Джеймс Кейн - The Moth

I lived in the hotel now, but for the tutoring we used Margaret’s studio. Whichever shift I worked, we’d get the lessons in, and the rest of the time we’d swim in Clifton Park, where there’s a big lake they use for a pool, or go somewhere and dance, or see a picture. Mrs. Brems, the housekeeper, thought it was wonderful we should be such pals, and often put up little lunches, especially when we went swimming, so we could loaf at the pool and really enjoy ourselves. But what we did mostly, if I was free at night, was drive. We drove all over, down into southern Maryland, up into Pennsylvania, over into Virginia. But if we only had a little time we’d drive out to Lake Roland, where there was a place we could park and sit, or get out and walk around. One of those nights she touched my arm. “Jack... up there... in the trees.”

“Watch where you’re walking.”

“But look at it, Jack! It’s beautiful!”

I looked, but I knew what it was going to be before I looked.

It was a big luna moth, fluttering above us, full of moonlight. When it was gone her hand was in mine.

The algebra didn’t go so well. We’d work at it, she on one side of the card table we set up, me on the other, and the book in the middle, but we didn’t seem to get anywhere. It wasn’t long before I saw, or thought I saw, what the trouble was. What had made the arithmetic go so well was that I’d really go into it, what she didn’t understand, but of course the way to start that off right was with some stuff about how dumb she was, and then we’d have the roughhouse, but when we got done with it we had our finger on the trouble. Now there was nothing like that at all. I treated her like a lady, instead of a hoodlum, and she tried to act like one, and where we got was nowhere. And then one day, toward the end of August, it seemed to me the time was getting short and we better get fundamental if she was ever going to learn anything, so I let go with it. I mean, I hauled out the same old line, that alongside of her a parade of snails would look like graduates of the Johns Hopkins University, or something like that. But that’s as far as I got with it. She burst out crying and sat there with tears squirting out of her eyes and running down on her dress. I jumped up and put my arm around her but she ran over to the sofa and threw herself down on it, face in the pillow, and shook with sobs. “Helen, Helen, what’s the trouble? Don’t you know it was just a joke? The same joke we used to have, so we could get to the bottom of it, what it is you don’t understand?”

“Go on, let me alone.”

“Come on, we’ll take a drive and—”

“Please, please!”

“Here, let me wipe your eyes!”

“No! No! Go on, go, go, go!”

I walked around the room, hoped it would pass and that she’d let me talk to her, went over and patted her, but it was no soap. I left, and the next two or three days I didn’t see her.

“Jack, where’s Helen?”

“... I don’t know, Mrs. Legg. Why?”

“Mrs. Brems hasn’t seen her since lunchtime. I’ve had them ring her room and she doesn’t answer, I’ve had her paged — maybe she’s just gone downtown somewhere without leaving word. But — I have a queer feeling something’s wrong.”

“I’ll look into it and call you back.”

I was in my room when they told me the island was calling, in pajamas from the heat, but I dressed quick, went down to the desk, picked up the master key, went to her room, and knocked. There was no answer. I went in and she wasn’t there. I was worried twice as bad as Mrs. Legg was, because I knew there could be an answer I hated to think about. I began looking for a note or something, but didn’t find anything. Her things were all in order, dresses in the closet, panties in the bureau, algebra book on her night table. Under that, when I picked it up to make sure nothing had been slipped in with it, was my picture, one I didn’t know she had, that she must have swiped from Margaret, taken in the Little Lord Fauntleroy suit when I was about her age. It was face down.

I checked with Tolan, the house detective, for what little he knew, and rang Mrs. Legg. She and Mr. Legg were up there in about an hour, and put police and private detectives and God knows who-all to work on it. Around seven, when I was trying to stuff something to eat in me, in the dining room, Margaret came in. I couldn’t face a night on that island alone, so I took the bus.”

“Be pretty rugged at that.”

“Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“But what’s all the fuss about that brat? Can’t she even go to a picture show or take a car ride or whatever she’s done without practically putting bloodhounds on her trail?”

“They’re kind of worried.”

“Well, are you glad to see me?”

“Can’t I be worried too?”

“What about?”

“I don’t know.”

I wasn’t on duty that night, and around nine I went to my room. By that time the whole place was going crazy, and even Margaret was getting mildly interested. I sat there, looking at a sign go on and off down on Centre Street, and kept trying to think what I’d do if I was a young girl and had woke up to the fact I was in love with a guy that I supposed was in love with my sister. And all of a sudden I had a horrible hunch. I rang information for the Finley number on the island, and called. If Dickie was there I was going to give a phony name and say how about doing a job for me with his boat. But I never got that far. The mother answered, and said he wasn’t there. “Do you know where he is, Mrs. Finley? I mean, I’d like to know when he’ll be back.”

“He didn’t say.”

“Is he out in his boat?”

“No, the car.”

Anne Arundel County is the beginning of Dixie, which is just one scrub woods, and Zeke’s place was right on the edge of it, forty or fifty feet off the road, in the middle of a clearing, with scraggly pine and oak and chinquapin all around it. It was one of those log-cabin jobs, known then as a roadhouse, and what went on inside I didn’t know, as I’d never been to one, but according to Denny it was considerably more than the law allowed, whether it was women, wine, or song. I got there around ten, and the first thing I had to do, after parking, was see if the Finley car was there. There were quite a few cars out front, but there’d be no trouble spotting it, because of certain dents. It wasn’t long before I found it, and from its position it had been there some time. I went over and rang the bell and pretty soon the slot opened and a piece of face showed. “Heya? Can a hungry guy get something to eat?”

“We know you?”

“Sure, I’ve been in.”

“Just a minute.”

He went and when he came back another guy was with him that I took to be Zeke. I handed him some chatter, and I’d probably have got away with it, but when I began spending some big Baltimore names I overplayed it. He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s just a little family place I run here, and we’re kind of crowded. And anyway, I’d have to know you. Some other time, maybe.”

The slot closed and there I was. I went back to my car and tried to think. I had no proof, had nothing, except this pounding in my head, that told me to get in there, and get in quick. But I hated to go off half-cocked, hated to have this kid that I’d beaten up, that I knew was in there, see me looking silly over a twelve-year-old girl that maybe wasn’t with him at all. Then I happened to remember something. She loved gum, and it was just as regular as clockwork, when she went in any place, that she’d take out her wad and drop it over the side of the car on the ground. I went over to the Ford. I couldn’t see any gum but when I dropped to my hands and knees I could smell it. Then after I lit some matches I saw it.