The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [115]
For the first time Frau Saunders looked at him carefully, directly into his eyes. He looked very ill, his skin was yellow and his eyes were very black, there were angry red splotches forming on his mouth. “No, no,” she said. “I never thought so badly.” And as she said the words she realized for the first time that he spoke some truth.
But he was under control now. He said quietly, “I'll show you it's not true.” He turned and left; she could hear him running down the stairs.
Out in the street he lit a cigarette and looked up at the cloud-filled sky and then down the Kurfiirsten Allee. He had nearly smoked the cigarette away before he started walking back to his billet in the Metzer Strasse. The ache in his head was hurting his eyes and the veins in his neck. He looked at his watch. It was only three o'clock. There was still a long time to wait before he could do anything about Yergen.
twenty-five
His room was filled with afternoon shadows. He took some aspirin and lay on the bed. He was surprised at the tiredness he felt. He closed his eyes, it seemed only for a moment, and then he heard a knocking on the door, and opening his eyes he found himself in darkness. He switched on the table light and looked at his watch. It was only six o'clock. There was another knock and then the door was opened, and Eddie Cassin was in the room. He was neatly dressed, shaved, and smelled of talcum.
“Christ, you should lock the door when you sleep,” he said. Then casually, “How you feeling, wake you up?”
Mosca rubbed his face. “It's okay,” he said. His head ache was gone but his face felt very hot, his lips dry.
Eddie Cassin threw some letters on the table. “Picked Up your mail. You got a drink?”
Mosca went to the wardrobe and took out a bottle of gin, then two glasses.
“Big party tonight,” Eddie said. “Come on down.”
Mosca shook his head, handed him a glass. They both drank. Then Eddie said, “Your orders come in a week. The adjutant tried to stop it, said it was his fault. The colonel said no good.” He leaned toward Mosca. “Give the word and I'll lose some papers, #ve you an extra couple of weeks.”
“It doesn't matter,” Mosca said. He got up from the bed and looked out the window. There was still some twilight in the streets and he could see a group of children, waiting with unlit lanterns for complete darkness. He remembered hearing their song the last few nights, its softness shattering the light film of sleep that shielded his brain, not waking him, but seeping through somehow.
Eddie Cassin behind him said, “What about the kid?”
Mosca said, “Frau Saunders, she's keeping him.”
Eddie's voice was low. “Ill go see her. Don't worry.” He paused. “It's tough, Walter. Guys like you and me are jinxed. Just take it easy.”
The children in the street formed two files and marched down the Metzer Strasse and out of sight, their lamps still dark. Eddie said, “TTiose letters are from your mother. I cabled her. I figured you not to write.”
Mosca turned around to face him. “You've been a good friend,” he said. “Could you do me one last favor?”
“Sure,” Eddie said.
“You never told me Yergen was back in town. I want to see him. Can you get him over here?”
Eddie took another drink and watched Mosca move around the room. There was something wrong, he thought Mosca had his voice under control, but his eyes were like black mirrors and every so often a spasm twisted his face into what seemed a second of rage and hatred.
Eddie said slowly, “I hope you're not figuring anything stupid, Walter. The guy made a mistake. It wasn't his fault. Hell, you know Yergen went out of his way for Hella all the time.”
Mosca smiled. “Hell, I just want to get back the cigarettes and money I paid for that stuff. Why should I pay?”
Eddie was so surprised and then so relieved tihat he let out a yelp of relief and joy. “Christ, boy, now you're back