“I just want to. After all, a person should try to look his best.” He sat down on a chair and rubbed at his shoes with the edge of his handkerchief.
Verne stirred, sitting up a little on the bed. He studied Carl for a time, his face expressionless. At last he got to his feet. “You look fine. Especially for reading a treatise. You have my blessings.”
“Your blessings?”
Verne made his way over to the dresser. He pulled the bottom drawer open. “My blessings. I don’t think I’ll need them any more. I’ve been saving them. But what the hell. It isn’t worth it.”
He held up a bottle of John Jamison.
Carl stared at it.
“My blessings.”
“No thanks,” Carl said.
“What?”
“No thanks. Thanks anyway. I appreciate the gift. And I understand the spirit in which it’s given. But you know I never drink.”
Verne set the bottle down on the dresser. His face twisted. “You don’t?”
“No.”
“You belong to the Prohibition Party?”
“I’m just not interested.”
“Don’t you know anyone you might pour a little glassful for?”
Carl reddened slightly.
Verne put his hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Your reaction comes as somewhat of a surprise. Is there some doubt in your mind as to just what’s in this bottle? I’m trying to do you a favor, you know. If I had a box of candy I’d give you that. But I don’t have a box of candy. Anyhow, I don’t think much of candy. There’s a poem to that effect. Liquor saves you a lot of intermediate steps. Candy is a waste of time.”
“I’m not going over for that.”
“For what?”
“For whatever you’re talking about. To drink.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“All right.” Carl pulled away. “Maybe I like the intermediate steps. Did you think of that?”
Verne scowled. “Have it your way. I thought you might want some of the obstacles removed.”
“I appreciate your help, but I don’t want anything like that.”
“You should appreciate it in the same sense as pouring anti-freeze into a motor. It does the same thing, only quicker. It’s a lot easier to pour the anti-freeze in than to have to push the car twenty blocks to a garage.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carl grabbed up his manuscript. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll go.”
“Wait a minute.”
“What for?”
“I want to talk to you.”
Carl halted by the door. “I don’t want to be late.”
“You don’t want to talk, do you? Why not? Are you afraid of what I’m going to say?”
“No.”
“Then stick around and listen.” Verne sat down on the bed again, leaning back against the wall. “Christ, I’m tired. This thing today almost finished me off.”
“What thing?”
“The little yuk. Harry Liu. It’s a hard thing to have to face. It’s a blow.”
Carl waited silently.
“I wish you had been there. You would have learned something. It would have shocked you. It gave me a lot to think about. I wish I could sleep. Maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“I’ll go and you can go to bed.”
“No. I want to talk to you. Before you leave. I think it might be a good idea.”
“I’m waiting.”
Verne nodded. “Fine.” He lapsed into silence, plucking aimlessly at his collar.
“Go on.” Carl was impatient. He could not see the clock where he was standing. Not being able to see the clock made him uneasy. “What do you want to say?”
“I don’t know. I wish I had more time to work it out. You’re going over there? To her?”
“To her room.”
“Same thing. The trouble is, I’ve already made my big offer. The John Jamison. If you don’t want that I don’t know what to give you.”
“Don’t give me anything.”
“I have to give you something. Even if it’s just advice.”
“Why?”
“Because you need something. You’ve got to be careful. Don’t walk over there right away. Walk around outside for a while. Get things clear in your mind.”
“My mind is clear.”
“Do you know what you’re getting into?”
“We’re going to read.”
“You don’t believe that anymore than I do. I can tell when the time has come. It’s come for you. You know it, too. That’s why you changed your god damn shirt.”
“I want to look nice.”
“For what? I’m trying to talk to you, but it’s hard. Maybe there’s nothing I can say. I keep searching back in my mind for something. You know, women are very strange. It’s difficult to tell about them. You have to proceed cautiously. But your problem is different from mine. Maybe it’s not the same.”
“My problem?”
“You’re too young. And I’m too small. It’s a funny thing. Seen through the bottom of a glass all people are the same height.”
“So?”
“And the same age. It’ll make it a lot easier for you. It’s good whisky. The best there is. Take it along. Ask her if she wants some. She’ll tell you.”
“No thanks.”
“You’ll be going uphill all the way. It’s a long climb. Especially the first time. You have to push over too many road blocks. They set them up.” Verne’s voice trailed off, sinking into a vague mumble. He sank down on the bed. “They set them up as you go along. As fast as you knock them down they set up another. It gets tiring when you get near the top. Too damn tiring. You want to have a little energy left. Otherwise, what the hell’s it all for?”
He was silent, staring blankly ahead.
“But that’s not all.”
Carl waited, his hand on the door, gripping his manuscript. Verne was silent a long time, deep in his thoughts. At last he roused himself.
“That’s not all. There’s more to it Women are complex. You never really understand them. Be careful when you’re around them. I wish you had more time. I could tell you a few stories. You know, when I was your age an interesting thing happened to me. Sometime I’ll have to tell you about it. I was nineteen.”
“I’m older than that.”
“I was working for Wineberg’s Department Store. In the bookkeeping department. I met a little girl, tall and blonde. Blue eyes. Soft hair. God, what a lovely little bitch she was. Ellen something. I don’t even remember. It was a long time ago. She was my first. Up in my room. I was shaking like a leaf. I could hardly move. It was raining. I remember that. The rain was coming down outside. Pouring rain. Cold. Gray. And us in the bed, warm like toast. It went on and on. Us, and the rain outside. Forever.”
Verne closed his eyes.
“Well?” Carl said.
Verne stirred. He raised his head, blinking.
“Go on.”
Verne pulled himself up. “You sure you don’t want the John Jamison? It’s good stuff. It’ll keep you warm.”
“No.”
“You’re making a mistake. It casts a glow over things. A lovely glow. Things get soft. Plastic. Not rigid. You can bend them.”
Verne slipped back down again.
“I’m tired. You go on. Have a good time. I wish you luck. Who knows? You might make out all right. After some ground work. She might be a good place for you to start.” Verne yawned, sagging. “As I recall she wasn’t too much trouble. Some are. It varies.” His voice died away.
“Goodbye,” Carl said. He went out into the hall. The door closed behind him.
Verne lay on the bed. Outside, Carl’s footsteps died away. There was silence. At last Verne struggled up, pulling himself awake. He yawned again.
“Christ.” He got to his feet and walked over to the dresser. He stood swaying back and forth, scratching his groin. Finally he belched. “Christ. Well, my intentions were good.”