Enoch's Folly

  “Arturo.”

  He turned and walked away with Rida alongside him. His gait was smooth and effortless but his mind entirely unbalanced.

  *

  Aldous Comely knew and knew of many good and decent and earnest people. It would appear none of them had exercised any lasting influence on him, but appearances can easily deceive. Just as phrases can be cleverly constructed to disguise the truth, so can lives.

  The day after his encounter with the kid, Comely was in a small town called Winsted, where he was another man with a far smaller stake in maintaining appearances, apart from, of course, the fact that he was all appearance and no man. It was, in short, a business trip. The big lie aside, everything else about him today was the truth – some found this charming, others unreasonable. He met with two men in a restaurant he was told was very good. The proprietor could be somewhat outspoken, he was advised, and the food was terrific.

  Comely was early which he always was, unless he chose to be late for a particular reason, and trusted that the coffee would be good. He was tired from the long trip but knew from a glance the man behind the counter was the owner and most likely Lebanese, and he not only trusted the Lebanese with coffee – he sought them out.

  The coffee was outstanding, and as it was a quiet morning it did not take long for its maker to engage with Comely.

  “So, do you think Hitler is going to start a war?”

  “I have no doubt at all.”

  The owner nodded.

  “Nice to meet someone who doesn’t have their head in the sand. I’m Nathra.” He extended his hand to Comely who shook it.

  “Nice to meet someone clever enough to not ask a question when they don’t already know the answer.”

  Nathra laughed, and abruptly became serious again, albeit with a laid-back air.

  “That gang is bad news, the worst news the world’s seen for a long time.”

  “I’ve met his type before,” Comely said without a smile. “And you’re quite right. He won’t stop until he is destroyed.”

  “Which means America’s going to be drawn into this war. Or draw itself in.”

  Comely looked at Nathra, a tall man built like Abe Lincoln and crowned with a shock of jet-black hair. He had piercing eyes, the hands of a worker and a sharp mind. He was young, younger than he sounded, and already wise.

  “There’s a lot of money in war,” Comely offered, sipping the coffee rather than knocking it back. “This is delicious.”

  The door creaked open and a small bell chimed, Nathra watched two men walk in. While he watched them meander to a booth, he spoke to Comely, more quietly than before.

  “Which is why the last one started, but this is different. This Hitler is no businessman - they were just the ones who put him in power. Now the genie is out of the bottle, and who knows when it’s going back in.”

  Comely thanked Nathra and approached the booth, sitting down and ignoring formalities. The two men were laughable at first appraisal, but Comely knew of many crooks who’d use a foolish front to hide a ruthless plan. People who look stupid, even when they prove to also be stupid, can still be dangerous. One was long and thin and entirely in black; suit, shirt, tie and the hat held tightly in both hands. The other was stout and crammed into a grey three-piece. He was hatless, red and puffy. He seemed angry and Comely decided to have fun with him.

  “What happened to your hat?”

  The black-clad beanpole laughed and quickly suppressed it.

  Puffy expanded and went more red than before.

  “A strong wind,” he lied. “And it landed in the back of a truck driving by.”

  Comely nodded sympathetically.

  “Ain’t that a pain…”

  Beanpole had enormous saucer-like dark eyes and Comely was acutely aware they were meticulously inspecting the entire diner, Comely and Nathra included.

  Puffy changed the subject.

  “We understand you have an interest in expanding your interests. We understand that you believe it possible for the pursuit of your interests to coexist peacefully with the pursuit of ours.”

  Comely looked out the window at a passing electric car.

  “Not many trams around here, are there?”

  The car’s bell clanged in response.

  He looked back at Puffy, whose bloodshot beady eyes flickered back and forth, Comely, then Beanpole, who sat on Comely’s left, closest to the window, then Comely, then Nathra – who turned his back and meandered deeper into the kitchen – then Comely again.

  Comely continued, making a note of the wireless being switched on in the kitchen; a news broadcast, something about Chamberlain. What a coincidence, he thought.

  “I don’t believe it, I know it. Let’s not talk in circles and dodge the facts, particularly now our friend is out of the room. You deal in VD and liver disease, I deal in luck – good and bad. I suppose there is reason for our words to collide but only when our customers want them too.”

  Puffy’s face inflated slightly again, having temporarily calmed from the mention of his hat.

  “Mr K doesn’t trust you.”

  Beanpole piped up; “We ask questions but no one’s got answers. We don’t know about your references – you ain’t got any references. We need to know you’re a man to be taken seriously. We need to know you’re not going to move in on our bread and butter.”

  Puffy silenced Beanpole with a bulging red glare.

  Comely considered the tall man’s words. They were fair enough. He believed he’d manufactured a reputation but it would appear these people didn’t have the reach and the ears he’d assumed they had. Comely realised he had to push the myths a little harder and into more obvious circles for these people to think they were discovering the truth about him.

  “You tell Mr K I’m a man of my word. You stick to your trade, I’ll stick to mine. That’s the best guarantee I can give you. How about your boss and I meet here in one week? In exactly one week. Maybe he’ll have those answers by then. Tell him I’ll bring a map. Tell him not to contact me in the meantime – just to be here in one week.”

