John Passos - Manhattan transfer

‘You can tell them Mr Fallik that I think the woman’s place is in the home… for the feebleminded.’

‘Ha ha ha,’ laughed Harry Goldweiser showing the gold teeth in the sides of his mouth. ‘But I know you could dance and sing with the best of em, Elaine.’

‘Wasnt I in the chorus for two years before I married Oglethorpe?’

‘You must have started in the cradle,’ said Mr Fallik leering under his gray lashes.

‘Well I must ask you gentlemen to get out of here a minute while I change. I’m all wringing wet every night after that last act.’

‘We got to get along anyway… do you understand?… Mind if I use your bathroom a sec?’

Milly stood in front of the bathroom door. Ellen caught the jetty glance of her eyes far apart in her blank white face. ‘I’m afraid you cant Harry, it’s out of order.’

‘I’ll go over to Charley’s… I’ll tell Thompson to have a plumber come and look at it… Well good night kid. Be good.’

‘Good night Miss Oglethorpe,’ said Mr Fallik creakily, ‘and if you cant be good be careful.’ Milly closed the door after them.

‘Whee, that’s a relief,’ cried Ellen and stretched out her arms.

‘I tell you I was scared deary… Dont you ever let any feller like that come to the theater with ye. I’ve seen many a good trouper ruined by things like that. I’m tellin ye because I’m fond of you Miss Elaine, an I’m old an I know about the showbusiness.’

‘Of course you are Milly, and you’re quite right too… Lets see if we can wake him up.’

‘My God Milly, look at that.’

Stan was lying as they had left him in the bathtub full of water. The tail of his coat and one hand were floating on top of the water. ‘Get up out of there Stan you idiot… He might catch his death. You fool, you fool.’ Ellen took him by the hair and shook his head from side to side.

‘Ooch that hurts,’ he moaned in a sleepy child’s voice.

‘Get up out of there Stan… You’re soaked.’

He threw back his head and his eyes snapped open. ‘Why so I am.’ He raised himself with his hands on the sides of the tub and stood swaying, dripping into the water that was yellow from his clothes and shoes, braying his loud laugh. Ellen leaned against the bathroom door laughing with her eyes full of tears.

‘You cant get mad at him Milly, that’s what makes him so exasperating. Oh what are we going to do?’

‘Lucky he wasnt drownded… Give me your papers and pocketbook sir. I’ll try and dry em with a towel,’ said Milly.

‘But you cant go past the doorman like that… even if we wring you out… Stan you’ve got to take off all your clothes and put on a dress of mine. Then you can wear my rain cape and we can whisk into a taxicab and take you home… What do you think Milly?’

Milly was rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she wrung out Stan’s coat. In the washbasin she had piled the soppy remains of a pocketbook, a pad, pencils, a jacknife, two rolls of film, a flask.

‘I wanted a bath anyway,’ said Stan.

‘Oh I could beat you. Well you’re sober at least.’

‘Sober as a penguin.’

‘Well you’ve got to dress up in my clothes that’s all…’

‘I cant wear girl’s clothes.’

‘You’ve got to… You havent even got a raincoat to cover that mess. If you dont I’ll lock you up in the bathroom and leave you.’

‘All right Ellie… Honest I’m terribly sorry.’

Milly was wrapping the clothes in newspaper after wringing them out in the bathtub. Stan looked at himself in the mirror. ‘Gosh I’m an indecent sight in this dress… Ish gebibble.’

‘I’ve never seen anything so disgusting looking… No you look very sweet, a little tough perhaps… Now for God’s sake keep your face towards me when you go past old Barney.’

‘My shoes are all squudgy.’

‘It cant be helped… Thank Heaven I had this cape here Milly you’re an angel to clear up all this mess.’

‘Good night deary, and remember what I said… I’m tellin ye that’s all…’

‘Stan take little steps and if we meet anybody go right on and jump in a taxi… You can get away with anything if you do it quick enough.’ Ellen’s hands were trembling as they came down the steps. She tucked one in under Stan’s elbow and began talking in a low chatty voice… ‘You see dear, daddy came round to see the show two or three nights ago and he was shocked to death. He said he thought a girl demeaned herself showing her feelings like that before a lot of people… Isn’t it killing?… Still he was impressed by the writeups the Herald and World gave me Sunday… Goodnight Barney, nasty night… My God… Here’s a taxi, get in. Where are you going?’ Out of the dark of the taxi, out of his long face muffled in the blue hood, his eyes were so bright black they frightened her like coming suddenly on a deep pit in the dark.

‘All right we’ll go to my house. Might as well be hanged for a sheep… Driver please go to Bank Street. The taxi started. They were jolting through the crisscross planes of red light, green light, yellow light beaded with lettering of Broadway. Suddenly Stan leaned over her and kissed her hard very quickly on the mouth.

‘Stan you’ve got to stop drinking. It’s getting beyond a joke.’

‘Why shouldn’t things get beyond a joke? You’re getting beyond a joke and I dont complain.’

‘But darling you’ll kill yourself.’

‘Well?’

‘Oh I dont understand you Stan.’

‘I dont understood you Ellie, but I love you very… exordinately much.’ There was a broken tremor in his very low voice that stunned her with happiness.

Ellen paid the taxi. Siren throbbing in an upward shriek that burst and trailed in a dull wail down the street, a fire engine went by red and gleaming, then a hookandladder with bell clanging.

‘Let’s go to the fire Ellie.’

‘With you in those clothes… We’ll do no such thing.’

He followed her silent into the house and up the stairs. Her long room was cool and fresh smelling.

‘Ellie you’re not sore at me?’

‘Of course not idiot child.’

She undid the sodden bundle of his clothes and took them into the kitchenette to dry beside the gas stove. The sound of the phonograph playing He’s a devil in his own home town called her back. Stan had taken off the dress. He was dancing round with a chair for a partner, her blue padded dressingown flying out from his thin hairy legs.

‘Oh Stan you precious idiot.’

He put down the chair and came towards her brown and male and lean in the silly dressingown. The phonograph came to the end of the tune and the record went on rasping round and round.

Red light. Bell.

A block deep four ranks of cars wait at the grade crossing, fenders in taillights, mudguards scraping mudguards, motors purring hot, exhausts reeking, cars from Babylon and Jamaica, cars from Montauk, Port Jefferson, Patchogue, limousines from Long Beach, Far Rockaway, roadsters from Great Neck… cars full of asters and wet bathingsuits, sunsinged necks, mouths sticky from sodas and hotdawgs… cars dusted with pollen of ragweed and goldenrod.

Green light. Motors race, gears screech into first. The cars space out, flow in a long ribbon along the ghostly cement road, between blackwindowed blocks of concrete factories, between bright slabbed colors of signboards towards the glow over the city that stands up incredibly into the night sky like the glow of a great lit tent, like the yellow tall bulk of a tentshow.

Sarajevo, the word stuck in her throat when she tried to say it…

‘It’s terrible to think of, terrible,’ George Baldwin was groaning. ‘The Street’ll go plumb to hell… They’ll close the Stock Exchange, only thing to do.’