“Why, there you are, Victor,” she said, as if she’d been looking for him all over town.
“Here I am,” Garino said, a little grimly. “Have you eaten? It’s nine o’clock.”
“Nine already? Dear me. Where do the days go, I wonder. They simply...”
“Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll bring you up something.”
“I said I’m not hungry, Victor.”
“All right. Come on, we’ll go inside.”
Meecham followed them into the lobby with the package of letters under his arm.
“This very kind gentleman drove me home. A perfect stranger to me, too. But then I sometimes think strangers are often nicer than other people.”
“Where were you?”
“My dear Victor, where would I be? I was in the bus depot, of course. When one is going to take a bus one goes to the bus depot.”
“What bus?”
“To Arbana, to see Earl. I had this odd letter from him this morning and I decided that Earl needs me. A son needs his mother in time of trouble.”
“What trouble?”
“He didn’t say anything definite but I can read between the lines. It was as plain as day. Earl needs me, I said to myself, I can’t fail my son, I must go and help him. But then...” Her voice faltered, and her face wrinkled up in bewilderment and surprise. “But then I didn’t go. I didn’t go, did I?”
“That’s a good thing. You’re better to stay right here.”
“But my son...”
“Earl’s a good boy. He’ll never get into trouble.”
Garino unlocked the door of her apartment, pushed it open with his right elbow and clicked on the wall switch with his left hand, all in one easy practiced motion as if he had done the same thing a hundred times. “Please come in, Mr. Meecham.”
Meecham went in but he didn’t close the door after him. The smell in the small living room was unbearable. It was obvious that someone — probably Garino himself — had tried to straighten the place up in a hurry and hadn’t had time to clean out the fireplace. It was a litter of rubbish; cigarette butts, newspapers, apple cores, a whole moldy orange, a shriveled head of lettuce, an empty bottle of ketchup blackened by fire, and a wedge of cheese beaded with oil. Every piece of furniture in the room bore the scars of Mrs. Loftus’ daily battles with herself: burns and stains, dents and holes and broken springs.
“Dear me,” said the old lady. “It’s nice to be home. I think I’ll go and make some coffee.”
She started for the kitchen, holding the paper bag against her chest with both arms as if she was dancing with it.
Garino intercepted her at the door. “I’ll make the coffee. You sit down.”
“I’ll make it myself. I’m quite...”
“Give me the bottle,” Garino said.
“What bottle?”
“Give it to me.”
“If you’re referring to this cough medicine I purchased this afternoon... I’ve had this cough. I’m not well, Victor, you know that. I’m not well. I had a bad spell in the bus depot. Ask the young man. He’ll verify it.”
Garino looked questioningly over the old lady’s head at Meecham. Meecham shrugged and turned away.
“Yes,” Garino said. “Yes. I guess you had a bad spell.”
“I certainly did, Victor. I felt it coming on at noon. I started to cough. You know that nasty cough I have and how you’re always telling me to buy some medicine for it?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
“Well, I finally did. There, you see? I took your advice. I’m improving, aren’t I?”
“Yes, of course.”
There was a sound from the hall. Meecham looked up and saw Mrs. Garino standing in the doorway, with an old woolen sweater flung over her shoulders. She didn’t speak, or give any indication that she was there. She just stood watching her husband and Mrs. Loftus, her eyes flat and hard and metallic like coins.
“But the medicine didn’t agree with me in some way. I began to feel faint. And then I did faint, Victor.”
“You faint a lot,” Mrs. Garino said quietly.
Mrs. Loftus whirled around with a cry of surprise. “Why, there you are, Ella. I was just telling Victor that...”
“I heard you.”
“You must meet this nice young man, Ella. I don’t know your name, young man, but I’d like you to meet one of my dearest friends.”
Mrs. Garino didn’t look at Meecham. She started across the room, holding the old sweater close across her breasts. “So you fainted again.”
“Why, yes. Yes, I did, Ella. I swear to you I...”
“Mama,” Garino said. “Please go home.” “Not yet.”
“Please, you mustn’t...”
“I mustn’t what?”
“It’s better not to say anything.”
“That’s been your system all along. It’s sure worked out swell, hasn’t it?”
Garino looked down at the floor, in silence.
“When’s it all going to stop, Victor? All this pretending, this silly stupid game we’ve been playing. Do you think it’s doing her any good? Take a look at this rotten mess of a room. Smell it.”
“Be quiet, I beg of you,” Garino said. “You’ll only hate yourself afterwards, you’ll...”
“Who are we all kidding anyway? Headaches, coughs, neuritis, fainting spells, anything. Anything but the truth. It can’t go on forever like this. Somebody’s got to tell the truth sometime.”
“Perhaps the truth can wait for tonight,” Meecham said.
“It’s been waiting for years,” Mrs. Garino said, still addressing her husband. “Go on, tell her, Victor.”
“No! No, be quiet!”
“Tell her she’s a drunk. Tell her you know it and I know it, we’ve known it for years and so has everybody else in town.”
The steam radiator began to clank, like cymbals heralding the truth.
“Ask her a few things, too. Ask her why Earl left, why Birdie left, why everyone’s left except us. You blamed Birdie for fighting with her, didn’t you, just like you’re blaming me now. Well, there’s only one thing to blame. This.” She reached out and grabbed the paper bag from Mrs. Loftus’ hands. “This.”
“No, no.” Mrs. Loftus was swaying back and forth like a tower of toy blocks about to fall. “Give it to me. My medicine.”
“Medicine. Who do you think you’re fooling except yourself? Sometimes I think I could stand anything except this pretending all the time. Can’t you admit anything, just once, one word of truth? What’s in here? Gin? Whisky? Rubbing alcohol?”
The old lady moved slowly sideways toward a chair and held onto the back of it with both hands, clung to it like an ageing ballerina to the bar, for reassurance and new strength.
“You’re not behaving like a lady, Ella,” she said in a whisper. “You’re making defamatory remarks.”
Mrs. Garino threw back her head and began to laugh; her whole body vibrated with harsh tinny laughter. Garino didn’t say anything. He went over to her, took the paper bag out of her hand and placed it on the table. Then he put his arms around her waist and the two of them walked out into the hall together, Garino matching his step to hers.
The instant the door closed Mrs. Loftus took the bottle out of the paper bag, uncorked it and put it to her lips, very daintily, a fine lady sipping fine tea from the best of china. An immediate change came over her, the same change Meecham had observed in the bus depot: a revitalizing, a flow of color to her skin, as if the stuff she drank was blood and went directly into her veins.
She put the bottle down and looked across the room at Meecham, her eyes narrowed to slits in an attempt to focus accurately.