  “We can’t do that,” Puffy squirmed.

  “Sure you can.” Comely opened a watch that seemed to have appeared from nowhere and watched it closely. Inside the kitchen Nathra switched off the wireless and Beanpole was certain, dead certain, he could hear that second hand and nothing else.

  Comely stared at Puffy.

  “Tic toc, tic toc,” he hissed. “Tic toc, tic toc.”

  Beanpole found Comely discomforting and turned to Puffy who locked his fingers together.

  “We will tell him what you said. If he decides to meet you, he’ll meet you. But how will you know if he doesn’t?”

  Comely snapped the watch shut.

  “Well – I’ll know when he doesn’t turn up, won’t I?”

  The door opened and the bell brought Nathra out of the kitchen. It was someone he knew and he smiled broadly.

  “The usual?”

  Comely stood up and clear of the table.

  “You boys want lunch?” He asked. The two men shook their heads and stepped out of the booth. Beanpole ungainly because of his height, Puffy shuffling along slowly because of his girth. Beanpole laughed “you look like you’ve had enough” and Puffy was quietly furious. Comely watched them leave and waited until the new arrival had finished her order.

  “How’s Rose?” he heard her ask, and from the intonation he knew it was a long-familiar question, and thought with surprise he had not noticed Nathra’s wedding ring. ‘Am I getting slow?’ he worried, but then realised the man wore the band on a chain around his neck – and only a slight outline could be seen beneath his shirt and undershirt. A mark on his ring finger made it clear he wore it whenever not at work, and Comely felt comforted. He ordered lunch and, as he’d expected, it was fantastic.

  That afternoon Puffy and The Beanpole attempted to explain Comely’s message to their boss. Entirely unsatisfied with thei
r hammy interpretation of the events, he resolved to meet the man himself.

  *

  Robert was starting to panic. He had headed north to New York because the International had insisted he visit head quarters and get additional training before going south. He was secretly delighted by the delay because he’d never seen New York and figured if he was going to leave his home town he might as well make it a tour of it. He missed his family but had become infatuated with the big city. Mexico seemed an abstraction now, an idea he should probably pursue soon, and would, of course, but just after he got his fill of New York. But every taste increased his appetite and his fill seemed a long way off. It was now the day he was due at his final destination and he expected that any moment now a telegram would arrive and someone from HQ would knock on his door and ask him what he was doing still in the city.

  “Calm down.” He said aloud. “You’re a fucking volunteer”.

  Robert was startled by his own foul language. He used to flinch when people said Goddamn. He hadn’t picked it up from Comely. Comely was nothing if not a gentleman.

  Robert breathed deeply, sitting on the side of his stiff single and holding the edge of the mattress tightly. He had big hands and the mattress was thin enough to grip like a giant sandwich.

  “Calm down.” He said more quietly now. “They won’t be mad. It’s just a little delay and it’s not like you’re the only one.”

  That’s right, Robert thought. It’s not like he’s alone down there. You’re just going to help as best you can, you’re not that important.

  “Bullshit”.

  He stood up and lurched towards the mirror. He was tired. It was four in the morning and he had been sleeping badly. His giant frame obliterated the tiny mirror and he stooped a little to see his face. I need to see Comely, he thought. And to quit my job and get out of here.

  Robert wondered when hot water would be available. Comely had never seen the way Robert lived. The man had a funny habit of not asking about certain things. He had a gift for knowing what questions people didn’t want to answer and, if it was of no use – or importance – to him, he would not ask. People liked this. It was one of many reasons people liked Comely.

  Robert washed cold and dressed warm, bursting out into the street from his with a determination to do something and no idea what. He stuffed his giant paws into his pockets and strode down the sidewalk, fondling the change trapped in his jacket lining. ‘It must be at least sixty cents in there’, he thought to himself. Robert as always resolved to find the hole and get the coins out when he returned home. His gait gave people the impression of purposefulness, even on the rare occasions he had none.

  At the edge of an alley alongside a bank, just a half-pace back from the thoroughfare, a middle-aged man sat on a folding wooden chair, one-legged and still with his left hand gripping his one crutch. In the right he held a tin cup. On his lap, on top of a thin blanket, was a small wooden sign hand-painted; Veteran of the Great War: Out of Work. Robert searched elsewhere for money, finding a solitary two-dollar note. He paused and looked at the bill – as one did not see many of them – and tried to remember where he’d picked it up. It was a lot of money. He didn’t consider asking the veteran for change and put the note in his tin cup.

  Robert’s stomach growled as he continued on. The need to get that change out of his jacket was suddenly pressing and he felt ashamed at briefly regretting the two dollars he had surrendered. He pulled off his jacket and sat on a step outside a tenement and started searching for the rip through which the coins could be liberated. He assumed it would be in one of the pockets, how else could they have gotten into the lining, but this was not the case. He continued to search, getting frustrated and eventually corralling the coins into one spot and using his teeth on the stitching to open up an escape. He heard footsteps halt along side him and looked up.

  “You are not a tailor, I can see.” The woman said in an accent Robert did not recognise. With the sun in his eyes he held a hand up for shade, seeing only a silhouette holding a box.

