Sullivan, page 29
True, true, true, and I will tell her, and that will cure her. That will take that look out of her eyes.
‘Sullivan! Sullivan!’ Pi was calling. ‘ Where are you? Come here until I show you something.’
Sullivan’s heart lightened a little. He sighed, adjusted his tie, slipped on his jacket and went out to the living-room.
He stood there for a moment goggling. A man in a black suit and a half priest’s collar was standing beside Pi. It took Sullivan a moment or two to recognise him.
‘My God, Tony,’ he said, ‘it’s you. What fancy-dress ball are you going to?’
‘Hello, Sullivan,’ said Tony, holding out his hand.
‘They just let him out, Sullivan,’ said Pi. ‘Doesn’t he look terrific? Brother Mahon. He’ll get us all into heaven, half price, eh, Tony?’
‘My God, Tony,’ said Sullivan, ‘I’m staggered. You really meant it? This is what you meant? We didn’t know where you were. We couldn’t find you and this is the way you end up.’
‘This is it, Sullivan,’ said Tony.
Sullivan looked closely at his face. He was thinner. His eyes were clear. They looked back steadily into his own, slightly amused.
‘Don’t be so surprised, Sullivan,’ Tony said. ‘It’s happening all the time.’
‘But to you,’ said Sullivan. ‘ To you, Tony! You really mean it? All thrown away for this? I can’t credit it.’
‘But I told you,’ said Tony. ‘That evening. I made it all clear to you.’
‘Oh no, you didn’t,’ said Sullivan. ‘Oh no, you didn’t.’ Tony laughed.
‘Well, maybe not,’ he said. ‘ But you shouldn’t be surprised. You know how quickly a man can fall in love. Like that!’ He clicked his fingers. ‘It only takes a second or two and your heart is tied for life. Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes,’ said Sullivan uneasily, ‘that’s so, Tony.’
‘And he has a Brother Clancy, Sullivan,’ said Pi, wide-eyed. ‘My name. Imagine that! The same name as me.’
‘Well, for God’s sake, Pi, don’t end up like him,’ said Sullivan.
‘Oh, not me,’ said Pi seriously, ‘I’m not a bit holy.’
Tony laughed.
‘You might be holier than you think, Pi,’ he said. Then he looked around for the first time. He whistled. ‘You two are certainly doing yourselves proud,’ he said.
‘Isn’t it terrific?’ asked Pi. ‘All this and come in and see the room I have, Tony.’ He practically dragged him in by the arm. ‘See that room, Tony, and the pink bathroom in here. Amn’t I posh? I hardly know myself. I pinch myself every morning when I wake up. And come on here until you see Sullivan’s joint. There,’ he said, standing back and indicating Sullivan’s sun-flooded room. ‘Not bad for the boys from Duke Street eh, Tony? You remember? Gee!’ Pi bent over laughing. ‘You think of Duke Street Tony, and think of this.’
Sullivan’s wardrobe with the sliding panels was wide open. Tony went and looked in the wardrobe, at the suits and the shoes and the ties, and he opened the sliding drawers and saw the shirts.
Sullivan, watching him, felt an unaccountable resentment.
‘Lord, Sullivan,’ said he then, ‘but you are well turned out.’ He counted, looked back at Sullivan and then said, laughing, ‘ Sullivan of the Seven Suits.’
‘What’s wrong with seven suits?’ Sullivan asked, his jaw tight.
Tony looked at him in surprise. So did Pi.
‘Nothing at all,’ he said. ‘ I was only remarking.’
‘No,’ said Sullivan, ‘you were criticising. Well, you went one way, Tony, and I went another way. You could have had seven suits too if you wanted to. There was nothing to stop you.’
‘I’m sorry, Sullivan,’ Tony said. ‘I didn’t mean anything.’
‘He’s only joking, Sullivan,’ said Pi.
‘Well, let him mind his own business,’ said Sullivan, raging at himself for being so unaccountably angry over nothing at all. ‘ I saw you looking around. Maybe you think I am full of folly. Well, I’m not. That is what I wanted. All my life. I have, got it now. And I’m not apologising to anybody about it.’
‘But, Sullivan,’ said Tony, ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m glad to see you like this. You have earned it.’
