Джеймс Кейн - Root of His Evil [= Shameless]

“Start what, may I ask?”

“My Indians.”

“How? I think you said such researches cost money.”

“I’ll find it, don’t you fear. And there’s other things I’ll do, too. For instance, that guy Holden. I’ll get him, I’ll make him like me before I get done. There’s a guy. But the first thing — I’m starting my life work. It’s the kind of life work that doesn’t show a profit, but never mind that. It’s worth doing. Well — so it takes money. Well — then I’ll get it. All right, I’m off. I didn’t expect you to take me in your arms. But you’ll be hearing from me — soon.”

I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to stay, so I could quarrel with him until I was ready to make up. So when he picked up his hat, I jumped up. “Well — if you’re looking for money, I think I can give you a name.”

I went to the mantel where the envelope with the money in it was lying, having been entirely forgotten during the rather hasty exit taken by his mother. It had my named typed on it, and I handed it to him. “...What’s this?”

“A name. I think she’ll be good for anything you need.”

He opened it, and when he saw what was inside he caught his breath. “Oh — the tip.”

“Yes, but it’s really yours. She’s cheated you out of it.”

I lay down on the sofa and he came and put the envelope on the table in front of me. “I didn’t quite get you at first. No, it’s yours. I can’t take money off you, Carrie.”

“Do you mean it about the Indians, or not?”

“Of course. But—”

“Then you take things any way you can get them.” Then I added: “That’s what I always do,” and raised my foot in a very provocative way and began to wave it around in the air. So the next second I was in his arms, and there had never been any quarrel, or any Lula, or any mother, only him and me. So I spent the weekend in sin, and it was Sunday afternoon before I remembered I was supposed to spend it at Mrs. Jerome’s, and we laughed and laughed because now I was a social celebrity, but had forgotten to show up.

I return now to our sloop, which isn’t anchored off the Bay Islands any more, but off Puerto Cortez, where Our equipment is due tonight on a freighter, and tomorrow we start into the interior, for excavations and I don’t know what-all. We spent two weeks in sin, as a matter of fact, at Atlantic City and a lot of places, for it took all sorts of red tape before Grant could get a license in New York. He had to prove the divorce was not granted against him on the ground of infidelity, or something. He kept his promise about Mr. Holden, and we all became good friends, and I don’t think Mr. Holden felt hurt any more. We spent some time getting ready for the expedition, and it took a lot of my money, but I don’t care. Tomorrow, Grant says, we start a perfectly hellish life, with mosquitoes, snakes, heat and everything else to bother us, and I guess it will be hard. But tonight there will be the Caribbean moon, and as it dances across the water, I shall think of the Modern Cinderella, and pretend that the light on the waves is really the silver slipper falling into her lap.