“Yes,” he said tonelessly, indifferently polite.
“You’re well fixed up here,” said Allbee taking in the room. He might have been comparing it with his own place. Leven-thal could imagine what that was like.
“As long as you’re here, sit down,” Leventhal said. “What’s the use of standing?” He would not get rid of him without hearing him out, and it might as well be now as another time.
“Much obliged,” said Allbee. His head came forward courteously and he seemed to read Leventhal’s face. “It’s a long pull up those stairs. I’m not used to these high walkups.” He drew a chair close to the desk, crossed his legs, and clasped his knee with somewhat rigid fingers. His cuffs were frayed, the threads raveled on the blond hairs of his wrist. His hands were dirty. His fair hair, unevenly divided on his scalp, was damp. It was apparently true that the climb had been hard for him. “It’s quite a height, this,” he smiled. “And for me, well…” he caught his breath, “I’m used to low places.” He pointed his finger at the floor and worked it as though pulling a trigger.
“Are you here to give me the same song and dance as the last time? Because if you are let me tell you once and for all…”
“Oh, hold on,” said Allbee. “Let’s be sensible and open. I didn’t come to complain to you. Why should I? I only said what’s obvious. Nothing to wrangle about. I’m on the bottom. You don’t want to deny that, do you?” He extended his arms as if to offer himself for examination, and although he did it wryly Leventhal saw that he was really in earnest. “Whereas you…”
He indicated the flat. Leventhal said, “Oh, please,” and shook his head. “Don’t give me that stuff.”
“It’s a fact, a hard fact,” said Allbee. “I’m the best judge of the facts. I know them intimately. This isn’t just theoretical with me. The distance between you and me is greater than between you and the greatest millionaire in America. When I compare myself with you, why you’re in the empyrean, as they used to say at school, and I’m in the pit. And I have been in your position but you have never been in mine.”
“What do you mean? I’ve been down and out.”
Allbee gave him a tolerant smile.
“Stony broke, without a nickel for the automat,” Leventhal said.
“Ah, go on. You don’t know anything about it, I can tell by your talk. You’ve never been in my place. Nickels for the automat… temporary embarrassment. That…” and he ended with his head to one side nearly touching his shoulder, and with his outstretched arm and open hand he made a gesture of passing the comparison away. There rose immediately to Leventhal’s mind the most horrible images of men wearily sitting on mission benches waiting for their coffee in a smeared and bleary winter sun; of flophouse sheets and filthy pillows; hideous cardboard cubicles painted to resemble wood, even the tungsten in the bulb like little burning worms that seemed to eat up rather than give light. Better to be in the dark. He had seen such places. He could still smell the carbolic disinfectant. And if it were his flesh on those sheets, his lips drinking that coffee, his back and thighs in that winter sun, his eyes looking at the boards of the floor…? Allbee was right to smile at him; he had never been in such a plight. “So I’m mistaken,” he reflected. “Why do I have to match him in that? Is it necessary? Anyway, what does he want?” For a time he forgot about the night letter. He waited for Allbee to reveal what he had come for. He did not know just what to expect, but he considered it very likely that he would repeat his charge despite his saying that he was not here to complain.
“Well,” he said, prefacing his remark with a short laugh. “It’s a peculiar statement to begin a visit with.”
“Why, no. What could be better. It’s the height of politeness to admire your host’s house. And the contrast between us should please you very much. It should give you a lot of satisfaction to have done it all yourself.”
“Done what myself?” said Leventhal suspiciously.
“Raised yourself up, I mean,” said Allbee quickly. “You were just telling me you were once broke, which is to say that you’re a self-made man. There’s a lot of satisfaction in that, isn’t there? And when you see somebody that hasn’t made out so well it adds something to your satisfaction. It’s only human. Even if you know better.”
“I didn’t say I was a self-made man or any such thing. That’s a lot of nonsense.”
“I’m glad to be corrected then,” Allbee replied. “I must have had the wrong impression. Because, you know, the more I think about it the more I feel it’s bunk, this self-made business. The day of succeeding by your own efforts is past. Now it’s all blind movement, vast movement, and the individual is shuttled back and forth. He only thinks he’s the works. But that isn’t the way it is. Groups, organizations succeed or fail, but not individuals any longer. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, it’s not that way, exactly,” Leventhal said. “No, I don’t.”
“You don’t agree that people have a destiny forced on them? Well, that’s ridiculous, because they do. And that’s all the destiny they get, so they’d better not assume they’re running their own show. That’s the kind of mistake I wouldn’t care to make. There’s nothing worse than being confused, too, in addition to being unlucky. But you find people who have their luck and take the credit for it, too — all brains and personality, when all that happened was that they were handed a bucket when it rained.”
“Let’s have this cleared up right now, if you please,” said Leventhal coldly. “We might as well be open and above-board. What does all this lead up to?”
“Oh, it doesn’t lead to anything. It’s just discussion, talk. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk!” he exclaimed grinning, flinging up his hands. His eyes began to shine.
Leventhal impassively looked at him. “And what’s that for?” he asked.
Allbee now appeared to be very depressed, perhaps at his own unsteadiness, and Leventhal was a little sorry for him. His alternation of moods, however, affected him unpleasantly. It was clear that the man was no fool. But what was the use of not being a fool if you acted like this? For instance, there was his language, did he have to speak like that, make himself sound so grand? Because he needed something to brace himself on? Oh, there was a smashup somewhere, certainly, a smashup and a tragic one, you could be sure of that. Something crushing, a real smash. But the question that remained uppermost with Leventhal was, “What does he want?” And notwithstanding his insistence on being above-board, he was unable to ask it.