  “No, I was trying to get…” He stopped.

  It was the woman he has seen walking in the street from his window, still holding a crate, though now more suitably dressed for the cold.

  She looked at his jacket quizzically. He saw that perhaps she was a little older than 30, older than he had first thought, but even more beautiful at close range. She placed the crate on the ground, again it was light, and took his jacket from him in a lithe manoeuvre, before he could say anything. Some kind of tiny prong appeared in her hand from nowhere and within seconds she was handing the coins to Robert. It was sixty cents after all. She sat beside him on the stoop. She wordlessly stitched the opening closed and unceremoniously dumped the jacket on Robert’s knees.

  “This is a good coat. You should be more attentive to it.”

  “I needed to get these coins. I gave my last two dollars to an out of work veteran. He was crippled.” He blushed and felt stupid.

  She simply nodded.

  “A good use of them. You look foreign so I thought I would be of help to you. I was also a stranger here once.”

  She stood up and effortlessly lifted the crate. Robert leapt to his feet.

  “Do you need a hand with that?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Oh.”

  “But if you would like to help, I would like to accept it.”

  Robert took the crate from her, and found it heavier than he expected, but it posed no problems for him. They walked.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “I am going to my shop. I have a little shop near here. And what was your destination?”

  “Was?”

  “Yes well now it is my shop.”

  “Oh. Oh, I was going nowhere.”

  “So this is your house?”

  “No I just stopped here. Hey, uh, Miss, if you’re not too busy would you like to stop for something to eat or maybe, do you drink coffee?”

  “Of course I drink coffee. I am quite busy, but also a little hungry. I have food at my shop and you are welcome to share it with me.”

  Robert’s heart pounded in his ears.

  “I, no no, I will pick something up elsewhere.”

  “With your sixty cents.”

  Robert was no closer to figuring out her accent. Did it matter? No. We’re all from somewhere, he thought.

  She shrugged at his silence and they continued walking.

  The streets seemed sparse today and it did not bother Robert in the slightest. Crowds did nothing to allay his loneliness and his excitement over this woman obliterated any curiosity regarding anything else. He found himself hoping it would be a long journey, even with the silence – the awkwardness of which was, for him at least, growing by the minute. He tried to think of something to say.

  “So… You have your own shop.”

  It came out as a statement, his intonation all wrong and causing another blush.

  “That is correct.” She smiled.

  More silence, for at least twenty paces.

  “How did your money get inside your coat?” she asked, mercifully.

  “I am not sure exactly. Thanks for getting it out like that, and the repairs. You were so quick, it was really something.”

  “Where are you from? Your accent is different.” She surprised him.

  “Kansas. I lived and worked on my family’s farm there.”

  “You are landed?” She seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Well, it’s not a big place but we get by.”

  “You are not living and working there now.”

  “No, I am on my way to Mexico.”

  “You have gone the wrong way. What are you to do in Mexico?”

  “I have some work there, quite important work but I can’t really talk about it.”

  She instantly dropped the subject, which startled and impressed Robert.

  “And what are you doing in New York now?”


  He paused.

  “I came for some training, but now… I’m not sure. But I’m glad I’m here.”

  She grinned and Robert saw Mexico shrinking on the horizon.

  *

  By 11am the following day Anna Paoli had enough orders to last into the night. She looked out the musty glass door at the blur of cream coats and dark winter dresses and then back down to her work, though she barely needed to. They were simple problems in simple patterns and easy to fix. Only rich people were foolish enough to pay for repairs such as this, she thought, and felt glad she’d managed, after more than a decade, to secure a spot in this location. Her eyes were strong and her fingers nimble, and while she’d flirted with the idea of hiring someone… She liked the idea of significantly splitting her income very little and the idea of paying someone badly even less.

  She thought of Paolo and stopped. That poor doomed bastard. She hated him, she loved him, she would have done everything differently and regretted nothing. If he’d not been such a good man, they would have been better off. She wondered about that – about a dishonest but comfortable life. He did the right thing, in the end, she thought, and they’d both paid the price.

  The light became a tiny fraction more dim and her adept eyes picked up on it. Robert’s frame filled the glass door and he waved when Anna looked up. He was carrying something – a box with a carry handle made of ribbon - and smiled broadly. She was surprised by the visit.

  “What’s this?”

  He opened it and she gasped.

  “A cake? Are you crazy? It looks very fancy. Did it cost you much money?”

  Robert shrugged.

  “Why are you not speaking? Sick throat?”

  He was trying to avoid lying, but couldn’t help but tell the truth.

  “A friend of mine gave it to me – for you. It’s fresh though.”

  She smiled. “Of course it is… You could have let me believe you bought it, but you were too truthful for that.”

  Robert thought about Comely, and the bizarre way he had been carrying a cake with him when Robert ran into him by chance. He had never run into Comely by chance, unless he counted their first meeting, and this served to make their meeting all the more unusual. He was hurried – whereas he always seemed on time, and most strange was the fact Robert had seen him first and seen him smiling. Comely always seemed to look serious until smiling at someone or something in particular, but earlier that day was simply smiling while walking along… and carrying a cake.