Charles Williams - Hell Hath No Fury

“No, you won’t,” she said softly. “Not now. Just kiss me now.”

Her arms went up around my neck and tightened. And then we were slipping over the edge. Another big slide of sawdust gave way and we were half-buried in it, locked together and tumbling, sliding, rolling over and over all the way to the bottom. We came to rest somewhere at last and the world stopped whirling and settled into place. Her arms were still tight around me and her lips were against my ear. They were moving, and the whisper was ragged and frantic, and then incoherent in its urgency. It was very dark there in the ravine under the trees. It was just as well.

“And you thought you could leave me.”

I lay there, hating her, not touching her but knowing how near she was in the darkness. I didn’t say anything.

“You and that prissy little owl. That Sunday-school kid. You think you could leave me for her?”

“I told you. I’m through. This is the last time.”

“That’s what you think.

“About us. We belong together. If you left me, you’d come back. What’s the use of trying to kid yourself? We’re just two people who take what we want, and we belong together. We need each other. You said I was a tramp; well, did you ever stop to think you’re one too?”

“So you admit it? Why’d you throw an ice-cube tray at me that night?”

“I’m just touchy when I’m drunk. I don’t know why. I always suspect everybody of thinking I’m a bitch. And when I’m sober I couldn’t care less.”

“Well, that’s a break.”

“Why?”

“Is there anybody who thinks you’re not one?”

“You couldn’t prove it by me. But I do all right. So do you. I know what I want, and I get it.”

“Well, let’s get something straight. You think I’m going to marry you? Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“What’s that?”

“Well, there are actually several things. One is that I wouldn’t marry you on a bet. I’ve already been married to one big-hearted girl who couldn’t remember where she lived, and once around the course is enough for any man. But the big thing I had in mind is that you’ve already got a husband. Remember? Or do you, very often?”

“Probably as often as you do. But never mind about him. He got everything he paid for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know why we came back from Galveston today?”

I’d forgotten about that. “No. How could I?”

“He had a heart attack.”

“What!”

“It was the second one.”

“Where is he now?”

“At home. He wouldn’t stay in the hospital.”

“When was it?”

“Let’s see. It was Monday afternoon I got him to call the Sheriff up here, wasn’t it? So it was Tuesday morning.”

“How did it happen?”

“He was fighting a big shark, trying to keep it from getting the line around the anchor or something, and swearing at the boatman at the same time, and he just fell over. We brought him in to the hospital. He almost didn’t make it.”

“What did the doctors say?” I knew I was in a funny position to be feeling concerned for him, but I did.

“If he has another one, it may kill him.”

“Why wouldn’t he stay in the hospital?”

“He hates ‘em. And he never pays any attention to doctors. But they warned him he’d better this time. He has to cut out that fishing, and the cigars. And not do any work for several months, and only a little then. Nothing that will excite him. You know what that means?”

“Sure. Just what you said. No more big-game fishing. No more blowing his top over business and government forms and taxes.”

“It means more than that. Remember, I told you he’d had two? Well, he wasn’t fighting a shark when he had the first one.”

14

I was dead the next day; it was worse than a hangover. Even after I’d gone home I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of her and what she could do to me, and for some reason I couldn’t get Harshaw out of my mind. It didn’t make much sense. Why should I worry about him? But every time I’d close my eyes and try to sleep the whole thing would start around again, his lying there alone in the dark listening to it like a mechanic to a missing engine and knowing that when it started to go away again he was done because there wasn’t anybody to do anything or even to be there when he left, while all the time the two of us were out there wallowing in our own cheapness. It was a little hard to sleep with.

I was so filled with disgust I didn’t even go across the street to see Gloria. I didn’t know whether I could face her. The news was out, and everybody was talking about Harshaw’s heart attack.

The following day I began to feel a little better. It was Saturday, and we were pretty busy. Around noon the telephone rang.

“Mr. Madox?”

What now? I thought. “Yes. Speaking.”

“This is Mrs. Harshaw. George asked me to call you. He isn’t feeling well enough to come down to the office, you know. I guess you’ve heard about it—?” She let it trail off.

“Yes,” I said. “I hated to hear it. How is he now?”

“He’s a little better. That’s the reason I’m calling. He’d like to have you come out to the house tonight to talk over some business details. Do you think you could make it, around seven o’clock?”

“Sure,” I said.

“That’ll be fine, then. And would you mind telling the girl in the loan office, Miss—ah—“

“Harper,” I said. The lousy tramp. She just couldn’t resist it.

“Yes. That’s it. Miss Harper. He wants her to come too.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll tell her.”

I went across the street. She was busy with a Negro who was making a payment on his loan. When she saw me waiting she waved the pencil at me and her eyes crinkled up in a smile. In a minute the Negro said, “Thank you, Miss Gloria,” and went out.

“Hello,” she said.

“You’re looking very pretty.” I paused. We were both always just a little awkward with each other when we first met.

“Do you like my new dress?”

I looked at it. It was blue with white sort of ruffles. ‘Yes,” I said. “Very much.”

She smiled. “It isn’t new. You’ve seen it four times.”

I shook my head. “I’ve never seen it at all.”

“You’re nice.” Then her face became serious and she said quietly, “It’s so awful about Mr. Harshaw, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But I just talked to Mrs. Harshaw, and I think he’s a little better. He wants us to come out there tonight. Something about the business. If you can make it, I’ll pick you up a little before seven.”

“All right, Harry. But he shouldn’t be trying to think about business now. What do you suppose he wants?”

“Probably just a report,” I said. “But there’s no telling. Maybe he’s going to sell out and retire.”

She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she asked, “Do you really think he will?”

Something in her voice made me turn and look at her. It still puzzled me after I left. She had seemed almost afraid. But why should she be? Even if she lost her job, which was unlikely, there were plenty of others.

It was dusk when I drove over to pick her up. She wasn’t quite ready, and I waited, talking about cars with the Robinsons on the front porch. When she came out she was very lovely in a white skirt and dark, long-sleeved blouse, and as we went down the walk and I helped her into the car I was conscious of a faint fragrance about her in the air.

The street going up past the filling station was deserted in the twilight, and just as we came to the oaks I stopped the car.

“Did you forget something, Harry?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t forget it. This is just the first chance I’ve had to do it.” I took her face in my hands and kissed her.