Джон Пристли - Salt is Leaving

The room beyond was larger but so narrow that it looked as if it had been made out of a corridor. There was no outside window at all – it had three very bright electric bulbs with green shades hanging from a high ceiling – but a sheet of glass ran the whole length of the left wall, while against the opposite wall was a very long table, higgledy-piggledy with cigar boxes, bottles, glasses, plates, an enormous pork pie and some cheese, two vases filled with dusty artificial flowers, a green telephone and a red telephone and a pile of directories. Maggie was able to take in all this because they had to wait a minute or two for Mr Duffield, who then came in, wiping his hands and face on a very large pink towel, through a doorway at the other end of the room. He was wide and fat and bald, with an enormous face on which his features merely seemed to be huddled together in the middle.

"Hello, Buzzy," said Dr Salt. "Miss Maggie Culworth – Mr Buzzy Duffield."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Culworth." Mr Duffield, having got rid of the towel, shook hands with her: she felt it was like having her hand wrapped in meat. "It's a pleasure. It's a privilege. Bzzz ." And if he made this bee noise all the time, no wonder he was called Buzzy. He was shaking hands now with Dr Salt. "Doctor, it's a treat to see you. It's lovely – lovely." He turned to Maggie. "Five to one he's never told you what he done for my brother. Saved him when he was nearing death's door. In Australia now – fit an" well – an" never more miserable in his life. Never satisfied, Arthur isn"t. Bzzz . Dr Salt here could make rings round the lot if he wanted to, Miss Culworth. I call you Miss Culworth – y"know, bit of class – but you call me Buzzy – promise-"

"All right, Buzzy."

"Mind you, that's no privilege. This town's full of twerps I wouldn't spit on that call me Buzzy – when I'm not there. Bzzz ." He looked at Dr Salt. "Now you"re here, Doctor, I'll tell you something. When I invited you to a big, classy French dinner at the Queen " s – anything you wanted – y"know, just before I got Arthur off to Australia – an" then you wouldn't wear it – I was hurt – honest to God I was deeply hurt. Bzzz ."

"I'd too much to do, Buzzy. Saw too many people – all day and half the night. Just wanted to be quiet when I was off duty."

"I'll bet, I'll bet. Here – what we drinking? Miss Culworth?"

"Isn't it rather early? Oh well – a gin and tonic, thank you, Buzzy."

"If you'd like anything fancier, just name it. I've got everything. Doctor?"

"A little Scotch, thank you, Buzzy. Neat – if it's good."

"The best – twenty-one years old. Like mother's milk – if you happen to be born a tiger. Look, Doc, why don't you help yourself while I attend to Miss Culworth? Over there, if you don't mind. You can pour me one while you"re at it. Bzzz . So now you"re packing it in, Doc. A lot of people are going to be sorry."

"Not many. A few, only a few, Buzzy."

"You"re dead right, of course. Only a few. You said it. Most of "em wouldn't notice if a wooden dummy was taking their temperatures. They"re only bloody wooden dummies themselves. Bzzz . Here's your gin an" tonic, Miss Culworth, an" you'll have to excuse me if my language an" expressions get a bit fruity-"

"Buzzy, I spent five years as a secretary in a stockbrokers" office in the City. You ought to have heard some of them. But tell me – why do you have this window thing – here along the wall?"

"So I can see what's happening in my club. The dance floor's down there. Any trouble – I can spot it. Bzzz . Come in later one night – any night except Sunday – when it's all lit up down there – and you"re looking through a window at a monkey house. Got another room the other side – six one-arm bandits – one roulette table – and another for pontoon. Not classy here, y"know. Not enough money, town this size. Not even a licence, though some of our bitter lemon drinks behave as if somebody had gone an" put gin in "em. An" don't ask me how it happens. I'm just Old Buzzy, the one they wouldn't give a licence to. All right, Winston boy, what d"you want?" The prim, spectacled youth was looking round the door.

"It's Charlie, Mr Duffield. On the blower – from Northampton." He still sounded prim. "Do I put him through?"

"No. What's he want?"

"He's got eighty-five transistors. Jap jobs. He'll take four-ten each, he says."

"Not from me, he won"t, Winston boy. They must be all hotter than a baker's flue. Tell Charlie not to be silly. Bzzz ."

"Yes, Mr Duffield." The door closed.

Buzzy waited a moment, then looked from Maggie to Dr Salt. "What about that one, I ask you? Winston. Winston Sandby. Born in our Finest Hour. Bzzz . I pay him ten quid a week and he's here from ten in the morning till all hours, doing the accounts and the books and taking messages on the blower and behaving to me as if I was Chairman of Barclays Bank. Doesn't smoke, never takes a drink, never tries to get one of the girls up here. He isn't human. Winston – can you beat it?"

Before either of his visitors could say anything, the red telephone rang. "Buzzy here," he told it. "What's new? . . . What, again? Then tell him to stay away and keep away. Bzzz . No, listen. Get Whitey to tell him – y"know, all sinister, like they do it on the pictures. Oh – and you, Whitey and Joe had better report here a bit earlier tonight. . . . I don't know, but I might have something special for you to do – or one of you. Bzzz . Yes, and I only hope you don't feel as tired as you sound. Like ringing up a bloody old men's home. Bzzz ." He left the telephone, swallowed his whisky, then lit a cigar. "You heard what I said to Fred then? One of my boys. I suddenly had a hunch. I get hunches. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they"re sheer flaming lunacy. So now, Doc, what's worrying you? Or is it Miss Culworth?"

"It may be both of us, Buzzy. First of all," said Dr Salt, "who's an unpleasant young man with reddish hair, dark glasses and a leather jacket, who thinks he's an American gangster?"

Buzzy thought for a moment. "His name's Russ. Came from Coventry. Worked for me for a few weeks, but he had some wrong ideas. A villain. Been inside. Not going to give you any trouble, is he, Doc?"

"He might."

"Well – now look. I've got some hard boys working for me that could take him apart – and anybody he goes around with – just for a light workout. Bzzz ." Then he gave a hoarse little laugh and looked at Maggie.

"You heard me then, Miss Culworth? To hear me talk you'd think this was Chicago or Detroit and young Winston out there was cleaning a tommy-gun. Me – talking like that – born an" bred here in Birkden! All right, I run a couple of betting shops, a cheap night club – I'm a promoter – I've done a few deals on the swift and shady side – but I'm no American gangster. Yet you noticed the way I talked? And we all do it. What's the matter with us?"

"Oh – I suppose it's films, television, paperbacks," said Maggie. "All the trends."

Dr Salt nodded his agreement. "They"re turning us into a slow-motion shabby America. This must have been a decent little provincial town once."

"And not so long ago neither," said Buzzy. "Not more than a market town, when I was a nipper here. Real farmers coming in with their red-cheeked, fat-arsed wives and daughters, wishing nobody any harm. Then – Bzzz – just before the War, during the War, just after the War, industry moves in – and all of a sudden we"re a big town – we make shoes, we make hats, we make nylons and terylenes and what-not. We have the United Anglo-Belgian Fabrics-"

"Stop there, please, Buzzy. At the Fabrics. It's one reason why I'm here, to ask you about them. They run a club, don't they?"