Thursday the sixth day of Matilda's incarceration. Morning dawning. George reaching to punch the coffee contraption into life which lacked the loving hand, the juice of living. And with one bleary eye awake the flash thought that Matilda was dead. Maid servant starves to death in Merry Mansions. Police and public crucifixion on the front pages. Why did you do it Mr. Smith, murder her in this ruthless slow way. Instead of shrivelment why not the knife or gun, you're licensed to carry a pistol Why didn't you blast her. Members of the jury this murderer is not only a murderer but a twisted and callous person.
And Thursday Smith swept up his nudity in the polka dot dressing gown, plunged tootsies into slippers to pound once again on Matilda's door. Milkbottle silent. And in the polished mahogany, George's eyes culled up a scene of other mahogany. The witness stand. Gold-miners giving evidence, sure he's violent didn't I see him with my own peepers chasing those poor kids up on the roof and he goosed my wife last Christmas. Violently. Just a forceful nudge of the knee.
"Matilda are you in there."
As Smith looking down his dressing gowned person to the bare skin of the legs. Hair ending at the ankles. Yes your honor, his usual was an attack on Matilda Friday nights, sure he was tight, sure we knocked on his two inch thick steel door, yeah I got one too but only an inch, we could really hear him and this poor dark creature, as he took advantage of her color.
And finally Thursday noon after the constant visits to pound, Smith shivering at his bedroom phone. Reaching for the instrument. A few dials of the finger and buster, the street outside will be full of clanging bells and sirens careering in off the avenue, anything to keep people nervous. The blue uniforms, respirators, acetylin torches and usual safe cracking equipment to get to Matilda's cadaver behind the mahogany disguised half inch steel door. And as George put the dark plastic to his ear and a finger into the chromium dial, his arms rose in rigidity as an icy clutch of water crashed upon his back. A loud shout and laugh from Matilda as she said surprise and Smith said Jesus Christ so it could be heard in the padded cells on the island in the river.
"Matilda, God damn you. What the hell's the idea. The absolute and the preposterous cheek after I'm half scared to death."
"You can't talk to me like that Mr. Smith."
"I'm talking to you like that. Get me a towel. You're behaving in an absolutely stupid manner."
"That white trash, that blond bitch."
"She's my secretary. What the hell are you making out of my life. Don't I pay you enough."
"Yeah, sure bring up money. Sure bring up the money, Mr. Smith. It's the only thing you understand is that old green stuff. Buy everybody off don't you."
"Matilda you're talking out of turn. I'm soaked."
"I know my turn to talk, you don't have to tell me when to talk. I'll talk and I'll talk and I'll talk. Slurping up asparagus."
"We're going to settle this Matilda. Get me a towel."
"Sure you can settle, can't you. Get it yourself. Everybody in their place, setde up. Fire me. Get rid of those you can get rid of. I don't mind walking the streets. Plenty of jobs."
"Well you're not working in that room."
"You want to fire me."
"No one said anything about firing."
"Fire me."
"No."
"Well you can if you want, just so you understand that."
"Stop explaining my rights to me and get some clothes on. And get me a towel."
"O it's business now. You don't mind a little bare tit on Fridays. You want it white now."
"I've got to be at the office."
"Sure, everything's black and white in the day time."
"I just hope that by tonight you're behaving in a civilized manner."
"Or what are you going to do."
"Stop pressurizing me. Just telling you to be out of that room. And have something to eat ready for a change."
George rose sadly in the direction of the bathroom. Reflecting upon the turkey cock unable to flap its wings in the floor. Life's getting like a merrygoround with people getting on and off and no one paying for the ride. I'll try to track Miss Tomson down. No I won't. If she can get more money and better conditions somewhere else, let her. That goes for Matilda too. I've never bought anyone in my life. Cheaply. Is treating people with warmth and concern buying them. And then being doused from behind. Answer me that. Hear her, standing on the verge of stark nudity having an argument with me.
