Damnation of Adam Blessing (11 page)

“Yes, I thought so. I thought it would be something like that.” Adam’s voice was husky, his throat very dry. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the waiter, but he did not chance signaling him. Mrs. Cadwallader had nearly finished her aperitif.

“How’s Mr. Cadwallader?” said Adam.

“He passed on at Christmas time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Blessing, I have a dinner engagement and — ”

“I know I said the wrong thing. I should have kept up on things more,” said Adam, “but it’s hard over here. I’m sorry about Mr. Cadwallader’s death. I know it must be hard. I don’t mean to keep saying the word “hard.” I guess sometimes life just seems that way. I wish you wouldn’t leave just yet, Mrs. Cadwallader. I thought we might have one drink together.” The words rushed out of him, and Mrs. Cadwallader seemed to be looking at him as though he were very strange.

Adam said, “Please … I mean — I was in love with Charity.” That, he had never intended to say either.

Mrs. Cadwallader stiffened and took her gloves from the table, placing them in her lap. “I have a dinner engagement,” she repeated. “Young man, you hardly knew Charity. It’s something you made more of than the situation warranted. Now, I’m very sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

The old symptoms were returning. The feeling of wanting to cry.

Adam said, “Their marriage was my fault.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Mr. Blessing.” She tried to catch the waiter’s eye with a raised finger, but the waiter hurried off in another direction. She opened her purse.

Adam said, “Billy didn’t even want her to join him. She went without even knowing that, Mrs. Cadwallader. I was busy trying to get enough money together to go after her and bring her back, but I didn’t have time.”

“Mr. Blessing, Charity and Billy are very happy.” She was taking out bills from a large foreign billfold.

“Doesn’t it mean anything to you that Billy never intended her to join him? He wanted to call off the whole thing, Mrs. Cadwallader. I can’t tell you how I know that but — ”

She interrupted him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blessing,” placing the francs on the table, rising, “I must go now.”

Adam rose and went alongside her. “It’s my fault, the whole thing,” he said, “and you don’t know what I’ve been through. I wish you knew! Even after their marriage, I was ready to help Charity, take her back home. I tried to find them. Sometimes I just went from city to city looking for them and — ”

Mrs. Cadwallader stopped at the exit of the Cour d’Honneur. “Mr. Blessing,” she said, “I want you to leave my company. I will report you if you don’t. You are a very ill person, in my opinion.”

“Not any more, Mrs. Cadwallader! Believe me, I
had
my breakdown! I was in southern France, in a town called Bidart at a hospital. You can call Dr. Melnik there! Ask him!”

She was walking away from him.

“Dr. Andre Melnik!” Adam called after her. “Write him, Mrs. Cadwallader!”

People were staring at Adam. He knew his face was very red, perspiring. He tried to get his breath. He saw Mrs. Cadwallader stop a uniformed employee of the hotel, speak with him momentarily, turn and point Adam out.

Adam hurried through the archway, along the stone sidewalk to the Rue de Castiglione. Once in the street, he lighted a Gauloise and leaned against a pillar until he could stop shaking. Over and over as he stood there, he tried to convince himself that this is where it should end. That part of his life was all over, wasn’t it? He was well now; and if it had seemed for those few moments in the Cour d’Honneur, to be starting up again, well, then — let it end again.

But like all the other endings, it was a beginning. Adam realized this. He drew a deep breath, let it out, gave in. There you have it — he was glad, too. He looked forward to what he knew was ahead of him. A little chill of excitement ran through him. Packing again, it would mean, and consulting the train schedules; then the embarkation, with its sweet, nervous anticipation; and the journey itself, too tense to read or sleep or think of anything all through it but the journey’s end … the inevitable round of hotels, the inquiries, the coming closer and closer…. This time though he was ahead of the game, for he knew positively that Billy was in Rome.

“What is it you really want from him? Or her?” Melnik used to ask.

