James Baldwin - Another Country

Vivaldo put one arm around Rufus and pushed him ahead of him into Benno’s Bar.

The bar was terribly crowded. Advertising men were there, drinking double shots of bourbon or vodka, on the rocks; college boys were there, their wet fingers slippery on the beer bottles; lone men stood near the doors or in corners, watching the drifting women. The college boys, gleaming with ignorance and mad with chastity, made terrified efforts to attract the feminine attention, but succeeded only in attracting each other. Some of the men were buying drinks for some of the women — who wandered incessantly from the juke box to the bar — and they faced each other over smiles which were pitched, with an eerie precision, between longing and contempt. Black-and-white couples were together here — closer together now than they would be later, when they got home. These several histories were camouflaged in the jargon which, wave upon wave, rolled through the bar; were locked in a silence like the silence of glaciers. Only the juke box spoke, grinding out each evening, all evening long, syncopated, synthetic laments for love.

Rufus’ eyes had trouble adjusting to the yellow light, the smoke, the movement. The place seemed terribly strange to him, as though he remembered it from a dream. He recognized faces, gestures, voices — from this same dream; and, as in a dream, no one looked his way, no one seemed to remember him. Just next to him, at a table, sat a girl he had balled once or twice, whose name was Belle. She was talking to her boy friend, Lorenzo. She brushed her long black hair out of her eyes and looked directly at him for a moment, but she did not seem to recognize him.

A voice spoke at his ear: “Hey! Rufus! When did they let you out, man?”

He turned to face a grinning chocolate face, topped by processed hair casually falling forward. He could not remember the name which went with the face. He could not remember what his connection with the face had been. He said, “Yeah, I’m straight, how you been making it?”

“Oh, I’m scuffling, man, got to keep scuffling, you know”—eyes seeming to press forward like two malevolent insects, hair flying, lips and forehead wet. The voice dropped to a whisper. “I was kind of strung out there for awhile, but I’m straight now. I heard you got busted, man.”

“Busted? No, I’ve just been making the uptown scene.”

“Yeah? Well, crazy.” He jerked his head around to the door in response to a summons Rufus had not heard. “I got to split, my boy’s waiting for me. See you around, man.”

Cold air swept into the bar for a moment, then steam and smoke settled again over everything.

Then, while they stood there, not yet having been able to order anything to drink and undecided as to whether or not they would stay, Cass appeared out of the gloom and noise. She was very elegant, in black, her golden hair pulled carefully back and up. She held a drink and a cigarette in one hand and looked at once like the rather weary matron she actually was and the mischievous girl she once had been.

“What are you doing here?” asked Vivaldo. “And all dressed up, too. What’s happening?”

“I’m tired of my husband. I’m looking for a new man. But I guess I came to the wrong store.”

“You may have to wait for a fire sale,” said Vivaldo.

Cass turned to Rufus and put her hand on his arm. “It’s nice to have you back,” she said. Her large brown eyes looked directly into his. “Are you all right? We’ve all missed you.”

He shrank involuntarily from her touch and her tone. He wanted to thank her; he said, nodding and trying to smile, “I’m fine, Cass.” And then: “It’s kind of nice to be back.”

She grinned. “Do you know what I realize every time I see you? That we’re very much alike.” She turned back to Vivaldo. “I don’t see your aging mistress anywhere. Are you looking for a new woman? If so, you too have come to the wrong store.”

“I haven’t seen Jane for a hell of a long time,” said Vivaldo, “and it might be a good idea for us never to see each other again.” But he looked troubled.

“Poor Vivaldo,” Cass said. After a moment they both laughed. “Come on in the back with me. Richard’s there. He’ll be very glad to see you.”

“I didn’t know you people ever set foot in this joint. Can’t you bear domestic bliss any longer?”

“We’re celebrating tonight. Richard just sold his novel.”

“No!”

“Yes. Yes . Isn’t that marvelous?”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Vivaldo, looking a little dazed.

“Come on,” Cass said. She took Rufus by the hand and, with Vivaldo ahead of them, they began pushing their way to the back. They stumbled down the steps into the back room. Richard sat alone at a table, smoking his pipe. “Richard,” Cass cried, “look what I brought back from the dead!”

“You should have let them rot there,” Richard grinned. “Come on in, sit down. I’m glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, ” said Vivaldo, and sat down. He and Richard grinned at each other. Then Richard looked at Rufus, briefly and sharply, and looked away. Perhaps Richard had never liked Rufus as much as the others had and now, perhaps, he was blaming him for Leona.

The air in the back room was close, he was aware of his odor, he wished he had taken a shower at Vivaldo’s house. He sat down.

“So!” said Vivaldo, “you sold it!” He threw back his head and gave a high, whinnying laugh. “You sold it. That’s just great, baby. How does it feel?”

“I held off as long as I could,” Richard said. “I kept telling them that my good friend, Vivaldo, was going to come by and look it over for me. They said, ‘That Vivaldo? He’s a poet, man, he’s bohemian! He wouldn’t read a murder novel, not if it was written by God almighty.’ So, when you didn’t come by, baby, I figured they were right and I just had to let them have it.”

“Shit, Richard, I’m sorry about that. I’ve just been so hung up—”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s have a drink. You, Rufus. What’re you doing with yourself these days?”

“I’m just pulling myself together,” said Rufus, with a smile. Richard was being kind, he told himself, but in his heart he accused him of cowardice.

“Don’t be self-conscious,” Cass said. “We’ve been trying to pull ourselves together for years. You can see what progress we’ve made. You’re in very good company.” She leaned her head against Richard’s shoulder. Richard stroked her hair and picked up his pipe from the ashtray.

“I don’t think it’s just a murder story,” he said, gesturing with the pipe. “I mean, I don’t see why you can’t do something fairly serious within the limits of the form. I’ve always been fascinated by it, really.”

“You didn’t think much of them when you were teaching me English in high school,” said Vivaldo, with a smile.

“Well, I was younger then than you are now. We change, boy, we grow—!” The waiter entered the room, looking as though he wondered where on earth he could be, and Richard called him. “Hey! We’re dying of thirst over here!” He turned to Cass. “You want another drink?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “now that our friends are here. I might as well make the most of my night out. Except I’m a kind of dreamy drunk. Do you mind my head on your shoulder?”

“Mind?” He laughed. He looked at Vivaldo. “ Mind! Why do you think I’ve been knocking myself out, trying to be a success?” He bent down and kissed her and something appeared in his boyish face, a singlemindedness of tenderness and passion, which made him very gallant. “You can put your head on my shoulder anytime. Anytime, baby. That’s what my shoulders are for.” And he stroked her hair again, proudly, as the waiter vanished with the empty glasses.