Compatriots

Now she’s beginning to get angry, I thought. Why the hell did I have to come in here? What shall I do? I looked at her. She was angry.
“You’re a fool,” she said, “a prize fool.”
“I’m afraid,” I said. “I’ve just landed myself a job and I don’t want to lose it.” I really was afraid. Why should I run the risk of losing my forty dollars a week? It was my best pay since coming to the country, and I certainly wasn’t going to throw it away just like that. No, I thought, I won’t. I looked at her and repeated aloud, “I won’t.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said. “I know the cop on the beat round here.”
I don’t believe it, I thought.
“I know what I’m doing,” she said.
“All right, what’s the game?”
“I want to make him jealous,” she said. “It’s the best cure of all.”
“And?”
“And what?” she retorted. She looked at me and began to laugh. “And then we start feeding him a line.”
“I’m just asking,” I said.
“And I’m giving you the answer,” she replied. “You know, brother,” she added without pausing, “Canada’s really taken the shine off you. Honest to God.”
It isn’t true, I thought. “I’m not so sure,” I said.
“Of what?”
“Of what you were just saying.”
“Oh drop it, for God’s sake. As if I don’t know you. Don’t you remember during the war when Captain Gruya cracked you so damn hard across the face in front of the whole platoon? I was really sorry when that happened, believe me. Not for any reason—just because you’re so stupid.”
Yes, I thought, but now Captain Gruya’s pushing up the daisies, and I’m still around. But I didn’t say anything to her. I knew her too well. She’d run off and babble to somebody, and then. … So I kept quiet. I’m not stupid.
“You know what’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“No.”
“You want to be honest, that’s what’s wrong.”
I didn’t understand her.
“You don’t understand, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“There. You see?”
“I don’t see,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. That’s the peasant coming out in you. You peasants are the only people who still believe that something called honesty exists in this world. Isn’t that a laugh? You’re the only ones who believe in it, and everybody looks on you as being thoroughly dishonest. That’s why you always come off second best. That’s what’s wrong with you.”
“I’m not a peasant,” I said. And that’s the truth. My family moved into the city a good fifty years ago.
“Yes, you still are. In a way.”
“Not in any way,” I said huffily.
“Yes, you are. Stop thinking about it. You’ll tire yourself. Anyway, it’s of no importance. Look, there he is—he’s coming back. Watch out.” The red-haired man walked into the room.
“How are you off for women?” she asked. She smiled.
“So-so.” I answered.
“How’s that girl of yours—you know, the one that’s nine feet tall? What the hell is she anyway, Ukrainian?”
“I’m not living with her any more.”
“Kicked you out? So soon?”
I didn’t answer. It doesn’t matter, I thought; she isn’t really listening to me. But she kept on with her questions all the same.
“Where are you living now? I mean where are you staying?”
“All over.” I’m not such a fool as to tell you where, I thought. I don’t want you coming around to plague me some night, drunker than you are now.
“You’re lying,” she said. “You’re afraid of me coming around and bothering you.”
“Honest …”
“Come stay at my place,” she said, breaking in. “We’ll split the rent. Which shift d’you work?”
“Second shift.”
“Pity it isn’t the third. It’d suit me better.”
I’ve got a good mind to do it, I thought.
“Now give me a hug,” she said.
“Just leave out the slapping, if you don’t mind.” I reached out for her.
“Tell me, how much d’you think he’s carrying on him?”
“It depends,” I said.
“A lot or a little?” she demanded.
“It depends,” I said.
“What’s it depend on? To hell with you and your damn depending. Order two more Clubs.”
“You’ve had enough,” I said.
“No I haven’t.”
I ordered. Inside I was mad at myself. I’d end up by wasting all my money on her. It was time to get up and leave. Yes, I thought, I must just get up and leave. What can she do to me? Nothing.
The waiter placed our order on the table.
Three dollars and sixty cents, less thirty-five cents tip, that leaves exactly three dollars and a quarter. If I don’t get up now, I thought, I won’t have anything to eat tomorrow. And there’s still three whole days till my next pay.
The red-haired man seemed to be winking, or was it just my imagination? I tried to work out how much I had drunk. Three Clubs and two beers. It was beginning to go to my head. It was time to stand up and leave.
“He’s looking,” she said.
“He’s looking,” I said. And I started thinking. It wouldn’t really be fair to leave her just at this moment. Not now that things are beginning to go our way. After all, we both come from the same country. She’s got a right, poor thing, to make her buck.
“If it all works out well you’ll get ten per cent,” she said.
“I’ll what?” I swallowed my words and began calculating. Even at fifty dollars I’d still be losing. It’d be a good thing only if he has at least a hundred on him. Or even better, two hundred.
Nonsense, I thought. Nobody even in this damned country strolls around with two hundred dollars in his pocket. Not even on payday. “It’s pretty little,” I said.
“That’s all,” she said. “No more.”
I felt it was time to order. I called for two more Clubs. “You’ll get drunk,” she said.
“No I won’t.”
“Yes you will. I know you. You can’t hold your liquor.”
“No I won’t,” I whispered, snuggling up closer to her. Well, I thought, she isn’t really so bad to look at. And she used to be … Ah, she was really something when we crossed Caravanka. She even got to Vienna. Those breasts! Now they’re pretty sloppy. And those legs … Wow!
“Take it easy,” she said. “You’re going too fast. He might get disgusted. Slow down.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said.
“Of course it matters.”
It’s a shame, I thought. She might have made somebody a good wife. A wife to go out with on Sunday, to go to church with, to walk along the main street with.
“I’m going to pretend to go to the ladies room,” she said. She slipped out of my grasp.
Pity, I thought as I watched her walking away. Pity. Pity.
And I started thinking of my own wife. Foolishness. I took a drink. Then I ordered another one on the spot, for myself. It doesn’t matter, I thought. I’m not going to make any more calculations. The future can take care of itself.
“Another beer!” I shouted. “Make it a Molson!”
“Coming,” called the barman.
I began inspecting the red-haired man. Where the hell did she get the idea of calling him lobster?
“It’s a laugh,” I said to myself aloud. I spit on all this. He must be some fool of a Scotsman. Look at his face. Like a melon soaked in red wine. What does he do with his seven hundred dollars? What does he spend it on? I bet it all goes like this, on whores. Or else he drinks it up. Some life. I mixed the whiskey into the beer.
What would I do if I made seven hundred dollars a month? I’d buy a house. What the hell do I need a house for? I could earn another seven hundred dollars anyway on houses.