Evan Connell - Mr. Bridge

Carolyn went on: “You said to Mother prospecting for oil was the quickest way on earth to lose money. You said that’s why you didn’t give Mr. Gutekunst any money when he offered you a partnership.”

“You might be correct,” he said. “I must admit I’m impressed by your memory. And it’s true that if I’d taken up his offer I’d be wealthy by now. However, that’s long past and has nothing to do with the present situation. My friend Mr. Gutekunst did become wealthy, but he was the fortunate exception. For every man like Henry Gutekunst who does strike oil there are hundreds upon hundreds of men who lose every cent they own. They throw away their money on a wild-goose chase. I’ve seen it happen, I can tell you. I’ve seen it happen too often.”

“But you said you were sorry you didn’t give him the money.”

“Had I known in advance that there was an enormous oil field exactly where Henry Gutekunst thought there was, naturally I would have invested. Certainly I wish I had known, Carolyn. The trouble is that we have no way of determining these things in advance. He could just as easily have lost his shirt.”

Mrs. Bridge said, “It was a nice idea, Corky, but of course your father knows best. You wouldn’t want to lose your money, would you? Then, too, although three hundred and thirty-three dollars is an awful lot, I’m just not sure if it would be enough to do whatever it is you wanted to do.”

Mr. Bridge said, “Let me make a suggestion. I think we can solve this problem. Cork can be part-owner of thousands of oil wells. Now, how does that sound?”

Carolyn was suspicious.

“I happen to know of a number of fine, well-established companies in the oil industry. Standard of Indiana is one. Texaco is another. We can get you a few shares of stock in one of those companies. Your money will be safe, and each time your company brings in a well you’ll own a bit of it. What do you think?”

“Why, that’s a good idea!” said Mrs. Bridge.

Everybody looked at Carolyn.

“How about it?” Mr. Bridge asked.

“I want one of my own,” she said.

Mr. Bridge was beginning to get annoyed. “I’m sorry, but you cannot have one all to yourself. You don’t have enough money. And if you did have enough I would not allow you to invest in any such foolish venture, so you might as well get used to the idea. Money is not something to be thrown away. Money doesn’t grow on trees. I have worked hard for what I have, and as you grow older you will realize that this is ordinarily the case. The Henry Gutekunsts of this world are few and far between. Henry, as a matter of fact, worked very hard to earn the capital he had to start with, and furthermore he did not just happen to locate that field overnight. He invested not only his savings but a great deal of time and effort. As a geologist he was obliged to work for other men for a number of years before branching out on his own. I am in a position to know how hard Mr. Gutekunst worked. He deserves his wealth. But at the same time he was extremely fortunate. The chances are he would not be so fortunate again. As of today he is solidly entrenched in the Oklahoma oil industry and it is reasonable to assume that his corporation will continue to bring in profitable wells, but nothing is certain, and it is conceivable that his fortunes could take a turn for the worse. In any event, Carolyn, regardless of this man’s success, your position is altogether different. You have a nice little bequest from your mother’s cousin, and I think that over a period of time if we invest this in a reliable company with sound management and a good history it should do very nicely for you.”

“Oh, all right,” Carolyn said.

“There now,” Mr. Bridge said. “That’s settled.” He turned again to Ruth. “Are you going to spend all of your inheritance on clothing?”

Ruth said she wanted to think about it. He looked at her for a few moments and it occurred to him that he did not care how she used her money. He did not know why he felt this way. Logically, it was she much more than Carolyn who needed a lesson. Carolyn was not extravagant or foolish, and despite the impracticality of wanting to buy an oil well with three hundred dollars there was nothing wrong with her thinking. In fact, it was a remarkably mature thought. It was a thought that would not occur to Ruth.

“As you wish. Think it over,” he replied. “You’re not a child anymore.” For an instant their eyes met; he saw a darkness which he could not comprehend. He sensed that she loved him with a passion which was almost sensual. Her love was different from Carolyn’s.

To Douglas he said: “A racing bike. All right. After that, what?” Douglas shrugged. Except for the bicycle he did not care what was done with his money, so they agreed to put it in the bank.

Then Mr. Bridge turned to his wife, curious as to what she wished to do with her inheritance. Often she went shopping, yet she never bought very much. Presumably she did not want to seem extravagant. Now, however, she had money of her own and could buy almost anything which appealed to her. He waited, smiling down at her indulgently with his hands thrust into his pockets, and she began to look anxious. She was trying to think of something she wanted.

It occurred to him that she went shopping merely to use up time. The children were in school, or when they were not in school they were busy with their own affairs. Harriet took care of the house, did the cooking, and ordered groceries. A laundress came once a week to do the washing and ironing. There was not much else to be done. She did not have any way to occupy herself. As he became aware of this it seemed grotesque. He himself had too much to do. Days were not long enough. Yet for her the days had grown too long. That was why she went shopping. He perceived this so clearly that he could not imagine why he had failed to perceive it earlier.

He waited a little longer. She was still attempting to think of something she wanted. At last he said, “For the time being, do you want me to handle it?”

“Yes! Would you please?” She was obviously relieved.

“Shall I buy some securities for you?”

“That sounds fine. Whatever you think best.”

“All right then, I guess we’ve settled cousin Lulu,” he remarked. It was not quite the proper thing to say, but nobody noticed.

Avrum Rheingold, as though scenting the money, turned up next day at the Muehlebach luncheon table. Dr. Sauer had invited him. Mr. Bridge, trying to conceal the aversion he felt, said very little and avoided looking at the broker; it seemed to him that Rheingold was, if possible, more repulsive than when they had first met. He was the color of veal and he smelled of lotion. A diamond stickpin glittered on his tie. His veined skull reflected the lights of the Terrace Grill, and what remained of his hair appeared to have been dyed blue and was brushed forward in a bizarre attempt to hide his baldness. He resembled a decadent Roman senator, or perhaps just an unctuous fat man who thought of himself as senatorial. Avrum Rheingold licked his lips. His small brown eyes glistened while he inspected the food. His jowls quivered. He belched with anticipation. His teeth were discolored. This was the man Alexis Sauer trusted to conduct stock market transactions.

Munching radishes, swallowing coffee, buttering rolls, heaping beans and mashed potatoes on his fork with the assistance of his knife, pausing only to pick his teeth, Avrum Rheingold discoursed on the merits of a company called Nevacal. Priced at four times earnings, with such a potential, at three dollars and fifty cents a share it was a steal. Gold mines in Nevada, land in California. A beautiful little company growing like a beanstalk.