Ed Lacy - The Woman Aroused

     “Take it easy, kid. Way I see it, even if they find you, you have a perfect case of self-defense. I'd go to the cops and...”

     “Talk sense,” Eddie said, his voice suddenly hard. “Justice has nothing to do with this. I'd be smeared and convicted by the papers before the case ever started. I'd be railroaded. That's what the papers and the ward-heelers want—a smoke-screen of scare headlines from now till election day. No, I have to run. I want to run; to be jailed for this would drive me nuts.”

     “You talk some sense. Running is a sure sign of guilt. If what you say is true, wouldn't a chase be up their alley? The big hunt?” I asked, thinking how Eddie had messed up his life. A smart kid, with his pension money and a chance to finish college under the G.I. Bill, live a normal, easy life, yet here he was, possibly involved in murder.

     “No, George, the whole thing boils down to this: the headlines and all that, can't be written unless they find me. I don't think anybody saw us, unless they find me, they can't prove it wasn't merely another fight. I believe they're counting on me to make charges, through the ALP, and then when they know who I am, that I was there, then the papers and the powers that be will reverse the whole deal, cry political terrorism and the rest of the phony stories, but making me the thug. Understand”?”

     “A little, although I can't understand why you persist in ruining your life with this fanatical...”

     Eddie said wearily, “George, don't start that.”

     “I won't. Now what happens?”

     “I think it's best I leave town. Happily, I didn't give my real name when I signed up as a volunteer worker. Sign of the fear of our time—we're afraid to give our right name for anything political. Sounds fantastic, but never tell when they'll have one of their so-called 'loyalty checks' for wounded vets and...”

     “That's ridiculous,” I cut in. “Good Lord, there's nothing wrong about electioneering.”

     Eddie smiled at me and lit another cigarette. “Let's not argue the point. If they want to press the frame-up they'll have to find the goat—me. I've been seen around the neighborhood for the last few weeks, but I'm certainly not well known. However, to be on the safe side I'd like to leave town. I was thinking of southern California—the cold weather bothers my wound a little. I could have my pension sent there, live on that. Might take a little time, the delay, but perhaps Flo would lend me enough to get by on till then.” He paused, added in a whisper, “Know what I'd like to do? Go to Italy.”

     “Why Italy?”

     “America, my homeland, frightens me, makes me restless... I can't seem to settle down here.”

     “And you could in Italy, of all places?” I asked.

     Eddie looked at me, his thin face thoughtful. “George, I'm going to tell you a secret, something that sounds wonderful and horrible at the same time. There's a little village below Naples, a smelly, backward, little place. When my outfit was there, back on a lonely country farm there was a... young girl... and... Oh, hell, I went with her for a couple bars of candy. I know you can't understand how I could do that, or the hunger that made her do it. Anyway, it started on that basis. She was young, about fifteen, probably can't even read or write. I spent several nights with her, and it turned into something beautiful, very pure—for both of us. I guess in the years since, it has been magnified in my mind. I'm not sure. But I look back on that as the only serenity, true happiness, I've ever known.”

     “Forget it, you're chasing a dream,” I said, thinking of Lee, wondering with a great deal of envy about the experiences men like Eddie and Hank had gone through that tied them with Europe, with the women... even the backward ones.

     “I can't forget her,” Eddie said. “I even send her food and CARE packages now and then. Of course she promised to wait for me and all that, but...”

     “She's probably whoring now.”

     “So what!” he said fiercely. “If she is, I'm responsible for that. She's still young, that can be changed too. But I don't think she is, not out on that lonely farm. No, but she may be married. You know it was only after Germany, since I've been home, that I realized how much I care for her, what those nights meant. Life moves slowly there, like stepping backward into time. But Italy is on the move, I could be a part of that too, help.”

     “That farm life would bore hell out of you.”

