Nathanael West - The Day of the Locust [13]
Homer was too busy with his growing excitement to speak or even think. He closed his eyes to tend it better, nursing carefully what he felt. He had to be careful, for if he went too fast, it might wither and then he would be cold again. It continued to grow.
“Go away, please, I’m drunk,” Miss Martin said.
Homer neither moved nor spoke.
She suddenly began to sob. The coarse, broken sounds she made seemed to come from her stomach. She buried her face in her hands and pounded the floor with her feet.
Homer’s feelings were so intense that his head bobbed stiffly on his neck like that of a toy Chinese dragon.
“I’m broke. I haven’t any money. I haven’t a dime. I’m broke, I tell you.”
Homer pulled out his wallet and moved on the girl as though to strike her with it.
She cowered away from him and her sobs grew stronger.
He dropped the wallet in her lap and stood over her, not knowing what else to do. When she saw the wallet, she smiled, but continued sobbing.
“Sit down,” she said.
He sat down on the bed beside her.
“You strange man,” she said coyly. “I could kiss you for being so nice.”
He caught her in his arms and hugged her. His suddenness frightened her and she tried to pull away, but he held on and began awkwardly to caress her. He was completely unconscious of what he was doing. He knew only that what he felt was marvelously sweet and that he had to make the sweetness carry through to the poor, sobbing woman.
Miss Martin’s sobs grew less and soon stopped altogether. He could feel her fidget and gather Strength. The telephone rang.
“Don’t answer it,” she said, beginning to sob once more. He pushed her away gently and stumbled to the telephone. It was Miss Carlisle.
“Are you all right?” she asked, “or shall we send for the cops?”
“All right,” he said, hanging up.
It was all over. He couldn’t go back to the bed.
Miss Martin laughed at his look of acute distress.
“Bring the gin, you enormous cow,” she shouted gaily. “It’s under the table.”
He saw her stretch herself out in a way that couldn’t be mistaken. He ran out of the room.
Now in California, he was crying because he had never seen Miss Martin again. The next day the manager had told him that he had done a good job and that she had paid up and checked out.
Homer tried to find her. There were two other hotels in Wayneville, small run-down houses, and he inquired at both of them. He also asked in the few rooming places, but with no success. She had left town.
He settled back into his regular routine, working ten hours, eating two, sleeping the rest. Then he caught cold and had been advised to come to California. He could easily afford not to work for a while. His father had left him about six thousand dollars and during the twenty years he had kept books in the hotel, he had saved at least ten more.
9
He got out of the tub, dried himself hurriedly with a rough towel, then went into the bedroom to dress. He felt even more stupid and washed out than usual. It was always like that. His emotions surged up in an enormous wave, curving and rearing, higher and higher, until it seemed as though the wave must carry everything before it. But the crash never came. Something always happened at the very top of the crest and the wave collapsed to run back like water down a drain, leaving, at the most, only the refuse of feeling.
It took him a long time to get all his clothing on. He stopped to rest after each garment with a desperation far out of proportion to the effort involved.
There was nothing to eat in the house and he had to go down to Hollywood Boulevard for food. He thought of waiting until morning, but then, although he was not hungry, decided against waiting. It was only eight o’clock and the trip would kill some time. If he just sat around, the temptation to go to sleep again would become irresistible.