Don't Stop the Carnival (53 page)

"Hi, Iris," Norman said, as she approached him in the lobby. "Enjoying yourself?" She went straight past him without turning her head or moving her eyes. She was walking in a stiff, straight-legged way, bent slightly forward, hands hanging down, making for the bar. Norman's first thought was that she was snubbing him. Then he realized that she hadn't seen him. She bumped into one man, and other people got out of her way, whispering to each other.
Governor Sanders, he perceived, was watching Iris as she went, leaning in a doorway with folded arms. The governor looked gaunt and forbidding in his narrow white silk jacket and ruffled shirt; his face was grim.
Norman came to him and said in a low voice, "Can't you help her? What she doesn't need is a drink."
"There's only so much I can do," Sanders said, with an empty little smile. "She just said to me, 'If you don't want me to take this place apart, stop following me, you son of a bitch.'" Sanders twisted his mouth. "It doesn't mean anything, the abuse. That's what you have to realize."
"What's she likely to do? I mean, what's the worry? The place is a little too well built for her to take apart, really."
"Oh, that depends, Mr. Paperman. Iris can break up a party by just getting loud. I've seen her do it. She has a voice like Charles Laughton, you know, when she wants to use it, and the vocabulary of a marine. It's very disconcerting, especially to the ladies. They tend to pick up their purses and leave."
"I've heard her."
"Or she can lift her dress to her navel and dance around. Or maybe punch a few people. Iris is very strong. I gave her a plateful of food, you know. But she just put it down and went and got a glass of bourbon." Sanders glanced around at the party. "I'm awfully sorry about this. Tom Tilson's a fine fellow. Maybe she'll be all right. The fact is, she's trying to behave."
Iris was coming back, walking in the same unseeing way. She seemed scarcely aware of the drink in her hand; she held it at an angle, and it spilled as she walked, leaving a wet trail on the tile floor. A dark stain was streaking down the bosom of her dress.
This time her dulled eyes rested straight on Paperman. "Hi, Norm, great party," she said, writhing her lips around each word. "First goddamn time in a year I've had any goddamn fun. Let's dance."
"Sure, Iris," he said, holding out his arms, but she walked straight by him and Sanders, sat in a chair, and drank.
He felt a tap on his shoulder.
Chapter Sixteen
Return of Hippolyte
1
It was Sheila. She did not say a word. She beckoned.
"Excuse me," Norman said to the governor. He followed Sheila through the lobby, through the bar, down the beach stairs, past the charcoal pit blanketed with sizzling, snapping steaks, along the shore to where the beach ended in pebbles and an outcrop of rock.
"Look dah," she said.
Her outthrust arm pointed to the shadowy stretch of water between the fort's floodlights and the hotel glow. Norman saw what appeared to be a straw basket floating on the water. "That?" he said, pointing.
"Yas, suh."
"It's a basket."
"No, suh."
"No, you're right. It's a hat, isn't it?"
"Yas, suh."
It was, in fact, the kind of hat that the island Frenchmen wore.
Norman looked at Sheila. "Well, what about it?"
"I tink dat Hippolyte."
"Hippolyte? Swimming in the harbor with his hat on, for crying out loud? At midnight?"
"Hippolyte fonny. He swim all de time wid he hat. He don' like de sun."
"There's no sun now."
"No, suh."
"I mean it's absurd, it's idiotic, swimming with a hat on, especially in the middle of the night."
"Yes, suh."
Norman watched the moving hat. "You really think that's Hippolyte."
"I tink so, suh."
"Sheila, can you do something for me? Can you go to Lovers' Beach, find Lieutenant Woods, and bring him here kind of fast?"
"Suh, if I go away, dem girls dey gone ruin dose steaks. Dose steaks dey half done. I got to go back now."
"Can you send a girl, then? Send the smartest one, and tell her to hurry. Send Delia."
"Yas, suh. I send Delia. Lootenant what?"
"Lieutenant Woods. He's a navy lieutenant. From the UDT."
"Lootenant Woods from de UDT. Yas, suh. Mistuh Pape'mon, where de fot porson?"
"At Lovers' Beach."
"I send Delia right now, suh. Lootenant Woods."
Alone in the gloom, Norman kept his eye on the hat. He could now see a face under it. The man was swimming with a side stroke, bringing only one hand out of the water. Norman began to climb along the rock
in the gloom, toward the point where the swimmer would be landing. Out here on the rocks there was only moonlight, patched with shadows of old thorny trees. He sat on a rock in the shadow and waited. His mouth felt as it had in former days when he had smoked three packs of cigarettes in a night: parched, sandy, aching. Breathing was an effort, because of the rapid, heavy beat of his heart.

