The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers [145]
There was one metallic crash of thunder and the air chilled suddenly. Large silver drops of rain hissed on the pavement.
An avalanche of water blinded him. When he reached the New York Café his clothes clung wet and shriveled to his body and his shoes squeaked with water.
Brannon pushed aside his newspaper and leaned his elbows on the counter. ‘Now, this is really curious. I had this intuition you would come here just after the rain broke. I knew in my bones you were coming and that you would make it just too late.’ He mashed his nose with this thumb until it was white and flat. ‘And a suitcase?’
‘It looks like a suitcase,’ Jake said. ‘And it feels like a suitcase. So if you believe in the actuality of suitcases I reckon this is one, all right.’
‘You ought not to stand around like this. Go on upstairs and throw me down your clothes. Louis will run over them with a hot iron.’
Jake sat at one of the back booth tables and rested his head in his hands. ‘No, thanks. I just want to rest here and get my wind again.’
‘But your lips are turning blue. You look all knocked up.’
‘I’m all right. What I want is some supper.’
‘Supper won’t be ready for half an hour,’ Brannon said patiently.
‘Any old leftovers will do. Just put them on a plate. You don’t even have to bother to heat them.’
The emptiness in him hurt. He wanted to look neither backward nor forward. He walked two of his short, chunky fingers across the top of the table. It was more than a year now since he had sat at this table for the first time. And how much further was he now than then? No further. Nothing had happened except that he had made a friend and lost him. He had given Singer everything and then the man had killed himself. So he was left out on a limb. And now it was up to him to get out of it by himself and make a new start again. At the thought of it panic came in him. He was tired. He leaned his head against the wall and put his feet on the seat beside him.
‘Here you are,’ Brannon said. ‘This ought to help out.’
He put down a glass of some hot drink and a plate of chicken pie. The drink had a sweet, heavy smell. Jake inhaled the steam and closed his eyes. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Lemon rind rubbed on a lump of sugar and boiling water with rum. It’s a good drink.’
‘How much do I owe you?’
‘I don’t know offhand, but I’ll figure it out before you leave.’
Jake took a deep draught of the toddy and washed it around in his mouth before swallowing. ‘You’ll never get the money,’ he said. ‘I don’t have it to pay you--and if I did I probably wouldn’t anyway.’
‘Well, have I been pressing you? Have I ever made you out a bill and asked you to pay up?’
‘No,’ Jake said. ‘You been very reasonable. And since I think about it you’re a right decent guy--from the personal perspective, that is.’
Brannon sat across from him at the table. Something was on his mind. He slid the salt-shaker back and forth and kept smoothing his hair. He smelled like perfume and his striped blue shirt was very fresh and clean. The sleeves were rolled and held in place by old-fashioned blue sleeve garters.
At last he cleared his throat in a hesitating way and said: ‘I was glancing through the afternoon paper just before you came. It seems you had a lot of trouble at your place today. ‘That’s right. What did it say?’
‘Wait. I’ll get it.’ Brannon fetched the paper from the counter and leaned against the partition of the booth. ‘It says on the front page that at the Sunny Dixie Show, located so and so, there was a general disturbance. Two Negroes were fatally injured with wounds inflicted by knives. Three others suffered minor wounds and were taken for treatment to the city hospital. The dead were Jimmy Macy and Lancy Davis. The wounded were John Hamlin, white, of Central Mill City, Various Wilson, Negro, and so forth and so on. Quote: ‘A number of arrests were made. It is alleged that the disturbance was caused by labor agitation, as papers of a subversive nature were found on and about the site of disturbance. Other arrests are expected shortly.’ Brannon clicked his teeth together. ‘The setup of this paper gets worse every day. Subversive spelled with a u in the second syllable and arrests with only one r.