Whistling in the Dark

Whistling in the Dark

Tamara Allen

Lethe Press

Maple Shade, NJ

To Eric, Nick, and Robyn

for their love and support

My grandmother, Hallye

for her inspiration

And my great-grandfather, Harry

I wish I could have heard you play.
 

- One -

Fifty cents secured the last private room at the 41st Street hotel, but the musty sheets and the brazen frolic of mice under the bed left Sutton thinking he should have saved the change and slept on the sidewalk. Awakened in the wee hours by a pounding at the door, he was convinced of it. Rising, he felt his way to the door and cracked it open, to be blinded by police lanterns. The frightening thought that his family had sent police after him woke him fully and he shielded his eyes as much to hide his face as block the light. "What is it? What do you want?"

Behind the light, an irritated voice muttered, "It ain't him. Too young." Another offered an officious apology as a gloved hand grabbed the doorknob and shut out the intrusion, leaving Sutton in the dark, listening to a noisy retreat.

They were looking for a lawbreaker. And that wasn't him. Not yet, anyway. Deciding he'd had enough sleep, he dressed and left the hotel, amid the crash and squabble of policemen still searching door by door. He headed east, away from glum apartments as worn down as he felt, away from the odors of fish and sewage and coal fires, toward the distant lights that promised shops and restaurants and possibly jobs.

Though only October, he felt chilled in his coat. From street lamp to street lamp he walked, all but holding his breath in between, in awe of the darkness that hid doorways and stairwells and swamped passages between buildings. He'd never been fond of the dark and, while this wasn't nearly as miserable as huddling in a dugout hours before dawn, he found the strain to his hearing and eyesight an altogether too familiar experience.

This wasn't the New York he remembered from the handful of trips taken in the shelter of family and friends--nor the one that had been a passing rush of color, light, and noise on his way overseas. The trip home from France was only a memory of endless parades; even now, he could see traces of confetti in the gutters and pavement cracks.

This New York was bigger and faster than the one he knew. Neither the troopship nor the crowded camp where he'd trained had seemed so rampant with life and movement. It brought to mind the enormous beehive he and the neighbor boys had once knocked out of an oak at his grandfather's farm. It had been a wild race back to the house and he'd still been stung. His grandfather had joked that it was a lesson in doing unto others. His father had said in all seriousness that if you thwart a fellow's industry, you can expect to bear his wrath. Sutton remembered being astonished that so many creatures could dwell in such close quarters and still carry on as if they had all the room in the world.

This humming nest of humanity appeared to be managing it nicely and, further, took no notice of him whatsoever. Everyone he passed seemed to know the trick of surviving where you knew no one and no one wanted to know you. He saw it in their faces. And it was a secret they were not predisposed to share. Let him scramble as they had. It had been his own decision to jump in. Let him sink or swim. No one would bend the rules for his sake.

That was all right. He wouldn't ask them to.

"Well, hello."

The voice out of the darkness made him jump. He noticed then that his meandering had led him to a park. Dense stands of trees and hedges hid paths. A match flared and the stranger lit a cigarette. "You're at the hotel down the street." He offered Sutton a cigarette and when Sutton declined it, shrugged. "Know I've seen you. Lonely place, ain't it?"

"The mice don't seem to find it so."

The comment won him a chuckle and the man moved nearer. "Yeah, it ain't too clean, either. You leaving, then?" He nodded at the suitcase.

"Yes, probably. The Y might have something later tonight."

The man drew on the cigarette. "Not likely. Soldiers, they're taking the rooms. Taking the jobs. You a soldier?"

"I was," Sutton said, expecting that would end the conversation.

"How many of them Jerries you spike?" He made a spearing motion and Sutton, uneasy, backed away. The man stepped into the lamplight, hands upraised. "I didn't mean nothing. Wanted to go over, myself. Bum knee." In the light, he looked older and wearier. "I'm Lem, by the way. Sure you won't stay another night? You can bunk with me and we'll split the cost. Hell, I'll pay the whole thing. I just hate sleeping alone. You know how it is."

Maybe it was the man's self-deprecating grin or the clumsy invitation, but Sutton believed him. "You want to share a room?"

"You thinking about it?" Lem kept his voice low, as if they were conspirators plotting something illegal--which Sutton supposed they were. But as lonely as he was, he couldn't bring himself to rush into something new. Lem might provide a distraction, but he would also be a reminder. Sutton needed more time to forget.

