Charles Johnson - Faith and the Good Thing

He’d said, “You’ve got class,” then fumbled in his sports jacket, produced a plastic respirator, and sucked on it while awaiting Faith’s reaction. She didn’t quite know what to say. The air in his apartment was stuffy. She opened a window, but that didn’t help Maxwell’s breathing. His eyes watered; he coughed, closed his eyes, threw back his head, and gripped the edge of the table with his free hand.

Faith stepped behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Can I do anything?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath, and threw back his head again. “Let me be seen in public with you—”

It was an odd way to put it, but she bit. “You want.?” She watched her timing, controlled the tone, the timbre in her voice. “Why?”

He had seemed to be in some kind of agony, with pain so quick it lifted him from his seat like a puppet. He circled the table, slightly bent, his face pale and sunken with his need for air. She had become afraid then, imagining what it was like to feel one’s chest narrow, tighten, and admit only a thin tunnel of oxygen. Maxwell’s face was blue; he held himself erect by holding the back of a chair.

“You’re. b-beautiful,” he said, coughing violently again and falling back, frightened and weak, fluids bubbling in his stomach like liquid in a shaken jug.

“Please!” Faith cried. “Don’t waste breaths trying to talk.”

He waved her away feebly, forcing out the words. “Can you imagine what it’ll be like if I’m seen with you? People — they’ll turn around and stare with admiration when we walk down the street. That’s important — what people think, I mean. It’s the world of business, and you can help me get ahead if—” His wheezing had become horrible, so deep it frightened even Maxwell. He sank into the chair at the table and lowered his head into his folded arms. “I’m just an average guy. I’m nobody — I’m a cripple ! I know you know lots of guys, healthy guys. You don’t need me. I can understand that. I’d just like to be seen with you sometimes. That’s all—”

Standing there, watching him gag and spray the acidic contents of the respirator between his lips, had both embarrassed and exhilarated her. She had power. With one word she could crush him. And, to tell the truth, it did make her feel good. She remembered sitting up with him all night, he lying propped up in his bed with pillows behind his back as she refilled his spray and brought him water. She’d given him what he wanted, smiling when — as he’d predicted — pedestrians turned around to glance at her when they walked down the street. She overlooked his stammering, smiled at his jokes, and approved of his garish ties and gauche sports coats. He, as predictable as a physical law, beamed from ear to ear, fed her, loaned her his car, and swore these ideas occurred to him of his own accord. Yet he was good to her, and though his predictability could sometimes make her scream, she did not want to lose him. Faith looked at her image in the mirror and was pleased. Tonight, if all went well, she would induce Maxwell to propose, pretending to be taken aback, honored, tearful, and left speechless by his proposition.

Then she broke into a sweat. On the surface of the glass of the mirror and superimposed over her own image were two sad, hazel eyes and a knitted brow that scowled gravely at her undertaking. She grabbed her purse and returned quickly to her table.

Maxwell was already at the counter near the door, paying the tab and counting and recounting his change. He took her arm, and they stepped out into a soft and flabby mid-spring morning. But Chicago no longer seemed dismal, not quite as lifeless or ominous. The Good Thing, after all, was here — it weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds, received paychecks twice a month, and would do anything she asked. She was so excited she almost squeezed Maxwell’s arm with genuine affection. Almost.

“You’re wonderful,” she said.

He rubbed his nose until it was shiny, grinned proudly, and perked up when two young men passed them by and whistled at Faith. Maxwell drew her close. “You’re just saying that.”

True, she thought. But she said, “I mean — you’re always in control of things. I feel so. safe when I’m with you.” She could almost hear the click, click, click of reaction as his chest swelled. She decided to say no more. Once, as they drove home from a movie, she’d overdone it, had overloaded the machinery and brought on an asthma attack that had nearly lifted him out of his skin.

“I’ve got to run,” Maxwell said at the corner. “There’s another conference this morning.” Then he rolled his eyes at her. “Most of them are pointless — just meeting with the circulation department or the ad boys, but something important might come of this one.”

“Mmmm?” She hadn’t heard a word. The warmth of the morning was reaching into her and she suddenly wanted to be free of him.

“We’re starting a series on the prison in Joliet. It’s not my idea, you understand. Those characters belong right where they are. But it occurred to me when the idea came up that this just might be my big break. The editors want to feature a column on day-to-day life in prison, but they’ll need someone to organize it.” He swiveled his head toward her, smiling, twirling the edge of his mustache. “Whoever gets that assignment may be moved up a couple of notches.”

Faith was about to speak when she started at a fingertip touching her arm. She turned, stepping back and seeing an old man behind her, his right palm outstretched. In a croaking voice he said, “Can you give a little something, lady?” Cocked over his right eye was a shapeless hat; his shirt was wrinkled as though he had slept in it, and his trousers were loose and baggy and hid his shoes. If he had a face, she couldn’t tell. His nose rested between his yellow eyes as shapeless as a kneecap, his hair was dusty and drawn up into tight little balls like gnats and mayflies caught on flypaper. Two clear streams ran from his nostrils into his mouth. He licked at his lips and presented the pink surface of his palm to her again, his hand trembling. “It’s been four days since I et, lady. ”

“Leave us alone,” Maxwell said almost under his breath. He stepped closer to intimidate him, realized he was a full head shorter than the man, then stepped back, making a great show of reaching into his pocket as if to find a gun.

The old man ignored Maxwell, turning to Faith, his hat off now. He twisted the brim around in circles and looked at her feet. “I just need a dollar to put something in my stomach for a little while.” He sniffled, looked at Maxwell out of the corners of his eyes, and chaffed his face with his slimy coat sleeve. “I can’t lie to you — I got a habit. Do you know what it’s like to be sick and—”

“You make me sick!” Maxwell snorted. He stepped behind Faith, said, “Get going before I call a cop,” and then he went silent and clenched his fists when Faith withdrew a ten-dollar bill from her purse and handed it to the old man. He took it without a word of thanks and turned away, never looking back, and walked a few paces down the street into a bar.

Maxwell’s mouth hung open. “Why didn’t you let me handle that?”

Faith played with the tight elastic band beneath her dress. She felt a headache beginning on the left side of her brow. “I felt sorry for him.”

“I don’t mean that!” Maxwell shoved his hands in his pockets, his nose wrinkled like a puppy’s as he glared at the sidewalk. “You always do that to me — override me when I’m the man.” He glanced up at her, then looked away when their eyes met. “I don’t like it! I don’t like it at all — it’s not natural. You did it at that party last week when I was telling a joke and you said I got it wrong.” He thought about it, colored, and stomped his foot on the ground. “I hate that, Faith. It makes me feel small when you or any body else does that. I was mad enough to hit you upside your head for embarrassing me in front of all those people.” For a moment he was silent. Then: “And I would have been right if I’d hit you. Women have less Will than men— that’s a fact of nature; they’re less rational and more emotional, and they need to keep quiet until spoken to and let men take the lead.” And, as if to demonstrate this general principle, he walked faster so Faith remained two steps behind him.