Smith putting on a blue shirt and a black tie dotted with three legged golden stars. No Miss Tomson to reach out and give it a flick and say that's for the birds. Guess you might say I'm going to have a little freedom of expression around my office for a change. And take up the phone with my new adaptor that fades out my voice when the talking gets ticklish and sends the line dead at signs of disaster. Wear white shoes with red dots if urge denotes that attire. I lie. What an empty god forsaken place the office has become. When people are going home, sidewalks crowded. And I'm head in hands. Too sad to look up, out, forward. And late tonight I take the train.
"Matilda, I catch the train at eight and I want sandwiches."
"Sure if that's the way you want it."
"Shit."
"Ooo you said a nasty word, Mr. Smith."
"Are you locked in that room again."
"I'm delicately attired."
Smith clenching fists. He raised them slowly. Dropped them and spread out his fingers and looked at the nails. Not much moon showing. I'll just take so much from her and no more. O there'll be changes, no more of this if it's all right with you Matilda. Thinks she owns me. That I live to keep her.
Businesslike George Smith went to the kitchen. Taking four large elliptical white plates. At Matilda's door he raised them above his head and crashed them to the floor. A little white chip bounced right up on the hall table. Amazing.
Smith passing out of Merry Mansions. Dog trotting to Golf Street. To any new meantime of horror. Nearly stopping to ask a female pedestrian were she ever a feeding mother to give some human milk of kindness.
And Miss Martin with worried lines across her brow, stood at the top of the stairs of number Thirty Three, holding one hand in another.
"Good morning, Miss Martin."
"Mr. Smith I was so worried. I was going to ring."
"Just a little something, Miss Martin, held me up. Sudden conference. Top level, private, all that sort of thing."
"Shall I get you some apples."
"Please."
"Mail is on your desk. There were a few phone calls, you know when no one speaks on the other end. The breathing is awful. I switched the music in with die adaptor"
"The bag pipes record."
"Yes Mr. Smith. They hung up right away."
"Good."
Smith smiled and entered his office behind the frosted glass. Past the top of that desk which is like a desert. Lost on it without water. Letters, there they are, arranged [431 right in a row. I'm just not up to it. Examine the stamps. Always a nice distraction. Whoa, one or two countries I've not yet heard of. What could they be after. I'm putting my soul under lock and key. And by Jesus these three go in the safe, unopened. Miss Tomson come back. I must not weaken. Open this harmless one. With one neat slit. Goodness, handmade paper inside. No. Not one of these.
Dear Sir,
Quite obviously you intend overlooking the particular seriousness of this matter.
Perhaps you will have to be made to dance a different tune. And we take this opportunity of reminding you that it shall be to our music.
We know you have read this.
Yours faithfully,
JJJ. & Others
George Smith putting feeble hand to the buzzer. Still able to press down. Three shopping days till Christmas. Cigar store man has a big sign, Give Smoke For Yule. Soon as good will towards men comes round in the calendar they try to get in a sneaky boot to one's oxsters.
"Miss Martin, come in please."
"Yes, Mr. Smith."
"Would
you get me a glass of water."
"Certainly. Will a paper cup do."
"Goatskin, anything."
"I wasn't trying to be funny, Mr. Smith."
"I know you weren't Miss Martin, forgive me. Put all this correspondence in the safe and lock it. Bum it, eat it-"
"I don't understand Mr. Smith."
"Forgive me Miss Martin forgive me, in my moment of mood."
"I'll get the water right away."
"And ice."
"Yes Mr. Smith, right away."
"Hold it Miss Martin. Stop right where you are. Gome here a minute. Right over to the desk. Don't be scared. I just want you to tell me something. In my eyes. See. Just tell me what color they are."
"I think they're green, Mr. Smith."
"I mean the whites, what are they."
'White. Mr. Smith."
"How white."
"Just white, Mr. Smith."
"You don't think they're going grey."
"No, Mr. Smith."
