Gather Yourselves Together

  “Do you want a ride?” Verne said. “Or are you staying here? Where’s Don?”

  “I came down alone. Yes, I’d love a ride. It looks as if it was going to rain.”

  “Oh?” He started down the hall, lighting his pipe, cupping it in his hands. Teddy followed. He passed through the heavy door, out of the building, stopping long enough to hold the door open for her. They walked down the short gravel path to Ms coupe.

  “Well?” Verne said as they drove along. “Where do you want to go? Where do you live?”

  “What time is it?”

  He looked at his watch. “Ten-thirty.”

  “That’s so early!”

  “Is it?”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  He was silent for a moment. “It depends on what time you have to get up.”

  “How about you?”

  “How about me what?”

  “What time do you have to get up?”

  “Tomorrow’s my day off,” Verne said slowly. “I probably won’t be getting up before eleven.”

  She was watching him, waiting for him to continue. He kept his eyes on the road, gripping the wheel. He was beginning to feel badgered. “Do you want to go by the Walker Club?” he said finally.

  She laughed. “Not very much.”

  “Where, then?”

  “Wherever you want.”

  They drove in silence. At last they came to a well-lit intersection. Verne turned. They drove along a short distance and then came to a stop at the curb. The car was in front of the Lazy Wren Club.

  “Do we get out here?” Teddy asked.

  Verne nodded. They got out and went inside, passing down a flight of dark stairs. The place was filled with people. They were almost all Negroes. Packed in tight against each other, they were watching a three-piece group playing on a small bandstand. The Club was shabby and old-fashioned. Drab and smoky, and very hot.

  A thin bald Negro pushed his way up to them. He smiled widely. “Hello, Mister Tildon.” He nodded to Teddy. “I’m very glad to welcome you folks here tonight.”

  “Frank, this is Teddy.”

  “I’m quite happy to meet you, Miss Teddy. This is the first time you’ve been here?”

  “Yes. Verne has said some awfully nice things about…about the band.”

  Frank smiled more. “He likes our music, I think.”

  “Do you want to sit at the bar or at a table?” Verne said to Teddy.

  “A table.”

  “I think I have one for you.” Frank pushed a way for them through the people, to a table almost at the edge of the bandstand. “How is this, Mister Tildon?”

  “All right. Bring us a couple of scotch and waters.”

  Frank left. Teddy began to struggle with her coat. Verne helped her fold it over the back of a chair. They sat down, facing each other across the table.

  “It’s awfully warm in here,” Teddy said. She watched the three men playing. Their music was quiet, and very strange. It seemed to start off in one direction, only to wander away the next moment on a completely different path. The music seemed to be lost, bewildered, but calm, with a faith that everything would turn out all right in the end. And so it did—suddenly, with a few neatly turned chords. Everyone relaxed, and a mute, appreciative murmur rushed through the room.

  Teddy turned to Verne, eyes shining. “I liked it.”

  “It’s better than ‘Ace in the Hole,’ at least.”

  They stayed, listening to the music and drinking for several hours. Teddy was quiet, paying close attention to the sounds from the bandstand. Finally, when the three men were taking a break, she turned suddenly to Verne.

  “Verne, do you want to take me home? I’m getting so tired!”

  They got up, and he helped her put on her coat. He paid the bill and they went upstairs and outside. The air was cold and brittle.

  Teddy took a deep breath. “What a sensation.”

  They got into the ear and began to drive. Verne was silent. Presently he slowed down. “Maybe you better tell me which direction to go. I don’t know where you live.”

  “Can’t we drive around? The air is so good.”

  “If you like air, roll down the window.”

  She rolled it down and leaned out, her mouth half open, the wind blowing her braids up.

  At last she expressed a desire to go home. He took her there and let her off in front of the apartment building, driving away with a feeling of mixed annoyance and curiosity. He wanted to categorize women; this one was hard to figure out She seemed after something. A sort of determination gripped her. But for what? She had gone around with Don Field. What could she have found in him?

  He considered the matter for a while, and then gave it up. It was not worth the trouble. He snapped the car radio on and caught an all-night concert. They were playing the Beethoven A Major Quartet. Listening to the music, he drove slowly home.

  The following evening as he was entering his apartment building the manager suddenly came out and stopped him.

  “Can I speak to you, Mister Tildon?”

  Verne eyed him. “Sure. What is it? The rent can’t be due again already.”

  “A young woman came here today, looking for you. I told her you weren’t in, but she insisted on going upstairs to your apartment. She was very persuasive. She got me to let her in. I had never seen this girl before—”

  “You let her in?”

  “As you know, it’s against the policy of the owners to allow someone into a tenant’s apartment, but her condition was such that I—”

  Verne went quickly upstairs. His door was unlocked, standing half open. He switched on the light. In the living room he found a woman’s purse on the floor. A coat and hat on the sofa.

  He hurried into the bedroom. Lying on the bed was Teddy. She was snoring dully. Her clothes were rumpled and messy. He walked over and bent down.

  “Drunk as an owl.” She did not stir.

