Now when Suzy said after the nine-thirty rush, “Go on home and get a good night’s sleep,” it seemed perfectly natural. Not only could Suzy hold the fort, but her terse, professional gaiety was drawing in new customers.
At eleven-fifteen Suzy had the four Silexes filled with fresh coffee, the hamburgers between waxed paper in the icebox, the tomatoes sliced, and the sandwich bread in the drawer below the griddle. At eleven-thirty the customers came in a rush from the second show.
Suzy grew six extra hands: club sandwiches, melted cheese sandwiches, cheeseburgers, and coffee, coffee, coffee! The cash register jangled and the change appeared standing up between the tits of the rubber mat.
“How’s about a date Saturday?”
“Sure! Love to.”
“Is it a date?”
“Can my husband come?”
“You married?”
“I won’t be if I keep that date.”
“You’re a swell-looking kid.”
“You’re kind of pretty yourself. Here’s your change.”
“Keep it.”
“Thanks. Cheeseburger coming up. Sorry, eighty-six on the tuna fish sandwiches.”
In the seconds between orders, three of her extra hands carried dishes into the soapy water, rinsed and dried them.
“Hey! Mr. Gelthain, you forgot your umbrella!”
“So I did. Thank you.” That would be another quarter tip, and the quarter went into a slotted can marked “Joe.”
Every morning when Joe Blaikey came in for his coffee a little pile of silver was put before him and checked in the account book. It was amazing how it added up.
At five minutes of twelve Hazel came in and waited against the wall until a stool was vacant.
“Hi, Hazel. What’ll it be?”
“Cup of coffee.”
“It’s on the house, Hazel. How you been?”
“Okay.”
Gradually the customers thinned out and then were gone. Suzy’s flashing hands put the Golden Poppy to bed: scrubbed the grill, washed down the counter, wiped the necks of the catsup bottles. She looked up to see Hazel sweeping out.
“Say, what the hell are you doing?”
“I figured we’re both going the same way. I’ll walk with you.”
“Why not?” said Suzy. “You can carry my books.”
“What?”
“Just a joke.”
“Ha, ha!” said Hazel seriously.
They walked down Alvarado Street, all closed up except where the bars splashed neon culture on the sidewalk. At the tip of the Presidio they stopped and leaned their elbows on the iron railing and looked at the fishing boats in the black water of the bay. They crossed the tracks, went past the Army ware house, and entered the upper end of Cannery Row. And at last Hazel said, “You’re a swell dame.”
“Come again?”
“Say, what you think’s the matter with Doc?”
“How would I know?”
“You sore at him?”
“How’d you like to mind your own business?”
“It’s all right,” said Hazel quickly. “I ain’t bright. Everybody knows that.”
“What’s that got to do with keeping out of my hair?”
“Nobody pays no attention to me,” said Hazel. He offered this as a recommendation. “Doc says I don’t listen. He likes that.”
They walked on in silence for a while. Then Hazel said timidly, “He done everything in the world for me. Once he went character witness for me and I ain’t got no character. Once I’d of lost a foot, but he opened her up and shook powder on her and I still got her.”
Suzy didn’t answer. Their footsteps were loud on the pavement and echoed back from the iron fronts of dead canneries.
“Doc’s in trouble,” Hazel said.
Their footsteps filled the street.
“Anybody in trouble, why, they go to Doc. Nobody goes to him now he’s in trouble.”
Step, step, step.
“I got to help him,” said Hazel. “But I ain’t bright.”
“What the hell do you want me to do?” said Suzy.
“Well, couldn’t you go over and set with him?”
“No.”
“If you was in trouble he’d help you.”
“I ain’t in trouble. How do you know he’s in trouble?”
“I’m telling you. I thought you liked him.”
“I like him all right. If he was in real trouble like if he was sick or bust his leg, I’d probably take him some soup.”
“Jeeze! If he bust his leg he couldn’t go to the spring tides,” said Hazel.
“Well, he ain’t busted his leg.”
They passed Wide Ida’s. Hazel asked, “You want a beer?”
“No, thanks.” Then she said, “Ain’t you going up to the Palace?”
“No,” said Hazel, “I got to see a guy.”
Suzy said, “Once, when I was a kid, I made an ashtray for my old man and old lady—”
“They like it?”
“They didn’t need no ashtray.”
“Didn’t they smoke?”
“Yes,” said Suzy. “Good night.”
Hazel was approaching a state of collapse. In his whole life he had never sustained a thought for more than two minutes. Now his resources reeled under the strain of four hours of concentration. And it was not yet over. He had to make two more visits, and then he had to retire under the black cypress tree to sift his findings. So far he could see no light anywhere. His mental pictures were like those children’s kaleidoscopes that change color and design as they are turned. It seemed to Hazel that a slight zizzing sound came from his brain.
It was a catty night. Big toms crept about, their heads and shoulders flattened to the ground, seeking other toms. Lady cats preened themselves in sweet innocence, unaware of what they hoped was likely to happen to them. On the rocks off Hopkins Marine Station[116] the sea lions barked with a houndish quaver. The silver canneries were silent under the street lights. And from somewhere on the beach Cacahuete Rivas’s trumpet softly mourned the “Memphis Blues.”[117]
Hazel had stopped for a moment in appreciation of the secret night. He looked up at the boiler where Suzy had gone, and into the streak of street light he saw a figure move. From the shape and posture he thought it must be the Patrón. In a way it was none of Hazel’s business. He walked up the stairs and knocked on the door of Western Biological.
Doc sat on his bed regarding a heap of collecting paraphernalia: nets, buckets and jars, formaldehyde and Epsom salts and menthol, rubber boots and rubber gloves, glass plates and string. On his table stood a small new traveling aquarium with a tiny pump and motor run by two dry cells. Morosely he watched the mist of white air bubbles sift through the sea water.
“Come in,” he said to Hazel. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Just come to pass the time of day,” said Hazel.
“Good. I’m glad. A man feels silly talking to himself, and at the same time it’s private. You’re the perfect answer, Hazel.”
“Say, Doc, I just remembered. What’s ass-astro-physic?”
“You don’t really want me to tell you, do you?”
“Not very much. I just wondered. I signed up for it.”
Doc shuddered. “I don’t think I want to hear about that,” he said.
“I brang you a pint.”
“That’s friendly of you. Will you join me?”
“Sure,” said Hazel. “You’re really going to La Jolla, huh?”
“Well, I guess I have to. That’s one of the things I’ve been trying to figure out. I’ve made such a stink about it.”
“Lot of people think you won’t go.”
“Well, that’s one of the reasons I have to.”
“Don’t you want to?”
116
Hopkins Marine Station: The Hopkins Seaside Laboratory of Stanford University opened in 1892 on Lovers Point, north of its current site at 120 Oceanview Boulevard, Pacific Grove. It has been located on Oceanview since 1917, when it was officially renamed Hopkins Marine Station. It is the oldest marine research facility on the West Coast. Steinbeck attended summer classes at Hopkins in 1923.
117
“Memphis Blues”: A song written in 1909 (published in 1912) by songwriter and bandleader William Christopher Handy, self-proclaimed “Father of the Blues.” “Memphis Blues” played a significant role in bringing African American music into the mainstream.