Jane Bowles - My Sister's Hand in Mine - The Collected Works of Jane Bowles

“Sure I’m right. But she’s got lots of friends here in Panama, ain’t she?”

“I dare say Pacifica has a great many friends,” said Mrs. Quill.

“Come on, you know she’s got lots of friends, don’t you?”

As Mrs. Quill looked as though she had been somewhat startled by the pressing tone in his voice, Toby decided he was hurrying things too much.

“Who the hell cares, anyway?” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. This seemed to have the right effect on Mrs. Quill, and Toby breathed a sigh of relief.

Mrs. Copperfield went over to a bench in the corner and lay down. She shut her eyes and smiled.

“That’s the best thing for her,” said Mrs. Quill to Toby. “She’s a nice woman, a dear sweet woman, and she’d had a little too much to drink. Pacifica, she can really take care of herself like she says. I’ve seen her drink as much as a man, but with her it’s different. As I said, she’s had all the experience in the world. Now, Mrs. Copperfield and me, we have to watch ourselves more carefully or else have some nice man watching out for us.”

“Yeah,” said Toby, twisting around on his stool. “Bartender, another gin. You want one, don’t you?” he asked Mrs. Quill.

“Yes, if you’ll watch out for me.”

“Sure I will. I’ll even take you home in my arms if you fall down.”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Quill giggled and flushed. “You wouldn’t try that, young man. I’m heavy, you know.”

“Yeah.… Say—”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind telling me something?”

“I’d be delighted to tell you anything you’d like to hear.”

“How is it you ain’t never bothered to fix this place up?”

“Oh, dear, isn’t it awful? I’ve always promised myself I would and I never get around to it.”

“No dough?” asked Toby. Mrs. Quill looked vague. “Haven’t you got no money to fix it up with?” he repeated.

“Oh yes, certainly I have.” Mrs. Quill looked around at the bar. “I even have some things upstairs that I always promised myself to hang up on the walls here. Everything is so dirty, isn’t it? I feel ashamed.”

“No, no,” said Toby impatiently. He was now very animated. “That ain’t what I mean at all.”

Mrs. Quill smiled at him sweetly.

“Listen,” said Toby, “I been handlin’ restaurants and bars and clubs all my life, and I can make them go.”

“I’m certain that you can.”

“I’m tellin’ you that I can. Listen, let’s get out of here; let’s go some place else where we can really talk. Any place in town you name I’ll take you to. It’s worth it to me and it’ll be worth it to you even more. You’ll see. We can have more to drink or maybe a little bite to eat. Listen”—he grabbed hold of Mrs. Quill’s upper arm—“would you like to go to the Hotel Washington?”

At first Mrs. Quill did not react, but when she realized what he had said, she answered that she would enjoy it very much, in a voice trembling with emotion. Toby jumped off the stool, pulled his hat down over his face, and started walking out of the bar, saying: “Come on, then,” over his shoulder to Mrs. Quill. He looked annoyed but resolute.

Mrs. Quill took Pacifica’s hand in her own and told her that she was going to the Hotel Washington.

“If there was any possible way I would take you with us, I would, Pacifica. I feel very badly to be going there without you, but I don’t see how you can come, do you?”

“Now, don’t you worry about that, Mrs. Quill. I’m having a very good time here,” said Pacifica in a sincerely world-weary tone of voice.

“That’s a hocus-pocus joint,” said Lou.

“Oh no,” said Pacifica, “it is very nice there, very beautiful. She will have a lovely time.” Pacifica pinched Lou. “You don’t know,” she said to him.

Mrs. Quill walked out of the bar slowly and joined Toby on the sidewalk. They got into a hack and started for the hotel. Toby was silent. He sprawled way back in his seat and lighted a cigar.

“I regret that automobiles were ever invented,” said Mrs. Quill.

“You’d go crazy tryin’ to get from one place to another if they wasn’t.”

“Oh, no. I always take my time. There isn’t anything that can’t wait.”

“That’s what you think,” said Toby in a surly tone of voice, sensing that this was just the thing that he would have to combat in Mrs. Quill. “It’s just that extra second that makes Man O’War or any other horse come in first,” he said.

“Well, life isn’t a horse race.”

“Nowadays that’s just what life is.”

“Well, not for me,” said Mrs. Quill.

Toby was disgusted.

The walk which led up to the veranda of the Hotel Washington was lined with African date-palms. The hotel itself was very impressive. They descended from the carriage. Toby stood in the middle of the walk between the scraping palms and looked towards the hotel. It was all lighted up. Mrs. Quill stood beside Toby.

“I’ll bet they soak you for drinks in there,” said Toby. “I’ll bet they make two hundred per cent profit.”

“Oh, please,” said Mrs. Quill, “if you don’t feel you can afford it let’s take a carriage and go back. The ride is so pleasant anyway.” Her heart was beating very quickly.

“Don’t be a God-damn fool!” Toby said to her, and they headed for the hotel.

The floor in the lobby was of imitation yellow marble. There was a magazine stand in one corner where the guests were able to buy chewing gum and picture postcards, maps, and souvenirs. Mrs. Quill felt as though she had just come off a ship. She wandered about in circles, but Toby went straight up to the man behind the magazine stand and asked him where he could get a drink. He suggested to Toby that they go out on the terrace.

“It’s generally where everyone goes,” he said.

They were seated at a table on the edge of the terrace, and they had a very nice view of a stretch of beach and the sea.

Between them on the table there was a little lamp with a rose-colored shade. Toby began at once to twirl the lamp shade. His cigar by now was very short and very wet.

Here and there on the terrace small groups of people were talking together in low voices.

“Dead!” said Toby.

“Oh, I think it’s lovely,” said Mrs. Quill. She was shivering a little, as the wind kept blowing over her shoulder, and it was a good deal cooler than in Colon.

A waiter was standing beside them with his pencil poised in the air waiting for an order.

“What do you want?” asked Toby.

“What would you suggest, young man, that’s really delicious?” said Mrs. Quill, turning to the waiter.

“Fruit punch à la Washington Hotel,” said the waiter abruptly.

“That does sound good.”

“O.K.,” said Toby, “bring one, and a straight rye for me.”

When Mrs. Quill had sipped quite a bit of her drink Toby spoke to her. “So you got the dough, but you never bothered to fix it up.”

“Mmmmmm!” said Mrs. Quill. “They’ve got every kind of fruit in the world in this drink. I’m afraid I’m behaving just like a baby, but there’s no one who likes the good things in this world better than me. Of course, I’ve never had to do without them, you know.”

“You don’t call livin’ the way you’re livin’ havin’ the good things in life, do you?” said Toby.

“I live much better than you think. How do you know how I live?”

“Well, you could have more style,” said Toby, “and you could have that easy. I mean the place could be better very easy.”

“It probably would be easy, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Toby waited to see if she would say anything more by herself before he addressed her again.