John Passos - Manhattan transfer

‘And the invitations are out. Since his last wire Maisie’s been ordering her trousseau.’

The girl unfolded a large certificate ornamented with pansies and cupids and handed it to James.

‘It might be forged.’

‘It’s not forged,’ said the girl sweetly.

‘John C. Cunningham, 21… Jessie Lincoln, 18,’ he read aloud… ‘I’ll smash his face for that, the blackguard. That’s certainly his signature, I’ve seen it at the bank… The blackguard.’

‘Now James, don’t be hasty.’

‘I thought it would be better this way than after the ceremony,’ put in the girl in her little sugar voice. ‘I wouldnt have Jack commit bigamy for anything in the world.’

‘Where’s Maisie?’

‘The poor darling is prostrated in her room.’

Merivale’s face was crimson. The sweat itched under his collar. ‘Now dearest’ Mrs Merivale kept saying, ‘you must promise me not to do anything rash.’

‘Yes Maisie’s reputation must be protected at all costs.’

‘My dear I think the best thing to do is to get him up here and confront him with this… with this… lady… Would you agree to that Mrs Cunningham?’

‘Oh dear… Yes I suppose so.’

‘Wait a minute.’ shouted Merivale and strode down the hall to the telephone. ‘Rector 12305… Hello. I want to speak to Mr Jack Cunningham please… Hello. Is this Mr Cunningham’s office? Mr James Merivale speaking… Out of town… And when will he be back?… Hum.’ He strode back along the hall. ‘The damn scoundrel’s out of town.’

‘All the years I’ve known him,’ said the little lady in the round hat, ‘that has always been where he was.’

Outside the broad office windows the night is gray and foggy. Here and there a few lights make up dim horizontals and perpendiculars of asterisks. Phineas Blackhead sits at his desk tipping far back in the small leather armchair. In his hand protecting his fingers by a large silk handkerchief, he holds a glass of hot water and bicarbonate of soda. Densch bald and round as a billiardball sits in the deep armchair playing with his tortoiseshell spectacles. Everything is quiet except for an occasional rattling and snapping of the steampipes.

‘Densch you must forgive me… You know I rarely permit myself an observation concerning other people’s business,’ Blackhead is saying slowly between sips; then suddenly he sits up in his chair. ‘It’s a damn fool proposition, Densch, by God it is… by the Living Jingo it’s ridiculous.’

‘I dont like dirtying my hands any more than you do… Baldwin’s a good fellow. I think we’re safe in backing him a little.’

‘What the hell’s an import and export firm got to do in politics? If any of those guys wants a handout let him come up here and get it. Our business is the price of beans… and its goddam low. If any of you puling lawyers could restore the balance of the exchanges I’d be willing to do anything in the world… They’re crooks every last goddam one of em… by the Living Jingo they’re crooks.’ His face flushes purple, he sits upright in his chair banging with his fist on the corner of the desk. ‘Now you’re getting me all excited… Bad for my stomach, bad for my heart.’ Phineas Blackhead belches portentously and takes a great pulp out of the glass of bicarbonate of soda. Then he leans back in his chair again letting his heavy lids half cover his eyes.

‘Well old man,’ says Mr Densch in a tired voice, ‘it may have been a bad thing to do, but I’ve promised to support the reform candidate. That’s a purely private matter in no way involving the firm.’

‘Like hell it dont… How about McNiel and his gang?… They’ve always treated us all right and all we’ve ever done for em’s a couple of cases of Scotch and a few cigars now and then… Now we have these reformers throw the whole city government into a turmoil… By the Living Jingo…’

Densch gets to his feet. ‘My dear Blackhead I consider it my duty as a citizen to help in cleaning up the filthy conditions of bribery, corruption and intrigue that exist in the city government… I consider it my duty as a citizen…’ He starts walking to the door, his round belly stuck proudly out in front of him.

‘Well allow me to say Densch that I think its a damn fool proposition,’ Blackhead shouts after him. When his partner has gone he lies back a second with his eyes closed. His face takes on the mottled color of ashes, his big fleshy frame is shrinking like a deflating balloon. At length he gets to his feet with a groan. Then he takes his hat and coat and walks out of the office with a slow heavy step. The hall is empty and dimly lit. He has to wait a long while for the elevator. The thought of holdup men sneaking through the empty building suddenly makes him catch his breath. He is afraid to look behind him, like a child in the dark. At last the elevator shoots up.

‘Wilmer,’ he says to the night watchman who runs it, ‘there ought to be more light in these halls at night… During this crime wave I should think you ought to keep the building brightly lit.’

‘Yassir maybe you’re right sir… but there cant nobody get in unless I sees em first.’

‘You might be overpowered by a gang Wilmer.’

‘I’d like to see em try it.’

‘I guess you are right… mere question of nerve.’

Cynthia is sitting in the Packard reading a book. ‘Well dear did you think I was never coming.’

‘I almost finished my book, dad.’

‘All right Butler… up town as fast as you can. We’re late for dinner.’

As the limousine whirs up Lafayette Street, Blackhead turns to his daughter. ‘If you ever hear a man talking about his duty as a citizen, by the Living Jingo dont trust him… He’s up to some kind of monkey business nine times out of ten. You dont know what a relief it is to me that you and Joe are comfortably settled in life.’

‘What’s the matter dad? Did you have a hard day at the office?’ ‘There are no markets, there isnt a market in the goddam world that isnt shot to blazes… I tell you Cynthia it’s nip and tuck. There’s no telling what might happen… Look, before I forget it could you be at the bank uptown at twelve tomorrow?… I’m sending Hudgins up with certain securities, personal you understand, I want to put in your safe deposit box.’

‘But it’s jammed full already dad.’

‘That box at the Astor Trust is in your name isnt it?’

‘Jointly in mine and Joe’s.’

‘Well you take a new box at the Fifth Avenue Bank in your own name… I’ll have the stuff get there at noon sharp… And remember what I tell you Cynthia, if you ever hear a business associate talking about civic virtue, look lively.’

They are crossing Fourteenth. Father and daughter look out through the glass at the windbitten faces of people waiting to cross the street.

Jimmy Herf yawned and scraped back his chair. The nickel glints of the typewriter hurt his eyes. The tips of his fingers were sore. He pushed open the sliding doors a little and peeped into the cold bedroom. He could barely make out Ellie asleep in the bed in the alcove. At the far end of the room was the baby’s crib. There was a faint milkish sour smell of babyclothes. He pushed the doors to again and began to undress. If we only had more space, he was muttering; we live cramped in our squirrelcage… He pulled the dusty cashmere off the couch and yanked his pyjamas out from under the pillow. Space space cleanness quiet; the words were gesticulating in his mind as if he were addressing a vast auditorium.

He turned out the light, opened a crack of the window and dropped wooden with sleep into bed. Immediately he was writing a letter on a linotype. Now I lay me down to sleep… mother of the great white twilight. The arm of the linotype was a woman’s hand in a long white glove. Through the clanking from behind amber foots Ellie’s voice Dont, dont, dont, you’re hurting me so… Mr Herf, says a man in overalls, you’re hurting the machine and we wont be able to get out the bullgod edition thank dog. The linotype was a gulping mouth with nickelbright rows of teeth, gulped, crunched. He woke up sitting up in bed. He was cold, his teeth were chattering. He pulled the covers about him and settled to sleep again. The next time he woke up it was daylight. He was warm and happy. Snowflakes were dancing, hesitating, spinning, outside the tall window.