Roy Carroll - Manhunt. Volume 1, Number 4, April, 1953

He was an interesting talker, too. He was always telling us about trips he was going to take when he left here. He’d say: “I may go to Mexico. It’s beautiful there, this time of year. With the kind of dough I got stashed away, I could live like a king down there. A big mansion, plenty of servants and a cute little chick to keep me company. She’d have the best of everything, plenty of clothes, a car of her own, never have to do a lick of work. Every night we’d tour the night clubs in Mexico City. Days we’d loll around the beaches, or take in some of that deep sea fishing. Boy, that’s the life.”

Or else maybe he’d talk about taking a boat trip around the world, or about Monte Carlo, where all the rich people hang out in Europe, on that there, now, Riviera place, or Rio De Janeiro. And always about all the money he’d spend and the little doll who’d be with him, how she’d enjoy all that, too. Whoever his girl was, she was sure lucky.

Of course, when he’d talk like this, Mr. Calligy hardly looked at me. He sort of just talked to Janie. I guess maybe he thought I wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t know anything about those places, but, hell, I studied Geography when I was a kid. Most of the time, though, Janie didn’t hardly seem to be listening to him. She’d just stare down at her plate. One time, she was listening, though. Mr. Calligy must’ve said something that reminded her of something sad because her eyes brimmed up. She said:

“Will you stop it, stop it!” And she jumped up from the table and ran out into the kitchen.

Toward the end of the week, Mr. Calligy became a bit of a pest. He was always after me to go into town for him. He was out of cigarettes or he wanted some magazines, or something. But Janie wouldn’t let me go. She said it wasn’t time for my regular trip, yet. The funny thing was that later Mr. Calligy would find that he had some cigarettes, didn’t need any after all, or whatever it was. I guess he was just bored.

I got a little worried about Janie toward the end of that week, though. She got a little snappish and she looked flushed all the time and at nights she wasn’t like a wife should be, at all. I thought maybe she was working too hard trying to make things right for our guest, cooking too much and always cleaning up, scrubbing the floor and washing the windows and all. When I asked her about it, she didn’t even answer me. That wasn’t like Janie.

Sometimes, too, toward the end of the week, I’d wake up nights and find Janie wasn’t there. I’d go out and find her on the front porch or out on the back stoop, looking up at the stars. She’d look real pretty with the moonlight shining on her and her nightgown so thin and all it was like only a mist was covering her. Janie looked swell in a nightgown. But she’d jump when I’d speak to her. When I’d ask her what was the matter, she’d say, quickly:

“Nothing, nothing, Rock, dear. I... I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. I thought maybe a little fresh air would help.”

Then we’d both be quiet and we’d hear Mr. Calligy snoring, inside, in the guest room. Suddenly Janie would whisper, real fiercely: “When is he going to go? You got to get him out of here, Rocky, before something terrible happens! I don’t like him. I can’t stand him. I’m afraid of him. Get him to go, please, Rocky.”

“Aw, now, Janie,” I’d say and take her into my arms and comfort her. “If that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll speak to him, tomorrow. But you’re being silly. Mr. Calligy’s a nice guy. What’s there to be afraid of? But I’ll speak to him.”

I did, several times. Mr. Calligy, he only laughed and acted like he thought I was kidding.

Then, the last night of that week, I had this nightmare. It was really bad. It seemed that I woke up and found that Janie wasn’t in bed with me again. But I was getting used to that. I started to go back to sleep again. Then I heard a sort of muffled screaming sound from the front porch. I went out there and there was Janie with some guy, I couldn’t see who it was, it was so dark and all. The guy had his arms around Janie and was fighting with her and her nightgown was half torn off, and her white skin shining in the dark. I ran toward them and then in the dark and confusion and all, the guy swung his elbow up and around and it caught me flush on the point of the chin. It hurt like crazy for a second and everything in me seemed to burst into fireworks and then something like a blackout came. That was the funny part about this nightmare. It must have ended right in the middle like that. You know how they do. Because I don’t remember any more of it. But for the few minutes that wild dream was going on, it was terrible. Just like it was really happening.

I must have slept late the next morning. It was way after sunup when I got up and washed and dressed and went out to the kitchen, where Janie was moving around, and I could smell bacon frying and coffee boiling. I went out and kissed her, like always. She turned toward me and stared at me. A funny kind of look. Almost as though she was scared. Then it faded.

I said: “You didn’t sleep very well last night, either, huh?”

She must have been holding her breath because she let it all out at once. “It’s all right, Rocky, then, I guess.”

“What is?” I said. “Hey, about the nightmare I had last—”

She threw herself into my arms. “I know, Rocky, I know,” she said. “Please forget about it. Please.”

I guess I must have been pretty bad, probably groaning and thrashing around and all and that was how she knew about it.

Then while she was holding onto me real tight like that, she murmured something about I shouldn’t ever get angry, I shouldn’t ever lose my temper over anything. Not anything. I just laughed and told her: “Me? Why should I get mad at anybody?”

When Janie was all right again and moved away from me, I sat down to breakfast. We were halfway through breakfast before I realized that there was something wrong. Mr. Calligy wasn’t there. He never missed breakfast. I said: “Hey, where’s the bigshot? Where’s Mr. Calligy?”

She kept right on eating, without looking up. She said after a moment, “He left early this morning, before you got up. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” I gasped. “What a crazy guy! He didn’t even say good-bye to me. He—” I stopped, remembering something. “Hey, how could he? Without a car or anything?”

“I... I took him in, in the jeep.”

“Oh,” I said. “You should have waked me, Janie.” I was a little sore about it. “You don’t drive that jeep very good, like I do.”

“Rocky!” She cut me off. She stared across the table at me, her eyes kind of stern and yet soft. She said, very slowly: “Rocky, we’re not ever going to discuss Mr. Calligy again. Never, Rocky. That’s all.”

I didn’t get it but I humored her.

It was a little lonesome around there with Mr. Calligy gone. But I got over missing him. A few days after Mr. Calligy left, our well began to stink something awful. Janie told me a skunk fell into it. But when I wanted to climb down and get it out of there, she said, no, she’d never drink that water again, even if we drained the well. She made me dig a new one and fill the old one in. It’s a long hard job, digging a well. I cussed that skunk out plenty while I was doing it.

That was almost five years ago. We never heard from Mr. Calligy again. The way he was so fond of me and Janie, I often thought he might come back. He never did, though.

Evelyn had the bad habit of flitting from one man to another. And sometimes bad habits can prove pretty fatal.

The home-town drink in Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas, is rum. I was having a slightly diluted glass of it at the bar in the Bamboo Room, gazing out across the shimmering sunlight of the Square at the old fort and reflecting on the changes three years had brought to the Virgin Islands in general and to St. Thomas in particular.