 

 

Hippolyte came stumbling out of the water, glancing about with an ugly scowl. He looked most ridiculous-and at the same time most terrifying-in the big straw hat, brief bedraggled cotton shorts, and nothing else. The machete dripped in his hand.

 

 

"Hello, Hippolyte."

 

 

The swimmer turned around and peered at the shadows. Hippolyte's face seldom showed much expression, but now it did. He was very surprised.

 

 

"De boss"?" he said.

 

 

"Yes, the boss."

 

 

Norman came out into the moonlight, picking his way on the rocks. He wore a crimson linen dinner jacket, black tie, black trousers, and patent-leather pumps, an interesting contrast to Hippolyte's array.

 

 

"Well, Hippolyte, how've you been?"

 

 

The Frenchman wrinkled his brow. "Not too good. I got headaches again."

 

 

"Did you go to the hospital? They can give you stuff for that."

 

 

"Yah. I go. Dey give me injection, too."

 

 

The two men stared at each other.

 

 

"Well, Hippolyte, what can I do for your?"

 

 

The Frenchman looked vacant and sheepish, and scratched his nose with the handle of the machete. After a pause, he said, "I came for de clock."

 

 

"Clock? What clock?"

 

 

"I leave my alarm clock by de gardener shack."

 

 

"So? You came for your alarm clock."

 

 

"Yah."

 

 

"All right. Come along. Let's get you your alarm clock."

 

 

He motioned to Hippolyte to go first. Norman was showing a lot of grace under pressure, for a peaceable middle-aged New Yorker with a coronary history, but he wasn't up to walking ahead of the Frenchman and presenting his back to the machete. Hippolyte docilely obeyed, scrambling along the rocks, and then striking up a path through the brush. It was an almost black path, but Paperman followed him, and in a minute or so they were on the rear lawn near the gardener's shack, well away from any of the hotel lights; a stretch of level grass surrounded by thick dark shrubbery, and lit by the high moon.

 

 

"That's quite a short cut," he said.

 

 

"I go down by dere to fish, some time."

 

 

They came to the closed door of the gardener's shack, where they could hear Millard's loud, regular, peaceful snores.

 

 

"Millard sleep," Hippolyte said. "I come back de next time."

 

 

"No, no, as long as you're here, let's get you your alarm clock, by all means." Norman rapped at the door. The snoring went on. He knocked again.

 

 

"Ugh. Ugh. Who dah?"

 

 

"The boss. Open up, Millard. Hippolyte wants his alarm clock."

 

 

"Yes, please."

 

 

Stumbling and thumping inside; the door opened. Millard, naked to the waist, and wearing his ragged gardening pants, stood there yawning, holding a cheap tin clock, with no glass over its bent hands and yellowed face.

 

 

"Wha' Hippolyte?" Millard handed Norman the clock, showing no trace of surprise or annoyance.

 

 

"Why, he's right here. He's come for his clock."

 

 

Norman gestured and glanced at Hippolyte, and uttered a startled gasp. There was only moonlit air where the Frenchman had stood seconds before. In the nearby shrubbery there was a rustling sound.

 

 

"Hippolyte!" he shouted. "Hippolyte! Hippolyte! -All right, Millard. Thanks."

 

 

Norman handed back the clock and ran to Lovers' Beach.

 

 

Almost the first person he noticed in the mill of the merrymakers on the sand was the kitchen maid, Delia. She was easy to spot because of the new yellow-and-white smock that Sheila had put on all the maids for the party. "Delia!" He pushed through the dancers to her. She was cavorting with Lionel Williams, and she wore his hibiscus wreath. "What are you doing? Where's Lieutenant Woods?"

 

 

"Couldn't find no lootenant, suh," the girl said with a furtive giggle, her hips working like a flywheel.

 

 

"Go away, Norm," Lionel said. "Delia's my girl now. No cutting in. Jiminy crickets, what a bash!"