     “Would it? George, what's happening to us here. Nobody can live without rooking the next person. Take this Porto Rican, a poor man—you've never seen the slums of Spanish Harlem—but think what we've done to this man. His ancestors lived in a tropical island paradise, but to make a fast buck, we made that a hell-hole, a slum so bad they flee to the slums of Harlem. And this man, he's become so perverted that for a miserable few bucks he's ready to kill, sell out something that would help his people—all people. Sell out such basic things as decent houses and wages, schools for his kids. The fast buck perverts us all, makes us animals stepping on each other's back, as if we lived in a jungle.”

     “It's not that bad, kid. Don't forget, most of us lead rather decent, normal lives,” I said, trying to think: it was so important Eddie find himself—but quickly.

     He shook his head. “No, it's only that some of the perversion is smoothed over with a veneer of high living. We merely shut our eyes. Those concentration camps I saw—certainly the height of human perversion—yet there were many Germans living what you call the 'decent' life of good living, of comfortable apartments, books, and shows. I can't say this as clearly as I feel it, George, put it in the right words.”

     “Eddie, you've been through a lot and...”

     “And I'm still not 'readjusted' to civilian life?” he asked harshly. “Crap!”

     “Listen to me, Eddie. You said before I was naive. Suppose it turns out you're the naive one? Wait—I understand a little of what you're trying to say. I don't agree with it all, but then I haven't been through the things you have. But I agree you ought to leave here, perhaps after thinking things over, you'll settle down, see things differently. After all, nothing is perfect. The point is, can you live in Italy, receive your pension there?”

     “Yes. I could live very well on the money. But the expense of getting there, waiting till my checks come through, that makes it out of the question.”

     “Suppose you find this girl has changed or married? I mean could you stand the shock, the disillusionment, if there should be any?” I asked.

     “Let's not talk fairy tales,” Eddie said. “I'd need about six hundred dollars. Flo, or my folks, wouldn't lend me that in a million years.”

     “How long would it take you to leave?”

     “Passport should take a few weeks. But why talk about it? Why if I could have done it, I would have gone back a long....”

     As I've said, I really liked Eddie and now I couldn't help but make the grand gesture. While he talked I wrote a check for one thousand dollars. True, I was giving away Lee's money, but in some way I didn't try to figure out, it was all the same thing. Eddie, Lee, even the money for that matter, were in a sense all the result of the war.

     He stared at the check, looked up at me with astonishment—all of which I enjoyed to the hilt. “George... this...?”

     “Call it a loan and don't worry about ever paying me back,” I said. “I've been... lucky with the ponies lately. I can afford k. Only best you keep it quiet, you know your folks, and Flo.”

     “But a thousand....”

     I stood up. “You want to get out of town, you want to see this girl, well, do it in style and that check is your magic carpet. Rest up and tomorrow start working on your passport and passage. Trip will do you good, even if you come back within a few months. And if your shoulder bothers you, see a doctor tomorrow, and no excuses.”

     He went through the routine of thanking me from the bottom of his heart and all that.

     Seventeen days later on a cold windy afternoon, Eddie sailed—with only Flo and myself to see him off. I'd watched the papers carefully but didn't see any report of a murder on East 107th Street. But at the boat, as Flo was making a point of ignoring me and Eddie was trying to smooth things over, he whispered in my ear, “I heard the fellow died.”

     “How did you hear?”

     “Never mind how, it wasn't directly. Could be gossip, grossly distorted, but that's what I heard.”

     “Well, don't let it upset you,” I said, quite upset myself.

     “I won't. I wasn't upset when I killed Nazi soldiers, either,” Eddie whispered.

     Flo, who was sitting on his bunk in a stunning outfit and drinking the champagne I'd brought for the occasion, said, “Stop whispering like a couple of ham movie characters. What are you two, conspirators?”

     “Yes!” I said, although she couldn't know how clever I thought my answer was.

     When the ship sailed I said I'd take Flo home in a cab and she said she'd get her own. I stepped into her cab before she could push out. There had been some sort of farewell party at her folks' house, but Eddie had insisted that only Flo go down to the boat with him. I don't know if he did this in an effort to get us together, or it was all an accident. His family didn't like the idea of Eddie going off to Italy.

