Irwin Shaw - Short Stories - Five Decades

Arline looked down at her husband, sleeping under the blankets. His fighter’s face with the mashed nose was very peaceful on the pillow and his hair was curled like a baby’s and he snored gently because he breathed through his mouth. A light sweat stood out on his face. Eddie always sweated, any season, any place. But now, when she saw Eddie begin to sweat, it made Arline a little angry.

She stood there, watching the serene, glove-marked face. She sat down on the other bed, still watching her husband. She took a lace-bordered handkerchief out of a pocket and dabbed at her eyes. They were dry. She sniffed a little and the tears started. For a moment she cried silently, then she sobbed aloud. In a minute the tears and the sobs were regular, loud in the still room.

Eddie stirred in his bed. He closed his mouth, turned over on his side.

“Oh, my,” Arline sobbed, “oh, my God.”

She saw, despite the fact that Eddie’s back was toward her, that he had awakened.

“Oh,” Arline wept, “sweet Mother of God.”

She knew that Eddie was wide awake listening to her and he knew that she knew it, but he hopefully pretended he hadn’t been roused. He even snored experimentally once or twice. Arline’s sobs shook her and the mascara ran down her cheeks in straight black lines.

Eddie sighed and turned around and sat up, rubbing his hair with his hands.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “What’s bothering you, Arline?”

“Nothing,” Arline sobbed.

“If nothing’s the matter,” Eddie said mildly, “what’re you crying for?”

Arline didn’t say anything. She stopped sobbing aloud and turned the grief inward upon herself and wept all the more bitterly, in silence. Eddie wiped his eye with the heel of his hand, looked wearily at the dark shades that shut out the slanting rays of the sun.

“There are six rooms in this house, Arline darling,” he said. “If you have to cry why is it necessary to pick the exact room where I am sleeping?”

Arline’s head sank low on her breast, her beautiful beauty-shop straw-colored hair falling tragically over her face. “You don’t care,” she murmured, “you don’t care one dime’s worth if I break my heart.”

She squeezed the handkerchief and the tears ran down her wrist.

“I care,” Eddie said, throwing back the covers neatly and putting his stockinged feet onto the floor. He had been sleeping in his pants and shirt, which were very wrinkled now. He shook his head two or three times as he sat on the edge of the bed and hit himself smartly on the cheek with the back of his hand to awaken himself. He looked unhappily across at his wife, sitting on the other bed, her hands wrung in her lap, her face covered by her careless hair, sorrow and despair in every line of her. “Honest, Arline, I care.” He went over and sat next to her on the bed and put his arm around her. “Baby,” he said. “Now, baby.”

She just sat there crying silently, her round, soft shoulders shaking now and then under his arm. Eddie began to feel more and more uncomfortable. He squeezed her shoulder two or three times, exhausting his methods of consolation. “Well,” he said finally, “I think maybe I’ll put the kid in the carriage and take him for a walk. A little air. Maybe when I come back you’ll feel better.”

“I won’t feel better,” Arline promised him, without moving. “I won’t feel one ounce better.”

“Arline,” Eddie said.

“The kid.” She sat up erect now and looked at him. “If you paid as much attention to me as to the kid.”

“I pay equal attention. My wife and my kid.” Eddie stood up and padded around the room uneasily in his socks.

Arline watched him intently, the creased flannel trousers and the wrinkled shirt not concealing the bulky muscles.

“The male sleeping beauty,” she said. “The long-distance sleeping champion. My husband.”

“I don’t sleep so awful much,” Eddie protested.

“Fifteen hours a day,” Arline said. “Is it natural?”

“I had a hard workout this morning,” Eddie said, standing at the window. “I went six fast rounds. I got to get rest. I got to store up my energy. I am not so young as some people any more. I got to take care of myself. Don’t I have to store up energy?”

“Store up your energy!” Arline said loudly. “All day long you store up energy. What is your wife supposed to do when you are storing up energy?”

Eddie let the window shade fly up. The light shot into the room, making it harder for Arline to cry.

“You ought to have friends,” Eddie suggested without hope.

“I have friends.”

“Why don’t you go out with them?”

“They’re in Kansas City,” Arline said.

There was silence in the room. Eddie sat down and began putting on his shoes.

“My mother’s in Kansas City,” Arline said. “My two sisters are in Kansas City. My two brothers. I went to high school in Kansas City. Here I am, in Brooklyn, New York.”

“You were in Kansas City two and a half months ago,” Eddie said, buttoning his collar and knotting his tie. “A mere two and a half months ago.”

“Two and a half months are a long time,” Arline said, clearing away the mascara lines from her cheeks, but still weeping. “A person can die in two and a half months.”

“What person?” Eddie asked.

Arline ignored him. “Mama writes she wants to see the baby again. After all, that is not unnatural, a grandmother wants to see her grandchild. Tell me, is it unnatural?”

“No,” said Eddie, “it is not unnatural.” He combed his hair swiftly. “If Mama wants to see the baby,” he said, “explain to me why she can’t come here. Kindly explain to me.”

“My husband is of the opinion that they are handing out gold pieces with movie tickets in Kansas City,” Arline said with cold sarcasm.

“Huh?” Eddie asked, honestly puzzled. “What did you say?”

“How can Mama afford to come here?” Arline asked. “After all, you know, there are no great prizefighters in our family. I had to marry to bring one into the family. Oh, my God!” Once more she wept.

“Lissen, Arline.” Eddie ran over to her and spoke pleadingly, his tough, battered face very gentle and sad. “I can’t afford to have you go to Kansas City every time I take a nap in the afternoon. We have been married a year and a half and you have gone to Kansas City five times. I feel like I am fighting for the New York Central Railroad, Arline!”

Arline shook her head obstinately. “There is nothing to do in New York,” she said.

“There is nothing to do in New York!” Eddie’s mouth opened in surprise. “My God! There’s something to do in Kansas City?” he cried. “What the hell is there to do in Kansas City? Remember, I have been in that town myself. I married you in that town.”

“I didn’t know how it was going to be,” Arline said flatly. “It was nice in Kansas City. I was an innocent young girl.”

“Please,” said Eddie. “Let us not rake up the past.”

“I was surrounded by my family,” Arline went on shakily. “I went to high school there.”

She bent over and grief took possession once more. Eddie licked his lips uncomfortably. They were dry from the morning’s workout and the lower lip was split a little and smarted when he ran his tongue over it. He searched his brain for a helpful phrase.

“The kid,” he ventured timidly, “why don’t you play more with the kid?”

“The kid!” Arline cried defiantly. “I take very good care of the kid. I have to stay in every night minding the kid while you are busy storing up your energy.” The phrase enraged her and she stood up, waving her arms. “What a business! You fight thirty minutes a month, you got to sleep three hundred and fifty hours. Why, it’s laughable. It is very laughable! You are some fighter!” She shook her fist at him in derision. “With all the energy you store up you ought to be able to beat the German army!”