Nathanael West - The Day of the Locust [33]
She looked hard at Mary, then at Tod.
“I don’t get anything out of it, and it’s just a lot of trouble.”
“Yes,” Faye said.
“All right. There are several things I have to know, if I’m to help you. Did the deceased leave any money or insurance?”
“No.”
“Have you any money?”
“No.”
“Can you borrow any?”
“I don’t think so.”
Mrs. Johnson sighed.
“Then the city will have to bury him.”
Faye didn’t comment.
“Don’t you understand, child, the city will have to bury him in a pauper’s grave?”
She put so much contempt into “city” and horror into “pauper” that Faye flushed and began to sob again.
Mrs. Johnson made as though to walk out, even took several steps in the direction of the door, then changed her mind and came back.
“How much does a funeral cost?” Faye asked.
“Two hundred dollars. But you can pay on the installment plan—fifty dollars down and twenty-five a month.”
Mary and Tod both spoke together.
“I’ll get the money.”
“I’ve got some.”
“That’s fine,” Mrs. Johnson said. “You’ll need at least fifty more for incidental expenses. I’ll go ahead and take care of everything. Mr. Holsepp will bury your father. He’ll do it right.”
She shook hands with Faye, as though she were congratulating her, and hurried out of the room.
Mrs. Johnson’s little business talk had apparently done Faye some good. Her lips were set and her eyes dry. “Don’t worry,” Tod said. “I can raise the money.”
“No, thanks,” she said.
Mary opened her purse and took out a roll of bills. “Here’s some.”
“No,” she said, pushing it away.
She sat thinking for a while, then went to the dressing table and began to fix her tear-stained face. She wore a hard smile as she worked. Suddenly she turned, lipstick in air, and spoke to Mary.
“Can you get me into Mrs. Jenning’s?”
“What for?” Tod demanded. “I’ll get the money.” Both girls ignored him.
“Sure,” said Mary, “you ought to done that long ago. It’s a soft touch.”
Faye laughed.
“I was saving it.”
The change that had come over both of them startled Tod. They had suddenly become very tough.
“For a punkola like that Earle. Get smart, girlie, and lay off the cheapies. Let him ride a horse, he’s a cowboy, ain’t he?”
They laughed shrilly and went into the bathroom with their arms around each other.
Tod thought he understood their sudden change to slang. It made them feel worldly and realistic, and so more able to cope with serious things.
He knocked on the bathroom door.
“What do you want?” Faye called out.
“Listen, kid,” he said, trying to imitate them. “Why go on the turf? I can get the dough.”
“Oh, yeah! No, thanks,” Faye said.
“But listen…” he began again.
“Go peddle your tripe!” Mary shouted.
17
On the day of Harry’s funeral Tod was drunk: He hadn’t seen Faye since she went off with Mary Dove, but he knew that he was certain to find her at the undertaking parlor and he wanted to have the courage to quarrel with her. He started drinking at lunch. When he got to Holsepp’s in the late afternoon, he had passed the brave state and was well into the ugly one.
He found Harry in his box, waiting to be wheeled out for exhibition in the adjoining chapel. The casket was open and the old man looked quite snug. Drawn up to a little below his shoulders and folded back to show its fancy lining was an ivory satin coverlet. Under his head was a tiny lace cushion. He was wearing a Tuxedo, or at least had on a black bow-tie with his stiff shirt and wing collar. His face had been newly shaved, his eyebrows shaped and plucked and his lips and cheeks rouged. He looked like the interlocutor in a minstrel show.
Tod bowed his head as though in silent prayer when he heard someone come in. He recognized Mrs. Johnson’s voice and turned carefully to face her. He caught her eye and nodded, but she ignored him. She was busy with a man in a badly fitting frock coat.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” she scolded. “Your estimate said bronze. Those handles ain’t bronze and you know it.”
“But I asked Miss Greener,” whined the man. “She okayed them.”
“I don’t care. I’m surprised at you,