29
The Garrisons came back to their home on Park Avenue. With Mary’s help and his own will, Floyd learnt to diagnose Julie’s actions as “psychic impulses.” She herself couldn’t do wrong; she fought against a “subconscious tendency.” From her girlhood it had always been “like that”; this was the bridge over which he could pass to reconciliation. He had every reason to be satisfied with his wife. She was in correspondence with Father Cabello, whose influence revealed itself in her piety. She became very devout, Heavenly love drove out the earthly in her. She attended daily mass; the big-eyed woman with her beautiful boy were well-known at the Cathedral. Floyd noticed after coming home from service a rapt expression on her face; she went about with upturned eyes like St. Cecilia. He had a vision of a black-robed nun. He spoke to Dr. McClaren.
“I am afraid my wife is developing a religious complex.”
“I think not,” answered the doctor. “I imagine before it gets so far, that insatiable emotional craving of hers will find a new stimulus.”
There was something wrong with Floyd. His intense desire to forget the “unpleasant” episode in Switzerland had overstrained his nerves. They reacted in a strange manner. He’d leave his home in the morning with the intention of going to see the Colonel, and would find himself wandering aimlessly in quite a different direction. He’d walk for hours through parts of the city unknown to him; he saw strange faces, strange places, another world. He lounged about where the ships came in. The immigrants had an irresistible fascination. He watched them, listened to their unintelligible jargon. A dark-eyed Madonna with a shawl on her head, a child at her breast, was not strange to him. He knew her: she was Julie’s sister. A bearded old man, carrying on his bent shoulders the tragedy of his race, looked at him with the eyes of Joseph Abravanel. A straight tall peasant with bundles, bewildered by the city, was Martin’s grandfather. It was a kind of mental phantasmagoria of those who had worked a sinister influence in his life. He couldn’t get rid of them; he saw their Past, their Present, their Future, the struggles, the agony, the hopelessness. He was flung backward, forward with them. Must he go on living with them all his life? A horror seized him.
“Taxi, sir, take you anywhere—”
A tall chauffeur with dark goggles took him by the arm and lifted him into the cab.
“Where to, sir?”
Floyd bent forward, he knew that voice.
“Tom Dillon!”
“Mr. Garrison. You won’t say anything.”
Floyd grasped his hand with quick sympathy and drew him into the car. Tom choked at first, but gradually recovering himself, told his story.
“I married Maudy, because I couldn’t get her any other way. Oh, she was a kisser. She’d go as far as the fence, but she wouldn’t jump it. We were coming home from a dance up the road. I tried it on. ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘if you want me, you’ll have to marry me.’ I married her. I didn’t take it seriously. I thought this way: It’s as broad as it’s long. When I get enough, there’s Reno. She flung the dough like Hell; I couldn’t see any value for it, only a heap of rags. Anyhow, a man can get liquor and women—”
“Yes, I know.”
Tom shifted uneasily in his seat.
“When you don’t earn, money melts. My credit kept me going for a time. Then I had to tell her. I was sure she’d leave me. I’m only good to hand out. She told me that lots of times.”
“She left you?”
Tom’s eyes snapped; he was radiant with pride.
“She didn’t. She had an auction sale. All her friends were there; they wouldn’t miss it. She sold everything, even her engagement ring, and paid every cent I owed. By God! she did.” There was a choked sob. “I had to do something to get even, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Tom.” Floyd was beginning to respect him.
“I went to my friends, but they wanted solid men in their business, and I couldn’t blame ’em. I walked about like a crazy man, couldn’t get a job. She kept enough to furnish a band-box in the Bronx. She does all the work. You must see her. She’s as pretty as a peach, and the place is as neat as wax.”
“But how did you come to this, Tom?”
“She sent me to sell the car; that hurt me. I went and sat around the garage with the boys. I was down and out; they had money to burn. They said, ‘Sell? nothing doing—a car like yours is capital.’ Well, I didn’t sell; I commenced going out nights. I was ashamed to be seen, but I got over that. Then I risked it in the daytime; now I flaunt my shame. I tell you! it’s a rotten world—when I had money it was a stunt to do my own repairs. When I took the crowd out joy riding, I was a good sport, but to ‘hack’ for a living is common. I’m done with that swell bunch. Maudy says they’re beneath us.”
Then he sat looking at Floyd, his eyes begging.
“Tom, you’ve solved your problem, I’m proud of you.”
Tom heaved a sigh of relief and got back to business.
“Now I suppose you want to get home.”
