Sweet Thursday

40 I’m Sure We Should All Be as Happy as Kings[127]

In the Palace Flop house, Suzy sat on a straight chair surrounded by the boys. She wore a look of furious concentration. Her feet were on two bricks and she held a barrel hoop in her hands. Propped in front of her was a board on which were chalked “ignition key,” “speedometer,” “choke,” and “gas gauge.” On the floor on her right side stood an apple box with a mop handle sticking upright out of it.

“Try her again,” said Mack. “Turn the key and reach up with your right toe for the starter.”

Suzy put her foot on a chalk spot on the floor.

“Chug-a-chug-a-chug,” said Hazel happily.

“Push out your clutch.”

Suzy pushed her left foot down on a brick.

“Now bring the gear to you and back.”

She moved the mop handle to low gear.

“Ease up the gas and let in the clutch. Now clutch out, away from you and forward. Give it gas. Now clutch out and straight back. There, you done it good. Now do it again.”

At the end of an hour and a half Suzy had driven the straight chair roughly a hundred and fifty miles.

“You’ll do all right,” said Mack. “Take it slow. If you can get two miles out of town without ramming into something, you can tell him the truth. He ain’t going to turn back then. He’ll tell you what to do. I’ll get her started and kind of lined up with the street.”

“You’re a bunch of nice guys,” said Suzy.

“Hell, if Hazel can go to all the trouble to break—oop, sorry—the least we can do is see he gets some good out of it. Come on now—whang her through the gears again!”

The evening was as lovely as the day had been. The setting sun pinked up the little white caps on the bay and lighted the serious pelicans pounding home to the sea rocks. The metal cannery walls seemed a soft and precious platinum.

Doc’s old car stood in front of Western Biological, its backseat loaded with buckets and pans and nets and crowbars. All Cannery Row was there. The Patrón had set out pints of Old Tennis Shoes along the curb. Fauna’s hair blazed in the setting sun. The girls gave Suzy quick little hugs. Becky was in romantic tears.

Joe Elegant looked out his lean-to door. He thought he would go to Rome after his book was published.

Doc held a list in his hand and checked equipment.

Only Mack and the boys were missing. And here they came down the chicken walk, balancing among them the tripod and the long black tube. They crossed the track and the lot and they set the tripod down beside the automobile.

Mack cleared his throat. “Friends,” he said, “on behalf of I and the boys it gives me pleasure to present Doc with this here.”

Doc looked at the gift—a telescope strong enough to bring the moon to his lap. His mouth fell open. Then he smothered the laughter that rose in him.

“Like it?” said Mack.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Biggest one in the whole goddam catalogue,” said Mack.

Doc’s voice was choked. “Thanks,” he said. He paused. “After all, I guess it doesn’t matter whether you look down or up—as long as you look.”

“We’ll put her inside for you,” said Mack. “Give me one of them pints. To Doc!” he cried, and under his breath he whispered to Suzy, “Turn the key. Now, starter.”

The ancient engine roared. Doc was sipping from a pint.

“Clutch out—to you and back,” Mack said. “Let in the clutch.”

Suzy did.

The old car deliberately climbed the curb, ripped off the stairs of Western Biological, careened into the street, and crawled away, scattering lumber as it went.

Doc turned in the seat and looked back. The disappearing sun shone on his laughing face, his gay and eager face. With his left hand he held the bucking steering wheel.

Cannery Row looked after the ancient car. It made the first turn and was gone from sight behind a ware house just as the sun was gone.

Fauna said, “I wonder if I’d be safe to put up her gold star tonight. What the hell’s the matter with you, Mack?”

Mack said, “Vice is a monster so frightful of mien, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.” He put his arm around Hazel’s shoulders. “I think you’d of made a hell of a president,” he said.