‘I know,’ said Sullivan. ‘ I can see it through your eyes. What did you want me to do? Sit on the backside of a shiny britches and dole out money to the poor and the poverty-stricken, the hospitals, the prisons, all the rest of them?’
‘Look, Sullivan,’ said Tony. ‘If you have a chip on your shoulder I didn’t put it there. I don’t want to knock it off.’
‘I have no chips on my shoulder,’ said Sullivan.
‘Well, you have something funny on it,’ said Pi. ‘What’s wrong with you, Sullivan?’
‘There’s not a damn thing wrong with me,’ said Sullivan, turning away, his hands in his pockets, staring blindly out of the window.
‘Come on, Tony,’ said Pi. ‘We better go. I thought he would be glad to see you.’
‘Sure I’m glad to see him,’ said Sullivan. ‘ Why wouldn’t I? Just to see him. He to mind his own business and make no remarks.’
‘I’m sorry, Sullivan,’ said Tony again. ‘If I hurt you inadvertently I am very sorry.’
‘Ah, sorry, sorry, sorry,’ said Sullivan. What’s come over me? Why am I acting like this? Give me another second or two and I will turn around and apologise. I will be abject. He might have turned too, maybe, but it was the click of the latch that made him turn. They were gone. They were not there. He ran a few steps to the door. Then he paused. Well, if that’s the way they want it, that is the way they want it I didn’t say anything that bad. Tony came at the wrong time, that is all.
He sat on the couch, his head in his hands. It should have gone differently. He should have joked with Tony. About it all. They should have been happy. They should have gone back over all the times; talking about all the things that had happened to them since long ago.
Sullivan groaned. What kind of a bastard am I at all? What in the name of God is wrong with me?
The chimes struck musically.
He was relieved. He jumped up. That would be Tony coming back. Pi might be too angry to come back. Pi could be quick-tempered too. Well, I am glad. I will say how sorry I am.
He opened the door.
Mary Berry stood looking at him. Her eyes were anxious. She had nerved herself up to this. He took one look at her, and he knew what was wrong with him. He groaned inside himself, looking at her. He didn’t speak. Just stood looking at her.
‘Can I come in?’ She asked this almost timidly, her head on one side like a bird.
Sullivan laughed.
‘Yes, come in, come in, come in,’ he said, almost ungraciously. She moved past him. He closed the door. Stood looking at her. Beautifully dressed. Very well dressed. Big difference to now and the little almost ragged girl who had come for the audience, with Philmill. Still looked young, defenceless, made your heart ache. She turned.
‘You never asked me here at all, ever,’ she said. ‘All the others but not me. Is there something wrong with me?’
‘You ought to know,’ he said.
‘What?’ she said. ‘You don’t like me? I’m sorry.’
‘You know better than that,’ he said.
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘I thought you liked me, at first. But you turn away from me. We are not friends. I want to know what I did to you.’
‘Don’t you know?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you know very well?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘honest, Sullivan, I don’t know. I don’t know.’ She turned away towards the window. Her eyes alighted on the framed picture on the table. She went towards it, took it up in her hands. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘ How nice! She is nice.’ She turned back to him. ‘Who is she?’ she asked.
‘She’s my wife,’ said Sullivan. He didn’t say her name. Couldn’t say her name.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I never knew.’
‘You had no cause to know, did you?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Just I wondered why, that’s all. Why. Now I know, don’t I?’
‘Yes,’ said Sullivan. He thought: This is the point of no return. Go to the door now, and say so pleased you called, Mary Berry, and see you to-night at the play. That was all he had to do. He thought: Buy seven suits, don’t buy seven suits. Nothing to do with suits really, just the strength of your will. Hear the voice of Bernie in your ears. Like long ago. That party. Where they got him all balled up. Didn’t think. Drove her out of his mind. Pride, she said, and vanity, Not that. Just that her voice was fading.
‘You know why now,’ he said. He was beside her. He was going to escort her to the door and bid her goodbye. But he didn’t because his will wasn’t with it. Many times he had wanted to talk to her to try and get her to explain how he could love another and be affected by her at the same time. Can a man have two natures?
‘You understand now,’ he said. ‘Why. I didn’t want to avoid your eyes. Why should I want to hurt you?’