“I don’t know,” said Floyd, wearily.
Tom gave him a sharp look.
“What are you doing down here anyhow, seeing some capitalist off?”
“No, watching poor wretches come in. I’ve been through a lot, and I haven’t quite got my bearings.”
Tom asked no questions, but he told Maudy afterwards he was sure Garrison “had some trouble with that crazy wife of his.”
“You’d better come outside with me and get some fresh air—you don’t mind me taking a fare if it comes my way. I’ve got another car; there’s a guy in with me. I dope it out this way: he gets twenty-five per cent of the takings, I get the rest and pay for the damn gas. The car’s on instalment; when we pay it off we’ll go it equal. Fair enough, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Tom had coarsened; the veneer of wealth was gone. Floyd liked him that way.
“You’ve grown stouter, Tom; you’re the picture of health.”
Tom, slapping his chest complacently, came in collision with an enormous truck. He let out a stream of oaths, which paralyzed the physically inferior opponent. The poor devil cranked frantically and got out of his way.
“It was your fault, Tom, not his.”
“Of course it was, but that alien wouldn’t dare open his mouth to a free-born American. If he tried it on, they’d wipe him out.”
Tom spoke with a rich Irish inherited brogue, which all his college education hadn’t eradicated.
“We were talking about me, weren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve gained thirty pounds, I eat like a hog, and I’m for Prohibition every time. At first I worried myself to bones about Maudy. I was afraid to tell her I was hacking. Her family’s a hundred per cent American and she’s damn proud. When I brought home money she wouldn’t take it—‘You’re on the crook, Tom, and I’m going to leave you.’ Then I blurted it all out. I was frightened stiff—what do you think she did?”
“Haven’t any idea, Tom—abused you roundly for a piker?”
“Na—she just hugged me till I didn’t have a breath left. ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘I’ve cried many a long night. I couldn’t see you making a living. God is good; He wouldn’t let me go begging to my rich friends. Hacking’s a fine business, but there’s something against it—those flappers. Don’t take ’em in your car; sooner lose a fare. You’re good looking and they’ll get you.’”
Floyd laughed. Tom was the right medicine for him.
They were driving uptown—Tom’s tongue went faster than the car; he had acquired a lot of practical information. “They’re starring the crime wave now, all bunk—we’re no worse than we were. Wait till after the election, the prisons will be so empty they’ll have to turn ’em into meeting houses. What do you think of them stinking Republicans up in Washington?”
“Tom, don’t insult my inherited political party. I’ve had them handed down to me, and I must carry them.”
Tom opened his mouth, the brimstone flowed, the air was blue; then suddenly he was dazzled by two shapely legs encased in flesh-colored cobwebs, and a pair of bright eyes emitting sparks.
“Taxi, Miss?” He drew up to the curbstone, smiling at her, showing his white teeth, sprang out, opened the door, dusted off the seat, held the rug in his hand.
She was undecided. “I don’t want to go, yet....”
“Yes you do, but you don’t know it,” laughed Tom.
A gust of cold wind blew her against him. Tom glanced downward.
“Your legs are cold?”
“Oh! Warm as toast.”
“Your blood keeps them warm.”
She twisted her little mouth.
“No, my vanity.”
Clever girl. Tom lifted her bodily into the car; they were old friends now. He wrapped her in the warm rug and put a match to her cigarette.
“Who’s the melancholy Dane in front?”
“Oh! He’s a guy I’m breaking in.”
They drove to Madison Avenue. She jumped out and gave him a generous fare.
“I want to go out again tonight; call for me?”
He smiled into the pretty laughing eyes. “Awful sorry, Miss, but there’s nothing doing. I’m married.” He heaved a big sigh.
“She was nice—wasn’t she.”
Floyd slapped him on the back. “You’re a hero, Tom. It was a great temptation.” Tom beamed.
“They’ve taken it into their pretty heads to star the chauffeur. We’re the cowboys of the East. We drive and slash about, and lasso them in. Say, I’m afraid I’m going to lose my man—handsome lad, good family. There’s a little snipe baiting for him, and she’ll hook him too.”
At the garage he found a note.
Married this morning to Ida, family approve.
Tom’s sorrow was pathetic. “They’re rich brokers. They’ll put him on the street. He’ll never be able to earn an honest penny again. Where shall I find another like him? The girls fell for him every time. He was a handsome fish. You’ve got nothing to do; help me out just for today. You can run a car. It doesn’t need so much experience, and I can’t afford to let her stand idle.”