And it used to stump Adam. He could never answer Melnik, and soon there was no need any longer for Melnik to ask. Now, the answer was so simple Adam began to grin as he thought about it. He did not want anything
from
them — of course, that was a silly way of putting it, and damn Melnik for that! Adam simply wanted to be with them, to help them, too. Why had he never thought to put it that way to Melnik?

Adam tossed the Gauloise to the gutter with a flick of his finger, and with a new, but very familiar spring to his step, he started off.

Adam checked first with the Grand, then the Excelsior when he arrived in Rome, and on his third try — the Mediterraneo — he located them. They were not in. Adam left a note for them saying he would be by at six o’clock. Then he set out to find himself a place to stay. Because it was June and the height of the tourist season, it was not easy, but shortly after two in the afternoon, he found a room at the Delle Nazioni. He spent a few hours loafing about in his room, waiting for the stores to open. The last time he had been in Rome, sometime in early October, he had not understood about the stores staying closed between one and three or four in the afternoon. It was an unhappy memory, and an unhappy period. He had gone to Rome on the chance he might find them yet, though he knew Billy disliked Rome. He had gone everywhere that fall on chance, and each failure brought on a brief bout of drinking, which invariably delayed his departure. In Rome he had suffered through one of his most extended binges, starting at breakfast usually, so that by lunchtime he was already drunk enough to be laughed at. He remembered one afternoon on the Via Francesco Crispi, pulling on the iron gate that locked a small handicraft shop, begging to be let in at the top of his lungs. Somehow he had thought the shopowners were against him in particular, that they had been warned (perhaps by the proprietor of the café where he had lunched) that he was coming in their direction. A nasty scene ensued, with police dragging him away, passers-by gaping and snickering at him. He had left Rome the very next day, vowing he would never return to face such humiliation again.

Adam realized now that all of the trouble last fall and winter had been his own fault. A breakdown, Melnik had termed it. Adam had wished he could tell Melnik the reasons for it, the tension he had suffered through, the fear that any moment the authorities would find him out. A lot of businessmen, said Melnik, can’t take the pressure any longer, crack under it…. Stop reading the stock quotations, said Melnik … rest awhile and work on

“the other thing” … Billy was the other thing. A business rival, Adam had explained, married the woman I wanted to marry, without even loving her…. Melnik’s advice was to accept the fact of the marriage. What was the word Melnik used? Scotomise … Don’t scotomise it … Well, Adam did not intend to scotomise it. He simply intended to be sure everything was all right with them. It was Adam’s fault Charity had never received the letter Billy wrote her, telling her not to join him in Switzerland. That much he owed them, anyway — to be sure that everything was all right.

Around four o’clock, Adam walked in the oppressive summer heat to the Via Condotti. At number 84, he bought a handsome foulard and damask tie-silk dressing gown, explaining that he wished it gift-wrapped. A wedding gift for Billy, if they were still determined to carry on with their marriage. Otherwise Adam would keep it for himself. From the Via Condotti, Adam went to Via Frattina. At Myricae he bought a brocade evening bag for Charity. There were bright threads of green in the pattern to match her eyes, and Adam smiled to think of her pleasure as he presented her with it. “You surely didn’t think I’d be sour grapes,” he’d say…. And if things were not going smoothly between Charity and Billy? … “A little remembrance to make you feel better, Chary.” … While the woman was wrapping the bag, Adam’s eyes fell on a small Tyrolean carved angel. In a burst of good feeling he made arrangements to have it sent to Mrs. Cadwallader in Paris. He enclosed a card: “I do not look back on our brief meeting with any bitterness. Best of luck in all things, Adam Blessing.” Adam spent the rest of his afternoon back in his room, recording the big day in his Journal. It was odd that as much as he had looked forward to this time, now that it was here, he was not sure what he wanted to say about it. He described his purchases, made a note of his expenditures, and then wrote rather banal things like “What will we all say to one another?” and “Even the weather looks promising, seems to be cooling off.”

