Congo. Jimmy found himself standing beside a tall sallow shylooking man with bunchy black hair growing low on his forehead. In the inner room were shelves full of chinaware and a round table covered by a piece of mustardcolored oilcloth. “Eh la patronne,” shouted Congo. A fat Frenchwoman with red applecheeks came out through the further door; behind her came a chiff of sizzling butter and garlic. “This is frien o mine.... Now maybe we eat,” shouted Congo. “She my wife,” said Cardinale proudly. “Very deaf.... Have to talk loud.” He turned and closed the door to the large hall carefully and bolted it. “No see lights from road,” he said. “In summer,” said Mrs. Cardinale, “sometime we give a hundred meals a day, or a hundred an fifty maybe.”
“Havent you got a little peekmeup?” said Congo. He let himself down with a grunt into a chair.
Cardinale set a fat fiasco of wine on the table and some glasses. They tasted it smacking their lips. “Bettern Dago Red, eh Meester ’Erf?”
“It sure is. Tastes like real Chianti.”
Mrs. Cardinale set six plates with a stained fork, knife, and spoon in each and then put a steaming tureen of soup in the middle of the table.
“Pronto pasta,” she shrieked in a guineahen voice. “Thisa Anetta,” said Cardinale as a pinkcheeked blackhaired girl with long lashes curving back from bright black eyes ran into the room followed by a heavily tanned young man in khaki overalls with curly sunbleached hair. They all sat down at once and began to eat the peppery thick vegetable chowder, leaning far over their plates.
When Congo had finished his soup he looked up. “Mike did you see lights?” Cardinale nodded. “Sure ting ... be here any time.” While they were eating a dish of fried eggs and garlic, frizzled veal cutlets with fried potatoes and broccoli, Herf began to hear in the distance the pop pop pop of a motorboat. Congo got up from the table with a motion to them to be quiet and looked out the window, cautiously lifting a corner of the shade. “That him,” he said as he
stumped back to the table. “We eat good here, eh Meester Erf?”
The young man got to his feet wiping his mouth on his forearm. “Got a nickel Congo,” he said doing a double shuffle with his sneakered feet. “Here go Johnny.” The girl followed him out into the dark outer room. In a moment a mechanical piano started tinkling out a waltz. Through the door Jimmy could see them dancing in and out of the oblong of light. The chugging of the motorboat drew nearer. Congo went out, then Cardinale and his wife, until Jimmy was left alone sipping a glass of wine among the debris of the dinner. He felt excited and puzzled and a little drunk. Already he began to construct the story in his mind. From the road came the grind of gears of a truck, then of another. The motorboat engine choked, backfired and stopped. There was the creak of a boat against the piles, a swash of waves and silence. The mechanical piano had stopped. Jimmy sat sipping his wine. He could smell the rankness of salt marshes seeping into the house. Under him there was a little lapping sound of the water against the piles. Another motorboat was beginning to sputter in the far distance.
“Got a nickel?” asked Congo breaking into the room suddenly. “Make music.... Very funny night tonight. Maybe you and Annette keep piano goin. I didnt see McGee about landin.... Maybe somebody come. Must be veree quick.” Jimmy got to his feet and started fishing in his pockets. By the piano he found Annette. “Wont you dance?” She nodded. The piano played Innocent Eyes. They danced distractedly. Outside were voices and footsteps. “Please,” she said all at once and they stopped dancing. The second motorboat had come very near; the motor coughed and rattled still. “Please stay here,” she said and slipped away from him.