Stories of Erskine Caldwell

  But the knocking continued. It grew louder; it became so loud that it could not possibly be ignored for any great length of time.

  Mr. Sears stuck his head out from the shower to listen again. Someone was rapping angrily on the door — on his door. It was a mistake, he said, just as there had been mistakes in Houston, Shreveport, Kansas City. He had sent for no one, and there was no possible reason why anyone in St. Louis should wish to see him. He knew no one, and he was certain nobody he had previously known would try to look him up. He listened to the knocking on the door, listened with both ears above the spray, wondering how long it would continue.

  The rapping on his door kept up, becoming louder and more insistent than ever. Mr. Sears smiled to himself, glancing into the mirror to give himself a sly wink. He didn’t care if he did, he said. He would go and take one little look. No harm could possibly come from that. He wished to see.

  Reaching for a towel, Mr. Sears turned off the shower and stepped out on the bath mat. He tied the towel around his waist, pulling it down over his legs as far as it would go.

  He unlocked the door and opened it until there was a crack an inch wide he could see through. He took one look and shut the door as quickly as he could. The automatic lock behaved as though it would never bolt the door.

  When he was certain that the door was securely locked, Mr. Sears took a deep breath and looked around him wild-eyed. He had not expected to see what he did. There was a young woman standing out there without a coat or cloak of any kind and, besides, she was wearing a slanting little red hat over her left ear. He had not expected that. It was all a mistake, he said to himself. It was a genuine mistake. The woman was knocking on the wrong door. She should go to some other door and knock. She was trying to enter the wrong room.

  Before he could decide what to do about it, the knocking began again, louder and more determined than ever. Mr. Sears did not know what in the world to do. He stood looking down at himself for a moment, wondering how on earth he was ever going to get her away from his door.

  “Open the door!” the woman said. “Open the door this minute!”

  That, thought Mr. Sears, was extraordinary. He had never seen or heard of anything like it before in all his life, not even during his fifteen years on the road in the Southwest.

  “Do you hear me!” she cried. “Open the door!”

  “What do you want in here?” he asked hastily.

  “I want to come in! Open the door!”

  “But I don’t want you in here,” Mr. Sears said. “You mustn’t come in. I can’t allow you to come in.”

  “Open the door!” she said, raising her voice louder than ever. “Let me in! Open the door this minute!”

  Mr. Sears was so nervous and upset by then that he could not stand without holding on to something. He leaned against the wall, trying to think of the proper course of action under the circumstances. While he was trying to think of something to do, it occurred to him that it would never in the world do for the woman to make so much noise out there in the corridor. People would surely hear her, and then they would come to see what the trouble was. If that should happen, someone would be certain to call the police, and the police would come and arrest both of them on some pretext. Then he would be taken to court, along with the young woman, and the thing would get into the newspapers. The Memphis papers would print everything that was sent out by the news agencies. He could already see the headlines in the Press-Scimitar at home: MEMPHIS MAN AND ST. LOUIS WOMAN ARRESTED IN HOTEL! Then below that would be his name in full, and, no doubt, his picture. The woman’s picture would be there, too. What would Mrs. Sears say!

  “Open the door!” the strange woman cried again, striking the panels with her hands. “Let me in!”

  Mr. Sears promptly did the only thing he knew to do under the circumstances. He opened the door and ran for the bathroom.

  The young woman ran into the room and began pulling out the bed and hurling chairs around as though she had suddenly lost something of great value. Mr. Sears was in the bathroom out of sight, but he knew by the sounds she made that she was searching for something she wished to find without delay. He knew she had no right to come into his room like that and tear things to pieces, and he believed he should stand up for his rights and order her out; but she was such an extraordinary young woman, and he had never been in such an embarrassing position before in all his life, so he just stood there in the bathroom not knowing what in the world to do about it all.

  Presently she ran into the bathroom where Mr. Sears was hiding, completely ignoring his desire for privacy. He was more surprised and embarrassed than ever, and the young woman with the slanting little red hat was panting with anger.

  “What are you doing in my room?” she demanded, staring through Mr. Sears from head to toe with an impatient up-and-down movement of her head. “Who let you in here?”

  Mr. Sears drew the towel around his waist and reached for a second one. He decided that it was about time for him to stand up for his rights and put this impertinent and shameless young woman in her place.

  “I engaged this room,” he said, his voice not so strong as he wished it might have been. “This is my room. What are you doing here?”

  “Your room!” she cried, stamping her foot on the tiled floor. “Your room! Why, I engaged this room myself yesterday! I slept here last night, and I worked here this morning. I told the clerk at the desk that I was not leaving until seven o’clock tonight.”

  “Well,” Mr. Sears said, smiling faintly, “then that’s the whole trouble. The people down at the desk evidently thought you had checked out when they assigned the room to me.”

  While Mr. Sears was explaining, the young woman was running back into the room, leaving him as suddenly as she had burst into his privacy a moment before. She found her two pieces of baggage and opened them to see if anything had been disturbed. Mr. Sears waited in the bathroom, glancing at himself in the mirror.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry about all this,” she said.

  “I am, too,” Mr. Sears said.