At twenty minutes to six, Adam left the Delle Nazioni, packages under his arm, his heart pounding under his jacket. A peddler near the taxi-stand was selling some blue and yellow flowers. Adam decided that tomorrow he would drop a postcard to that florist on Madison and 96th. Say something short and nice, like: “Visiting here with Charity Cadwallader and Billy Bollin. Did you know they were married? Best wishes, Mr. Blessing.” Before Adam got into the taxi, he paid for a bunch of the flowers, but refused to take them when the peddler held them out. “Give them to your wife!” Adam smiled. The peddler shook his head, not understanding.
“Moglie! Moglie!”
Adam said, pleased that he had remembered the Italian for “wife.” The peddler nodded and said,
“Si, Moglie!”
trying to give the flowers to Adam again. Adam pointed at the peddler.
“Your moglie!” …
The peddler made a face at Adam. He looked angry, and as Adam got into the taxi, he believed the peddler was cursing him. Adam could not understand it, and as he rode to the Mediterraneo, his feelings were hurt; there was a slight edge off the evening; a blemish, ever so small.

• • •

“Addie?” a voice behind him said.

Adam whirled around in the Mediterraneo’s lobby and shouted, “Billy! Billy! My God, Billy!”

“All right,” Billy said. “Let’s calm down, Addie.”

Billy was not smiling, and slowly Adam’s broad grin faded from his face.

Billy was saying that they could have a drink at the bar, and he was walking ahead, with Adam following, a bit dazed by Billy’s abruptness. In appearance, Billy was the same; still dressed as neatly and elegantly as ever. His back was to Adam, but already Adam had begun to admire the silver-blue nubby-silk dinner jacket Billy was wearing, with the dark evening pants and black pumps. Billy pointed to a small table in a corner.

“Sit down,” said Billy. “Scotch?”

Adam had intended to sip a sherry, go very easy, but he was so bewildered by Billy’s cool greeting, he agreed to the whisky.

Billy spoke Italian to a waiter standing nearby, then he sat down at the table opposite Adam.

“It’s good to see you,” said Adam. “I’m sorry I’m not dressed.”

Billy was looking him over carefully, wordlessly. “What’s the beard for, Addie?”

“It’s not a disguise or anything,” Adam forced a chuckle. “You know … in Europe and all.”

“Taken on a little weight, haven’t you, Addie?”

“It’s this suit,” said Adam. Billy made him nervous, staring hard at him that way. Adam added, “Oh, I suppose you mean my face is fuller. I guess it is.”

“Everything is, Addie,” said Billy.

“You
look the same, Billy.”

“I am the same.”

“Well, good! I couldn’t be more pleased!”

There were several moments of awkward silence then, broken by the waiter’s arrival with Adam’s Scotch. After the waiter left the table, Billy leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table top. “Now, let’s get everything straight right now, Addie, all right?”

A chill ran through Adam. “Yes. How are you? How is everything going?”

“The first thing we’ll get straight, Addie, is that how I am, and how things are going with
me,
is none of
your
goddam business!”

Adam gulped while he lived through another chill. Billy said, “I wrote you the week before I left Switzerland and told you to get out of my apartment. Let’s start there. You stayed on until the end of August.”

“I didn’t take you seriously, was all, Billy. I get mad an say mean things, too … I just — didn’t take you seriously.”

“What did you take seriously, Addie?”

“Look, Billy, you never wrote after that, did you? Not a word! Not one word! I had to read about your marriage in the newspapers! How did you think I felt?”

“I didn’t write after that because I thought you knew enough to get the hell out when someone tells you to!”

Adam took a gulp of his whisky. “You’re not using a very nice tone of voice, Billy. We all make mistakes!”

“Mistakes!” Billy rolled his eyes back in his head and hit his palm with his fist. “You were harassing the Cadwalladers to a point where they were threatening to call the police! Do you think you were welcome in my place after that!”