     Now I looked at Flo sitting as far from me as possible on the wide cab seat. She looked very clean, cool, sleek, and yes—chic. Or maybe it was all in contrast to Lee's sloppy languor. For several minutes we didn't talk, then she asked, “Is Eddie in any trouble? I don't believe that corny story he was hurt falling down a flight of steps.”

     “Not that I know of,” I lied. “This fling will be good for him. Living abroad for a while will help him settle down, which is also pretty corny. But leave the kid straighten himself out.”

     “But this sudden rush to Italy. I don't know where he got the money from,” Flo said.

     “Probably saved it, you know how simply he lives. Besides, over there his pension will go farther.”

     There was another pause, then looking out of the window she asked, “Is that... that creature still living with you?”

     “Yes.”

     “You goddamned bastard!” Flo said and began to cry. I moved over and took her in my arms. There was a small struggle. I kissed her and she kissed me back with such vigor my lips hurt. We hadn't kissed like that since before we were married. She kissed me again and again, her thin body trembling. She began talking in my ear, rapidly, almost hysterically. “George! Oh, George, I need you! I want you. I've been so miserable... nervous. Why did you do this to me? Why! Oh George, hold me tighter... I'm so ashamed... for the first time in my life I feel brazen... like a slut. Oh, you don't know what I've been through. I tried going out with other men but... somehow... I don't know... I just couldn't bring myself to... George, you're the only man I ever had. I suppose we've both been to blame, I know I haven't been as understanding... I even went to a doctor, I couldn't sleep. He was so frank, told me point blank I needed a man... George!”

     I kissed her, held her tightly, tried to tell her it was all one of these things, that I really wasn't happy with Lee, and stuff like that. Of course I couldn't tell her too much about Lee.

     “Why don't you get rid of her?” Flo asked.

     “I wish I could.”

     Flo pulled out of my embrace. She had stopped crying by the time the cab reached her place. Outside the cab, I said I'd see her to her door and said that wasn't necessary, and outside her door I asked her to ask me in. She said no, started to cry again, and I whispered, “Don't make a scene in the hallway.” I took her keys and unlocked the door and once inside I held her in my arms and she kept sobbing, “I'm so ashamed... ashamed...”

     “Of what?” I asked, running my hands over her body as if we were a couple of kids. I wanted her as I hadn't wanted her in years.

     I fooled with her dress and she whispered, “The zipper is on the other side.”

     We lay in bed and she jabbered as in the old days, telling me all the petty things that had happened in her office, the gossip of her friends... and it was good to be with a girl who could jabber, make small talk, who was alive and full of nerves and tension.

     As I was leaving, Flo was her old caustic self, and she said, “You know this was all an accident, doesn't change anything between us. I still hate you. Now run home to that overgrown bag.”

     “Darling,” I told her, “we have our little heights, but the rest of our life seems to run on a low level. If we made a graph of...”

     “Stop it. She can't be giving you any paradise, I never saw you so...”

     “Sweetheart, I never denied loving you... in my own way, to be trite,” I said. “In fact we both love each other madly—in our own little ways. I enjoyed this afternoon... and I think you did too.”

     We were standing by the door and she drew her robe around her tighter, said, “I feel like a... whore.”

     “You're a lovely whore.”

     “Don't get any ideas—this doesn't mean you can come here anytime you like and...”

     I pinched her cheek, opened her robe and fondled her breast, said, “I know dear,” and as I unlocked the door, added, “I'll only come when the good doctor prescribes me.”

     I walked out in fine spirits—the battling Jacksons sparring again. But as I took a cab uptown I felt very tired, tired of people. I longed for the pleasures of living alone, not worrying about anybody's troubles but my own. I wanted to go when and where I felt like, do whatever I was in the mood for. I wanted to read my Times over a cocktail, enjoy the peace and quiet of having my apartment to myself. I suddenly knew I was sick and tired of Lee, wished I could get rid of her as simply as I had left Flo. Actually Lee was n6 more trouble around the house than a big cat, only not as clean, but I was fed up, bored with her simplicity. But getting rid of her wasn't going to be simple. Where could she go?