‘Will I go now so?’ she asked. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘No, no,’ said Sullivan, ‘that is not what I want.’
He reached for her and she went to him and he kissed her, and the door opened. He wouldn’t have heard the key in the latch anyhow. He couldn’t have done anything about it anyhow. The door was opened and Pi was there, standing up, looking at them, his face slowly paling and the scar under his cheekbone standing out vividly. He closed the door.
Sullivan only heard the closing of the door dimly. It was a consciousness of the change in the atmosphere that brought his head slowly up. Then he saw Pi. Mary looked at Sullivan’s face and turned her head. She saw Pi. Pi saw the fading passion in their faces and his heart sickened.
He didn’t say anything.
He walked into his room. He pulled the case from the wardrobe. He started to throw his things into it. He hadn’t a lot of things.
It didn’t take him long to fill the case. To close it, to snap the latches on it.
All this time they were watching him through the doorway, still holding tightly to one another. Then Sullivan released her. He took a few paces towards the room door. Pi came out of it.
‘Pi,’ said Sullivan hoarsely, ‘what are you doing?’
‘What do you think? What do you think you bastard?’ Pi asked him.
Sullivan said: ‘Don’t talk like that, Pi. You don’t understand. She knows about Bernie.’
Pi laughed shortly.
‘That makes it good, Sullivan. That makes it holy. Boy! You Sullivan! This only the thing you were heading for. This was all it wanted. You were going there. You got there.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Pi,’ said Sullivan.
‘You ditch Tony. That was lovely,’ said Pi. ‘All right. Don’t know what’s wrong with you. I go along. Not this. This has your snout in the trough, Sullivan. No decency. All swallowed up. Now I’m finished. This is the end for me. What I wanted to do! Thought of you! What Bernie said. All gone. You are on your own now, Sullivan. You’re lost now, Sullivan.’
He headed for the door.
Sullivan’s jaws were tight. He was seeing red. There were red spots in front of his eyes. Following Pi.
‘You say things like that. You don’t understand. Do you make any effort to understand? Can a man talk to you when he is tortured? Will you listen? All I have to say. Come back, Pi. I want to say things to you.’
It was too late. The door closed in his face. He wrenched it open. He ran into the corridor. But the grille was closed, and the lift was going down. He held on to the bars, grasped them with his hands until they hurt him.
‘Pi,’ he shouted, ‘I’ll never forgive you for this. I’ll never forgive you for this.’
It was no use. Pi was gone. He released the bars. He walked back into the room, closed the door.
She came over to him.
‘What have I done? It’s all my fault, isn’t it, Sullivan?’
She came close to him. He put his arms about her.
‘No,’ he said, ‘not your fault. It’s in the cards. Who does he think he is anyhow? All I did for him, for that Pi.’ Saying this, knowing it was wrong. All that Pi did for me. But you have to have barricades. Raging and almost crying inside at the same time. So mixed up.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said, looking into her face, rubbing his hand on her soft hair. ‘These things are written. Who can help them? You tell me that, and you will be the wisest woman in the world.’
Chapter Thirty
Pi walked home from the subway. It was Saturday night. He always got off fairly early on Saturday night. Spring was in the air. You could notice that. But not the winter of Pi’s sadness. It was good being back in the old place. No people in that place with Sullivan. Couldn’t go in to one of these people and put up your feet and take off your coat. You could with Joe. It was good to be back with Joe. And Bonnie. They were very kind to him. All the other people too. He was happy with them. Disturbed of course. Oh, very disturbed. About Bernie. Sometimes he saw pictures of Sullivan in the papers. Always stabbed at him. The stars of The Tide Flows East at such and such a place. She was nearly always with him. Smiling up at him, or her hand on his arm. Even in the gossip columns. What couple are going to launch a bark on The Tide? What must Bernie feel? Pi couldn’t write. Not any more. What must she think? It was nearly two months since that night. Don’t let anybody for God’s sake send her one of those pictures. What was Sullivan doing to them? He seemed to be bent on their destruction. Now, now, all Pi wanted to do was to save enough and go home. He was nearly there. It wouldn’t be long now. Then he would be away. If nothing happened before then, he would have to tell Bernie. Straight out. If he had the courage. What had Sullivan done? Wasn’t it like Sullivan? Oh my God, all the things he had ruined!
