Thomas Wolfe, page 424
Well, sir, he just threw back his head and laughed. “Live!” he says, “why, probably, till both you and I are in our graves,” he said—and, let me tell you, he didn’t miss it much! That man, here he was a fine-looking man in the prime of life, why he’d be the last one any one would expect to go, the doctor they called in for Woodrow Wilson, and all. . . . Said he’d saved thousands of lives, and here when his time comes he couldn’t save his own! They did everything on earth they could to save him—as the sayin’ goes, I reckon they exhausted all the resources of medical science but to no avail!—was dead and in his grave, sir, within two years after your papa died. I remember sayin’ to McGuire when I read the news, “Well, it only goes to show,” I said, “that when your time comes there is nothing that can save you. . . . I don’t know what you’d call it,” I said, “but there is some higher power, as sure as you’re born, and when it calls us,” I said, “we’ve got to go, doctors and all.” “Yes,” he said, “you are exactly right. There’s something there,” he said, “that we know nothing of”—and here he had only a year longer to live himself, drinkin’ himself to death, you know, just grievin’ over the way that woman had acted. Of course, that nigger at the hospital told Lee he’d come in there late at night so drunk he’d have to get down on all-fours an’ crawl upstairs like some big old bear when he had to operate the first thing in the morning, said he’d get him to put him in a tub of cold water with chunks of ice in it, said he’d seen him that way many a time and put him to bed.
“Well,” says Eliot, “I don’t pretend to know anything about it any more. I don’t know what is keepin’ him alive,” he says, “but there he is, and I don’t want to make any more predictions. He’s not a man,” he says, “he’s four men, and right now,” he says, “he’s got more real vitality than the rest of us put together”—and of course, it was true: right up to the end he could eat a meal that would put most people in the grave, two dozen raw oysters, a whole fried chicken, an apple pie, and two or three pots of coffee, sir. Why I’ve seen him do it time and again! with all sorts of vegetables, corn on the cob and sweet pertaters, string beans and spinach and all such as that. Of course Eliot was honest about it: he came right out and admitted he couldn’t say. “Now here,” he said, “I want you to look after him until he enters the hospital. I want him to be ready for us when he comes in here,” he said, “and you see to it that he behaves himself.” “Well,” I said, “I think he is going to be all right. He has promised, you know, and of course we are all going to do our best. Now,” I said, “what can he eat? Do we have to put him on a diet? Can he have some oysters?” I said. Well, he laughed, you know, says, “Look here, I’d call that a pretty strange diet to put a sick man on.” “Well,” I said, “you know he’s been lookin’ forward to it. He’s always loved oysters,” I said, “he’s always remembered how he could eat them by the dozen on the half shell in his boyhood here. He’s looked forward to it so much,” I said, “that I hate to disappoint him.” “Oh, all right,” Wade Eliot says, laughin’, you know, “let him have them then. You couldn’t kill him noway,” he said, “but look a-here!” he said, and he looked me square in the eye, “I’m not worryin’ about what he eats so much as what he drinks. Now,” he says, “you keep him sober. I don’t want to have to get him over a drunk when he gets in here,” he says. “You put the fear of God into him,” he says, “I know you, and you can do it. Now, you tell him,” he said, “that if he goes off on another big spree he’ll never live to get home. Tell him I said so.”
Well, I told him what Wade Eliot had said. “You can have the oysters,” I said, “he said that would be all right, but he says you’re not to touch a drop of anything to drink, or they may have to send you home in a box.” “Why, Lord! Mrs. Hawke,” your papa said, “you know I wouldn’t do a thing like that in my condition. If any one offered me a drink I’d throw it out the window. Why the very sight of the stuff makes me sick at my stomach!” Well, he promised, of course, and I reckon we all believed him.