"I'm not looking for a--roommate. Or for anything else, except a job."

Lem caught his sleeve. "You're making it a whole lot more complicated than it is. Honest, just one night. Keeps you from being alone. Keeps me from being alone." Fingers circled his wrist, a callused thumb brushing his palm. "What's your name?"

Blinding white light hit them. Lem swore with sudden vehemence and broke to run. The policeman grabbed him. Sutton realized it was the same officer who'd been searching the hotel. A second officer looked Sutton up and down. "Well, damn. You get lost on your way back from the ball, Cinderella?"

Confused, Sutton shook his head, but the first officer cut in. "On his way back to Yonkers, more like. Chasing after kids now, are we?"

The last, directed at Lem, provoked an indignant sputter. "The hell with you. It was he come up to me, not the other way 'round. He's the one with the hotel room," he added with a nod at Sutton's suitcase.

Shaken, Sutton tried to explain himself, but Lem continued to complain so ferociously, he couldn't get a word in. The policemen turned a deaf ear to them both and walked them across the road to the wagon. At the police station, Sutton was shown to a crowded cell; most of the men were asleep on benches or, worse, the stained cement floor. In one corner, a noisy group laughed and carried on, unperturbed by the surroundings. They paid him no mind, except one dark-haired man his own age who bold as brass winked at him. Sutton moved to a relatively unoccupied corner and wrapped his hands around metal bars like ice. He hoped the wait would only be a few hours, because he didn't think he could bring himself to use the toilet in the corner. And he couldn't fall asleep. He didn't dare.

- Two -

In the cell, Lem grinned as if it were all a game. "You know, we'll be out in a few hours. Come over and sit with me. No one'll care."

Sutton looked at him in disbelief. "We're in jail."

Lem shrugged. "If you're going to be arrested for it, might as well enjoy it. Enjoy what you can. You ought to know that better than anybody, soldier boy."

"Have you done so before--in here?"

"Heaps of times." Lem's grin came back. "You thinking about it?"

"I'm thinking I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Not going all moral on me, are you?" Lem pressed closer and laid a clammy hand on the back of Sutton's neck. "Come on, then," he said softly. "I'll warm you better than whiskey."

Sutton tried to pull away, but Lem's grip firmed as if Sutton were a stray pup to keep in check. "Cozy corner for us over here," he said, and pushed Sutton toward it. Sutton resisted, with a push that sent Lem stumbling backward to land hard on a bench. Lem was on his feet instantly, easy-going pretense gone, and Sutton backed away, though there was nowhere to go.

"For Christ's sake." The dark-haired fellow had wandered over. "Here, have a drink." He held out a flask and Lem, after a hostile glance at Sutton, accepted it. "Name's Jack," the fellow went on cheerfully. "I'm getting up a card game. Want to join? One of us'll win enough to pay up when they collect the fines."

Sutton felt sick under an assault of fresh anxiety. A fine--and the alternative would no doubt be a lengthy prison sentence. He grasped hopelessly for a way out that didn't involve asking his father for the money.

"Your first time?" The dark-haired fellow--Jack--watched him with a certain sympathy. "Waiting's the worst. Come over and play a few hands."

It might be a welcome distraction--but telephoning his father to pay a gambling debt in addition to a fine would decidedly not improve the situation. "I'd just like to be alone, if you don't mind."

Jack shrugged. "Offer stands, if you get tired on your own."

Three hours later, Sutton had to agree the waiting was something other than enjoyable. The only break from worry came when the policeman inquired after a John Smith and half the men in the cell stood. Sutton had to laugh and, for a few minutes, awe overtook anxiety. It was all so unreal, so far from anything familiar. It seemed impossible that he could be endless miles from home and in such terrible straits. When he had been expelled from school, he hadn't imagined things could get much worse. He should have been grateful the university trustees hadn't turned him over to the police, then--but he'd felt only disappointment that no one had debated the harm of his caring for David or David for him.

The idea of returning to Topeka to explain to his family just why he'd been expelled had made his slim prospects in New York seem worth the risk. But days of navigating unfamiliar streets and evading unanswerable questions had taken the shine off the adventure. With no references nor even a letter of recommendation, a job proved difficult to come by. Talk of rising rents had added to his doubts. In a letter, he had confessed to his family that he was in New York--nothing more. He dreaded facing his father after all that had happened. A fellow couldn't breathe around the man without being told just how to do it.