Уолтер Тевис - The Hustler

Then he went out, carrying the little white box with the watch in his pocket. He hailed a cab and gave the driver Sarah’s address.

And suddenly, walking up the steps to Sarah’s apartment, he became nervous. The door to the place was closed. He hesitated a moment, and then knocked.

And then the door was open and she was looking up at him. She was holding a book in one hand, the other on the doorknob. Her hair was neat around the sides of her face; she was wearing her glasses. She had on a new blouse, a dark one, tucked in neatly at the waist.

“Hello, Eddie,” she said, quietly. Then she stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

The apartment was clean, cleaner than he had ever seen it. Even the clown’s frame had been dusted off! and there were no scattered books or glasses. He took a seat on the couch and looked around him. He looked at her; but she was not looking at him.

Then, still not looking at his face, she said, “Can I fix you a drink?”

“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

When she was in the kitchen, opening the ice tray, she said, “How was Lexington?”

“Fine,” he said. “Better than I expected.”

She walked in and handed him the drink, then turned away. “That’s nice,” she said. She sat down in the easy chair, across the room from him.

He still felt very good. The room was cool, his body and clothes were very clean, and he let the whiskey send its warm hands rubbing comfortably against the lining of his empty stomach.

He had anticipated her coolness, and was amused by it. But there seemed to be nothing to say. When he had finished his drink he stood up. “You eaten dinner yet?”

She glanced at him momentarily. “No,” she said. “I haven’t.”

“You want to go out? To the place we went last time?”

She drew in her breath. “I don’t know.”

“Please.”

“That’s an odd word for you to say.”

“That’s right. Do you want me to say it again?”

She stood up. “You won’t have to.” She set her drink, unfinished, on the coffee table. Then she walked into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

She was through in fifteen minutes. The outfit did not look as good as it had the first time, because she had not dressed as carefully. But she looked very nice, high-class. He thought of the whore in Lexington. When they left he started to take her arm gently in his hand, but thought better of it.

She nursed only one martini before dinner, and did not finish that one. Nor did she talk very much.

He had two highballs, with bourbon, and after the second one began to regain his sense of pleasure, which had been showing symptoms of waning, but the pleasure was different now—strained, and not so intense. “How’s school?” he said.

“School is over. Until September.”

They both ate the roast beef, which was rare and very good. They went through the rest of the meal silently, and when it was over he gave her a cigarette and lit it for her before he spoke. “I bought you something.”

She smiled faintly, but said nothing.

He took the little package from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

She took it, glanced at it, and then looked up at him, quizzically. “Is this an apology, maybe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She opened the box and took the watch out into her hand. It was a plain silver watch, with a thin black strap. He had picked it because it had the feel of class to it. She looked at it carefully for a moment, then put it on her wrist. “It’s lovely,” she said.

He took a drink from his coffee cup. “I almost bought you a ring.”

Abruptly she took her eyes from the watch and stared at him, closely. Her eyes were wide. Finally she said, slowly, “What kind of a ring?”

“What kind do you think?”

She was still watching his face, her eyes penetrating and puzzled. “Are you telling me the truth?” she said, “Or are you… hustling?”

“With me that’s sometimes the same thing.” He lighted a cigarette. “But I’m not lying to you. I almost bought a ring.”

“All right. Then why didn’t you buy it?”

He was not certain why, so he did not attempt to answer her. Instead he said, “Suppose I had?”

She looked down at the watch. “I don’t know. Maybe you did the right thing.” Then she smiled, and the puzzled look disappeared from her eyes. “Anyway it’s a fine watch. I’m glad you gave it to me.”

He looked at her for a minute, her face, neck, and shoulders. She seemed very young. Then he stood up. “I’ll take you home.”

They walked silently, and he listened to the odd rhythm of her heels, the uneven cadence that the limp made. They passed the bus station, and he started to say something but did not. He held her arm, crossing the streets, and he felt excitement at it, the soft bare arm, warm and smooth in his hand. But she did not look up at him, nor did she respond to his pressure. He felt now as if something were wrong; and he did not know what to do. The drinks were wearing away, and the work of the last several days was beginning to catch up with him. It seemed to be a very long walk.

Climbing the stairs to her apartment was very difficult. His feet were burning and there was lead in his shoulders and, when he got to the top, there was vertigo. He realized, abruptly, that it had been a long time since he had rested. Somewhere, his sense of pleasure had dribbled away. Suddenly, he wanted very much to go back to the hotel and sleep for a very long time, to stretch out and become unconscious. A bed in a quiet room would be very fine. His head was aching.

She opened the door, but instead of going into the room stood in the open doorway, looking at him. Then she said, slowly, “If you want a drink you’ll have to get a bottle, Eddie.” Her voice was tired, but not unpleasant. “I only have a little left on hand.”

“Tuesday was the first of the month,” he said. It occurred to him that neither of them had acknowledged the fact that he had not brought his suitcase with him.

“I got my check,” she smiled faintly, wryly. “I had to use the liquor money for tuition. The fall semester.” She looked away from him, inspecting the doorknob it seemed. “You can get a bottle of Scotch if you’d like, and we can drink it.”

“In Coca-Cola glasses?”

She did not look up. “If you want to.”

He was looking at her face, fascinated by her skin, which seemed to glow in the soft light from the living room lamp. But he felt nothing, only a simple, admiring fascination, as if he were looking at the orange clown on Sarah’s wall, the one in the white frame. The clown that had once seemed ready to tell him something. “You didn’t finish your martini tonight,” he said.

“I know.”

“Maybe it’s a good sign,” he said gently, feeling almost as if it were someone else talking to her, as if he himself were already at the hotel, in bed, alone. “You don’t make a very convincing lush.”

“No,” she said, looking up at him now. “I don’t suppose I do.” And then, “Are you going to get the Scotch?”

“No,” he said. “I’m tired. And I have a big day tomorrow.”

“Are you coming in? There’s a little left in my bottle.”

He looked at her face, the wise and hard and puzzled eyes. “I’d better be getting back to the hotel,” he said.

She looked at his eyes, for the first time that night. She did not seem to be trying to find anything in them, just looking. Then she said, “Thanks again for the watch.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He turned and began walking down the stairs.

“Good luck, Eddie,” she said, calling softly to him, “for tomorrow.”