(If he could have seen Bernie. She was in her room, weeping. It was so hard. With the old man on the rampage about Mrs. Sullivan. Keep her away from me! Keep her away from me! He is being testy, she said. Just like my own father. Tantrums, that’s what he has. You must make him do this. You must make him do that. Talking about Sullivan. What Sullivan had done. The name of Sullivan would drive the old man to a fury. The gall of him. That young no-good. His aspirations. My girl. Never, madam, over my dying body. Terrified that Sullivan’s mother would one day say it straight out. But she didn’t. She would tighten her lips and nod her head. Secretly pleased that she knew something he didn’t. Oh, Sullivan, Bernie cried into her handkerchief, what’s wrong? Please tell me what’s wrong. What’s happening? Why am I left in a dream of doubt? What has happened? Her nice room, all chintzes. Outside, the smell of spring. All the fruit trees are in blossom. If only you were here. If we could only walk together under the blossoms. It must be something very bad, on account of Pi. No letters from Pi. No mention of Pi in Sullivan’s bald epistles. She had to dry her eyes. She couldn’t afford the luxury of crying. Too much to do. She went down. Morgan was calm. Another year has gone by, Bernie. I am scenting another spring. How good it is! Tomorrow I will go into the orchard. Nodding his head, the heavy rug about his shoulders. Yes, Morgan, and many more springs, you’ll see – hating herself for the fugitive thought that if it wasn’t for Morgan she could find out. She could go. She would travel the earth. Hating herself for the thought. What! Would I deprive an old man of another spring? She was herself again. I’m sorry, Bernie, Pi said to himself, but what in the name of God could I do, short of shooting him or her or something?
There was a car standing under the light. Right under the light outside the apartment house. Pi didn’t notice it until he got close, and then looked casually. He couldn’t miss seeing Bonnie. She was laughing, bending back her head. There was a dark-haired man beside her, at the wheel. He had his arm along the back seat and was bending over her. Pi was shocked. Then he wasn’t shocked. The fact that the car stood under the light, that showed how innocent Bonnie was. If she wasn’t innocent about this she wouldn’t have to have the car stopped under the light.
Pi sighed. Nothing but trouble. Bonnie liked men, around her. When she walked men often walked with her to the corner of the street, when she was coming home from work. But that was all that was in it. It was all as innocent as the day. Pi hoped it was. She didn’t realise that she might be hurting Joe. Joe could be hurt. It was hard to be tied to a chair when you were young and so potentially active and strong. She just didn’t think of that, he thought, and about how much Joe thought of her; how he resented every minute that she was away from him. But he hid it. Joe’s trouble, thought Pi, was that he had no religion. He didn’t believe in anything. Pi was shocked at this. He would have been helped a lot to have faith. He could have conquered his affliction easier. Pi knew this. He tried to tell Joe about it. He tried to get Tony to tell Joe about it. Joe really wasn’t interested. He wasn’t bitter about what had happened to him. He was bewildered. The only thing he could hold on to was Bonnie, and she was God for him and night and day and morning and everything else in life. She shouldn’t do things like that, however innocent. Pi kept thinking that. Suppose you said it to her. It was none of your business. But she would see no harm in it. She would tell you that.
Instinctively Pi looked up at the second-floor window. He saw the curtain moving. Or did he see the curtain moving? He wasn’t sure. He hoped Joe was in bed, or sitting in the chair looking at the television. Maybe I didn’t see the curtain move. I hope I didn’t see the curtain move. He went in. He walked up the stairs.
He stood outside Joe’s door and listened. He had his hand raised to knock, but he didn’t knock. He paused and then he went up to his own place, opened the door and went in.
Gee, thought Pi, can’t there be a lot of unhappiness in the world! Why can’t it all happen at once and get it over with? He switched on the light, took off his coat and threw it on a chair. Then he went to pull down the blind on the window. He stood there for a second. Bonnie had got out of the car. So had the man. He was standing up, his face close to hers. He was laughing. She was joshing him. You could see that. Then he bent forward and kissed her. She turned away from him, waved and came towards the apartment house. He waved after her, got into the car and drove away.
