Nathanael West - The Day of the Locust [54]
Abe chuckled, wagging his big head gleefully.
“I fixed that buckeroo.”
Out on the sidewalk he tried again to get them to go with him.
“Come on, you guys—we’ll have some fun.”
“I’m going home,” Claude said.
They went with the dwarf to his car and watched him climb in behind the wheel. He had special extensions on the clutch and brake so that he could reach them with his tiny feet.
“Come to town?”
“No, thanks,” Claude said politely.
“Then to hell with you!”
That was his farewell. He let out the brake and the car rolled away.
24
Tod woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. He called the studio to say he wouldn’t be in and remained in bed until noon, then went downtown for breakfast. After several cups of hot tea, he felt a little better and decided to visit Homer. He still wanted to apologize.
Climbing the hill to Pinyon Canyon made his head throb and he was relieved when no one answered his repeated knocks. As he started away, he saw one of the curtains move and went back to knock once more. There was still no answer.
He went around to the garage. Faye’s car was gone and so were the game chickens. He went to the back of the house and knocked on the kitchen door. Somehow the silence seemed too complete. He tried the handle and found that the door wasn’t locked. He shouted hello a few times, as a warning, then went through the kitchen into the living room.
The red velvet curtains were all drawn tight, but he could see Homer sitting on the couch and staring at the backs of his hands which were cupped over his knees. He wore an old-fashioned cotton nightgown and his feet were bare.
“Just get up?”
Homer neither moved nor replied.
Tod tried again.
“Some party!”
He knew it was stupid to be hearty, but he didn’t know what else to be.
“Boy, have I got a hang-over,” he went on, even going so far as to attempt a chuckle.
Homer paid absolutely no attention to him.
The room was just as they had left it the night before. Tables and chairs were overturned and the smashed picture lay where it had fallen. To give himself a reason for staying, he began to tidy up. He righted the chairs, straightened the carpet and picked up the cigarette butts that littered the floor. He also threw aside the curtains and opened a window.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” he asked cheerfully.
Homer looked up for a second, then down at his hands again. Tod saw that he was coming out of his stupor. “Want some coffee?” he asked.
He lifted his hands from his knees and hid them in his armpits, clamping them tight, but didn’t answer.
“Some hot coffee—what do you say?”
He took his hands from under his arms and sat on them. After waiting a little while he shook his head no, slowly, heavily, like a dog with a foxtail in its ear.
“I’ll make some.”
Tod went to the kitchen and put the pot on the stove. While it was boiling, he took a peek into Faye’s room. It had been stripped. All the dresser drawers were pulled out and there were empty boxes all over the floor. A broken flask of perfume lay in the middle of the carpet and the place reeked of gardenia.
When the coffee was ready, he poured two cups and carried them into the living room on a tray. He found Homer just as he had left him, sitting on his hands. He moved a small table close to him and put the tray on it.
“I brought a cup for myself, too,” he said. “Come on—drink it while it’s hot.”
Tod lifted a cup and held it out, but when he saw that he was going to speak, he put it down and waited.
“I’m going back to Wayneville,” Homer said.
“A swell idea—great!”
He pushed the coffee at him again. Homer ignored it. He gulped several times, trying to swallow something that was stuck in his throat, then began to sob. He cried without covering his face or bending his head. The sound was like an ax chopping pine, a heavy, hollow, chunking noise. It was repeated rhythmically but without accent. There was no progress in it. Each chunk was exactly like the one that preceded. It would never reach a climax.
Tod realized that there was no use trying