Well, sir, it wasn’t twenty-four hours before he went off on a big spree and came home at two o’clock in the morning roaring drunk—I tell you what, I certainly felt sorry for that woman. Why! here we were all stayin’ there just across from the hospital at Mrs. Barrett’s, a good religious woman, you know, a big churchgoer, and all, with her livin’ to make and that grown-up daughter to support whose husband ran off with some other woman—and here he comes in the dead of night howlin’ and hollerin’ that it was nothing but a bawdy house he was in and to bring on the women. Why, of course, you might know he waked the whole house up, they all got up to see what the trouble was, and she knocked at the door tremblin’, in her night gown and wringin’ her hands. “Oh, Mrs. Hawke,” she says, “you’ll have to get that man quiet or he’ll ruin me,” she says; “get him out of here,” she says, “I’ve never had anything like that in my house before,” she says, “and if it gets out I’m disgraced”—and her children, you know, those two little boys she had, she sent them out on the roof and there they were perchin’ up there like monkeys, and all of the people whisperin’ together in the halls. Ed was so mortified and bitter to think he would behave himself like that. “By God,” he said, “it’d serve him right if he did die. After the way he’s acted I wouldn’t care.”
Well, I got hold of the bottle, I found a bottle of licker about a third full in one of his pockets, and pretty soon he began beggin’ for a drink: “No, sir,” I said. “Not another drop! Now you listen to me,” I said. “You’re a sick man: if you keep this up you’ll never get home alive,” I said. Well, he said he didn’t care. “I’d as soon get it over with now,” he says, “as go through all the torment and the agony.” Well, he kept yelling for a drink, but we wouldn’t let him have it—I took it and poured it out, anyway—and at last he got off to sleep. Then I took his clothes and locked them up in my trunk so he couldn’t get out again.
We let him sleep it off. He slept right through until ten o’clock next morning and when he woke up he seemed to be all right, he wouldn’t eat any breakfast, said it would make him sick, but I got him to drink some good hot coffee Mrs. Barrett brought up to him. She was certainly a kind, good-hearted Christian woman and your papa told her he was sorry for the way he had acted. Well, we tried to get him to get up and come with us then, none of us had had any breakfast, and we were going down the street to a lunchroom. “No,” he said, “I don’t feel like getting up, you go on: I want you to go on and get something to eat,” he said.
Well, I knew he didn’t have any more licker because I’d poured it out, and I knew he couldn’t go out for any because his clothes were all locked up, so I thought it’d be all right if we left him alone for a little. Well, we went out and ate and we couldn’t have been gone more than an hour, but when we came back he’d been drinkin’ again, layin’ up in the bed, you know, crazy-like, singin’ a song to himself. “Why, mama,” Ed says, “I thought you told us you took his licker away from him and poured it out.” “Why, I did,” I said. “Well, he must have had another bottle that you didn’t find,” he said. “There’s one thing sure, he’s had plenty since we left him.” “Well, now,” I said, “if he’s had anything to drink he’s got it while we were away. It wasn’t there in his room when we left,” I said, “because I searched that place from top to bottom with a fine-tooth comb and you can just bet your bottom dollar there was no licker there.” “Well, he’s getting it from some one,” Ed said, “and I’m going to find out who it is that’s giving it to him. Let’s ask Mrs. Barrett if any one has been here to see him.” “Why, yes,” I said, “that’s the very thing.”
So we all trooped downstairs and asked her if any one had been there for him. “No,” she said, “no one has set foot in this house since you left it,” she said, “I was on the look-out for just such a thing to happen,” she said, “and if any one had been here I’d have known it.” “Now there’s something mighty strange about this somewheres,” I said, “and I mean to get to the bottom of it. You childern come on,” I said to Lee and Ed, “we’re going to find out where this mystery is or know the reason why.”
Well, when we got back upstairs to his room there he was, you know—and you could see it, you could tell it—he’d had something else to drink since we’d been downstairs. He was drunk as a lord. I marched right up to him: “Look a-here,” I said, “you’ve been getting licker somewheres and I want to know who’s been giving it to you.” “Why, who-o? Me?” he says, in that drunken voice, “why, baby,” he says, “you know me, I wouldn’t touch a drop,” he says—trying to hug and kiss me, you know, and all that. Well, we looked again, the childern and I, we searched that place high and low, but it was no use—there was certainly nothing there, or we’d a found it.
—
Well, I got to studyin’ about it, and it flashed over me all of a sudden—I don’t know why I’d never thought of it before—“Come on, children,” I said to the boys, winkin’ at them, you know; “come on, we’ll go downtown and see the sights. Mr. Hawke, we’ll be back in an hour or so,” I said, “you be ready when we come,” I said. “We’re going to take you to the hospital at three o’clock.”