"Or brown."
"No."
"Miss Martin thank you very much. Really thanks. Stop all calls. I'll be away from tonight over Christmas. And just one more thing before you go. Make an account of Miss Tomson's wages, till the end of this week."
"Shall I mail them to her sir."
"Don't be distant Miss Martin."
"Sorry Mr. Smith."
"No, don't mail them to her. Leave it on my desk. That's some buckle you have on that belt."
"Like it Mr. Smith. Out of an antique shop. I was looking at a brass pig. And just behind it was this buckle."
"Where is this brass pig."
"Two blocks over and right across from a building has big sign in front which says Religious Fittings."
"Thanks Miss Martin."
Two thirty that unurgent time of afternoon with wandering minstrels toting signs on portable radios, it is possible I may cough again with a transplant throat. Madam I cannot speak but can feel. And past a window full of wines. And around this corner. There, Religious Fittings. With additional remarks. Crosses our speciality, everyone welcome to come in and look around. Get tacked up. Measurements free.
Smith viewing the large stuffed ape. Under which stood the little brass pig. Overshadowed by the anthropoid's private parts. Miss Martin says she was looking at the brass pig at the time. Mustn't betray eagerness in the shop. Just look as if I'm after a cane or an instrument for some neat little ulterior appetite. I like having satisfied alone. And which I keep tucked away in my personality. Don't like the look of this proprietor.
"Good day, are you the proprietor."
"What do you want."
"As a matter of fact I want canes."
"You want canes, mister."
"I want canes. Everyone in the shop."
"Mister wait a minute."
"No."
"Well wait a minute."
"No."
"You mean you want all the canes."
"Yes."
"I got two hundred canes."
"Wrap them up."
"Hold it. Do you know what you're saying."
"Wrap them up."
"I ain't got that much wrapping paper. You don't know what you're saying."
"Are you questioning my sanity."
"Yeah."
"Let me repeat. You own this shop."
"What do you mean, repeat. You haven't said it once yet."
"I repeat. You own this shop."
"Look mister I understand English/1
"And let me repeat. I want to buy every cane in your shop."
"This is a store. But if you repeat I'm going to repeat. I've had a lot of people come in here in my time. And what is happening at this moment is original. They come in about the ape."
"A most obscene exhibition too."
"That's God's problem mister. But you come in about some problem you got, I think."
"The canes please."
"I said I got two hundred, what do I know what they cost together."
"Write a round figure on a piece of paper."
"How do I know how much two hundred canes are worth."
"I'm not suggesting you rob yourself. A round figure."
"What are you trying to do to me."
"Write a satisfactory figure on a piece of paper. I will fetch a car and you get your bank to phone my bank."
"Certainly not. You can't make me write anything on a piece of paper what do you think this is."
"Dear me. You are amusing. Goodness. I can't believe it. Completely irresponsible. Utterly pig headed. Round figure. I repeat."
"Stop saying that."
"A simple thing like canes."
"Mister, before I ask you where you come from, why don't you just buy that jug, look, an antique thermometer, with one of these things tells you the weather. Never have to go outside, and you know it's raining. No insult, but it might suit you good."
"The instrument looks broken and rather battered to me."
"What do you expect. Antique."
"Canes."
"Can't you get off that subject. Look, here's a table that's got real foreign worm holes. That carving. Right up the leg, a craftsman did it"
"I'm particularly fascinated by carved canes."
"Do me a favour mister. Here's a doll, real hair. You could buy a carriage, push it around. I think it would make you feel better because. Look why this chair. Say I got it, here this brass pig. A round figure. Ha ha. That's a good one. How about this."
"Wrap it up."
"No kidding."
"No kidding."
"Mister thanks, thanks a lot. You sure had me worried. And for you I take ten percent off. And let for a change me repeat, thanks a lot and merry Christmas."
