Джеймс Кейн - Root of His Evil [= Shameless]

“I found out all I wanted to know.”

“Such as?”

“Anyway, that you’re no company spy.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t think you’re anything, much.”

I only meant to get back at him for saying I was slick, but my remark had the most unfortunate effect on him. His eyes dropped, his face got red as mahogany, and he picked up the corn and started to eat it. I waited for him to say something, but all he did was gnaw around the corn, with even his neck getting red. I went and got his salad. When I got back, he was almost through his second ear. I picked up the other ear and stripped it exactly the way he had. “Just to show you I really was paying attention.”

“Thanks.”

“I never had it that way, but it looks good.”

“What’s your name?”

“Carrie. Carrie Selden.”

“Well, Carrie, I think you’re trying to be friendly, but you hit me below the belt. What made you say that? Was it just a crack, or — did you have something to go on?”

“I had to have some kind of a comeback.”

“Yes, but I’m thinking of something.”

“What’s that?”

“Those girls. Why did they pick you out?”

“Oh, they often do.”

“Not for nothing. They thought you’d take my measure.”

“They just thought I’d be careful.”

He looked at me a long time, in a way that made me feel very peculiar, because to me at least there was something unusual about his eyes, something very warm and tender. Then he said: “Well, all I can say, Carrie, is that I find you very baffling.”

“In what way, may I ask?”

“Everything about you seems delicate, and flowerlike, except that really you’re very cold and knowing.”

“I don’t think I’m cold.”

“Let’s get on to this other thing. They’re organizing here?”

“...Why?”

“There you go again, with that fishy look. You ought to do something about your eyes, Carrie. They give you away... Why? I’m curious, that’s all. I’m no company spy, or anything like that. Just an interested bystander. But interested. I’ve got my reasons. I’m not just talking.”

“What reasons?”

His lace got very hard and bitter, and what he said next was almost between his set teeth. “Malice. Pure, unadulterated malice. They’ve got it coming to them, plenty.”

“Who is they?”

“All of them. The system.”

“I don’t see any system.”

“All right, I do. The foxholes improve your eyesight, maybe. Anyway, I’ve got interested in this social reform thing, and I’m going into it. I want to see how it works right from the beginning, and here in this restaurant is a good place to start. I want to see how they go about it, this organizing, I mean. Does that clear it up?”

“You sound awfully sore about something.”

“I am sore.”

“Well — sure we’re organizing.”

“A.F. of L. or this other one?”

“...It’s not the other one.”

“How far has it gone?”

“It’s all lined up.”

“When does it pop?”

“That all depends. The meeting’s tonight.”

“Where?”

“Reliance Hall.”

“Third Avenue, up near Eightieth?”

“Yes, it’s over in Yorkville somewhere.”

“Can I get in?”

“If you were a newspaper reporter—?”

“Ah, that’s an idea.”

“They’re letting reporters in later, after the main part is over. I could get you in. Are you a reporter?”

“No, but I could muss up my collar. Would you?”

He made that sound very personal, so I quickly said, “Why not?” as though I didn’t notice it.

“...why did you make that crack?”

“If it bothers you all that much, I’ll take it back.”

“You can’t. The truth is, I’m not anything, much.”

“Well, my goodness, you’re young yet.”

“I’m twenty-seven. My farthest worth in the way of accomplishment was to get made a second louie in infantry... Napoleon conquered Italy at twenty-six.”

“Maybe that wasn’t so hot. Maybe Italy didn’t think so.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

The girls lost interest when I said he was a reporter, as that seemed the simplest way out, but I could feel him following me about with his eyes wherever I went. More customers came in, so we didn’t get any more chance to talk. When he left, a half dollar was on the table.

I tell all this to refute insinuations that were made, that I knew all about Grant, and took advantage of him from the start. The truth is I knew almost nothing about him, and what was said at our first meeting, it seems to me, proves that he acted very mysteriously with me, from the very beginning, and in spite of many peculiar hints, told me almost nothing about himself, and in fact concealed the main things from me. He did that, I know now, from modesty, and from being sick and tired of having people get excited over who he was, and from not being able to see that it made much difference anyway, since regardless of who he was he was not what he wanted to be, or even headed in that direction. However, I should like to make it clear that regardless of his motives, he did practice concealment. Now then, why didn’t I compel him to be more candid? Why was I content to be kept in the dark? That part I shall explain too, when I get to it, and merely say at this point that there was a reason, equally strong to me as his reasons were to him, and yet nothing I need be ashamed of. I want it understood that until the terrible storm broke, Grant and I were practically strangers to each other, intimate and yet barely acquainted. It set me thinking about social customs in a way I never did before, of the importance of introductions and mutual friends and the various guarantees that people receive concerning each other.

We had the big meeting that night, and Lula and I went, and I must confess I wondered if Grant would come, which surprised me, for one does not as a rule think much about customers after working hours. Once in the hall, however, I was in the midst of events which transpired so rapidly and unexpectedly that he was momentarily driven from my mind.

In general, I criticize all labor activities for being most inefficient and slipshod, and the meeting in Reliance Hall that night was no exception. There were 473 girls present, as my records later showed, all anxious to organize and get it over with. But just as most of them had found seats, word came that the girls of the Borough Hall restaurant in Brooklyn, who had previously been lukewarm, had decided to join, and were on their way over in a big bus, and that the meeting would wait for them. Why that had to be was never explained. So we marked time, and there were speeches, the gentlemen from the main council went into a huddle at one end of the platform, and nobody seemed really to be in charge, although a union lady from out of town was in the chair. All this gave time for factions to develop. Particularly there was a girl from the Union Square restaurant, by the name of Clara Gruber, who had a great deal to say about the full social value of our labor, which meant nothing to me, and in a few minutes, a lot of them were yelling for her to be president. This annoyed the girls from the Lower Broadway place, who were going to put me up for president.

So very soon the meeting was split into two groups, one yelling for me, the other for Clara Gruber, and in a very disorderly manner, with names being called. So as soon as I could get the attention of the lady in the chair, I got up and declined the nomination, if indeed there had been any nomination, for there didn’t seem to be any rules or motions or anything you could go by. This made things still worse, and the faction in favor of me threatened to secede. So then I hurriedly whispered to Lula and had her get up and say that if Clara Gruber was going to be president, then I had to be secretary-treasurer. My object in this was that I thought if our side had the money, it didn’t make much difference who was president. So that satisfied Clara Gruber, and she was elected, and so was I, and we both went up on the platform, and the union lady stepped down, and Clara Gruber began making another speech about the full social value of our labor.