Джеймс Кейн - Root of His Evil [= Shameless]

After a night’s rest, however, I was capable of feeling, for a quick stab of pain shot through me when I realized I was alone. I got up at once, so I could be doing something in order not to think. I took a bath, slipped into a suit of house pajamas I had bought, and made myself breakfast. I had cereal, milk, coffee, toast and an omelet, taking time to beat the omelet thoroughly so it tasted good and I could eat every bit of it. When I was through I washed everything up clean and put it back exactly where it had been when I came there. I dressed carefully, went out and walked over to Bloomingdale’s, where I bought a traveling bag which I brought back with me in a taxi. It was what they call airplane luggage, almost as big as a trunk, but it was made out of nice leather and had hangers in it, which I especially wanted for the new things I had bought after I got married. I had the elevator boy bring it up for me and as soon as I was in the apartment with it I changed into the house pajamas again and packed. I was careful to put in everything that was mine and to take nothing that wasn’t mine. When I had finished I put the house pajamas on top and changed into the green dress I had bought before I met Grant, for I didn’t want to wear anything associated with my marriage. I closed the new bag and also the one I had brought when I came.

That night I called Mr. Holden. I met him for dinner, then brought him to the apartment and we talked. He accepted what I had told him and made no personal advances at all. He spoke at length about his plans for organizing workers in the West and said it would be imperative for him to leave for the Coast within two weeks. I tried to imagine myself going with him, tried to believe I would be lonely after he left. I couldn’t think of anything but Grant and the bitterness I felt against the woman who had taken him away from me.

Next day I went down into the financial district to look around with a view to starting a business for myself. From what I knew of the eating habits of people in Wall Street, as a result of my work at Karb’s, I felt there would be an opportunity for a place run like a little club, where men could come in, see their friends, be served quickly and get back to their offices without consuming too much time. As a matter of fact, there are a number of luncheon clubs on lower Broadway, but most of them are both expensive and exclusive. What I had in mind was a place to be located right in one of the big office buildings so that the customers could eat without even leaving the building. But of course it was all tied up with the question of rent and the kind of bargain I could make.

I saw the superintendent of several large buildings and while most of them were full up, one place had a space and they were willing to make concessions, so that things looked very favorable. The next two or three days I put in talking to the restaurant supply houses and they were very attentive to me and willing to extend credit, so that even with my limited capital it looked as though I would be able to make a start. And yet I didn’t seem able to make up my mind about anything and would come home every night and sit there and look at my packed luggage and think about Grant. Then Mr. Holden would call and we would go to dinner, and when I would come home again and go to bed and it would be all gray and depressing and I didn’t seem to take any interest in whether I could start a business or not.

One day I came home earlier than usual and found a note from Mr. Hunt saying he had called and giving his number, with the request that I call him. My heart began beating fast, and I called.

“Carrie, I’ve got to see you.”

“What about?”

“Money.”

It was a disappointment, but after a moment I said: “I’m amply provided for, thank you.”

“I said I had to see you and all I want to know is, are you home or aren’t you?”

“...Yes.”

“I’m coming down.”

So in a half hour he was there. Before he arrived I phoned the desk that he was to be sent up and then I hurriedly got out Scotch and a seltzer siphon and opened the Scotch. He took the drink I made for him, crossed his legs and remarked: “God, but Granny’s a fool.”

“I thought we had agreed that Grant was the victim of something he couldn’t very well help.”

“I hate victims of things they can’t very well help. I hate victims. Even a Chinese war victim has a very stupid look, to my eyes. Did you ever notice those people? They don’t really look bright.”

“So?”

“Granny’s a victim. To hell with them all.”

“The Chinese children don’t look so stupid. They look sweet.”

“Granny’s no child.”

“He is to me.”

“To me he’s a fool — just a plain fatheaded sap. And if you take that to mean that I think you’re all right — O.K., that’s what I do think. However, that’s not what I came here for.”

I waited and he kept rubbing the moisture on his glass with his thumb, which seemed to be a habit of his, and then he said: “I’ve been selected to buy you off.”

“...I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, find out how much you’ll take to get a divorce and forget the whole unfortunate incident. I believe they stipulate a trip to Reno, so the thing can be washed up quickly and quietly.”

“...Well. I had thought of you as a friend.”

“That’s exactly the way I think of myself.”

“This doesn’t sound much like it.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m surprised how unpleasant it sounds. It has a regular Judas ring to it. Nevertheless, it’s supposed to be friendly — on my part, at least. But I’m only the fiscal agent.”

“If you don’t mind, I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Carrie.”

“Yes, Mr. Hunt?”

“Suppose you call me Bernie.”

“All right, Bernie, but I warn you if I hear any more about this I’m liable to pick up an ice cube and hit you in the eye with it. I’ve taken quite a few things in the last few days and this could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Why did you come up here with any such proposal as this? If you think I’m ‘all right’ does that mean I could be bought off just like some floosie?”

He came over and half knelt beside me and touched my hand. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Now comes the friendly part. What did I tell you the last time we talked about this?”

“You mean at your home that day?”

“Yes.”

“...You told me I was sunk.”

He was so straightforward there was no use pretending I didn’t remember. He must have seen that it upset me, for he waited a moment before he went on. Then he said, very quietly: “That’s right. That’s what I told you. Carrie, you’re still sunk. It’s all over. Now it’s simply a question of how much.”

“It’s simply a question of me being sick of the whole miserable mess, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

“Let’s go into that. Why not?”

“That woman, for one thing.”

“Go on.”

“Do you think I’d give her the satisfaction of thinking she could — buy me off?”

“Listen: When I take money off a louse I figure she’s still a louse but I’ve got the money.”

I couldn’t help laughing at this and he laughed too. “And believe me, when I say louse I don’t mean butterfly. I’ve been her son-in-law for five years and I never saw anything like her. But never mind that, let’s get back to you. There’s twenty-five thousand bucks in it for you if you’ll get on the train for Reno in some kind of reasonable time and my advice is: take it.”

“I can’t.”

“All right then, here comes the real Judas part, only I’m selling them out this time, not you. Things haven’t been going as well with them as perhaps you think. You’ve heard of Uncle George, haven’t you?”