James Chase - Get a Load of This

Her companion was a heavily built man with a fleshy, strikingly handsome face. His square jaw-line and light blue eyes gave him a look of authority which comes, sometimes, to wealthy men. Mandell envied him his tailor and envied him his figure; he also envied him his companion.

They were drinking Bar Specials, made with rum and absinthe; and Mandell had a large shaker by his side ready to replenish their glasses.

They had been talking about Havana for some minutes, and Mandell gathered that this was her first trip. Her companion seemed to know the place well, and from what he said he must have been living there for some time. Mandell couldn’t quite make out when these two first met. He could tell without any difficulty that the man was just crazy about her. He wasn’t sure whether it was reciprocated or not.

She said quiet suddenly, “Oh, must we talk geography any more?”

He fiddled with his long, frosted glass. “I’m sorry, I thought it would interest you. It is so lovely here. I’ve been looking forward so much to showing you around, I guess I got carried away.”

“Do you like it better than Stresa?”

He seemed undecided. “It’s different. Stresa was lovely, too, wasn’t it?”

She moved a little forward on her stool. Her eyes became for a moment very animated. “Do you remember the little albergo at Arolo?” she asked. “You couldn’t speak a word of Italian—and the fun we had. Do you remember Anita?”

He nodded. “The innkeeper’s daughter? I always think of something rude when I say that. She called me poverino because the sun blistered my nose.” He laughed. “I guess we had a swell time there. She used to chatter away to me in the early morning when you were still asleep, and I didn’t know what she was talking about. You know, I must really learn Italian before we go there again.”

“Do you think we’ll ever go there again?” she asked, her face becoming sad. “It seems such a long way off.”

“Of course we’ll go there again. Don’t you want to swim in the lake once more? Do you remember the time when that old snake fell out of a tree and scared you? We were just going in and you absolutely refused to swim that day.”

She shivered. “I hate snakes,” she said. “You know I hate snakes.”

“I was only teasing,” he said quickly; “I hate things like that too, but I’m glad I came here. There is something solid and primitive about this place that Italy hasn’t got. Italy is ice-cake buildings and post-card skies. Here you feel the pulse of the people. The streets have run with blood and the buildings still echo with the groans of the oppressed. Look at it, look at the sea, the flowers, the people. Don’t you think they are more solid, more real than Italy?”

She said: “Yes, everything now is more real and more solid. The touch of fairyland has gone away.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. “The touch of fairyland has gone away. That sounds so sad and final.”

She didn’t look at him. “Do you remember the fireflies at Arolo? The banks of the lake in the moonlight with hundreds of fireflies like silver sparks glowing in the grass?”

“There is something wrong,” he said. “Tell me, isn’t there something wrong?”

“Do you feel it too?”

“Then there is something. What is it?”

“I’ve told you.”

“Please don’t be mysterious. Tell me.”

She took a nervous sip from her glass and didn’t say anything. Mandell wondered why she looked so tragic. He thought this talk about fairyland was under the arm. He liked straight dealings himself and fancy language gave him a pain.

“Are you sorry you’ve come?” the big man asked. “Is that it? Would you rather we had gone to Europe instead?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. You see, the edges are frayed now. Please don’t make me say it. You must feel as I feel.”

He stretched out his hand to take hers, but she avoided him. “Why must you talk in riddles? First, the touch of fairyland has gone, and now the edges are frayed. What do you mean?”

She finished her drink. “I’m trying so hard to be kind,” she said. “Can’t you see that? Things don’t mean the same to me any more—there, I’ve told you.”

Still he couldn’t grasp what she meant. He signalled to Mandell to fill the glasses. Mandell gave an elaborate start, as if he had just noticed them, and brought the shaker over. “You like these, sir?” he said agreeably.

“Yes, they are very good,” the big man said, smiling vaguely, “very good indeed.”

Mandell pushed the glasses a few inches towards them and then stood away, taking up his old position.

“What was it you were saying?” the big man asked, taking up the thread of the conversation. “Are you bored with travelling? Do you want to settle down?”

She said, “Yes.”

“But where? Here?”

She shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t be here.”

There was a long pause, then he said: “I love you so much that I will go wherever you wish. Tell me, and we will make plans.”

She faced him. “Can’t you understand”—there was an edge on her voice—“I can’t bear any more of this? I’ve tried and tried to tell you, but you won’t understand. I can’t go on with this any longer.”

“Don’t get angry. I understand that. I am quite willing to do what you want. Really, you can please yourself.”

She said very intensely, “We must part.”

He slopped his drink on the mahogany top of the bar. “We must part?” he repeated. “You mean you don’t want me any more?”

“I tried so hard to tell you nicely, but you are so sure of yourself. You have always been so sure of yourself.”

“No, you have mistaken me if you think that. I have never been sure of myself, but I’ve been sure of you. It isn’t the same thing. I thought your love for me was as enduring as mine for you. You mustn’t say I was sure of myself. I trusted your love. I had to have something I need not doubt. Don’t you understand! With all this horrible chaos in the world, with lies and envy and sordid business, I hung on to the one thing I thought would never forsake me.”

She said, “I’m very sorry.”

“Of course”—he passed his fingers through his hair—“I know you are. When did it happen? Recently?”

She said: “Now I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

“You can’t leave it like that. I’m crazy about you. You know I’m crazy about you. Have I done anything that decided you?”

She shook her head. “I’m bad,” she said softly; “I thought I could find the happiness I wanted with you, but I haven’t. I must live my life. I have not the courage to pretend. You wouldn’t want me to pretend, would you?”

“Why do you say you’re bad? Is it because there is someone else?”

She hesitated a moment, then she said: “Yes, yes. I didn’t want to tell you, but I must. You are bound to hear sooner or later.”

With the morbid interest of a lounger at a street accident, Mandell watched the big man dispassionately. He noticed that he had suddenly gone very pale and it was only with difficulty that he controlled himself.

“I see,” he said.

“No,” she said quickly, “you don’t. You couldn’t possibly. You are thinking that I have wounded your pride. I know how men feel when this happens. But it won’t wound your pride. I’m so glad about that because you have been so very sweet to me. You have, and I have appreciated—”

“Please,” he said, “don’t talk like that. You are making my love sound like a donation to a hospital. It wasn’t like that. I gave you everything, and I suppose it just wasn’t enough.”