Get a Load of This

OVERHEARD

They occupied the end part of the long chromium and mahogany bar. They sat on high stools, their shoulders touching and their concentration on each other intense. For them, the ‘Silver Coast’ bar did not exist, and Mandell, the barman, listened to their conversation with amused tolerance. He leant against the counter, aimlessly polishing a small square of shiny mahogany very slowly with a soft duster. It was quiet in the bar with only these two and three men in white ducks who stood at the far end of the bar. The sun came through the chinks of the heavy sunblinds, making sharp little patterns on the coconut matting. It was noon, and very hot for the time of year.

Mandell left off polishing the bar and took out a clean white handkerchief to chase away a little trickle of sweat he felt running behind his ears. He put the handkerchief away and glanced over at the two sitting close to him.

She was tall and high-breasted. Her long silky hair was blue-black and hung on her crisp white collar in an ordered upward sweep. Her face interested Mandell very much. He liked her large deep blue eyes and her beautifully painted mouth. Her skin was clear and white, except for a touch of rouge high up on her cheek-bones. Mandell particularly liked her slender, beautifully shaped hands.

Her companion was a heavily built man with a fleshy, strikingly handsome face. His square jaw-line and light blue eyes gave him a look of authority which comes, sometimes, to wealthy men. Mandell envied him his tailor and envied him his figure; he also envied him his companion.

They were drinking Bar Specials, made with rum and absinthe; and Mandell had a large shaker by his side ready to replenish their glasses.

They had been talking about Havana for some minutes, and Mandell gathered that this was her first trip. Her companion seemed to know the place well, and from what he said he must have been living there for some time. Mandell couldn’t quite make out when these two first met. He could tell without any difficulty that the man was just crazy about her. He wasn’t sure whether it was reciprocated or not.

She said quiet suddenly, “Oh, must we talk geography any more?”

He fiddled with his long, frosted glass. “I’m sorry, I thought it would interest you. It is so lovely here. I’ve been looking forward so much to showing you around, I guess I got carried away.”

“Do you like it better than Stresa?”

He seemed undecided. “It’s different. Stresa was lovely, too, wasn’t it?”

She moved a little forward on her stool. Her eyes became for a moment very animated. “Do you remember the little albergo at Arolo?” she asked. “You couldn’t speak a word of Italian—and the fun we had. Do you remember Anita?”

He nodded. “The innkeeper’s daughter? I always think of something rude when I say that. She called me poverino because the sun blistered my nose.” He laughed. “I guess we had a swell time there. She used to chatter away to me in the early morning when you were still asleep, and I didn’t know what she was talking about. You know, I must really learn Italian before we go there again.”

“Do you think we’ll ever go there again?” she asked, her face becoming sad. “It seems such a long way off.”

“Of course we’ll go there again. Don’t you want to swim in the lake once more? Do you remember the time when that old snake fell out of a tree and scared you? We were just going in and you absolutely refused to swim that day.”

She shivered. “I hate snakes,” she said. “You know I hate snakes.”

“I was only teasing,” he said quickly; “I hate things like that too, but I’m glad I came here. There is something solid and primitive about this place that Italy hasn’t got. Italy is ice-cake buildings and post-card skies. Here you feel the pulse of the people. The streets have run with blood and the buildings still echo with the groans of the oppressed. Look at it, look at the sea, the flowers, the people. Don’t you think they are more solid, more real than Italy?”

She said: “Yes, everything now is more real and more solid. The touch of fairyland has gone away.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. “The touch of fairyland has gone away. That sounds so sad and final.”

She didn’t look at him. “Do you remember the fireflies at Arolo? The banks of the lake in the moonlight with hundreds of fireflies like silver sparks glowing in the grass?”

“There is something wrong,” he said. “Tell me, isn’t there something wrong?”

“Do you feel it too?”

“Then there is something. What is it?”

“I’ve told you.”

“Please don’t be mysterious. Tell me.”

She took a nervous sip from her glass and didn’t say anything. Mandell wondered why she looked so tragic. He thought this talk about fairyland was under the arm. He liked straight dealings himself and fancy language gave him a pain.

“Are you sorry you’ve come?” the big man asked. “Is that it? Would you rather we had gone to Europe instead?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. You see, the edges are frayed now. Please don’t make me say it. You must feel as I feel.”

He stretched out his hand to take hers, but she avoided him. “Why must you talk in riddles? First, the touch of fairyland has gone, and now the edges are frayed. What do you mean?”

She finished her drink. “I’m trying so hard to be kind,” she said. “Can’t you see that? Things don’t mean the same to me any more—there, I’ve told you.”

Still he couldn’t grasp what she meant. He signalled to Mandell to fill the glasses. Mandell gave an elaborate start, as if he had just noticed them, and brought the shaker over. “You like these, sir?” he said agreeably.

“Yes, they are very good,” the big man said, smiling vaguely, “very good indeed.”

Mandell pushed the glasses a few inches towards them and then stood away, taking up his old position.

“What was it you were saying?” the big man asked, taking up the thread of the conversation. “Are you bored with travelling? Do you want to settle down?”