  “I wouldn’t have had it to happen for anything.”

  “Neither would I.”

  “Come here a minute,” she said.

  Mr. Sears took a last hasty glance at his appearance, hitched up the towels around his waist, and stepped into the room. She was bending over one of her bags when Mr. Sears saw her, and she turned around and beckoned him.

  “What was it you wanted?” he asked weakly.

  “Can you snap this lock for me, please?”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “What seems to be the trouble with it?”

  “I don’t know. It just won’t fasten for me. Maybe you can make it work. You are stronger than I am.”

  Mr. Sears straightened his shoulders and stepped across the floor to her side. He pushed the lock together and it snapped.

  “That was all it needed,” she said, smiling down at Mr. Sears. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had not been here to help me with it.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” he said, taking a step backward to balance himself.

  After that he had expected to see her turn and go toward the door, but instead she went over to the bed and sat down upon it. The chairs were covered with Mr. Sears’s clothes, and he had not thought to remove them. She sat on the bed looking at Mr. Sears, wrapped insecurely in his towels, until he wished the floor would open and drop him out of her sight. He noticed the suggestion of a smile on her lips, but he was too much occupied with his thoughts just then to smile back at her. While he waited for some excuse to come to mind that would let him go back to the bathroom, she crossed her legs and took a cigarette and a box of matches from her handbag.

  Mr. Sears stood in the middle of the room glancing from the door to her and back again. The door was closed, and it was locked.

  “Come over here and sit down beside me,” she said, smiling at Mr. Sears. “Maybe you can strike one of these matches for me. They break every time I tr
y to light a cigarette.”

  He went to the bed and sat down on the pillow at the head. She was arm’s length from him, but it was as close as he dared go. He wished more than ever that he had his trousers on.

  “Are you on the road?” she asked, when he had struck a match for her.

  “Not any longer. I was for fifteen years, and then I went into the home office. I just came up to St. Louis today on a small matter of business for the company.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said. “I know how much you miss the road. I’m awfully sorry.”

  “I — that — well, I like both.”

  “Oh, but the road is so much more thrilling than the office,” she said. “I wouldn’t leave it for any inducement now.”

  “Leave what?”

  “The road, of course.”

  “Do you travel — I mean, are you a commercial traveler?”

  “Certainly,” she said. “I cover the Southwest.”

  “But I didn’t know — I didn’t know that —”

  “You didn’t know what?”

  “Why! I didn’t know that women were covering the territory now.”

  “That’s because you have been shut up in the home office for — how long is it?”

  “Ten years.”

  “Ten years! Then that’s why you didn’t know.”

  Mr. Sears moved uncomfortably on the pillow. The young woman talked as if she knew more about commercial traveling than he did. Then he realized that he was no longer a salesman. He was an office manager.

  “Anyway,” she said, “women travelers are the best representatives for my line.”

  “What’s your line?” he asked quickly.

  “Barbers’ and beauty shop supplies,” she said. “I travel out of Kansas City.”

  Mr. Sears sat looking off into space. The young woman beside him turned to say something else, but when she saw the expression on his face, she waited to hear what he was going to say. Mr. Sears looked as if he would burst open if he did not say something soon.

  “When were you in Dallas last?” he asked suddenly, leaning towards her.

  “About two weeks ago. Why?”

  “Have the hotels there put up the summer doors yet?”

  “Yes, I believe they have.”

  “Has the new railroad station in Houston been completed yet?”

  “That was finished three years ago.”

  “Do the hotels in New Orleans still have runners to meet all the trains?”

  “Yes. Runners were meeting the trains there last week.”

  “And in Kansas City —”

  “Oh, in Kansas City the best hotels now employ girls for elevator operators. They wear trousers and coats just like boys.”

  “They do!” Mr. Sears said. “Just think of that! The last time I was in KC —”

  “By the way,” the young woman asked, “what did you say your name was?”

  “Mr. Sears.”

  “The first name?”

  “It’s Henry, but —”

  “Henry? That’s a good name, Hen. Mine’s Jancy. Jancy is sometimes short for Jeanette.”

  “Jeanette?” Mr. Sears said. “Why! That’s my wife’s name!”

  “Your wife? You’re not married, are you, Hen?”

  “Certainly,” Mr. Sears said. “Her name is Jeanette, but I don’t call her Jancy. I call her Jeanette.”

  “You should call her Jancy, Hen. I’ll bet she would like it.”

  “Maybe when I go back to Memphis I’ll —”

  “Where is she now, Hen? Is she here with you?”

  “She’s at home in Memphis.”

  “Well, that’s better,” Jancy smiled. “I don’t care to be surprised in here with you, Hen. That wouldn’t be so funny, would it?”

  “No,” Mr. Sears said. “My wife —”

  “Oh, I know, Hen. All of them are alike. You don’t have to tell me about her. I understand perfectly. Let’s you and me just enjoy ourselves and have a good time. Do you know any new jokes? I heard a good one last night. A man in New Orleans took a sleeper for Chicago and when he got ready to —”

  “But it’s time for you to catch your train, isn’t it, Miss —”

  “Just Jancy, Hen,” she said. “But forget about the train. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to Wichita Falls tonight. These sleeper jumps get on my nerves sometimes, and all I want is a nice soft bed in a quiet hotel. Don’t you ever feel that way sometimes, Hen?”