“I haven’t got the experience, Tom, but I can hand you the good looks,” said Floyd, modestly.
Tom was jubilant; he’d have to keep his mind on the wheel—and a few knocks would shake him up.
“Now I’ll give you the fruits of my experience. Before you turn a corner, blow the horn, then stop and listen. Don’t try to pass anything; let the other fellow smash you up—then you’ll get damages. The wise guy says, ‘we’ve got a third eye in the back of our heads.’ Exercise yours; it’ll work after a while. When an old woman or a cat gets in front, don’t run her down, jump off and put her on the sidewalk. Train your ears to hear the pistol in a man’s pocket. Keep your foot on the brake and a curb on your temper; a timely joke can make it a dollar more. You’ll get into tough places, so does a doctor. Your fare is your patient; save his life if you can. When it comes to a toss up, you know who gets the preference. Never argue with a crook; take whatever he gives. If it’s nothing, say thank you and get away. Don’t let pretty feet lead you astray. A man’s strength depends on his disposition, and the time of night. If you fall for it, forget it. Do what you can’t help, but—whatever you do, don’t get found out. It’s all contradiction; you do something now and you don’t do it the next time. If the same thing happens twice, it’s never the same thing. You’ve got to be not only a good chauffeur but a good actor, a good talker, a good curser, a good fighter, a good navigator, a good all-around regular feller, and then you don’t half fill the bill. Now scoot.”
“Yes sir,” said Floyd, and plunged into the depths of the night city.
His first venture in the taxi business was a personal success.
“Taxi, sir, taxi, Miss, take you anywhere—where to, Miss?” The women jumped in at once; he picked up two, going to the theatre. Would he call for them at eleven-thirty?
“With great pleasure,” answered Floyd. He helped them out, and stood with his hat in his hand. He forgot he was a chauffeur for a moment. Then he drove people uptown, downtown, all over town, guiding his car in and out of the great mass of congested traffic.
A young fellow rushed at him. “Drive for your life, my wife is dying.”
It was up in the Bronx. Floyd put on the speed. He got away from two policemen and landed at a brick house with the blinds lowered. The man dashed up the steps.
“Is she alive? Thank God!”
He threw Floyd a bill.
“You did well, my man, keep the change.”
Floyd felt like a public benefactor. Hacking was a noble profession.
He was hailed by two men who jumped in. He didn’t like them. He heard the pistol; looked into the butt of it. They gave him a street number outside the city limits.
“Drive like Hell!” He did. The men jumped out into a vacant lot. “Now cut away, and don’t squeal.”
Floyd said “Thank you,” and shot across the town. He was held up and questioned. No, he hadn’t seen anybody. He had no compunctions. He wouldn’t give the guys away; that wasn’t sport. Then he took the car back to the garage, and went home in the subway. He had thirty dollars. He put fifteen in an envelope, addressed it to Tom, and wrote on a slip of paper:
Dear Tom: Here is half the boodle. It was a great experience. Ready to help out at any time.
Tom got back early to the garage, washed his khaki suit, hung it up to dry, cleaned his car, looked over the motor. He waited for Floyd, but he didn’t show up; he was sure the car would come back damaged. He expected that, but he hoped Garrison wouldn’t get hurt. Then he grew impatient. It didn’t matter to ‘that guy’ how long he stayed out—his wife wasn’t waiting for him. He said good night to the man in the garage, told him to look out for a ‘green-hand,’ and showed him where the bandages were. Then for a bit of exercise he walked up to the Bronx, taking a drink now and then to ease his mind. It was two o’clock when he opened the door of the little flat. The kitchen was spotless, the blue and white oilcloth shone like marble tiles. There was a tray on the table, with cold corned beef and three large baked potatoes; the coffee was gurgling on the gas stove. He devoured everything in sight, washed up the dishes, then went into the next room and stood at the bed. Maudy was in a deep sleep, how pretty she was. She must have been very tired or she would have heard him come in. She’d been scrubbing that damn kitchen floor again. She couldn’t wait till Sunday morning; that was his job. He looked at her small hands. They were rough from the washing soda, and the nails were not manicured. He had to kiss them, he couldn’t help it. She opened her eyes, smelt the hootch.
“Tom, you’re going it; you’ll break your neck one night, and I’ll be a widow—take a bath.” The sleepy eyes closed, she dropped off again.
Tom put a roll of bills under her pillow, slipped out of his clothes and fell on the sofa. He didn’t take a bath, he’d gotten over that pastime; he had something better to do.