Irwin Shaw - Rich Man, Poor Man

Thomas climbed the narrow steps to the attic and opened the door to his room and put on the light. Uncle Harold was sitting there in striped pyjamas, on the bed.

Uncle Harold smiled at him peculiarly, blinking in the light. Four of his front upper teeth were missing. He had a bridge that he took out at night.

‘Good evening, Tommy,’ Uncle Harold said. His speech was gappy, without the bridge.

‘Hi, Uncle Harold,’ Thomas said. He was conscious that his hair was mussed and that he smelled of Clothilde. He didn’t know what Uncle Harold was doing there. It was the first time he had come to the room. Thomas knew he had to be careful about what he said and how he said it.

‘It is quite late, isn’t it, Tommy?’ Uncle Harold said. He was keeping his voice down.

‘Is it?’ Thomas said. ‘I haven’t looked at a clock.’ He stood near the door, away from Uncle Harold. The room was bare. He had few possessions. A book from the library lay on the dresser. Riders of the Purple Sage. The lady at the library had said he would like it. Uncle Harold filled the little room in his striped pyjamas, making the bed sag in the middle, where he sat on it.

‘It is nearly one o’clock,’ Uncle Harold said. He sprayed because of the missing teeth. ‘For a growing boy who has to get up early and do a day’s work. A growing boy needs his sleep, Tommy.’ ‘I didn’t realise how late it was,’ Thomas said. ‘What amusements have you found to keep a young boy out till one o’clock in the morning, Tommy?’ ‘I was just wandering around town.’

The bright lights,’ Uncle Harold said. “The bright lights of Elysium, Ohio.’

Thomas faked a yawn and stretched. He threw his sweater over the one chair of the room. Tm sleepy flow,’ he said. ‘I better go to bed fast.’

‘Tommy,’ Uncle Harold said, in that wet whisper, ‘you have a good home here, hey?’ ‘Sure.’

‘You eat good here, just like the family, hey?’ ‘I eat all right’

‘You have a good home, a good roof over your head.’ The ‘roof came out ‘woof, through the gap.

‘I’m not complaining.’ Thomas kept his voice low. No sense in waking Tante Elsa and getting her in on the conference.

‘You live in a nice clean house,’ Uncle Harold persisted. ‘Everybody treats you like a member of the family. You have your own personal bicycle.’ ‘I’m not complaining.’

‘You have a good job. You are paid a man’s wages. You are learning a trade. There will be unemployment now, millions of men coming home, but for the mechanic, there is always a job. Am I mistaken?’ ‘I can take care of myself,’ Thomas said. ‘You can take care of yourself,’ Uncle Harold said. ‘I hope so. You are my flesh and blood. I took you in without a question, didn’t I, when your father called? You were in trouble, Tommy, in Port Philip, weren’t you, and Uncle Harold asked no questions, he and Tante Elsa took you in.’

“There was a little fuss back home,’ Thomas said. ‘Nothing serious.’

I ask no questions.’ Magnanimously, Uncle Harold waved away all thought of interrogation. His pyjamas opened. There was a view of plump, pink rolls of beef-and-sausage belly over the drawstrings of the pyjama pants. ‘In return for this, what do I ask? Impossibilities? Gratitude? No. A little thing. That a young boy should behave himself properly, that he should be in bed at a reasonable hour. His own bed, Tommy.’

Oh, that’s it, Thomas thought. The sonofabitch knows. He didn’t say anything.

‘This is a clean house, Tommy,* Uncle Harold said, “The family is respected. Your aunt is received in the best homes. You would be surprised if I told you what my credit is at the bank. I have been approached to run for the State Legislature in Columbus on the Republican ticket, even though I have not been born in this country. My two daughters have clothes… I challenge any two young ladies to dress better. They are

model students. Ask me one day to show you their report cards, what their teachers say about them. They go to Sunday school every Sunday. I drive them myself. Pure young souls, sleeping like angels, right under this very room, Tommy.’

I get the picture,’ Thomas said. Let the old idiot get it over with.

‘You were not wandering around town tonight till one o’clock, Tommy,’ Uncle Harold said sorrowfully. ‘I know where you were. I was thirsty. I wanted a bottle of beer from the Frigidaire. I heard noises. Tommy, I am ashamed even to mention it A boy your age, in the same house with my two daughters.’

‘So what?’ Thomas said sullenly. The idea of Uncle Harold outside Clothilde’s door nauseated him. ‘So what? Is that all you have to say, Tommy? So what?’ ‘What do you want me to say?’ He would have liked to be able to say that he loved Clothilde, that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his whole rotten life, that she loved him, that if he were older he would take her away from Uncle Harold’s clean, goddamn house, from his respected family, from his model, pale-blonde daughters. But of course, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say anything. His tongue strangled him.

I want you to say that you are sorry for the filthy thing that ignorant scheming peasant has done to you,’ Uncle Harold whispered. ‘I want you to promise you will never touch her again. In this house or anywhere else.’ Tm not promising anything,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m being kind,’ Uncle Harold said. ‘I’m being delicate. I am speaking quietly, like a reasonable and forgiving man, Tommy. I do not want to make a scandal. I don’t want your Aunt Elsa to know her house has been dirtied, that her children have been exposed to … Ach, I can’t find the words, Tommy.’ ‘I’m not promising anything,’ Thomas said. ‘Okay. You are not promising anything,’ Uncle Harold said. ‘You don’t have to promise anything. When I leave this room, I am going down to the room behind the kitchen. She will promise plenty, I assure you.’

“That’s what you think,’ Even to his own ears, it sounded hollow, childish.

That’s what I know, Tommy,’ Uncle-Harold whispered ‘She will promise anything. She’s in trouble. If I fire her, where will she go? Back to her drunken husband in Canada who’s been looking for her for two years so he can beat her to death?’

‘There’s plenty of jobs. She doesn’t have to go to Canada.’

‘You think so. The authority on International Law,’ Uncle Harold said. ‘You think’s it as easy as that. You think I won’t go to the police.’

‘What’ve the police got to do with it?’

‘You are a child, Tommy,’ Uncle Harold said. ‘You put it up in between a married woman’s legs like a grown man, but you have the mind of a child. She has corrupted the morals of a minor, Tommy. You are the minor. Sixteen years old. That is a crime, Tommy. A serious crime. This is a civilised country. Children are protected in this country. Even if they didn’t put her in jail, they would deport her, an undesirable alien who corrupts the morals of minors. She is not a citizen. Back to Canada she would go. It would be in the papers. Her husband would be waiting for her. Oh, yes,’ Uncle Harold said. ‘She will promise.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sorry for you, Tommy. It is not your fault. It is in your blood. Your father was a whore-master. I was ashamed to say hello to him in the street. And your mother, for your information, was a bastard. She was raised by the nuns. Ask her some day who her father was. Or even her mother. Get some sleep, Tommy.’ He patted him comfortably on the shoulder. ‘I like you. I would like to see you grow up into a good man. A credit to the family. I am doing what is best for you. Go - get some sleep.’

Uncle Harold padded out of the room, barefooted, beery mastodon in the shapeless striped pyjamas, all weapons on his side.