Корнелл Вулрич - A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

“You’re sure taking it big.”

“Because there’s something unclean about it. I can’t stomach it.”

“Well, if you don’t like it, you can damn well lump it!” he burst out. “Because I’m staying with it. It’s my life, and it’s too late to back out now. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to.”

She rose from the table, but still stood there by it, half turned away. “I’m glad we haven’t any children.” Then she went on to the door, turned and asked him, “Is Matsuko in on it, too?”

“Look,” he said roughly, “no questions, hear? You’ve talked just about enough for one day. Now zip up your yap and leave me alone. I want a little peace.”

“You answered my question anyway, just then, whether you realized it or not. Sure he is, he must be. All those cryptic phone calls you get from him.”

He swung his arm around at her impatiently. “Blow. Beat it. Take an aspirin.”

“They’ll shoot you one of these days,” she said hollowly from outside by the stairs.

“They don’t shoot here in Japan, they hang,” he called back flippantly.

“How many other places have you done it? Did you do it in Russia, too, that time you went there before we were married? It’s a wonder they didn’t shoot you there.”

He was pouring himself a drink of Japanese whiskey, his own nerves frayed now by the prolonged dispute. “Why would they shoot me in Russia, you jerk?” he exclaimed, caught off guard. “That’s where I—”

He stopped. She was coming back toward him now. He shrugged, as though to say, What the hell’s the difference anyway? He downed his drink.

He’d never seen her face so white before. He’d never seen any face so white before.

“What did you say just then?”

“Nothing.”

“Finish it. Finish what you started to say.”

“You heard me the first time, so what do you want me to repeat for?”

“Tell me I didn’t hear you right. Tell me. You’ve got to tell me that.” She tried to shake him by the shoulders.

He backed his hand at her. “Knock it off or I’ll belt you!”

“It is the United States? It is the United States?” She was almost incoherent by now, sobbing drily without tears. “That’s bad enough, but at least it is the United States?”

“What is the United States?”

“—you’re working for.”

“Grow up, you fool, he said with lethal slowness, spacing each word. “How dumb can you be? It’s Russia.”

At the sound she made, Mikki stuck her head in at the door. “Somesing happen, Missy?”

“Yeah, he said, without lifting a finger to help her. “Missy’s chicken-hearted. She just fainted dead away on the floor.” And he poured himself another drink.

It didn’t take her long to get ready. In less than an hour she was tottering clumsily down the stairs, swaying off-balance from the bulky valise she was lugging with both hands.

When he saw her go past toward the front door, he got up and went out into the hall after her.

“Here, you better take this with you,” he said briefly.

This wasn’t any ordinary husband-and-wife quarrel, and they both knew it. This was terminal.

She looked down at his hand first and then up into his face.

“Money from those people? That kind of money?” she said bitterly. “Thank you, no!”

“All right, Betsy Ross,” he answered grimly. “It’s still a whole lot better shake than I ever got from my own country. You never stopped to think of my side of it, did you? Selling apples and shoelaces on the street corner, unable to finish my schooling, pounding my feet off looking for a job and never finding one. Standing on soup lines like a beggar. Living in tin-can shanties. Fatso Hoover. ‘Prosperity is just around the corner.’ ‘Happy days are here again.’ Even when I finally did marry, I wasn’t allowed the privilege of having children of my own, like a man should. Even that right was taken away from me. That’s what’s turned me into what I am today, lushing and wolfing. My own country couldn’t offer me a living. Why shouldn’t I turn to those people? They offered the only hope there was, for an underdog like me.”

She’d put the valise down, but only momentarily.

“A hundred million other Americans went through that right along with you. How is it all the others didn’t turn their backs on their country, too? Because they had guts, and you and a few like you didn’t. Don’t blame your own weakness on your country’s shortcomings. Every country goes through a tough time at one time or another. To turn your back on it just because of that is like — is like turning down a friend when he needs your help.” Her lip curled disdainfully. “I don’t think the United States wants a man like you. I think she’s better off without a man like you, if you want to know the truth of it.”

“Three cheers for the red, white and blue,” he said sourly.

She hoisted the valise and turned and went out into the street.

He watched her for a moment, his expression changing from anger to relief.

“You better let me call a taxi for you, at least,” he called after her.

“I don’t want a taxi. I’ll walk downtown along the middle of the street, carrying my valise in my hand until I get to the American consulate. They’ll take care of me there, they’ll see that I get back home.”

“Are you going to inform on me?”

“No. I’m more loyal to the man I married, than you are to — the country you were born into. I’ll simply say there was another woman, that’s all.”

She turned a corner and was lost to view.

Suddenly, without any warning, two members of the Kempetai, the terrible, the terrifying “thought-police,” were standing one on each side of her. One riveted his hand upon her shoulder, the other riveted his hand around her arm.

“You come with us,” one said in Japanese.

“What for?” she asked, her eyes widening with unalloyed fright. “Why are you arresting me?”

“Detain for questioning.”

She came hurrying across the room to him at the Yeddo, the smile on her face far brighter than any lipstick could have been.

She was still in the same black dress with the same milk-beads around her throat, but she’d added two new touches tonight. She had on a tricky black satin cocktail-hat, pert as a kitten. And she’d changed her perfume. Tonight she was wearing muguet.

She held out both hands to him as he sprang to his feet, and he took them in both of his. Then they swung them in and out a few times, in affectionate greeting.

“Johnnie!” she piped gleefully, like a small child.

“I love it when you call me that,” he purred.

“Johnnie. Johnnie,” she said softly.

They became aware that they were still standing and that people were turning around to grin at them. They sat down with a little mutual laugh.

“Did I keep you waiting long? I never changed so fast in my life. And that girl in there, she’s no help at all, poor thing. She’s not used to Western zippers.”

“I wouldn’t care how long you took.” He leaned across the table and put his hand on top of hers. “Tonight’s an anniversary. You know of what, don’t you?”

She nodded with a sort of conspiratorial animation. “One week ago tonight we first met.”

He became serious. “Let’s do something different tonight. Let’s— A week’s an awful long time for a fellow to wait. And I’ve been awfully good about it, haven’t I? Admit it.”

“Except for begging every other minute,” she said mockingly.

Then she, too, became serious.

“I’m not like all the others, Johnnie. I want to know you inside out. What are you like, really? What do you do, really? What is your life, really?”