Nathanael West - The Day of the Locust [20]
“That hit the spot, all righty right,” he said when he had finished.
He leaned back and fished a crumpled cigar butt out of his vest pocket. Faye lit it for him and he playfully blew a puff of smoke in her face.
“We’d better go, Daddy,” she said.
“In a jiffy, child.”
He turned to Homer.
“Nice place you’ve got here. Married?”
Faye tried to interfere.
“Dad!”
He ignored her.
“Bachelor, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, well, a young fellow like you.”
“I’m here for my health,” Homer found it necessary to say.
“Don’t answer his questions,” Faye broke in.
“Now, now, daughter, I’m just being friendly like. I don’t mean no harm.”
He was still using an exaggerated backwoods accent. He spat dry into an imaginary spittoon and made believe he was shifting a cud of tobacco from cheek to cheek.
Homer thought his mimicry funny.
“I’d be lonesome and scared living alone in a big house like this,” Harry went on. “Don’t you ever get lonesome?”
Homer looked at Faye for his answer. She was frowning with annoyance.
“No,” he said, to prevent Harry from repeating the uncomfortable question.
“No? Well, that’s fine.”
He blew several smoke rings at the ceiling and watched their behavior judiciously.
“Did you ever think of taking boarders?” he asked.
“Some nice, sociable folks, I mean. It’ll bring in a little extra money and make things more homey.”
Homer was indignant, but underneath his indignation lurked another idea, a very exciting one. He didn’t know what to say.
Faye misunderstood his agitation.
“Cut it out, Dad,” she exclaimed before Homer could reply. “You’ve been a big enough nuisance already.”
“Just chinning,” he protested innocently. “Just chewin’ the fat.”
“Well, then, let’s get going,” she snapped.
“There’s plenty of time,” Homer said.
He wanted to add something stronger, but didn’t have the courage. His hands were braver. When Faye shook good-bye, they clutched and refused to let go.
Faye laughed at their warm insistence.
“Thanks a million, Mr. Simpson,” she said. “You’ve been very kind. Thanks for the lunch and for helping Daddy.”
“We’re very grateful,” Harry chimed in. “You’ve done a Christian deed this day. God will reward you.”
He had suddenly become very pious.
“Please look us up,” Faye said. “We live close-by in the San Berdoo Apartments, about five blocks down the canyon. It’s the big yellow house.”
When Harry stood, he had to lean against the table for support. Faye and Homer each took him by the arm and helped him into the street. Homer held him erect, while Faye went to get their Ford which was parked across the street.
“We’re forgetting your order of Miracle Salve,” Harry said, “the polish without peer or parallel.”
Homer found a dollar and slipped it into his hand. He hid the money quickly and tried to become businesslike.
“I’ll leave the goods tomorrow.”
“Yes, that’ll be fine,” Homer said. “I really need some silver polish.”
Harry was angry because it hurt him to be patronized by a sucker. He made an attempt to re-establish what he considered to be their proper relationship by bowing ironically, but didn’t get very far with the gesture and began to fumble with his Adam’s apple. Homer helped him into the car and he slumped down in the seat beside Faye. They drove off. She turned to wave, but Harry didn’t even look back.
12
Homer spent the rest of the afternoon in the broken deck chair. The lizard was on the cactus, but he took little interest in its hunting. His hands kept his thoughts busy. They trembled and jerked, as though troubled by dreams. To hold them still, he clasped them together. Their fingers twined like a tangle of thighs in miniature. He snatched them apart and sat on them.
When the days passed and he couldn’t forget Faye, he began to grow frightened. He somehow knew that his only defense was chastity, that it served him, like the shell of a tortoise, as both spine and armor. He couldn’t shed it even in thought. If he did, he would be destroyed.
He was right. There are men who can lust with parts of themselves. Only their brain or their hearts burn and then not completely. There are others, still more fortunate, who are like the filaments of an incandescent lamp. They bum fiercely, yet nothing is destroyed. But in Homer