  “Well, I used to when I was on the road. I’ve got accustomed to living at home now. Even hotels —”

  Mr. Sears glanced nervously at the door once more. The young woman had moved closer to him, and he was already as far as he could move. The bed frame was hurting his side even then.

  Jancy began taking off her hat. Mr. Sears sat up and took notice.

  “Lay this on the table for me, will you, Hen?” she asked, placing the slanting little red hat in his hands. “I want to take my hair down.”

  Mr. Sears hitched up his towels and stepped jauntily across the floor with the little red hat. When he came back to the bed, Jancy was sitting in his place and shaking out her curls. Mr. Sears stood first on one foot and then on the other.

  “But you can’t spend the night in this room,” he said uneasily. “Though I suppose I could let you have it, and ask the desk downstairs to give me another one.”

  “Why do all that, Hen,” Jancy said, pointing to a place on the bed where Mr. Sears could sit down. “You talk as if you were never on the road in your whole life. Don’t you ever think of expense accounts?”

  Mr. Sears felt something turn over in his head. It was like listening to the well-oiled machinery in the Memphis plant. Everything worked so smoothly when all the moving parts were well oiled and when the belts and bands were in place.

  He found himself walking back to the bathroom to hang up the towels, and, more surprisingly, he was humming to himself.

  “By the way, Jancy,” he called through the door, “what’s the best hotel in Oklahoma City now?”

  She did not answer immediately. He waited, listening for her answer. He was getting ready to repeat the question when something impelled him to turn around. She was standing in the doorway looking at him. He whistled through his teeth.

  “Why do you want to know that, Hen? I thought you said you were not on the road any longer.”

  “Well, I’ve been off the road for ten years now, but when I get back to Memphis, I’m going to see the president and tell him I want my old territory back again. I’m not going to stand for the way I’ve been treated, no sir-ree! I’m going to tell the president that you can’t take a commercial traveler off the road and stick him into an office and expect him to settle down there for the rest of his life. And besides, I’m tired of going to the same house every night. Why, Jancy, that house has only got seven rooms in it, and every damn one of them is cluttered up with overstuffed furniture!”

  He followed Jancy through the door and into the room. She sat down on the bed and kicked off her slippers.

  Mr. Sears reached for the phone on the writing desk.

  “What are you going to do, Hen?”

  “The first thing I’m going to do is to have some sandwiches and beer sent up. We’re going to make —” he stopped abruptly and began shouting into the mouthpiece. After he had shouted himself red in the face, he hung up and threw the phone on the desk. “We’re going to make a night of this,” he finished.

  (First published in Metropolis)

  Daughter

  AT SUNRISE A NEGRO on his way to the big house to feed the mules had taken the word to Colonel Henry Maxwell, and Colonel Henry phoned the sheriff. The sheriff had hustled Jim into town and locked him up in the jail, and then he went home and ate breakfast.

  Jim walked around the empty cellroom while he was buttoning his shirt, and after that he sat down on the bunk and tied his shoelaces. Everything that morning had taken place so quickly that he had not even had time to get a drink of wa
ter. He got up and went to the water bucket near the door, but the sheriff had forgotten to put water into it.

  By that time there were several men standing in the jailyard. Jim went to the window and looked out when he heard them talking. Just then another automobile drove up, and six or seven men got out. Other men were coming towards the jail from both directions of the street.

  “What was the trouble out at your place this morning, Jim?” somebody said.

  Jim stuck his chin between the bars and looked at the faces in the crowd. He knew everyone there.

  While he was trying to figure out how everybody in town had heard about his being there, somebody else spoke to him. “It must have been an accident, wasn’t it, Jim?”

  A colored boy hauling a load of cotton to the gin drove up the street. When the wagon got in front of the jail, the boy whipped up the mules with the ends of the reins and made them trot.

  “I hate to see the State have a grudge against you, Jim,” somebody said.

  The sheriff came down the street swinging a tin dinner pail in his hand. He pushed through the crowd, unlocked the door, and set the pail inside. Several men came up behind the sheriff and looked over his shoulder into the jail.

  “Here’s your breakfast my wife fixed up for you, Jim. You’d better eat a little, Jim boy.”

  Jim looked at the pail, at the sheriff, at the open jail door, and he shook his head.

  “I don’t feel hungry,” he said. “Daughter’s been hungry, though — awful hungry.”

  The sheriff backed out the door, his hand going to the handle of his pistol. He backed out so quickly that he stepped on the toes of the men behind him.

  “Now, don’t you get careless, Jim boy,” he said. “Just sit and calm yourself.”

  He shut the door and locked it. After he had gone a few steps towards the street, he stopped and looked into the chamber of his pistol to make sure it had been loaded.

  The crowd outside the window pressed in closer. Some of the men rapped on the bars until Jim came and looked out. When he saw them, he stuck his chin between the iron and gripped his hands around it.