business. (And now for the rousing finish:) You are a lady, and an angel to boot, just remember that. And what am I? A crank, that's what. An oddball, yes, an eccentric. You can chop wood on my back, my sweet, though not always. Sometimes I get real wild, you take my word for it." He guffawed at that and hung up the receiver.

You can chop wood on his back... is that so? I thought this as I stepped out the door. How very strange.

Though all it added up to was that I was right again. He may bluster and fret, but the truth was he was head over heels in love, the old phony.

I was on my way by then, though as agitated as I had been when I left my room earlier.

Then again, why get involved with other people's business? The only thing that gave me pause was that this female wasn't who I thought she was. For if she didn't even know what we were talking about, and in fact was eager to find out, believing as she did that I wasn't in the room ... Or rather . . . but who the hell cared?

The devil could have them both, as far as I was concerned. Let them live happily, or whichever way they prefer . . .

Actually, I began to think about very different sorts of things. I felt I had to make a reckoning quickly; I could no longer afford to float in space.

So I stopped in at a nearby pub, ordered a pint of beer, and since I found a piece of chalk on the table (the people before me must have been playing cards), I made a note of what I wanted to do at this point.

First of all, I had seven hundred pounds in the bank, and since this was sure money, why not put it down? My other investments were more uncertain, and would probably have to be used to pay off my debts, so that part is negligible. Of course there is still my father's legacy, the Cincinatti Railroad stocks, which must be worth four hundred at least, even with the stock market being depressed and all. Let's enter that too; in case of need I should be able to count on it. But that was all: eleven hundred pounds was all I had to my name, and you can't perform miracles with that kind of money. I even emptied my billfold; I had close to fifty pounds on me. (I always liked to carry around at least that much when I was in town—with anything less I didn't feel secure somehow.) I may have another eighty at home ... at most. But how long would it last me if I stay with this woman?

Eh, hang it all, I said and got up from the table. I don't want to end up in jail because of him, or turn crooked, for God's sake And I don't want to steal my friends' women either. I've had enough. I want my old, simple, straight and dumb life back. To live the way I had before, period.

I didn't even touch my beer. As if to show that that very minute I was returning to my spartan way of life.

And then one day I did manage to catch her redhanded. She went a little too far, you see, was beginning to live it up again, starting to go out more and more, which she did before, too, except now it became a regular, almost daily thing. Her battlecry became: "The Lagranges are here." Now who were these Lagranges? Real numskulls, both of them, and typical French provincial misers, to boot. What enabled them to live so damn well in this town I still don't know, and don't care to find out. The only thing that concerned me was that they were here, these asses. And ever since they arrived, there was no holding her back. I never quite saw her like this. I guess she really took a liking to this dismal city. "I am beginning to appreciate this strange town," she would explain to me in her own silly way.

But I said nothing. It so happened I landed a couple of modest commissions just then, from a naval club and a maritime insurance company. Both had to be completed fast, so I spent a lot of time at home, working, whereas she was always out. So the tables were turned; there were times she took off, quite blithely, way before noon.

But first she got all gussied up of course, like some fair-weather flier, and when her hat was in place, her umbrella stuck snugly under her arm, when she was all done up, in other words, and ready to be leered at by hungry males, she stood before me and stretched out her pink little palm, waiting for me to fill it.

And I did, dutifully.

"More," she said affably, lightheartedly. "That's not enough. Not nearly." She had expenses now, she had to buy all sorts of things. The social season had just begun. There were parties, get-togethers.

"Fine, I understand." And I didn't ask what sort of get-togethers she had in mind.

The truth was I began to turn away from life altogether, I came to hate it. I realized once more that the only thing that could keep me going was work. If I immersed myself in it totally.

Whereas she kept buying colored drinking cups and gold-plated teaspoons—what the hell for? I wondered. Perhaps so that she, too, could invite her friends over. And just then I began to think about the possibility of disappearing for good. That's right, I was pretty much resolved to do it. She was rotten to the core—I was more convinced of that now than I was of being alive.

Sometimes, you see, she came home with a hairdo that was different from the one she had when she left. And I am not talking about that perfect hairdresser look, which is easy to spot. Naturally, she didn't figure on my noticing the difference.

At any rate, in London it's customary to kiss and pet during intervals in dance halls—everyone knows that. People close their eyes over such things in this peculiarly hypocritical town. They would first give my wife a little whirl and then draw her behind some curtain . . .