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“I’m home,” he called and went into the living room and sat down on the couch, pushing a toy fire engine out of the way. He sat there, on the orange-satin couch Teresa had insisted upon buying, holding the letter dangling from his hand, trying to decide whether or not to throw it away then and there.
Teresa came in, in an apron, a little sweat glistening on her make-up, the kid crawling after her.
“You got a letter,” she said. She was not very friendly these days, ever since she had heard about his going to England and leaving her behind.
“Yeah.”
“It’s a woman’s handwriting.”
“It’s from my mother, for Christ’s sake.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Look.” He shoved the letter under her nose.
She squinted to read. She was very nearsighted but refused to wear glasses. “It’s awful young handwriting for a mother,” she said, retreating reluctantly. “A mother, now. Your family is growing in leaps and bounds.”
She went back to the kitchen, picking up the kid, who was squalling that he wanted to stay where he was.
To spite Teresa, Thomas decided to read the letter and see what the old bitch had to say.
“Rudolph described the circumstances of your meeting”—he read—“and I must say I was more than a little shocked at your choice of a profession. Although I shouldn’t be surprised, considering your father’s nature and the example he set you with that dreadful punching bag hanging out in the back yard all the time. Still, it’s an honest living, I suppose, and your brother says you seem to have settled down with a wife and a child and I hope you are happy.
“Rudolph did not describe your wife to me, but I hope that your family life is happier than your father’s and mine. I don’t know whether Rudolph mentioned it to you but your father just vanished one fine night, with the cat.
“I am not well and I have the feeling my days are numbered. I would like to come to New York City and see my son and my new grandson, but traveling is very difficult for me. If Rudolph saw fit to buy an automobile instead of the motorcycle he charges around town on perhaps I could manage the trip. He might even be able to drive me to church one Sunday, so I could begin to make up for the years of paganism your father forced me to endure. But I guess I shouldn’t complain. Rudolph has been very kind and takes good care of me and has got me a television set which makes the long days bearable. He seems to be so busy on his own projects that he barely comes home to sleep. From what I can tell, especially from the way he dresses, he is doing quite well. But he was always a good dresser and always managed to have money in his pocket.
“I ca
“I was always too tired and overworked and struggling to meet your father’s drunken demands to show the love I felt for you, but maybe now, in my last days, we can have peace between us.
“I gathered from Rudolph’s tone that you were not very friendly with him. Perhaps you have your reasons. He has turned into a cold man although a thoughtful one. If you do not wish to see him, I could let you know when he is out of the house, which happens more and more often, for days on end, and you and I could visit with each other undisturbed. Kiss my grandson for me. Your loving Mother.”
Holy God, he thought, voices from the tomb.
He sat there, holding the letter, staring into space, not hearing his wife scolding the kid in the kitchen, thinking of the years over the bakery, years when he had been more thoroughly exiled although he lived in the same house than when he had been sent away and told never to show his face again. Maybe he would go to visit the old lady, listen to the complaints, so late in coming, about her beloved Rudolph, her fair-haired boy.
He would borrow a car from Schultzy and ride her over to church, that’s what he would do. Let the whole goddamn family see how wrong they were about him.
II
Mr. McKe
Rudolph looked at the neatly typed report with distaste. Tapping telephone wires, it seemed, was as easy as buying a loaf of bread. For five dollars, hotel clerks would allow you to attach a microphone to a wall. Secretaries would fish out torn love letters from waste baskets and piece them together carefully for the price of a di
He picked up the phone and asked for Gretchen’s number. He listened as the operator dialed. The busy signal, that snarling sound, came over the wire. He hung up and went over to the window and parted the curtains and looked out. The afternoon was cold and gray. Down below pedestrians leaned against the wind, hurrying for shelter, collars up. It was an ex-policeman’s kind of day.
He went back to the phone, asked for Gretchen’s number again. Once more, he heard the busy signal. He slammed down the instrument, a
Before he called Willie and confronted him with the detective’s report, he had to tell Gretchen this and tell her also that he intended to speak to Willie immediately.
But again the phone rang busy. The injured party was having a chatty afternoon. With whom was she talking—Joh
He looked at his watch. Five minutes to four. Willie would undoubtedly be back in his office by now, happily dozing off the pre-lunch martinis.
Rudolph picked up the phone and called Willie’s number. Two secretaries in Willie’s office wafted him along, disembodied sweet voices, electric with public relations charm. “Hi, Merchant Prince,” Willie said, when he came on the line. “To what do I owe the honor?” It was a three-martini voice this afternoon.
“Willie,” Rudolph said, “you have to come over here to my hotel right away.”
“Listen, kid, I’m sort of tied up here and …”
“Willie, I warn you, you’d better come over here this minute.”
“Okay,” Willie said, his voice subdued. “Order me a drink.”
Drinkless, Willie sat in the chair the ex-policeman had used earlier, and carefully read the report. Rudolph stood at the window, looking out. He heard the rustle of paper as Willie put the report down.