Another gulp of whisky … Adam said, “Yesterday I had drinks with Mrs. Cadwallader — no it was the day before. Anyway, I’m telling you the truth. We had drinks and today I bought her a gift right here on the Via Frattina, Billy!”

“I know all about the day before yesterday, and if I were you, Addie, I’d cancel the gift.”

“She told me you were in Rome. What would she have told me that for, if she didn’t like me?”

“We all make mistakes, as you say, Addie. Mrs. Cadwallader called us to warn us you were around.”

“I’ll have another drink,” Adam said, draining his glass.

“Not with me, mister!”

“What’s the point in asking me for
one
drink?” Adam said.

“Addie, goddam it, I didn’t ask you!”

“No,” Adam said, “you didn’t.” His eyes were a blur of tears. He hoped Billy could not see them in the dim light. If he could change the subject, it would be O.K…. he could get hold … he had not really lost hold yet. “I like your dinner jacket very much,” he said. “Did you have it made here?” He did not trust himself to raise his head and look into Billy’s eyes, fearing tears would roll from his own. He said, “Since my money — since I came into it, I’ve not gone in for flashy things myself. I’ve always been more conservative.”

“That’s another thing,” said Billy, “this money you’ve come into! Christ, Addie, why kid yourself! You must have about a thousand dollars of that money left!”

“The Mart was worth more than that, Billy. You never thought I could become involved in a big business, did you? Well, I was.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you sold out?” Billy was holding his glass, rubbing the sweat off the sides of it with his finger, eyeing Adam suspiciously.

“Yes, I sold out. What did you think?”

“I
know,”
said Billy. “I don’t have to think, Addie. I met an old friend of yours a month or so ago. Dorothy Schackleford, remember her, Addie?”

“She wasn’t a particular friend. She doesn’t know my business!”

“She was a better friend than you deserved, mister. She told me the only thing you got from that whole deal was that album that belonged to Goethe’s son, the one you showed off that night we all met for the first time.” Billy sipped his Scotch, finishing it, signaling for the waiter as he said, “She told me you got about $50,000 — period, which wasn’t bad pickings for a clerk!”

Adam laughed. “I don’t care if you do know I was a clerk! You think I care?”

“Enough to
lie!
What’d you lie for? Christ, Addie, you’re such a goddam small-time snob!”

“Dorothy Schackleford doesn’t know anything about me or my money!”

“Keep your voice down, Addie.”

“Let people stare! Do you think I’m not used to it?”

“I just bet you’re very used to it!”

“You’re not my friend,” Adam said, and now the tears were starting, down his cheeks. He took out his handkerchief and brushed them away. Billy watched him with a look of disgust. The waiter came, and Adam said, “Another for me!”

The waiter looked questioningly at Billy, but Billy shook his head. “I’m leaving,” he said to Adam.

“I have something for you. For you and Charity.” Adam took the packages from under the small table. “Look, I have something.”

“We don’t want your gifts, Addie. Thanks just the same.”

“But I bought them for you! They’re wedding presents.”

“It’s a little late for that, Addie.”

“Why? Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Things aren’t going well, are they?”

Billy stood up. He tossed some large paper bills on the table. “Dorothy Schackleford’s working here in Rome, in case you’re interested, Addie. You could probably benefit by looking her up. She works for the Fellow’s Rome Foundation. Some kind of
missionary
work … Good-by, Addie.” He started out the door, but Adam jumped up and ran after him. “Your presents!” he said; “if you don’t want yours, at least take Charity’s!”

“She doesn’t want hers either, Addie!”

Billy had stopped, just outside the entranceway of the bar. He was fairly gritting his teeth, his-eyes narrowed, his words very nearly forced out of the sides of his mouth, softly, slowly: “You’ve turned into some kind of nut, mister! I don’t know what kind and I don’t give a goddam, but stay out of my way, I warn you!”

“Hit me,” Adam said, “go ahead and hit me, if you want to!”

“Beggar!” Billy said, “You beggar!” And he left Adam standing there, holding the gifts, trembling….