 

 

Norman worked his way along the beach, and saw Woods sitting at a table with Cohn, drinking beer.

 

 

"There you are," he panted, shouldering through to them.

 

 

"What's up?" said Woods genially. "You look 'horossed.' Sit down, and have a beer."

 

 

Norman started to explain. He had not spoken half a dozen sentences when Woods, smiling but alert, held up a hand and turned to Cohn. "How long ago did the fellows leave? Can you still catch them?"

 

 

"I can sure try." Cohn got up and loped away.

 

 

"Yes, sir," Woods said. "Go on. Skivvies, and a straw hat, and a machete, you say? I'd like to see that. And where's your fat friend? The one he's after?"

 

 

"Here on this beach somewhere."

 

 

"Well, maybe to start with you'd better collect him, you know?"

 

 

"All right."

 

 

Norman circled the beach and cut through the dancers once, twice, and a third time. When he came back to Woods's table, Cohn was there with three other UDT men. Woods was slapping a long flashlight against his palm as he talked to them.

 

 

Norman said, "I can't find him. He's not on this beach. He's not at this party. Not now. I'm certain he isn't. But he was."

 

 

Woods said, "He probably toddled off to his room to sleep. You better check that. Most of the fellows just went back to the base, sir. It's too bad, because all of us working together could find your handy man fast. This is a tiny island. Us five can round him up, too, but it'll take longer."

 

 

"This man is dangerous," Norman said. "He's supposed to have killed a policeman. Don't you think I should notify the police?"

 

 

"Well, I don't know," Woods said. "They sort of have a losing score with him, don't they? We've had a lot of training in disarming a man. Why don't we try first?"

 

 

"If you want to, I'll be desperately grateful. But shouldn't I warn my guests now?"

 

 

Woods looked thoughtful. Cohn said to the lieutenant, "Sir, I think somebody's more likely to get hurt if they all start panicking around, and talking about a maniac on the loose, and all that."

 

 

Woods nodded. He said to Paperman, "Let's first see how we make out. All right? I'd guess he'd stay where it's dark, and not bother anyone.

 

 

Except your fat friend, of course, if he finds him. Just keep him out of the way." He gestured to the four frogmen. "All right. You all know where to go. Shove off, and we'll join up at the hotel steps." The men trotted away in different directions.

 

 

2

 

 

Hastening back across the lawn, Norman saw Governor Sanders and Iris leaving the main house. Sanders had his arm around her waist and was holding her elbow. As she put her foot on the top stair her legs collapsed under her, and Sanders was caught off balance. She tumbled free, pitched all the way down the stairs, and sprawled face down on the gravel path. Norman ran to help. Her face was scratched and bleeding when they raised her to a sitting position, and her torn dirtied dress was pushed up above her skinned knees. She looked from Sanders to Norman, her head lolling, her eyes hardly focusing. "Norman, y'ole Jewboy,

 

 

I felt sorry for you, that's why. take the f---place apart." She fell dead asleep in Sanders' arms.

 

 

Sanders pointed to her purse lying on the grass. "Get the key of her cottage, please."

 

 

Norman retrieved the purse, saying, "Can you carry her?"

 

 

"I've done it."

 

 

Sanders raised her to her feet, and swung her up awkwardly in his arms, staggering. "Just open the door for me. I'm glad we made it outside. She really didn't do anything very bad in there."

 

 

Norman opened the Pink Cottage door. The governor plodded in with the limp, hoarsely breathing woman. "Her dress is ruined, anyway," Sanders said, putting Iris on the divan. "Might as well leave her as she is for now." He went to a closet, took out a knitted red-and-black comforter that Norman hadn't seen before, and covered the unconscious woman. He got a damp towel from the bathroom and sponged her face.

 

 

Meadows was whimpering, scratching, and clanking his chain in the porch. Norman said, "How about turning him loose?"

 

 

"Why?"

 

 

"Well-just to take care of her. Just an extra precaution. There's a lot of drunks around tonight." Norman was in a tremendous hurry to look for Atlas, and he didn't want the governor to know about Hippolyte-not yet, anyway. He was hoping to avoid an alarm.

 

 

"I guess so." Sanders went to the porch, and a moment later Meadows bounded in and licked Iris's face.

 

 

"There's nothing more to do," Sanders said. "She'll sleep for hours. She may wake up in a very bad state. You'll let me know?"