Nathanael West - The Day of the Locust [16]
“A quarter?” asked Homer, habit for the moment having got the better of his timidity. “I can buy one twice that size for a quarter in the store.”
Harry knew his man.
“Take it, take it for nothing,” he said contemptuously. Homer was tricked into protesting.
“I guess maybe this is a much better polish.”
“No,” said Harry, as though he were spurning a bribe. “Keep your money. I don’t want it.”
He laughed, this time bitterly.
Homer pulled out some change and offered it.
“Take it, please. You need it, I’m sure. I’ll have two cans.”
Harry had his man where he wanted him. He began to practice a variety of laughs, all of them theatrical, like a musician tuning up before a concert. He finally found the right one and let himself go. It was a victim’s laugh.
“Please stop,” Homer said.
But Harry couldn’t stop. He was really sick. The last block that held him poised over the runway of self-pity had been knocked away and he was sliding down the chute, gaining momentum all the time. He jumped to his feet and began doing Harry Greener, poor Harry, honest Harry, well-meaning, humble, deserving, a good husband, a model father, a faithful Christian, a loyal friend.
Homer didn’t appreciate the performance in the least. He was terrified and wondered whether to phone the police. But he did nothing. He just held up his hand for Harry to stop.
At the end of his pantomime, Harry stood with his head thrown back, clutching his throat, as though waiting for the curtain to fall. Homer poured him still another glass of water. But Harry wasn’t finished. He bowed, sweeping his hat to his heart, then began again. He didn’t get very far this time and had to gasp painfully for breath. Suddenly, like a mechanical toy that had been overwound, something snapped inside of him and he began to spin through his entire repertoire. The effort was purely muscular, like the dance of a paralytic. He jigged, juggled his hat, made believe he had been kicked, tripped, and shook hands with himself. He went through it all in one dizzy spasm, then reeled to the couch and collapsed.
He lay on the couch with his eyes closed and his chest heaving. He was even more surprised than Homer. He had put on his performance four or five times already that day and nothing like this had happened. He was really sick.
“You’ve had a fit,” Homer said when Harry opened his eyes.
As the minutes passed, Harry began to feel better and his confidence returned. He pushed all thought of sickness out of his mind and even went so far as’ to congratulate himself on having given the finest performance of his career. He should be able to get five dollars out of the big dope who was leaning over him.
“Have you any spirits in the house?” he asked weakly.
The grocer had sent Homer a bottle of port wine on approval and he went to get it. He filled a tumbler half full and handed it to Harry, who drank it in small sips, making the faces that usually go with medicine.
Speaking slowly, as though in great pain, he then asked Homer to bring in his sample case.
“It’s on the doorstep. Somebody might steal it. The greater part of my small capital is invested in those cans of polish?”
When Homer stepped outside to obey, he saw a girl near the curb. It was Faye Greener. She was looking at the house.
“Is my father in there?” she called out
“Mr. Greener?”
She stamped her foot.
“Tell him to get a move on, damn it. I don’t want to stay here all day.”
“He’s sick.”
The girl turned away without giving any sign that she either heard or cared.
Homer took the sample case back into the house with him. He found Harry pouring himself another drink.
“Pretty fair stuff,” he said, smacking his lips over it. “Pretty fair, all right, all right. Might I be so bold as to ask what you pay for a…”
Homer cut him short. He didn’t approve of people who drank and wanted to get rid of him.
“Your daughter’s outside,” he said with as much firmness as he could muster. “She wants you.”
Harry collapsed on the couch and began to breathe heavily. He was acting again.
“Don’t tell her,” he gasped. “Don’t tell her how sick her old daddy is. She must never know.