Well, that just suited him, that was just what he wanted, he said, “Yes, go on,”—of course he wanted to be left alone so he could get more to drink. Well, we left him, we went right down the hall to my room and I took the childern in there and closed the door, easy-like, behind me. “Why, mama,” Lee says, “what are you talking about? We can’t go off downtown and leave him alone like this while he’s drinking. No,” he says, “he’s been getting it somewhere and I’m going to see to it that he gets no more if I have to sit there and watch him,” he says. “No,” I said, “you wait.” “Why,” he says, “what do you mean?” “Why, don’t you see?” I said—pshaw! I was so mad to think I hadn’t thought of it before, that miserable old toper Ben Tolly from Seneca, South Carolina, that used to stop at our house,—here, he had the room right next to your papa and was waitin’ to be admitted over at Hopkins with the same trouble your papa had and here the two of them were layin’ up together a-swillin’ it down as hard as they could—“it’s that rotten old Ben Tolly,” I said, “who’s been lettin’ him have it.” “Why, damn him,” says Lee, “I’ll go wring his neck for him,” and he starts for the door. “No, you don’t,” I said, “you wait a minute. I’ll fix him.”
Well, we waited, and sure enough, it wasn’t five minutes before your papa’s door opened easy-like and he came creeping out into the hall, and then we heard him knockin’ at Ben Tolly’s door. Well, we heard Ben Tolly say, “Have they gone yet?” and we waited a moment longer until we heard the door shut again, and then we started. I marched right up and knocked and in a moment Ben Tolly says, “Who’s there?” “You open the door,” I said, “and you’ll find out.” Well, he opened it, and his face had a mighty sheepish look, I tell you. “Why, Mrs. Hawke,” he says, “is that you? Why, I thought you’d all gone to town,” he says. “Well, now, didn’t you get fooled that time?” I said. “Mr. Hawke is in here,” he says in that mealy voice, stickin’ his old red nose out that was all covered with warts like a pickle, “we were just having a little talk together,” he says. “Yes,” I said, “and it looks to me you’ve been havin’ something else besides. If it’s only talk,” I said, “I’d call it mighty strong talk that gets on people’s breath and smells up the place till you can’t bear to come near them.” Oh! you know, awful, that old rank odor of rye licker, you could a cut it with a knife. “Now,” I says, “I’ve been talkin’ all my life and it never had no such effect as that on me.” “Yes,” says Lee, “and I see you’ve got a whole bottle of that talk right there on the table before you.”
Well, we marched right in on him then, and there he was, sir, sitting right up at the table, if you please, with a whole quart bottle of licker before him fixin’ to pour himself out a drink. Well, I reckon if looks could kill we’d have all been dead, for he gave us one of the blackest and bitterest looks you ever saw, and then he began to curse and rave. Well, I got hold of the bottle and then he began to beg me to give him just one drink. “No, sir,” I said, “you’re going into that hospital, and what’s more you’re going now. We’re not going to wait a minute longer.” Of course, I knew that was the only way to handle him; I’d seen him too many times before, and I knew if we didn’t take him he’d get licker somehow if he had to drill a tunnel to get to it. “Yes,” said Lee, “you’re going now if I have to drag you over there, and Ed will help me do it.” “No,” said Ed, “I’ll just be damned if I do! I don’t want to have anything more to do with him. He can do as he likes.” “Well,” said Lee, “if we let him stay here he’ll drink himself to death.” “Well, I don’t give a damn if he does,” said Ed, “if that’s what he wants to do let him go right ahead. Maybe the rest of us would get some peace then if he did. He’s always had his own way,” he said, “he’s never thought of any one but himself and I don’t care what happens to him. I was lookin’ forward to this trip,” he said, “I thought we might all get a chance to enjoy ourselves a little and here he’s gone and disgraced us all and ruined it for us. Now you can look after him if you like, but I’m done.” Of course, the child was bitter: he’d been lookin’ forward to comin’, he’d saved up the money for the trip and had a nice new suit of clothes made before we left home, and here to think your papa would act this way, of course it was a bitter disappointment to us all. We thought, you know, we’d get him in the hospital and then have a little time to look around and see things for ourselves but Law! the way he’d been actin’ it would have taken a whole regiment of men to look after him.
