talking. He could feel her relaxing against his arm. “I’ve been a bum all my life. Maybe you wouldn’t understand what that means.” He shifted his hand, taking the weight of her breast.
She made a little face. “Now you’re being miserable,” she said, her full lips parting a little. Her long slender fingers gripped his wrist and pulled at his hand.
“Let it stay, baby, it feels good.”
She hesitated, keeping her eyes turned away from him, then her hand fell away. Hienie said thickly: “You’re a swell kid. Gee! You’re a swell kid!”
She moved her long legs restlessly. “You haven’t told me who you are,” she said. There was no interest in her voice.
Hienie reached down and put his hand under her knees. “I’ll show you how to be comfortable,” he said, swinging her legs off the ground, so that she was half sitting, half lying across his knees. He expected some resistance, but she lay limply, her hand hanging by her side. He thought, “It’s a push over.” “Ain’t this comfortable?” he said, leaning over her. Her head fell back, her eyes closed, she murmured something that he couldn’t hear. He pulled her to him roughly and mashed his mouth down on hers. Her mouth opened and he could feel her breath in his throat. Her arms encircled his neck and she began to moan softly.
His free hand slid over her silken knee, touched warm, smooth flesh, and then she suddenly gripped him, forcing her mouth against his until it hurt. He found it was difficult to breathe and he tried to move his head away, but she moved with him. He jerked his hand from her, trying to push her off, the blood drumming in his head. Her arms were encircling his throat like steel bands, cutting the air from his lungs. In a sudden panic, he began fighting, but he couldn’t shift her. Then lights began to flash before his eyes, and he was conscious that she was strangling him, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
Long after midnight, Joe and a State trooper found them. The State trooper stopped his car close to the ambulance and they climbed out.
“It looks like he’s beaten it,” Joe said, looking into the cab. He climbed in and glanced through the aperture. Then he said, “For God’s sake,” and almost threw himself out of the cab.
The State trooper looked at him. “What’s up?” he asked.
Joe pointed a shaky finger at the ambulance. “I warned him, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
The trooper pushed past him and climbed into the cab. He remained at the aperture for several minutes, then he got down slowly. He looked bad. “The poor bastard,” he said unevenly. “The poor bastard. Hell! She didn’t ought to have done that. I guess no dame ought to do that to any guy.” He spat in the road. “It’s the only fun some guys have got.”
OVERHEARD
They occupied the end part of the long chromium and mahogany bar. They sat on high stools, their shoulders touching and their concentration on each other intense. For them, the ‘Silver Coast’ bar did not exist, and Mandell, the barman, listened to their conversation with amused tolerance. He leant against the counter, aimlessly polishing a small square of shiny mahogany very slowly with a soft duster. It was quiet in the bar with only these two and three men in white ducks who stood at the far end of the bar. The sun came through the chinks of the heavy sunblinds, making sharp little patterns on the coconut matting. It was noon, and very hot for the time of year.
Mandell left off polishing the bar and took out a clean white handkerchief to chase away a little trickle of sweat he felt running behind his ears. He put the handkerchief away and glanced over at the two sitting close to him.
She was tall and high-breasted. Her long silky hair was blue-black and hung on her crisp white collar in an ordered upward sweep. Her face interested Mandell very much. He liked her large deep blue eyes and her beautifully painted mouth. Her skin was clear and white, except for a touch of rouge high up on her cheek-bones. Mandell particularly liked her slender, beautifully shaped hands.
Her companion was a heavily built man with a fleshy, strikingly handsome face. His square jaw-line and light blue eyes gave him a look of authority which comes, sometimes, to wealthy men. Mandell envied him his tailor and envied him his figure; he also envied him his companion.
They were drinking Bar Specials, made with rum and absinthe; and Mandell had a large shaker by his side ready to replenish their glasses.
They had been talking about Havana for some minutes, and Mandell gathered that this was her first trip. Her companion seemed to know the place well, and from what he said he must have been living there for some time. Mandell couldn’t quite make out when these two first met. He could tell without any difficulty that the man was just crazy about her. He wasn’t sure whether it was reciprocated or not.
She said quiet suddenly, “Oh, must we talk geography any more?”
He fiddled with his long, frosted glass. “I’m sorry, I thought it would interest you. It is so lovely here. I’ve been looking forward so much to showing you around, I guess I got carried away.”
“Do you like it better than Stresa?”
He seemed undecided. “It’s different. Stresa was lovely, too, wasn’t it?”
She moved a little forward on her stool. Her eyes became for a moment very animated. “Do you remember the little albergo at Arolo?” she asked. “You couldn’t speak a word of Italian—and the fun we had. Do you remember Anita?”
He nodded. “The innkeeper’s daughter? I always think of something rude when I say that. She called me
“Do you think we’ll ever go there again?” she asked, her face becoming sad. “It seems such a long way off.”
“Of course we’ll go there again. Don’t you want to swim in the lake once more? Do you remember the time when that old snake fell out of a tree and scared you? We were just going in and you absolutely refused to swim that day.”
She shivered. “I hate snakes,” she said. “You know I hate snakes.”
“I was only teasing,” he said quickly; “I hate things like that too, but I’m glad I came here. There is something solid and primitive about this place that Italy hasn’t got. Italy is ice-cake buildings and post-card skies. Here you feel the pulse of the people. The streets have run with blood and the buildings still echo with the groans of the oppressed. Look at it, look at the sea, the flowers, the people. Don’t you think they are more solid, more real than Italy?”
She said: “Yes, everything now is more real and more solid. The touch of fairyland has gone away.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. “The touch of fairyland has gone away. That sounds so sad and final.”
She didn’t look at him. “Do you remember the fireflies at Arolo? The banks of the lake in the moonlight with hundreds of fireflies like silver sparks glowing in the grass?”
“There is something wrong,” he said. “Tell me, isn’t there something wrong?”
“Do you feel it too?”
“Then there is something. What is it?”
“I’ve told you.”
“Please don’t be mysterious. Tell me.”
She took a nervous sip from her glass and didn’t say anything. Mandell wondered why she looked so tragic. He thought this talk about fairyland was under the arm. He liked straight dealings himself and fancy language gave him a pain.
“Are you sorry you’ve come?” the big man asked. “Is that it? Would you rather we had gone to Europe instead?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. You see, the edges are frayed now. Please don’t make me say it. You must feel as I feel.”
He stretched out his hand to take hers, but she avoided him. “Why must you talk in riddles? First, the touch