  If he thought this was something—

  4

  CARL WALKED QUICKLY away from the office, through the gloomy darkness, toward the women’s dormitory. The Company grounds were deserted and silent. It made him feel strangely sad. He increased his pace. At last he came to the great square building where Barbara Mahler was supposed to be.

  He stopped, peering up, his hands on his hips. The stark side of the dormitory building showed no light, no sign of habitation. He stood for a while, letting the cold wind blow around him. Was nobody there? A shade began to flap, lost and dismal in the darkness. Everything was desolate. Most of the windows were boarded up.

  Carl shivered. He began to walk along the path, still gazing up at the building hopefully. Suddenly he stopped. A faint streak of light glowed, half way along. He halted. The light came again, yellow, a slender strip in the expanse of darkness.

  Presently he made his way to the porch steps that led up into the building. For a moment he hesitated, a sudden shyness overpowering him. Maybe it would be better for Verne to get her; Verne had known her, once. Maybe she wouldn’t like to see a strange person coming around. He tried to think what she might be like. Had he ever seen her? Perhaps. In passing.

  He reached the porch. The air was cold around him. There was no sound. Everything was still. What would she say? What would she be like? Would she be glad to see him? Would she like him?

  He entered the building and began to climb the stairs slowly, up to the second floor.

  The second floor was dimly lit by a few light-bulbs, spaced far apart along the corridor. Could anyone really be nearby? He felt so completely alone, standing at the end of the hall, by the stairs, looking down the long gloomy passage with its shadows and closed doors, the walls stained and pitted.

  But presently, as he stood listening and waiting, he heard a faint sound. The sound of a board creaking, not too far away. Perhaps half the length of the corridor.

  He picked up a little courage and began to walk slowly along, listening and peering, looking for—for what? A sign
of some sort. A sound, or a light. Something to tell him where he would find her. What would she be like? Would she be pretty? How pretty?

  He stopped suddenly, by one of the doors. He held his breath, his head cocked on one side. Someone was on the other side of the door. He could hear someone moving around, A board creaked. Rustling sounds, clothes. A squeak, as if something were moved. And then the unmistakable sound of bed springs groaning and sagging.

  Carl waited by the door. Now he could see a lean crack of light underneath it, shining from the other side, from inside the room. He raised his hand, starting to knock, but then he changed his mind. He withdrew his hand, putting it into his pocket.

  It would be just the three of them, for heaven knew how long. Just the three of them eating together, talking together, being together. The three of them and no one else. Suppose his coming here this way got things off on the wrong foot? Wouldn’t it be better to go back and get Verne to come and fetch her? Wouldn’t that be less awkward? They knew each other; at least, a little. They had seen each other before.

  But perhaps he had seen her, too. He might have seen her, talked to her, without knowing her name.

  He thought back. There had been so many women working for the Company in the time he had been there. It could be any one of them. She might even be old. As old as Verne. A thin, middle-aged spinster. With glasses and grey hair.

  Or she might be one of the little girls just out of high school, bright red lips, fuzzy sweater, clattering heels. A strange giddiness moved through Carl. She might be sweet and smiling, with warm dark eyes, soft hair—and the rest.

  Carl searched his pockets until he found his comb. He combed his hair into place carefully, as best he could without a mirror. He straightened his tie, brushing down his coat. He took a deep breath, his heart beating rapidly inside him. All at once he was gasping for air, nervous and excited. The palms of his hands were moist.

  Suddenly the door opened. Carl blinked in the light. A woman was standing, framed in the doorway. A towel over her shoulder. Short and square in a dark bathrobe, slippers around her feet Hands full of jars.

  “Jesus!” the woman exclaimed.

  “I—” Carl muttered.

  “Who the hell are you? What are you doing out there?” She dumped her armload down on a chair inside the room. Carl caught a glimpse of a small room, a bed, a table, a lamp, some women’s clothing—

  “I came to see you. I’m the other person. You and Verne and I. We’re the three who’re staying.”

  The woman said nothing.

  “I was just about to knock.” His voice sounded feeble, apologetic. Doomed. “It’s the truth!”

  Abruptly she laughed. “All right. You sure scared me. I was going down the hall for a bath. I thought everyone was gone.”

  “Everyone but us three.”

  “Come here so I can see what you look like.” She moved to one side, pushing the door back. “Come inside. Do you want some coffee?”

  “Coffee?” Carl went into the room. On the table was a little round Silex coffee maker, half full of black coffee. Steam drifted from the lip. A package of sugar, a spoon, paper cups, some hairpins, a ring—

  “What’s your name?” the woman said.

  “Carl Fitter.”

  “I think I’ve seen you around.”

  “I think I’ve seen you.” Carl studied her out of the corner of his eye. Barbara Mahler was standing with her hands in the pockets of her robe. She was small and chunky, with thick brown hair. Attractive. Her skin was smooth and clear. She was, perhaps, twenty-five. But there was a stern hardness in her face that made her look older. A reserve. Almost dignity.

  “My name’s Barbara Mahler.”

  “I know. Verne told me.”

  “Oh, yes. Verne.”

  “Do you know him?”

  She nodded.

  Carl walked around the room. “It’s so barren!”

  “I have to get my things back out. I was packed. Everything’s crated up.”

