‘I’m going home now, Eve,’ he said. ‘I’m feeling tired. There’s nothing more we can do until this fella reports back. Do you think he’l do it?’
Without turning her head, she said in a quiet, flat voice, ‘Yes, he’l do it. A man like that would do anything.’
III
During his week in New York, Baird had thought a lot about Anita Jackson. Up to now he had never been interested in a girl. He had regarded women as a tiresome necessity, using them as a physical convenience and promptly forgetting them as soon as his infrequent desires were satisfied.
But this girl was different. He had spent thirteen days in her room, living in the closest contact with her, watching her prepare meals, seeing her dress and undress, go out to work at half-past seven in the morning and come in again late at night. He had watched her mend and iron her shabby wardrobe. He had lain in bed while she had shampooed her hair or cleaned her teeth or washed her stockings in the small toilet basin, seeing all the small activities that go on in hundreds of rooms rented by hundreds of girls like Anita Jackson, and which no other man was likely to see. It was this intimacy that created in him an interest he had never known with other women. It puzzled him that even though they had lived like this for thirteen days, he hadn’t thought of her in the way he thought of other women. What she had done for him and was doing for him protected her from the brutal urge he felt sometimes towards women. There was something about her that he couldn’t understand that made her untouchable to him.
She had saved his life by letting that fat Wop maul her on the bed. That was something he just couldn’t get over. She had changed the dressings on his wound day and night, and it was due to her care and attention that he was able to get on his feet ten days after the shooting. She wouldn’t explain why she had given him sanctuary, and when he pressed her she had turned on him angrily, saying, ‘Oh, do stop talking about it! I’m doing this to please myself. I don’t want your gratitude or your thanks. I’m not going to discuss it any more!’
It had worried Baird. He couldn’t understand anyone doing what she had done for a stranger. By letting him stay in the room, she was also risking a prison sentence. It baffled him. When he was well enough to think of leaving he had put three hundred dollars on the table, saying, ‘I guess I owe you something. Take this: I’ve got enough for myself. I’m not going to forget what you did for me. Go on, take it. You’ve earned it.’
He wasn’t used to expressing himself, and this speech had embarrassed him. At the back of his mind he thought he must be crazy to give her so much, and yet there was something in him that drove him to be generous: something he had never known before.
And when she had refused the money it was like a slap in the face to him. She had refused it curtly, as if money meant nothing to her, and his savage temper got the better of his intentions.
‘Then don’t have it!’ he snarled, put ing the money back in his pocket. ‘To hel with you! I’m not going to beg you to take it. If you’re going to be such a goddamn sucker you deserve what you get. I must be going soft in the head even to offer you anything!’