The Postman Always Rings Twice - James M. Cain [1]
"Why, you don't look Mex."
"I'm telling you. I'm just as white as you are."
"No, you don't look even a little bit Mex. Those Mexican women, they all got big hips and bum legs and breasts up under their chin and yellow skin and hair that looks like it had bacon fat on it. You don't look like that. You're small, and got nice white skin, and your hair is soft and curly, even if it is black. Only thing you've got that's Mex is your teeth. They all got white teeth, you've got to hand that to them."
"My name was Smith before I was married. That don't sound much like a Mex, does it?"
"Not much."
"What's more, I don't even come from around here. I come from Iowa."
"Smith, hey. What's your first name?"
"Cora. You can call me that, if you want to."
I knew for certain, then, what I had just taken a chance on when I went in there. It wasn't those enchiladas that she had to cook, and it wasn't having black hair. It was being married to that Greek that made her feel she wasn't white, and she was even afraid I would begin calling her Mrs. Papadakis.
"Cora. Sure. And how about calling me Frank?"
She came over and began helping me with the wind wing. She was so close I could smell her. I shot it right close to her ear, almost in a whisper. "How come you married this Greek, anyway?"
She jumped like I had cut her with a whip. "Is that any of your business?"
"Yeah. Plenty."
"Here's your wind wing."
"Thanks."
I went out. I had what I wanted. I had socked one in under her guard, and socked it in deep, so it hurt. From now on, it would be business between her and me. She might not say yes, but she woudn't stall me. She knew what I meant, and she knew I had her number.
That night at supper, the Greek got sore at her for not giving me more fried potatoes. He wanted me to like it there, and not walk out on him like the others had.
"Give a man something to eat."
"They're right on the stove. Can't he help himself?"
"It's all right. I'm not ready yet."
He kept at it. If he had had any brains, he would have known there was something back of it, because she wasn't one to let a guy help himself, I'll say that for her. But he was dumb, and kept crabbing. It was just the kitchen table, he at one end, she at the other, and me in the middle. I didn't look at her. But I could see her dress. It was one of these white nurse uniforms, like they all wear, whether they work in a dentist's office or a bakeshop. It had been clean in the morning, but it was a little bit rumpled now, and mussy. I could smell her.
"Well for heaven's sake."
She got up to get the potatoes. Her dress fell open for a second, so I could see her leg. When she gave me the potatoes, I couldn't eat. "Well there now. After all that, and now he doesn't want them."
"Hokay. But he have'm, _if_ he want'm."
"I'm not hungry. I ate a big lunch."
He acted like he had won a great victory, and now he would forgive her, like the big guy he was. "She is a all right. She is my little white bird. She is my little white dove."
He winked and went upstairs. She and I sat there, and didn't say a word. When he came down he had a big bottle and a guitar. He poured some out of the bottle, but it was sweet Greek wine, and made me sick to my stomach. He started to sing. He had a tenor voice, not one of these little tenors like you hear on the radio, but a big tenor, and on the high notes he would put in a sob like on a Caruso record. But I couldn't listen to him now. I was feeling worse by the minute.
He saw my face and took me outside. "Out in a air, you feel better."
"'S all right. I'll be all right."
"Sit down. Keep quiet."
"Go ahead in. I just ate too much lunch. I'll be all right."
He went in, and I let everything come up. It was like hell the lunch, or the potatoes, or the wine. I wanted that woman so bad I couldn't even keep anything on my stomach.
Next morning