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Well, he didn’t want to go, of course, but he saw we meant business and he’d have to, so he went along back to his room with Lee and I got his clothes out, and we dressed him. Well, I began packin’ away a few things I thought he’d need in the hospital, some nightshirts, and his bathrobe and slippers and so forth, and then I saw he had no clean shirts: the one he had on was filthy, I was ashamed to let him go in that, and I knew he’d need some clean ones after he’d begun to sit up again. “Why, where on earth are your shirts?” I said, “what have you done with them? I know that I put in six, you couldn’t have lost ’em,” I said, “where are they?” “Oh, they’ve got ’em, they’ve got ’em,” he said in that maudlin tone, beginning to rave and carry on, you know, said, “Let ’em have them! Fiends that they are, they have impoverished and ruined me, they have drunk my heartsblood, now they can take what’s left.” “Why, what are you talking about?” I said, “who do you mean?” “Why, mama,” Lee said, “it’s those Chinamen that run that laundry down there. They’ve got his shirts,” he said, “why, I took them there myself,” he said, “but that was a week ago,” he said; said, “I thought he’d gone and got them by this time.” “Well, we’ll march right down there and get them now,” I said, “he can’t go to the hospital wearing that thing he’s got on. We’d all be disgraced!”
Of course, that just suited him: he said, yes, go on, he’d be all ready when we came back—of course, he wanted to get rid of us so he could drink some more. I said, “No, sir, when we leave this house you’re coming with us.”
—
So we started out. He went on ahead with Lee, and Ed stayed behind to go with me. Of course, Ed was proud and he refused to help him. “I’ll carry his valise and come along with mama,” he said, “but I won’t be seen with him.” “What’s the matter?” Lee said, “he’s your father as much as mine,” he said, “you’re not ashamed to be seen with him, are you?” “Yes, by God, I am!” said Ed—that was just the way he put it. “I don’t want any one to think I know him,” he said. “Now you needn’t expect me to help you,” he said, “I’m no damned nurse maid,” says, “I’ve done all I intend to do.”
Well, then, we went on down the street to this laundry; it was down there a block or two below the hospital on the corner in a little old brick building and, of course, when we got there we could see them, these two Chinamen inside, just a-ironing away for all they were worth. “Well, this must be it,” I said. “Yes, this is it, all right,” said Lee, “this is the place.” So, we all went in, and this Chinaman asked him, says, “What do you want?” “Why, God damn it,” your papa says, “I want my shirt.” “Well,” the Chinaman says, “tickee, tickee”—kept sayin’ “tickee,” you know. Well, of course, Mr. Hawke had been drinkin’ and he didn’t understand him. He got excited, you know, says, “Tickee hell! I don’t want any tickee. I want my shirt!” “Well, now, you wait,” I said to your papa, “now don’t you worry,” I says, “I’ll talk to him. If your shirts are here, I’ll get them for you.” Of course, I knew I could talk to the Chinaman and reason with him about it. “Now,” I said to him, winkin’, you know, easy-like, “you tell me about it. What is it you want?” I says. “Why,” he says, “tickee, tickee.” Now, I thought to myself, the man’s all right—I could see it, you know—he’s tryin’ to say something, he’s tryin’ to explain something to us with this tickee. “Now,” I says, “do you mean you’re not finished with them yet?” I thought, of course, he might not have them done—but no, I thought, that can’t be, he’s had a whole week’s time to do them in. Surely, I thought, he’s had time enough. “No,” he said, “tickee, tickee,” and then, of course, he began jabberin’ to the other feller, and then they both came and they both began to shout and holler at us in that awful outlandish tongue. “Well,” your papa says, “I’ll make an end of it all now, by God I will! Little did I reck,” he says, “that it would come to this.” “Now, Mr. Hawke,” I said, “you be quiet and I’ll get to the bottom of this. If your shirts are here I’ll get them.” Well, these two Chinamen had been arguin’ about it together and I reckon the other one had told him that we didn’t understand because he got one of those slips of paper then that they used—as I said to Lee later, it looked exactly like it was covered by old hen tracks—and he pointed to it, you know, and said, “Tickee, tickee.”
