Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [32]
He offered a tired smile in response.
When I stood to clear, he followed the empty plate with the eyes of a well-behaved dog. So, I made him his own batch of closed-kitchen eggs. I whisked them and fried them, plated and served them. Earlier, I had seen an unopened bottle of cooking sherry in one of the cabinets. I pulled the cork and poured us each a glass. We sipped the sherry and drifted from topic to topic in unnecessarily hushed tones.
The notion of Florida brought mention of the Keys which brought memories to Tinker of reading Treasure Island as a boy and of digging with his brother for backyard doubloons; which brought memories to both of us of Robinson Crusoe and daydreams of being stranded; which got us on the track of what two belongings we’d want in our pockets when we were eventually shipwrecked alone: for Tinker (sensibly) a jackknife and a flint; for me (insensibly) a pack of cards and Walden by Thoreau—the only book in which infinity can be found on every other page.
And for the moment, we let ourselves imagine that we were still in Max’s diner—with our knees knocking under the tabletop and seagulls circling the Trinity steeple and all the brightly colored possibilities dangled by the New Year still within our reach.
Old times, as my father used to say: If you’re not careful, they’ll gut you like a fish.
In the foyer, Tinker took both my hands in his again.
—It was good to see you, Katey.
—It was good to see you too.
As I stepped back, he didn’t immediately let go. He looked as if he was wrestling with whether to say something. Instead, with Eve asleep at the end of the hall, he kissed me.
It wasn’t a forceful kiss. It was an inquiry. All I had to do was lean a little forward and he would have wrapped his arms around me. But at this juncture, where would that have gotten anybody?
I freed my hands and put a palm on the smooth skin of his cheek, taking comfort in the well-counseled patience for that which bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and, most importantly, endures them.
—You’re a sweet one, Tinker Grey.
The elevator cables whooshed past as the car approached. I dropped my hand before Hamilton pulled back the elevator door. Tinker nodded and put his hands in his jacket pockets.
—Thanks for the eggs, he said.
—Don’t make too much of it. It’s the only thing I know how to cook. Tinker smiled, showing a flash of his normal self. I got on the elevator.
—We didn’t get a chance to talk about your new place, he said. Can I come by and see it? Maybe next week?
—That would be great.
Hamilton was waiting respectfully for the conversation to end.
—Okay, Hamilton, I said.
He closed the gate and pulled the lever, initiating our descent; and then he whistled a little tune to himself as he watched the floors pass.
After the Civil War the names of the founding fathers like Washington and Jefferson became plenty popular with his race. But here was the first Negro I’d ever met named after the death-by-dueling proponent of the central bank. When we reached the lobby, I stepped off the elevator and turned to ask him about that. But a bell rang and he gave a shrug. The great brass doors of the elevator quietly closed.
They were embossed with a dragon-crested shield inscribed with the motto of the Beresford: FRONTA NULLA FIDES. Place No Trust in Appearances.
I’ll say.
Despite the fact that the groundhog had cast no shadow, winter laid siege on New York for another three weeks. The crocuses froze in Central Park; the songbirds, reaching the only sensible conclusion, doubled back to Brazil; and as for Mistah Tinkah, why the following Monday, he took Miss Evelyn to Palm Beach without so much as a word.
CHAPTER SIX
The Cruelest Month
One night in April, I was standing in the Wall Street stop of the IRT waiting to hoi polloi home. It had been twenty minutes since the previous train and the platform was crowded with hats and sighs and roughly folded afternoon editions. On the ground nearby was an overstuffed valise bound with string. But