She said, “Yes.”

“But where? Here?”

She shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t be here.”

There was a long pause, then he said: “I love you so much that I will go wherever you wish. Tell me, and we will make plans.”

She faced him. “Can’t you understand”—there was an edge on her voice—“I can’t bear any more of this? I’ve tried and tried to tell you, but you won’t understand. I can’t go on with this any longer.”

“Don’t get angry. I understand that. I am quite willing to do what you want. Really, you can please yourself.”

She said very intensely, “We must part.”

He slopped his drink on the mahogany top of the bar. “We must part?” he repeated. “You mean you don’t want me any more?”

“I tried so hard to tell you nicely, but you are so sure of yourself. You have always been so sure of yourself.”

“No, you have mistaken me if you think that. I have never been sure of myself, but I’ve been sure of you. It isn’t the same thing. I thought your love for me was as enduring as mine for you. You mustn’t say I was sure of myself. I trusted your love. I had to have something I need not doubt. Don’t you understand! With all this horrible chaos in the world, with lies and envy and sordid business, I hung on to the one thing I thought would never forsake me.”

She said, “I’m very sorry.”

“Of course”—he passed his fingers through his hair—“I know you are. When did it happen? Recently?”

She said: “Now I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

“You can’t leave it like that. I’m crazy about you. You know I’m crazy about you. Have I done anything that decided you?”

She shook her head. “I’m bad,” she said softly; “I thought I could find the happiness I wanted with you, but I haven’t. I must live my life. I have not the courage to pretend. You wouldn’t want me to pretend, would you?”

“Why do you say you’re bad? Is it because there is someone else?”

She hesitated a moment, then she said: “Yes, yes. I didn’t want to tell you, but I must. You are bound to hear sooner or later.”

With the morbid interest of a lounger at a street accident, Mandell watched the big man dispassionately. He noticed that he had suddenly gone very pale and it was only with difficulty that he controlled himself.

“I see,” he said.

“No,” she said quickly, “you don’t. You couldn’t possibly. You are thinking that I have wounded your pride. I know how men feel when this happens. But it won’t wound your pride. I’m so glad about that because you have been so very sweet to me. You have, and I have appreciated—”

“Please,” he said, “don’t talk like that. You are making my love sound like a donation to a hospital. It wasn’t like that. I gave you everything, and I suppose it just wasn’t enough.”

Mandell saw her flinch and he raised his eyebrows approvingly. He thought this big guy was taking it lying down. What this dame wanted was fireworks. He sniffed contemptuously. All this talk about fairyland and frayed edges—it was just so much crap.

“I’m going away with Margaret Whitely,” she said quietly.

The big man’s colour came back, making his face congested. “Who?” he said, staring at her.

“Yes. Oh, I know what you are going to say, but I’ve thought and thought and thought. I must please myself.”

He seemed now to be quite controlled again. When he spoke, it was in an irritatingly soothing voice that one might use to a child. “My dear, surely you have got over that nonsense now?”

She shook her head. “Please don’t try and be understanding,” she said. “I know how you feel about it, but I’ve really made up my mind once and for all.”

He lit a cigarette, holding the heavy gold case thoughtfully in his hand. “Does Margaret know about us? Does she know what she is doing to us?”

“She has waited for me. She knew that this would come to nothing. She told me a year ago. She waited and, you see, she was right.”

“Are you being perverted? Isn’t it rather a beastly thing to do?”

“I suppose I must expect to hear that sort of thing, but it will not stop me. Margaret and I can’t be parted any longer.”

“I think I would rather it had been a man.”

She shook her head. “No, you are wrong. You would not have taken it as you are taking it now. You wouldn’t have been patient. You would have got into a terrible rage and you would have wanted to kill him.”

He made a little grimace. “I suppose I should,” he admitted. “This is so out of my hands. I feel there is something so repugnant about it that I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

She reached out and gathered up her bag. “Good-bye, Harry,” she said; “thank you for everything.”

“Don’t go,” he said quickly. “You can’t leave it like this. For God’s sake, think what you are doing.”

She slid off the stool. “There is really nothing more to be done; it is all settled. I just didn’t want to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

He said very bitterly: “Then last year doesn’t mean anything? It is just so much dust… nothing.”

She bit her lip, then put her hand on his arm. “You see why I ought to go quickly? We shall be saying cruel things in a moment and we shall be sorry. Good-bye, Harry,” and she went out of the bar quickly, moving lightly and gracefully.

Mandell watched her go regretfully. The conversation had amused him. As she passed through the door, a girl came in and stood looking round the bar. Mandell’s lips tightened. He recognized the type immediately. That was one thing he wouldn’t stand for in his bar. He said to the big man, “You’ll excuse me if I come through the barrier, sir, there’s a dame blown in who looks very doubtful. I’m just goin’ to tell her to beat it.”

The big man looked over his shoulder at the girl. He got off the stool. “Doubtful, did you say?” he said. “Why, you big stiff, she’s a goddam certainty,” and he walked across to the girl who met him with a professional smile and they went away together.