  “Maybe we can give you a hand.”

  “Fine.” She lit a cigarette and stood by the door, her arms folded.

  “Did—did you want to come over to the office later on tonight? We should see about dinner. And maybe we could have a conference. The three of us.”

  “A conference?”

  “To decided what we’re going to do while we’re here.” He gestured vaguely. “To consider things.”

  “What things?”

  “Oh, there are always things to consider.”

  “Enough for all three of us?”

  “Certainly. First of all, we have to make sure there’s food. Secondly, we want to make sure that the gas and water are still turned on. Then, we—”

  Barbara laughed. “Okay. I get the idea.” She put her cigarette out. “You go outside in the hall and I’ll change. I can take my bath later.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt you.”

  “That’s all right.” She moved away from the door. “Go on outside. I’ll put on something else.”

  Carl went out into the hall. Barbara closed the door after him. He waited, in the half-darkness. The hall was very cold and unfriendly. The room, for all its bareness, was at least more cheerful than the naked bulbs, the dark stained walls. The vague gloom.

  He shivered and wandered around. After what seemed like an endless time he heard her stirring beyond the door. The door opened and she stepped out. Now she had put on brown slacks and a red checkered shirt. Her hair was held back by some kind of clasp.

  “Let’s go!” she said. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  “No.”

  “We can use matches.”

  They left the dormitory, crossing through the night darkness, along the paths, between the buildings, back to the office.

  They climbed the steps, Carl pushed the door open for Barbara and they entered.

  Verne was sitting at the table, deep in thought. At the sound of the door opening he leaped up, blinking.

  “I found her,” Carl said.

  “You surprised me.” Verne sat down at the table again. “My mind was wandering. A long way off.”

  “We’re going to help her unpack,” Carl said. “All her stuff is crated up. Her room looks terrible. We’ll have to help her make it livable again.”

  “I can imagine,” Verne said.

  Carl sat down beside Verne, motioning Barbara to join them. “This is the first time we’ve all three been together,” he said. “Let’s consider our situation and see what we’re up against.”

  “Christ,” Verne murmured.

  “For example, Verne and I will be living in the men’s dormitory, very close to the office.” He turned toward Barbara. “But you’ll be all the way over in the women’s dorm. We should work out some sort of way to get hold of each other in case something sudden should happen.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe some yuks might come and—”

  “They won’t give us any trouble. All they’re interested in is the property.”

  Carl picked up the traffic notification paper. There was a directive attached to it. “What’s this?”

  “The original order.” Verne took it from him.

  “I’d like to read it. I never saw it.”

  “I’ll read it aloud.” Verne adjusted his glasses. “I’ve been pondering it, off and on. ‘This is to inform Henry G. Osborne, the general manager of the Second Station of the American Metals Development Company, that to facilitate the transfer of Company Land and Property and all other Real Assets to the new owners, it is deemed advisable that three company employees remain on the premises of the Second Station during the transfer period, until such time as certified representatives of the new owners appear to take possession of their property. These three persons should be picked in such a way as to represent the Company and all it stands for and believes in, and it is important that they, as the last members of the Company, should adequately express those things for which t
he Company has stood in the past and for which it will continue to stand in the future, as long as it shall exist.’”

  They were silent.

  “That’s all,” Verne said, tossing the paper down.

  “Osborne picked us at random. He opened the card file and pulled three cards out.”

  “What a way to do it.”

  “Can you suggest a better way?”

  “Forget it,” Barbara said. “It’s all over with now. We’ve been chosen; we might as well make the best of it. Let’s go down and see about something to eat.”

  “That’s the real issue,” Carl agreed.

  They walked slowly through the dark toward the commissary, guided by the crunching of gravel underfoot.

  “We better look up some flashlights,” Verne said.

  Barbara lit a match. They were very close to the commissary building. The front door was boarded over.

  “Well,” Carl said. “I guess we’re going to need tools just to get in. Where can we find a hammer?”

  “Aren’t there any workmen left?” Barbara said.

  “They’re gone. It’s just us three.”

  “It certainly didn’t take them long to get off.”

  “There’s no use standing around here,” Verne said. “Carl, go back to the office and look around for some tools. Look in the closet and around the washroom.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Barbara said. “I’ll light the way for him.”

  “Go ahead,” Verne said. “I don’t need any light to stand here. Anyhow, I’m getting used to the dark.”

  They went off. He watched the glow of her match until it winked out, disappearing in the gloom.

  For a time he stood listening to the faint sounds of night. Then he became restless. He searched his pockets and finally found his lighter. By its light he made his way up to the commissary door. He pulled aimlessly on the wood boards, but they were too tightly nailed. He walked around the side of the building. It was a long low structure, with a narrow path leading from the main entrance back to the kitchen.

  He found the kitchen unlocked. They had not boarded it up. He entered the building and snapped on the lights.

  Everything was neat and orderly. The dishes were stacked up and put away on the shelves. The floor was swept. The garbage cans were empty and washed out. He approached the row of refrigerators. They were still turned on. He opened the first. It was full of food; sides of meat, packs of vegetables and fruits, cartons of ice cream and milk.