George attired in the double breasted suit of the cunning connoisseur, on top of which he wore a great coat with a bear fur collar. Leaving the hairy garment swinging open as he did business. Every little percent helps. And tucking up this brass omnivorous hoofed mammal, reminder of swine everywhere. Smith picked up polish and made it safely to Merry Mansions and past Hugo who pretended to read the early evening paper. Dolt.
Inside Flat Fourteen. Music from the sitting room. White scraps of dishes over the hall. To the left, master's quarters, to the right servant's. One hesitates wondering which way. Well, how do you like this.
"Matilda, I hate interrupting the music."
"Hey I didn't hear you come in Mr. Smith."
"I'd prefer Matilda, if you'd wear your uniform."
"What's the matter with what I'm wearing."
"It's what you're not wearing Matilda."
"O say that's cute, that's a little pig. Where did you get it. Gee Air. Smith let me feel it."
"Stand back''
"What's a matter Mr. Smith I just want to feel it. A real cute thing. Mr. Smith, you've been worrying again. I know you have. Yes, I see it. You don't fool me. You been to the antique shop to soothe your nerves, I know it. You sit right down there. Here have this pillow. Take your coat. Won't touch that pig. Been thinking Mr. Smith, I've got no right to interfere with your business life. No. I've got no right. That's not my place. My place is out there in that kitchen. And in here if necessary to make you comfortable. I just wanted to keep you calm. It's people who upset people. But I think, well, my place is the kitchen."
"I'm not disputing this little testimony, Matilda. But I come in and find you stretched out on the couch. Appreciate your selection of music. But just making clear you seem to have a place on the couch as well as a place in the kitchen."
"Mr. Smith the resounding crash of those plates in my ears this morning brought it home to me as I was nearly jumping out of my skin in which I was standing at the time, that me and you Mr. Smith shouldn't fall out like that, just like the dishes it cracks you up. I just know it does. Loving words that are kind and true, loving deeds and blessings too."
"I see."
"My job's to you. Building up the years of faithful service. To go on my record. That's something to
be proud of. When they lay me down with the roses all around, lilies, that crazy wisteria, on top, right on that coffin, Mr. Smith, so's everyone can see it. That testimonial of the faithful years of service. At those gates, dig that testimonial big God. Note the sacrifice. What's that look, Mr. Smith. You sick."
"I want a bottle of sparkling white wine."
"Just let me touch this little pig once, Mr. Smith/9
"Get back."
"Gee you're mean. I only want to touch it. Gosh."
"Gee you're mean.
"In due course."
"In due course my ass."
"Watch the language."
"Slave cooking over a hot stove. Sure, you want olives. You go buy a barrel I got to stand smelling all day. You don't think of that. Hot chocolate drink at night. You find someone to do that. Let me touch your pig. I'm not going to kill it. Here you just feel me. Here come on. That's another thing. You think I'm fat, just feel here, solid I'm telling you."
"Get some ice in this bucket."
"Feel me, Mr. Smith."
"Feel me, "Back."
"It'll astound you. This thigh, Mr. Smith."
"Matilda."
"Feel, Mr. Smith."
"Our behaviour may be watched."
"What's a feel, Mr. Smith. Before you catch that train."
"A feel at this moment is foolish."
"Press here, Mr. Smith."
"Stop getting close."
"Show you it's not fat, Mr. Smith. Feel."
"My my."
"Told you Mr. Smith. Aren't you surprised."
"No one would ever know, how solid you are."
"That Miss Tomson's a bag of bones. Not a nice mattress like me. She tried to knee me, Mr. Smith. Right there. And you see her claws."
Out the window across the street a happy family having ham and cabbage. A mother, father, eight little kiddies. One kiddie getting a wallop across the mouth disappearing from view. He must wonder, that father, what it's like to be free of those burdens. Well mister, in the first place, its marvelous and in the second, again marvelous. See, put lips to the rim of this hand blown glass. Let the white grape have its timorous say on one's chops. My God he's looking at me in a resentful fashion.