Джон Пристли - The Doomsday Men

“No, Charlie, please, not again.”

“Rosalie, allow this gentleman-your friend-to answer. Now would you? I go round the walls, see?”

“I’ll tell you, old man,” replied Jimmy, who had met these fellows before and knew how to deal with them. “I’d like to see you do that-it’s a dandy trick-but to-morrow, to-morrow.”

“Why to-morrow?” asked Charlie suspiciously.

“Because I’m tired-I’ve had a long day-and I’d enjoy it a lot better to-morrow.”

“Surely, surely.” Charlie nodded approvingly, then turned to his sister-in-law. “A nice fellow. Very nice fellow. Treat him right, Rosalie-”

“Now Charlie, don’t be silly,” cried Mrs. Atwood, somewhat confused. She was now trying to put the room to rights. “Mr. Edlin’s only a friend-a new friend-we have-we have some business to do together.”

Charlie, a man of sentiment, ignored this nonsense, and now turned to Jimmy. “You know how to pick ’em. Trust Rosalie. She’s a peach. I don’t know how to pick ’em. That’s been my trouble. Isn’t that so, Rosalie?”

“I must say, you haven’t been very lucky, Charlie.”

“Lucky? Did ever a fellow have such an eye for chromium-plated pieces as I’ve had? They’ve taken the very laces out of my shoes before now. All the same-studio extras, hospital nurses-I’ve had plenty of them because I’ve been busted so often-and fortune tellers, Gipsy Tea Room bits with ear-rings as big as your fist-and that manicure girl with a cork leg-”

“Now, Charlie, behave yourself,” cried Rosalie anxiously, though she could not help adding: “I don’t believe she had a cork leg either. You were drunk that time, I do believe.”

“Not me. She was drunk. Didn’t she stick a fork in it?”

“That’s what you say.”

“I saw her. Did it just to make me mad. Up to all kinds of tricks-all of ’em. Things you’d never dream of. Look at that one who ate nothing but nuts and oranges, down at Malibu. There was something to look at. Eyes like lamps, and black hair that came down to her knees-”

“Stuffy!” cried Rosalie, in a disgusted tone.

“And she’d slip that fancy robe off-you could never stop her-and there she was, a Venus-”

“That’ll do, Charlie, we don’t want to hear about these awful women-”

“Just what I’m saying. Crazy as coots or tough as hell, once they started to work on you. I just couldn’t pick ’em.”

“I must be thinking about supper,” Rosalie murmured.

“Did you bring back anything to drink?” asked Charlie, with the finely assumed casual air of a man who had not had a drink for some time and rather fancied one. “That’s the point.”

“No, I didn’t. And I’ll bet you’ve finished up everything here, haven’t you?”

“There isn’t anything left, Rosalie. You’ll have to watch Deeks and that Mexican. I’ve told you before.”

“Deeks! What have you had to eat to-day? Do you want any supper?”

Charlie shook his head, and gave himself the appearance of a disdainful ascetic. “Couldn’t face it. All the same, women, even Rosalie, Mr. Whosit. Always want to pack food into you-great lumps of greasy food-soup-stews-hash-ugh!”

“Then you can stay and watch us eat,” said Rosalie briskly. Artfully too, because she knew her man and realised that by this time he would do anything but what was suggested to him. “Then we can have a nice long talk.”

“That’s another thing,” said Charlie mournfully, out of his deep despair of the sex. “That nice long talk business. Always want a nice long talk. About what? About nothing. They’ve said it all and yet they want to go on saying it. No, sir, not for Charlie. I’ll go to bed. Yes,” he added sternly, looking from one to the other of them, as if defying them to stop him, “to bed.” And off he went, there and then, and must have fallen asleep immediately for they saw and heard no more of him that night.

“There isn’t a bit of real harm in poor Charlie,” Mrs. Atwood explained, an hour or two afterwards, when she had completely restored order, brought back the Mexicans, shown Jimmy his room, and was now setting before him an excellent supper. “He really can’t help it. I’ve done everything I could for him, but there isn’t much I can do, beyond keeping him here now and then to build him up a bit. You see, he went into the War when he was only a boy, and became a pilot. Then afterwards there wasn’t anything much for him to do-and he was very wild-so he came out here to Hollywood and became a stunt man-you know, he jumped out of airplanes and drove cars just in front of locomotives and rolled over precipices and all that-oh!-you wouldn’t believe the things he did for them-and he’s had his arms and legs broken I don’t know how many times. And, of course, he always spent every cent he made, helped by all those awful women you heard him talk about-and then when the talkies came along, they didn’t want so many stunt men-they hardly use any now, Charlie says-and of course he’s tried other things-he was with a sort of flying circus one time-but he can’t settle to anything, and gets terribly discouraged-poor Charlie!-and so he drinks. He must have excitement, you see. An ordinary life’s no good to him at all.”

“I can see that,” said Jimmy, who now realised that he had been foolish to feel even vaguely jealous of the wild brother-in-law. “But where does this airplane come in?”

“Oh-that! Well, it’s a terrible old thing really, and Charlie had it given him years ago by a man he was working with. And Charlie, who’s clever with things like that, has kept it-through thick and thin, you might say-because now and then he makes a few dollars out of it, doing stunts with it or taking people up-he’s often asked me but I won’t go up in the awful old thing-I’m sure it’s falling to pieces. Charlie says he’s fixed it so that it doesn’t take much gasoline-he couldn’t afford to run it if it did-and he comes out here in it-and wanders round. Poor Charlie! I hope you didn’t mind him, Mr. Edlin?”

“Jimmy,” he corrected her.

“All right then-Jimmy? You didn’t mind him being like that, did you?”

“Not me. I’ve seen plenty of ’em. Matter of fact, I rather took to him. And-I’ve been wondering, Mrs. Atwood-Rosalie, I mean. Most certainly I mean Rosalie.”

“Go on.”

“You and I will have to do some talking about this Brotherhood business, won’t we?”

“Yes, and that reminds me-Jimmy. I want you to tell me all about it, right from the beginning, because I’m still muddled.”

“Right! But I was wondering about Charlie. It’ll be a bit difficult if we leave him out. On the other hand-well, you know what you said about him yourself-he’s wild-and I don’t want to say too much at this stage of the thing.”

“No. I understand.” She thought for several moments, leaving her food untasted, and cupping her chin in her hand. In this cosy domestic setting she seemed to him more delicious and desirable than ever. He had never seen her before without a hat, and now he had a clear view of the grey curls framing the round face, the cheeky little nose, the friendly soft mouth, the clear bright eyes, and making it all reasonably contemporary with his own middle-age and yet delightfully youthful too, and somehow more genuinely youthful than half the young girls you saw about these days. He stared at her appreciatively, in the soft lamplight, and felt he was ready to go on doing it for a good long time. Now she looked up, smiled to see him there, then looked serious.

“I think you ought to tell Charlie. Not just because it might be awkward-and not very nice, anyhow-hiding it all from him, but because I think he might be very useful. About some things-well, you’ve seen him and heard him-he’s no sense at all, but about other things he’s really quite smart. And he’s knocked about all over the place, here in Southern California, and he might be able to tell you some things you don’t know. Yes, please, Jimmy, do tell Charlie.”