New Baytown had slept for a long time. The men who governed it, politically, morally, economically, had so long continued that their ways were set. The Town Manager, the council, the judges, the police were eternal. The Town Manager sold equipment to the township, and the judges fixed traffic tickets as they had for so long that they did not remember it as illegal practice—at least the books said it was. Being normal men, they surely did not consider it immoral. All men are moral. Only their neighbors are not.
The yellow afternoon had the warm breath of summer. A few early season people, those without children to hold them glued until school was out, were moving in the streets, strangers. Some cars came through, towing small boats and big outboard motors on trailers. Ethan would have known with his eyes closed that they were summer people by what they bought—cold cuts and process cheese, crackers and tinned sardines.
Joey Morphy came in for his afternoon refreshment as he did every day now that the weather was warming. He waved the bottle toward the cold counter. “You should put in a soda fountain,” he said.
“And grow four new arms, or split into two clerks like a pseudopod? You forget, neighbor Joey, I don’t own the store.”
“You should.”
“Must I tell you my sad story of the death of kings?”[49]
“I know your story. You didn’t know your asparagus from a hole in the double-entry bookkeeping. You had to learn the hard way. Now wait—but you learned.”
“Small good it does me.”
“If it was your store now, you’d make money.”
“But it isn’t.”
“If you opened up next door, you’d take all the customers with you.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because people buy from people they know. It’s called good will and it works.”
“Didn’t work before. Everybody in town knew me. I went broke.”
“That was technical. You didn’t know how to buy.”
“Maybe I still don’t.”
“You do. You don’t even know you’ve learned. But you’ve still got a broke state of mind. Junk it, Mr. Hawley. Junk it, Ethan.”
“Thanks.”
“I like you. When is Marullo going to Italy?”
“He hasn’t said. Tell me, Joey—how rich is he? No, don’t. I know you’re not supposed to talk about clients.”
“I can rupture a rule for a friend, Ethan. I don’t know all his affairs, but if our account means anything, I’d say he is. He’s got his fingers in all kinds of things—piece of property here, vacant lot there, some beach-front houses, and a bundle of first mortgages big around as your waist.”
“How do you know?”
“Safe-deposit box. He rents one of our big ones. When he opens it, he has one key and I have the other. I’ll admit I’ve peeked. Guess I’m a peeping Tom at heart.”
“But it’s all on the level, isn’t it? I mean—well you read all the time about—well, drugs and rackets and things like that.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. He don’t tell his business around. Draws some out, puts some back. And I don’t know where else he banks. You notice I don’t tell his balance.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Could you let me have a beer?”
“Only to take out. I can put it in a paper cup.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to break the law.”
“Nuts!” Ethan punched holes in a can. “Just hold it down beside you if anybody comes in.”
“Thanks. I’ve put a lot of thought on you, Ethan.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because I’m a Nosy Parker.[50] Failure is a state of mind. It’s like one of those sand traps an ant lion digs. You keep sliding back. Takes one hell of a jump to get out of it. You’ve got to make that jump, Eth. Once you get out, you’ll find success is a state of mind too.”
“Is it a trap too?”
“If it is—it’s a better kind.”
“Suppose a man makes the jump, and someone else gets tromped.”
“Only God sees the sparrow fall, but even God doesn’t do anything about it.”
“I wish I knew what you’re trying to tell me to do.”
“I wish I did too. If I did, I might do it myself. Bank tellers don’t get to be president. A man with a fistful of stock does. I guess I’m trying to say, Grab anything that goes by. It may not come around again.”
“You’re a philosopher, Joey, a financial philosopher.”
“Don’t rub it in. If you don’t have it, you think about it. Man being alone thinks about things. You know most people live ninety per cent in the past, seven per cent in the present, and that only leaves them three per cent for the future. Old Satchel Paige[51] said the wisest thing about that I ever heard. He said, ‘Don’t look behind. Something may be gaining on you.’ I got to get back. Mr. Baker’s going to New York tomorrow for a few days. He’s busy as a bug.”
“What about?”
“How do I know? But I separate the mail. He’s been getting a lot from Albany.”
“Politics?”
“I only separate it. I don’t read it. Is business always this slow?”
“Around four o’clock, yes. It’ll pick up in ten minutes or so.”
“You see? You’ve learned. I bet you didn’t know that before you went broke. Be seeing you. Grab the gold ring for a free ride.”
The little buying spurt between five and six came on schedule. The sun, held back by daylight-saving, was still high and the streets light as midafternoon when he brought in the fruit bins and closed the front doors and drew the green shades. Then, reading from a list, he gathered the supplies to carry home and put them all in one big bag. With his apron off and his coat and hat on, he boosted up and sat on the counter and stared at the shelves of the congregation. “No message!” he said. “Only remember the words of Satchel Paige. I guess I have to learn about not looking back.”
He took the folded lined pages from his wallet, made a little envelope for them of waxed paper. Then, opening the enamel door to the works of the cold counter, he slipped the waxy envelope in a corner behind the compressor and closed the metal door on it.
Under the cash register on a shelf he found the dusty and dogeared Manhattan telephone book, kept there for emergency orders to the supply house. Under U, under United States, under Justice, Dept of… His finger moved down the column past “Antitrust Div US Court House, Customs Div, Detention Hdqtrs, Fed Bur of Investgatn,” and under it, “Immigration & Naturalization Svce, 20 W Bway, BA 7-0300, Nights Sat Sun & Holidays OL 6-5888.”
He said aloud, “OL 6-5888—OL 6-5888 because it’s late.” And then he spoke to his canned goods without looking at them. “If everything’s proper and aboveboard, nobody gets hurt.”
Ethan went out the alley door and locked it. He carried his bag of groceries across the street to the Foremaster Hotel and Grill. The grill was noisy with cocktailers but the tiny lobby where the public phone booth stood was deserted even by the room clerk. He closed the glass door, put his groceries on the floor, spread his change on the shelf, inserted a dime, and dialed 0.
“Operator.”
“Oh! Operator—I want to call New York.”
“Will you dial the number, please?”
And he did.
Ethan came from work, carrying his bag of groceries. How good the long afternoons are! The lawn was so tall and lush that it took his footprints. He kissed Mary damply.
“Pollywog,” he said, “the lawn is running wild. Do you think I could get Allen to cut it?”
“Well, it’s examination time. You know how that is, and school closing and all.”
49
sad story of the death of kings: Shakespeare,
50
Nosy Parker: A busybody or meddler. Also a popular British comic strip, spelled “Nosey Parker,” by Allan Morley, appearing in the
51
Old Satchel Paige: (1906-82) “Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you.” Pitcher in the Negro Baseball Leagues and the American League.