Пол Боулз - Let it come down

«Hello, boys,» she said, patting her hair with one hand while she pulled her sweater down over her abdomen with the other. Apart from figures and a few insulting epithets, these words were her entire English vocabulary.

«Hello,» Dyar answered without enthusiasm. Then he went over to the door and holding up his glass, said to Hadija: «Care for a drink?» But Hadija had learned several things during her short acquaintance with Eunice Goode, perhaps the most important of which was that the more difficult everything was made, the more money would be forthcoming when payment came due. If she had been the daughter of the English Consul and had been accosted by a Spanish fisherman in the middle of the Place de France she could not have stared more coldly. She moved across the room and stood near the door facing the street.

Dyar made a wry grimace. «My mistake,» he called after her ruefully; his chagrin, however, was nothing compared to Madame Papaconstante’s indignation with Hadija. Her hands on her hips, she walked over to her and began to deliver a low-pitched but furious scolding.

«She works here, doesn’t she?» he said to Thami. Thami nodded.

«Watch,» Dyar went on, «the old madam’s giving her hell for being so snotty with the customers». Thami did not understand entirely, but he smiled. They saw Hadija’s expression grow more sullen. Presently she ambled over to the bar and stood sulking near Dyar. He decided to try again.

«No hard feelings?»

She looked up at him insolently. «Hello, Jack,» she said, and turned her face away.

«What’s the matter? Don’t you like strange men?»

«Wan Coca-Cola». She did not look at him again.

«You don’t have to drink with me if you don’t want to, you know,» he said, trying to make his voice sound sympathetic. «If you’re tired, or something..».

«How you feel?» she said. Madame Papaconstante was watching her from the end of the bar.

She lifted her glass of Coca-Cola. «Down the hotch,» she said, and took a sip. She smiled faintly at him. He stood closer to her, so he could just feel her body alongside his. Then he turned slightly toward her, and moved in a bit more. She did not stir.

«You always as crazy as this?» he asked her.

«I not crazy,» she said evenly.

They talked a while. Slowly he backed her against the bar; when he put his arm around her he thought she might push him away, but she did nothing. From her vantage-point Madame Papaconstante judged that the right moment for intervention had arrived; she lumbered down from her stool and went over to them. Thami was chatting with the Spaniard who owned the radio; when he saw Madame Papaconstante trying to talk to Dyar he turned toward them and became interpreter.

«You want to go back with her?» he asked him.

Dyar said he did.

«Tell him fifty pesetas for the room,» said Madame Papaconstante hurriedly. The Spaniards were listening. They usually paid twenty-five. «And he gives the girl what he likes, afterward».

Hadija was looking at the floor.

The room smelled of mildew. Eunice had been asleep, but now she was awake, and she noticed the smell. Certain rooms in the cellar of her grandmother’s house had smeiled like that. She remembered the coolness and mystery of the enormous cellar on a quiet summer afternoon, the trunks, the shelves of empty mason jars and the stacks of old magazines. Her grandmother had been an orderly person. Each publication had been piled separately: Judge, The Smart Set, The Red Book, Everybody’s, Hearst’s International -She sat up in the dark, tense, without knowing why. Then she did know why. She had heard Hadija’s voice outside the door. Now it said: «This room O.K».; she heard a man grunt a reply. The door into the adjacent room was opened, and then closed.

She stood up and began to walk back and forth in front of the couch, three steps one way and three steps the other. «I can’t bear it,» she thought. «I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her». But it was just the sound of the words in her head; no violent images came to accompany the refrain. Crouching on the floor with her neck twisted at a painful angle, she managed to place her ear flush against the wall. And she listened. At first she heard nothing, and she thought the wall must be too thick to let the sound through. But then she heard a loud sigh. They were not saying anything, and she realized that when something was said, she would hear every word.

A long time went by before this happened. Then Hadija said: «No». Immediately the man complained: «What’s the matter with you?» In his voice Eunice recognized a fellow American; it was even worse than she had expected. There were sounds of movement on the couch, and again Hadija said very firmly: «No».

«But, Baby» — the man pleaded.

After more shifting about, «No,» said the man halfheartedly, as if in faint protest. Eunice’s neck ached; she strained harder, pushing against the wall with all her strength. For a while she heard nothing. Then there was a long, shuddering groan of pleasure from the man. «As if he were dying,» thought Eunice, gritting her teeth. Now she told herself: «I’ll kill him ,» and this time she had a satisfactorily bloody vision, although her imaginary attack upon the man fell somewhat short of murder.

Suddenly she had drawn her head back and was pounding on the wall with her fist. And she was calling out to Hadija in Spanish: «Go on! Haz lo que quieres! Sigue ! Have a good time!» Her own knocking had startled her, and the sound of her voice astonished her even more; she would never have known it was hers. But now she had spoken; she caught her breath and listened. There was silence in the next room for a moment. The man said lazily: «What’s all that?» Hadija answered by whispering. «Quick! Give money!» She sounded agitated. «One other time I fix you up good. No like tonight. No here. Here no good. Listen, boy» — And here apparently she whispered directly into his ear, as if she knew from experience just how thin the walls were and how easily the sound carried. The man, who seemed to be in a state of profound lassitude, began nevertheless to grunt: «Huh? When? Where’s that?» between the lengthy inaudible explanations.

«Okay?» said Hadija finally. «You come?»

«But Sunday, right? Not Friday» — The last word was partially muffled, she supposed by Hadija’s hand.

Painfully Eunice got to her feet. She sighed deeply and sat down on the edge of the couch in the dark. Everything she had suspected was perfectly true: Hadija had been working regularly at the Bar Lucifer; probably she had often come to her fresh from the embrace of a Spanish laborer or shopkeeper. The arrangement with Madame Papaconstante was clearly a farce. Everyone had been lying to her. Yet instead of resentment she felt only a dimly satisfying pain — perhaps because she had found it all out at first-hand and through her own efforts. It was an old story to her and she did not mind. All she wanted now was to be alone with Hadija. She would not even discuss the evening with her. «The poor girl,» she thought. «I don’t give her enough to live on. She’s forced to come here». She began to consider places where she might take her to get her away from the harmful environment, places where they could be alone, unmolested by prying servants and disapproving or amused acquaintances. Sospel, perhaps, or Caparica; somewhere away from Arabs and Spaniards, where she would have the pleasure of feeling that Hadija was wholly dependent upon her.

«But, Baby, that’s all I’ve got,» the man was protesting. They talked normally now; she could hear them from where she sat.

«No, no,» said Hadija firmly. «More. Give».

«You don’t care how much you take from a guy, do you? I’m telling you, I haven’t got any more. Look».