James Cain - The Baby in the Icebox and Other Short Fiction

Mr. Oyster: And then we could put in that the commissioners has looked up the law and found it ain’t legal for the town to pay out a pension for Scotty. That there would make it look like we wanted to pay out a pension, only we couldn’t.

Mr. Hinsch: That’s right. And so far as that goes, they ain’t none of us don’t want to see something done for Scotty’s family.

Mr. Oyster: You and me was just saying if it was only us, we would give a pension and glad to do it.

Mr. Hinsch: And fact of the matter is, I ain’t no ways sure the commissioners is got power to pay out a pension. I ain’t said nothing about it, but if them Water Witches was to take it to court, I don’t believe it would stand up.

Mr. Oyster: Why, Hinsch, it stands to reason it ain’t legal. Them is the things people never think about.

Mr. Hinsch: That’s right. What makes me sick is this here no-account element, always kicking and putting up a holler, and you try to please them, and nothing ever suits them, and come to find out, they don’t know what they want.

Mr. Oyster: And then another thing. We’ll put in that them Rotarys had ought to help out with the festival. They done raised so much hell, now let them do a little work.

Mr. Hinsch: That’s right. Now le’s get this here resolution wrote up. This here has got to be a pretty good resolution, what I mean, not no regular resolution, but a fancy one, if it’s going to do the work. You write it.

Mr. Oyster: Not me. I ain’t much on writing. You write it.

Mr. Hinsch: All right.

(He sighs, and slowly collects pen and paper. Presently he starts to write. Mr. Oyster lights a cigar and watches him. Mr. Matchett dreamily looks out the window.)

Mr. Matchett (after a very long time, in the tempo of the intermezzo out of Cavalleria Rusticana): Boys... I tell you there ain’t nothing will do as much for a fellow... as a good fraternal order... If I was a young fellow... first thing I would join... would be the Junior Order... then the Heptasophs... or maybe the Red Men... then... the Odd Fellows... You can’t beat a good order... to help a young fellow along... Take, for instance... if you was to land broke... in some town... them lodge brothers... wouldn’t never let you jump no freight... to get home... I remember one time... over in Myersville... I lost forty-seven dollars... at a shell game... in the county fair... and when I got done... I didn’t have a damn nickel... to buy myself a hot dog with... and the Junior Order seen me through... You can’t beat a good order... to help a young fellow... along...

Mr. Hinsch: I got something wrote out here. But it seems to me it’s too damn long.

Mr. Oyster: Why, hell, it ought to be long. That pleases a whole lot of people. Read it.

Mr. Hinsch (in an impressive voice): “Whereas, in the wisdom of Almighty God—”

Mr. Oyster: That’s the stuff.

Mr. Hinsch: “—there has been taken from our midst one of our most valuable and beloved citizens, Winfield Scott Akers, snatched to his reward from the bosom of a sorrowing wife and five small children—”

Mr. Oyster: Six.

Mr. Hinsch: Did Scotty have another kid? Damn, I never knowed that. “—a sorrowing wife and six small children, but done his duty to the last, in the manner of a soldier on the field of battle—”

Mr. Oyster: Them Semper Fidelises will eat that up.

Mr. Hinsch: “—in order that precious property might be saved from the flames, and might of been, except for things not under human control—”

Mr. Oyster: That kind of makes that goddam fight look better.

Mr. Hinsch: “—and whereas public-spirited citizens has appeared before the Board at a public hearing, whereof due notice was given three days in advance, according to law, and petitioned that the sorrowing family of the said beloved brother, Winfield Scott Akers, be given a pension of thirty-five dollars a month—”

Mr. Oyster: I would put in that we would of give it anyhow, only it was illegal.

Mr. Hinsch: I got that in here “—and whereas the Board is fully of the same sentiment in regards to the matter, and believe the sorrowing family of the said beloved brother, Winfield Scott Akers, is entitled to a pension, but regret to note, after looking up the charter, that the Board has not got power to grant same, unless amended—”

Mr. Oyster: I would cross out that “unless amended.” We don’t want them Semper Fidelises trying to amend the charter. Things is bad enough like they are.

Mr. Hinsch: That’s right “—therefore be it resolved, that the Board appropriates the sum of twenty-five dollars for a wreaf to be placed on the grave of the said beloved brother, Winfield Scott Akers, May thirtieth, Decoration Day, account of him dying in line of duty, same as a soldier, and hereby calls on both fire companies to hold a parade and lay the said wreaf on the grave, and further recommends that a festival be held that night, to be assisted in by both fire companies and all fraternal orders and civic societies, and that the Rotary Club take charge of same and see it is put over right. And be it further resolved, that this resolution be spread on the minutes of the Board and a copy sent to the sorrowing family of the said beloved brother, Winfield Scott Akers, and advertised in the press. Done under our hand and seal.” How’s that?

Mr. Oyster: Seems to me we could get some more fancy stuff in it. Something like “borne aloft to his reward for his labors on this earth.” Only Scotty never labored none, if he could help it.

Mr. Hinsch: I’m going to write the first part over again. I got some Odd Fellow resolutions home that has got some good stuff in them.

Mr. Oyster: That’s right. Some of them Memorial Service resolutions would have a whole lot of that stuff in them.

Mr. Hinsch: Well, that fixes it, don’t it? Damn, I sure thought they had us in a hole for a while. Now let them goddam Rotary buttinskis take off their coat and go to work.

Mr. Oyster: That there’ll fix them.

Mr. Matchett: Boys, did you ever stop to think what a real good fraternal order can do for a man?

Characters:

Mr. Nation

Mrs. Nation

Mr. Barlow

The scene is the porch of “The Anchorage,” a boarding-house run by the Nations in a Christian summer resort in the state of Delaware. It is about nine o’clock of an evening in late spring. Few sounds relieve the loneliness, except the restless swash of waves on the nearby beach. In the gathering darkness Mr. Barlow has been peering around in an interested way, asking questions now and then about the things that meet his eye. He is Mrs. Nation ’s brother, and apparently has not visited the locality in a long time. He gets only mechanical answers to his queries, both Mr. and Mrs. Nation seeming distracted. When it is quite dark, he knocks the ashes out of his pipe in a businesslike way, and puts it in his pocket.

Mr. Barlow: Well, now, what’s this all about? ’Cause you two sure did pick a bad time to bring me all the way up here from Delmar, and I want to get to it. What I mean, I don’t want to spend no more time up here than I have to.

Mr. Nation: I reckon Laura can tell you.

Mrs. Nation: Tell him yourself. You sent for him.

Mr. Nation: You’re the one has got the squawk. Go on and tell him.

Mr. Barlow: Now, now, that ain’t no way to talk. Come on, Laura, let’s have it.

Mrs. Nation: It’s about Eva.

Mr. Barlow: Where’s she at? I been waiting for her, and I ain’t saw her.

Mr. Nation: Never mind where she’s at. We’ll get to that part in a minute. She ain’t here, anyway.

Mrs. Nation: Well, it all started with what happened last summer. You remember that?