Nathanael West - The Day of the Locust [3]
He wrinkled his brow and was silent for a moment. “Listen,” he finally said, “seeing as you helped me, I got to return it. I don’t want anybody going around saying Abe Kusich owes him anything. So I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a good one for the fifth at Caliente. You put a fiver on its nose and it’ll get you twenty smackeroos. What I’m telling you is strictly correct.”
Tod didn’t know how to answer and his hesitation offended the little man.
“Would I give you a bum steer?” he demanded, scowling. “Would I?”
Tod walked toward the door to get rid of him.
“No,” he said.
“Then why won’t you bet, hah?”
“What’s the name of the horse?” Tod asked, hoping to calm him.
The dwarf had followed him to the door, pulling the bathrobe after him by one sleeve. Hat and all, he came to a foot below Tod’s belt.
“Tragopan. He’s a certain, sure winner. I know the guy who owns him and he gave me the office.”
“Is he a Greek?” Tod asked.
He was being pleasant in order to hide the attempt he was making to maneuver the dwarf through the door. “Yeh, he’s a Greek. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” said Tod with finality.
“Keep your drawers on,” ordered the dwarf, “all I want to know is how you know he’s a Greek if you don’t know him?”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion and he clenched his fists.
Tod smiled to placate him.
“I just guessed it.”
“You did?”
The dwarf hunched his shoulders as though he were going to pull a gun or throw a punch. Tod backed off and tried to explain.
“I guessed he was a Greek because Tragopan is a Greek word that means pheasant.”
The dwarf was far from satisfied.
“How do you know what it means? You ain’t a Greek?”
“No, but I know a few Greek words.”
“So you’re a wise guy, hah, a know-it-all.”
He took a short step forward, moving on his toes, an Tod got set to block a punch.
“A college man, hah? Well, let me tell…”
His foot caught in the wrapper and he fell forward on his hands. He forgot Tod and cursed the bathrobe, then got started on the woman again.
“So she thinks she can give me the fingeroo.”
He kept poking himself in the chest with his thumbs.
“Who gave her forty bucks for an abortion? Who? And another ten to go to the country for a rest that time. To a ranch I sent her. And who got her fiddle out of hock that time in Santa Monica? Who?”
“That’s right,” Tod said, getting ready to give him a quick shove through the door.
But he didn’t have to shove him. The little man suddenly darted out of the room and ran down the hall, dragging the bathrobe after him.
A few days later, Tod went into a stationary store on Vine Street to buy a magazine. While he was looking through the rack, he felt a tug at the bottom of his jacket. It was Abe Kusich, the dwarf, again.
“How’s things?” he demanded.
Tod was surprised to find that he was just as truculentas as he had he had been the other night. Later, when he got to know him better, he discovered that Abe’s pugnacity was often a joke. When he used it on his friends, they played with him like one does with a growling puppy, staving off his mad rushes and then baiting him to rush again.
“Fair enough,” Tod said, “but I think I’ll move.”
He had spent most of Sunday looking for a place to live and was full of the subject. The moment he mentioned it, however, he knew that he had made a mistake. He tried to end the matter by turning away, but the little man blocked him. He evidently considered himself an expert on the housing situation. After naming and discarding a dozen possibilities without a word from Tod, he finally hit on the San Bernardino Arms.
“That’s the place for you, the San Berdoo. I live there, so I ought to know. The owner’s strictly from hunger. Come on, I’ll get you fixed up swell.”
“I don’t know, I…” Tod began.
The dwarf bridled instantly, and appeared to be mortally offended.
“I suppose it ain’t good enough for you. Well, let me tell you something, you…”
Tod allowed himself to be bullied and went with the dwarf to Pinyon Canyon. The rooms in the San Berdoo were small