The Kill-Off

eventually into the alley that ran behind Doctor Ashton's house.

Doctor Ashton would not be at home at this hour, nor would he assist me if he was. As for his son, Bobbie, who doubtless was also away, I had accepted his help but once, and that once was more than enough. I still shuddered when I recalled the experience. What he gave me, that angel-faced phlegmatic fiend, I do not know. But it practically removed my bowels, and nausea shook me like a terrier-shaken rat for the ensuing three days.

I could look for nothing, then, from Ashton or his son. But the Negro woman, Hattie, would be at home; she never went anywhere. And doubtless out of superstition- a kind of awe of the so-called insane-she had given me drink several times in the past.

I knocked on the back door. There was a sluff- sluff of house slippers, and then she was standing at the screen, looking out at me dully.

'Go 'way,' she said, before I could speak. 'Go 'way and stay 'way. Don't want no more truck with you.'

I read the tone of her voice, the reason behind her attitude. At least, I believe I did. I told her she was completely mistaken if she believed I was bad luck.

'Listen, listen, Miss Hattie,' I said. 'You see this caul in my left eye? Now, I'm sure you know that a man with a caul in his eye-'

'I knows you an' 'at eye bettah be moving,' she said. 'You an' it want to go on keepin' company. Get now, you heah me? Get along, crazy man!'

'Please,' I said. 'Please do not refer to me as crazy. I have a document in my pocket, signed by the state's chief psychiatrist, certifying to my sanity. Now, surely, and even though our mental hospitals are crowded to twice their capacity, he wouldn't have declared me sane if-'

'Okay,' she cut in flatly. 'Okay. You stays right there, an' I gives you a drink, awright.'

She turned away from the screen. I could not see what she was doing, but I heard water gushing into what apparently was a large flat pan.

Hastily, I got off the steps and moved back into the yard. 'Listen, listen,' I said. 'You don't need to do that. I'm leaving right now.'

She came to the door again, eyes sparkling in malicious triumph. She said that I had better leave, and stay left.

'But you had better not,' I said. 'Listen, listen, Miss Hattie. Leave the house at no time. Particularly do not leave it at night. Great evil will befall you if you do.'

A trace of fear tightened the contours of her off-ivory face. 'Huh! What make you think I goin' anywhere?'

'Listen, listen,' I said. 'Because it is so written that you may, and that great and dreadful evil will result. So it is written. But listen, listen. If I had a drink-a very large one-I could doubtless change the writing.'

I had been too eager. She let out a grunt of relief and unbelief, and returned to the kitchen.

I continued on my dreary, drinkless way.

Frequently, or I should say occasionally, I have had some success at the courthouse. There are always a number of loafers around; also, needless to say-and if you will excuse the redundancy-the county office- holders. So I went there today, hoping to amuse them as I sometimes had in the past. To titillate and entertain them with my wisdom, and thus obtain a few coins. Alas, however! Alas, and verily, and lo. Seldom have I been appreciated less than on this day, the day when my need was greatest.

I was chased out of office after office. I was brushed aside, cursed out, elbowed and shoved along by one loafer after another… I had been unwilling to call on Pete Pavlov except as a last resort, for a couple of reasons. For one thing, it was quite a long walk across town to the beach area; an almost intolerable walk for one in my condition. For another, I had called upon him so often in the past that further appeals would not only be embarrassing, but were apt to prove fruitless.

There was nothing else to do now, however; and when there is nothing else to do I do what there is nothing else to do.

Shaking and wobbling, I walked the several blocks through town, entered the dance pavilion and crossed the wide, waxed floor to the door of his office. He was bent over an account ledger, cursing and mumbling to himself now and then as he turned its pages. I waited, nervously, my hands twitching and trembling even as the leaves of an aspen.

Not many people will agree with me, but Mr. Pavlov is a very kindly, soft-hearted man. On the other hand-and everyone will agree with me on this-he is no fool. And the merest hint, intentional or no, that he might be will send him into an icy rage.

He looked up at last, took the tobacco cud from his mouth, and dropped it into a convenient gaboon. 'What the hell you want?' he said, wiping his hand on his pants. 'As if I didn't know.'

'Listen, listen, Mr. Pavlov,' I said. 'Humiliated and embarrassed though I am, I find myself impelled to-'

He yanked open a desk drawer, took out a bottle and glass and poured me a drink. I gulped it, and extended the glass. He returned it and the bottle to the drawer.

'Tell you what I'll do with you,' he said. 'I'll-no, you listen-listen for a change! You go back there in the john and wash up-and use some soap, by God, get me?-and I'll stake you to a square meal.'

I said, certainly, certainly, yessir: I could certainly use a good meal. 'You can give me the price of the meal now, Mr. Pavlov. That will save time and time is money, and-'

'And the farmer hauled another load away,' said Mr. Pavlov. 'Just keep on standing there, arguing with me, and you won't get nothing but a kick in the butt.'

He meant it; Mr. Pavlov always means what he says. I departed hastily for the washroom. After all, this was the best offer I had had all day-the meal, I mean, not the kick-and I had a notion that it might be improved upon.

I washed thoroughly: my hands, wrists and those portions of my face that were not covered by beard. It was probably as clean as I have been during the thirty years of my existence.

I returned to the office, where Mr. Pavlov complimented me reservedly.

'Looks like you got a few coats of rust off. Why don't you chop that damned hair and them whiskers off, too? Ought to, by God, or else buy yourself a bedsheet and sandals.'

'Listen, Mr. Pavlov,' I said. 'I will do whatever you say. If you would like to give me the money for a barber-or a bedsheet and sandals-along with the price of a meal, I will-'

'I ain't giving you a nickel,' said Mr. Pavlov. 'I'll take you to a restaurant and pay your check myself.'

I protested that he was being unfair: it was implicit in our agreement that I should spend the money on liquor. He grunted, studying me with thoughtfully narrowed eyes.

'Shut up a minute,' he said. 'Goddammit, if I give you another drink, will you shut up and let me think?'

'Listen, Mr. Pavlov,' I said. 'For another drink, I would-would-'

I broke off helplessly. What wouldn't one do when he is slowly being crucified?

I snatched the drink from his hand. I took it at a gulp, noting that he had left the bottle on the desk in front of him.

'Huh-uh,' he said, as I extended my glass. 'Not now, anyways. I got something to say to you, and I want to be damned sure you understand.'

'Listen,' I said. 'I understand much better when I'm drinking. The more I drink the more my understanding increases.'

'Shut up!' There was a whip-like crack to his voice. 'Now, here's what I was going to say, and you'd better not repeat it, see? Don't ever peep a word about it to anyone. Suppose I was to give you something of mine. Kind of let you take it away from me. I mean, nobody would know that it was you that took it, but-