Appointment in Samarra - John O'Hara [67]
It was nine-thirty, the morning after the night at the Stage Coach. It couldn’t have been more on the dot of nine-thirty by the modern little clock on Caroline s dressing-table. The little clock had no numerals but only squares of metal where the numerals were supposed to be. He lay there thinking about the pictures evoked by the sound of nine-thirty : people still hurrying to work, coming in to Gibbsville from Swedish Haven and Collieryville and all the other little towns nearby; people with worried faces, worried because they were late to work. And the early shoppers. But there would be no early shoppers today, Friday, the day after Christmas. It was too early to start to exchange Christmas gifts. Monday would be time enough for that. But the stores had to be open, and the banks, and the coal company offices, and the business men who made a business of being conscientious about getting to work, got to work. Me, for instance, he thought, and got out of bed. He was wearing his underwear. His tailcoat and trousers were folded and hanging on a chair, and other things told him that Caroline had taken the studs out of his shirt, the garters from his socks, his tie, his waistcoat, and put the things in the laundry that belonged in the laundry. That meant she was up, because in the mood she must have been in when they came home last night she wouldn’t have bothered to take care of his things. He shaved, bathed, dressed, and went downstairs and poured himself a drink. Oh, you’re up, said Mrs. Grady, the cook. Good morning, Mrs. Grady, said Julian. Mrs. English come down for breakfast but she went back to bed, said Mrs. Grady. Any mail?
I don t think anything important. Christmas cards, by the look of them, she said. Do you want eggs for breakfast or what?
Sure.
Well, I didn’t know, she said. I seen you was taking a drink of liquor so I didn’t know if you wanted the eggs. I ll have them ready for you. The coffee s ready. I was just having a little cup myself when I heard you in here.
Oh, one of those little cups, said Julian. Hmm?
Nothing. Nothing at all. Three and a half minutes for the eggs, remember?
I ought to after four years, I ought to remember how long you want your eggs done.
Yes, you ought to, but you don t always, said Julian. He was annoyed with her contemptuous manner. Now listen here, Mister English
Oh, go boil the eggs, will you, and for Christ s sake shut up. There it was again: servants, cops, waiters in restaurants, ushers in theaters he could hate them more than persons who threatened him with real harm. He hated himself for his outbursts against them, but why in the name of God, when they had so little to do, couldn’t they do it right and move on out of his life? There was no newspaper on the table, but he did not want to speak to Mrs. Grady, so he sat there without it, not knowing whether the damn paper had come, with nothing to read, no one to talk to, nothing to do but smoke a cigarette. Five minutes of ten, for God s sake; there ought to be a paper here by this time, and that old cow probably had it out in the kitchen and was just keeping it out there to annoy him. By God, she ought to be oh, nuts. She got along all right with Caroline. That was it; the old cow, she probably knew from Caroline s manner that there was something wrong about last night, and her sympathies were, of course, all with Caroline. Well, she wasn’t being paid to take sides in family quarrels, and she certainly wasn’t being paid to he got up and walked noisily to the kitchen. Where s the paper? he said. Huh?
I said, where s the paper! Don t you understand English?
I understand one English,