David Goodis - The Blonde on the Street Corner

The door opened and Addie stood there.

Ralph looked up and saw her and said, “What do you want?”

Addie said, “Mom says you got in a fight and lost your job.”

“That’s right. Get the hell out of here.”

“That’s no way to talk to me.”

“Get out.”

“I come to tell him I’m sorry for him and he acts like this.”

Ewie walked down the hall and into the room. Her face was glowing from the cold outside. She looked at Ralph and said, “What’s this I hear about you?”

Ralph said, “If you heard about it already, why do you ask me?”

“You’re a disgrace,” Ewie said.

“Yeah,” Addie said.

“All right,” Ralph said, “the two of you — take a walk.” The two of them walked out of the room, talking loud as they went down the hall.

Mrs Creel came upstairs and into the room and said, “Let me see your hands. Maybe you ought to have a bandage over your knuckles.”

“Mom, leave me alone, please.”

“Don’t tell me to leave you alone. If your knuckles are cut you should have a bandage on—”

“Will you please leave me alone, Mom?”

“I’ll leave you alone if you promise to put the bandage on yourself. Good Lord in Heaven. I should think a young man would have sense enough not to get himself in a mess.”

“All right, Mom, you told me all that before. Please leave me alone, will you?”

Mumbling, Mrs Creel walked out of the room and down the hall and downstairs. She started to yell at her husband. She told him to go upstairs and give his son a good talking-to. Mr Creel was very tired from a hard day’s work and he wanted to be left alone. Finally he put down the paper and told her to shut up. Addie and Ewie joined in. The three of them kept yelling at him. Mr Creel went upstairs.

He walked into the room, closed the door.

Ralph looked up. “Hello, Pop.”

“I heard you had some trouble today.”

“Yeah.”

“Somebody get tough?”

“Yeah.” Ralph put his hand in his pocket and said, “They gave me the week’s pay. Here.” He held it out.

His father looked at the envelope and shook his head. “Keep it,” he said.

“No, Pop. Take it.”

“You keep it for yourself.”

“Know any place where I can get another job?”

“I wish I did. I wish I could find something for you.”

“Here, Pop, take the dough. Give it to Mom, for the house.”

“No. You keep it for yourself.”

“If you don’t take it, I’ll give it to Mom.”

“No. I want you to keep it for yourself.”

Ralph put the envelope back in his pocket. He looked at the floor.

Mr Creel turned slowly and walked out of the room. When he was downstairs he settled back in the sofa and took up the paper again. His wife came in from the kitchen and said, “Well, what did you tell him?”

“I told him plenty,” Mr Creel said. “Now, for Christ’s sake, will you let a man read the paper?”

There was nobody on the corner. Ralph walked into the candy store and bought a pack of cigarettes. He walked outside and stood on the corner. When the cigarette was smoked half-way he flipped it down and stepped on it. A few minutes later he lit another cigarette. He figured that the guys were over Ken’s house. He didn’t want to see the guys. He had a pain in the kidney. He had a pain deep in the stomach. He had a bad headache. In his mouth he had a pain. There was slicing pain in his hands and in his arms there was wrenching pain. He had not eaten supper and now he was hungry but he knew if food was put before him he would not be able to touch it. He wondered what he should do. He wondered if he should go home and go to bed. He wondered if he should go over to Ken’s house. He wondered if he should take a walk. He wondered what the hell he should do.

Another cigarette. Two kids walked down the street, arguing. One of them told the other that he didn’t know anything about basketball. It was very cold. The pain was throbbing. He put his hands in his pockets and slouched against the wall and looked at the street. The headache was leaving him but the pain in his kidney was getting worse. He wondered if he should see a doctor about the kidney. A kidney was nothing to monkey with. He took his hands out of his pockets and looked at his knuckles. He wondered if he should have listened to his mother and bandaged up his hands. His knuckles were pretty well torn up. Peroxide had foamed, and then he had painted the knuckles with Mercurochrome and maybe he ought to have a bandage. But maybe it was better to let the cold air hit the cuts. He kept his hands out of his pockets. Cold air rushed into the cuts and hurt. He wondered what he should do. His kidney was a little better now, but he had a headache again. He looked up and down the street. It was empty. A car went by slowly, filled with people who were making a lot of noise. Ralph looked at the car. He watched it glide up the street. He had a feeling that the car was going to turn around and come back to him and the people would tell him to come along. He wondered where they were going. He watched the car glide into the darkness up the street. He slouched against the wall, looking at the ground. He started to walk away from the corner. He walked to the park. He was at the lake. He was alone out there. It was very cold and very dark. He walked slowly around the lake. The pain was no longer hard and throbbing. It seemed to be melting away. He walked very slowly around the lake, looking at the still black water. Parts of the lake were frozen. The ice glittered, fused into cold sparks that stabbed into the blackness. Wind soared through the park and across the lake and hummed through the gnashed branches of the cold trees. Beyond the scribbling of a leafless bush two lights blinked. Lights from two lamps far across the park. The lights were vague yellow. He knew they were not really vague yellow. They were bright white. But he saw them as vague yellow. He saw them as vague yellow eyes, vague in the darkness. And as he looked at the eyes he could see the vague flow of yellow hair. He looked away from the bright white lights screened by the quiet cold bush. He walked slowly around the lake.

It was three days after Christmas. Ken was alone in the house. His parents were still in Vineland. They were going to stay for another two weeks, or maybe three. Ken had sixty-seven cents to his name. He had borrowed twice from his married sister in West Philly and he wondered how he should approach her the third time. George had gone home the day before Christmas. George’s father had said that it was Christmas time and he wanted his son to come home. Now Ken was alone in the house.

He sat at the piano. He dragged deep at his cigarette and placed it on top the piano and let his fingers come against the keys. He played slowly and lazily, missing a lot of notes. He looked outside. It was snowing. It had been snowing since early last night. With hate he looked at the cold and the snow. He thought of Florida. He turned around and looked at the clock on the mantel-piece. It was two in the afternoon. He socked a few chords and then he frowned and started to peck at the keys with one finger. He grabbed for a pencil on top the piano and there was none. He ran into the kitchen. Where the pots and pans were kept he found a short pencil. He grabbed at some wrapping paper. He ran back into the living room. Dippy was now there, on the sofa, eating celery.

“What’s that?” Ken said.

“They call it celery.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“From my house,” Dippy said. “Want some?” He reached into the inner pocket of his overcoat, and pulled out a few stalks of celery.

“Come in the kitchen,” Ken said. “We’ll eat it with salt.”