John Passos - Big Money

When they got back to the house, they went around to the new salesroom Jim had built out from the garage, that had been a liverystable in the old days, back of old man Vogel’s house. The salesroom had a big plateglass window with Ford slanting across it in blue letters. Inside stood a new truck all shining and polished. Then there was a green carpet and a veneered mahogany desk and a telephone that pulled out on a nickel accordion bracket and an artificial palm in a fancy jardiniere in the corner. “Take your weight off your feet, Charley,” said Jim, pointing to the swivelchair and bringing out a box of cigars. “Let’s sit around and chew the rag a little.”

Charley sat down and picked himself out a cigar. Jim stood against the radiator with his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. “What do you think of it, kid, pretty keen, ain’t it?”

“Pretty keen, Jim.” They lit their cigars and scuffled around with their feet a little.

Jim began again: “But it won’t do. I got to get me a big new place downtown. This used to be central. Now it’s out to hell and gone.”

Charley kinder grunted and puffed on his cigar. Jim took a couple of steps back and forth, looking at Charley all the time. “With your connections in the Legion and aviation and all that kinder stuff, we’ll be jake. Every other Ford dealer in the district’s got a German name.”

“Jim, can that stuff. I can’t talk to newspapermen.”

Jim flushed and frowned and sat down on the edge of the desk. “But you got to hold up your end… What do you think I’m taking you in on it for? I’m not doin’ it for my kid brother’s pretty blue eyes.”

Charley got to his feet. “Jim, I ain’t goin’ in on it. I’m already signed up with an aviation proposition with my old C.O.”

“Twentyfive years from now you can talk to me about aviation. Ain’t practical yet.”

“Well, we got a couple of tricks up our sleeve… We’re shootin’ the moon.”

“That’s about the size of it.” Jim got to his feet. His lips got thin. “Well, you needn’t think you can lay around my house all winter just because you’re a war hero. If that’s your idea you’ve got another think comin’.” Charley burst out laughing. Jim came up and put his hand wheedlingly on Charley’s shoulder. “Say, those birds’ll be around here in a few minutes. You be a good feller and change into your uniform and put on all the medals… Give us a break.”

Charley stood a minute staring at the ash on his cigar. “How about givin’ me a break? Haven’t been in the house five hours and there you go pickin’ on me just like when I was workin’ back here…”

Jim was losing control of himself, he was starting to shake. “Well, you know what you can do about that,” he said, cutting his words off sharp. Charley felt like smashing him one in his damn narrow jaw. “If it wasn’t for Ma, you wouldn’t need to worry about that,” he said quietly.

Jim didn’t answer for a minute. The wrinkles came out of his forehead. He shook his head and looked grave. “You’re right, Charley, you better stick around. If it gives her any pleasure…”

Charley threw his cigar halfsmoked into the brass spittoon and walked out the door before Jim could stop him. He went to the house and got his hat and coat and went for a long walk through the soggy snow of the grey afternoon.

They were just finishing at the suppertable when Charley got back. His supper had been set out on a plate for him at his place. Nobody spoke but old man Vogel. “Ve been tinking, dese airmen maybe dey live on air too,” he said and laughed wheezily. Nobody else laughed. Jim got up and went out of the room. As soon as Charley had swallowed his supper he said he was sleepy and went up to bed.

Charley stayed on while November dragged on towards Thanksgiving and Christmas. His mother never seemed to be any better. Every afternoon he went over to see her for five or ten minutes. She was always cheerful. It made him feel terrible the way she talked about the goodness of God and how she was going to get better. He’d try to get her talking about Fargo and old Lizzie and the old days in the boardinghouse, but she didn’t seem to remember much about that, except about sermons she’d heard in church. He’d leave the hospital feeling weak and groggy. The rest of his time he spent looking up books on internalcombustion motors at the public library, or did odd jobs for Jim in the garage the way he used to when he was a kid.

One evening after Newyears Charley went over to the Elks Ball in Minneapolis with a couple of fellows he knew. The big hall was full of noise and paper lanterns. He was cruising around threading his way between groups of people waiting for the next dance when he found himself looking into a thin face and blue eyes he knew. It was too late to make out he hadn’t seen her. “Hello, Emiscah,” he said, keeping his voice as casual as he could.

“Charley… my God.” He was afraid for a minute that she was going to faint. “Let’s dance,” he said.

She felt limp in his arms. They danced a while without saying anything. She had too much rouge on her cheeks and he didn’t like the perfume she had on. After the dance they sat in a corner and talked. She wasn’t married yet. She worked in a departmentstore. No, she didn’t live at home any more, she lived in a flat with a girlfriend. He must come up. It would be like old times. He must give her his phonenumber. She supposed things seemed pretty tame to him now after all those French girls. And imagine him getting a commission, the Andersons sure were going up in the world, she guessed they’d be forgetting their old friends. Emiscah’s voice had gotten screechy and she had a way he didn’t like of putting her hand on his knee.

As soon as he could Charley said he had a headache and had to go home. He wouldn’t wait for the guys he’d come with. The evening was ruined for him anyway, he was thinking. He rode back all alone on the interurban trolley. It was cold as blazes. It was about time he got the hell out of this dump. He really did have a splitting headache and chills.

Next morning he was down with the flu and had to stay in bed. It was almost a relief. Hedwig brought him stacks of detective stories and Aunt Hartmann fussed over him and brought him toddies and eggflips, and all he had to do was lie there and read.

First thing he did when he got on his feet was to go over to the hospital. Ma had had another operation and hadn’t come out of it very well. The room was darkened and she didn’t remember when she’d seen him last. She seemed to think she was home in Fargo and that he’d just come back from his trip south. She held tight to his hand and kept saying, “My son that was lost hath been returned to me… thank God for my boy.” It took the strength out of him so he had to sit down for a second in a wicker chair in the corridor when he left her.

A nurse came up to him and stood beside him fidgeting with a paper and pencil. He looked up at her, she had pink cheeks and pretty dark eyelashes. “You mustn’t let it get you,” she said. He grinned. “Oh, I’m all right… I just got out of bed from a touch of flu, it sure pulls down your strength.”

“I hear you were an aviator,” she said. “I had a brother in the Royal Flying Corps. We’re Canadians.”

“Those were great boys,” said Charley. He wondered if he could date her up but then he thought of Ma. “Tell me honestly what you think, please do.”

“Well, it’s against the rules, but judging from other cases I’ve seen her chances are not very good.”

“I thought so.”

He got to his feet. “You’re a peach, do you know it?” Her face got red from the starched cap to the white collar of her uniform. She wrinkled up her forehead and her voice got very chilly. “In a case like that it’s better to have it happen quickly.” Charley felt a lump rise in his throat. “Oh, I know.” “Well, goodby, Lieutenant, I’ve got to go about my business.” “Gee, thanks a lot,” said Charley. When he got out in the air he kept remembering her pretty face and her nice lips.