The Carpetbaggers (7 page)

She took a cigarette from somewhere in her negligee and put it in her mouth unlit. Her eyes shone at me like a panther's eyes must in a desert campfire at night. "Men," she said shortly.

"Men?" I repeated. "You — afraid of men? Why, you're the original teasing— "

"That's right, you stupid fool!" she said angrily. "I’m afraid of men, listening to their demands, putting up with their lecherous hands and one-track minds. And hearing them disguise their desire with the words of love when all they want is just one thing. To get inside me!"

"You're crazy!" I said angrily. "That's not the only thing we think of!"

"No?" she asked. I heard the rasp of a match and the flame broke the darkness. She looked down at me. "Then look at yourself, Jonas. Look at yourself lusting for your father's wife!"

I didn't have to look to know she was right. I knocked the match angrily from her hand.

Then, all at once, she was clinging to me, her lips placing tiny kisses on my face and chin, her body trembling with her fears. "Jonas, Jonas. Please let me stay with you. Just for to-night," she cried. "I’m afraid to be alone!"

I raised my hands to push her away. She was naked beneath the black negligee. Her flesh was cool and soft as the summer desert breeze and her thrusting nipples rasped across the palms of my rising hands.

I froze, staring at her in the darkness. There was only her face before me, then the taste of her salty tears on her lips and mine. The anger inside me washed away in the cascading torrent of desire. And with only my devil to guide us, together we plunged into the fiery pleasures of our own particular hell.

* * *

I awoke and glanced at the window. The first flicker of dawn was spilling into the room. I turned to look at Rina. She was lying on my pillow, her arm flung across her eyes. I touched her shoulder lightly.

She took away her arm. Her eyes were open; they were clear and calm.

She got out of bed in a smooth, fluid motion. Her body shone with a young, golden translucence. She picked up her black negligee from the foot of the bed and slipped into it. I sat there watching her as she walked over to the dresser.

"There's a pen in the top right drawer," I said.

She took out the pen and signed the release.

"Aren't you going to read it?" I asked.

She shook her head. "What for? You can't get any more than I agreed to give you."

She was right. She had forgone all rights to any further claims in the estate. Picking up the check and the notes, she walked to the door. She turned there and looked back at me.

"I won't be here when you get back from the plant."

I looked at her for a moment. "You don't have to go," I said.

Her eyes met mine. I thought I caught a hint of sadness in them. "No, Jonas," she said softly. "It wouldn't work out."

"Maybe," I said.

"No, Jonas," she said. "It's time you got out from under the shadow of your father. He was a great man but so will you be. In your own way."

I reached for a cigarette on the bedside table and lit it without speaking. The smoke burned into my lungs.

"Good-by, Jonas," she said. "Good luck."

I stared at her for a moment, then I spoke. My voice was husky from the cigarette. "Thank you," I said. "Good-by, Rina."

The door opened and shut quickly and she was gone. I got out of bed and walked over to the window. The first morning red of the sun was on the horizon. It was going to be a scorcher.

I heard the door open behind me and my heart leaped inside my breast. She had come back. I turned around.

Robair came into the room carrying a tray. His white teeth flashed in a gentle smile. "I thought you might do with a cup of coffee."

* * *

When I got down to the plant, Jake Platt had a gang of men up on the roof, painting it white. I grinned to myself and went inside.

That first day was hectic. It seemed that nothing went right. The detonator caps we had sent to Endicott Mines were faulted and we had to rush-ship replacements. For the third time that year, Du Pont underbid us on a government contract for pressed cordite.

I spent half the day going over the figures and it finally boiled down to our policy on percentage of profit. When I suggested that we'd better re-examine our policy if it was going to cost us business, Jake Platt protested. My father, he said, claimed it didn't pay them to operate on a basis of less than twelve per cent. I blew up and told Jake Platt that I was running the factory now and what my father had done was his own business. On the next bid, I'd damn sure make certain we underbid Du Pont by at least three cents a pound.

By that time, it was five o'clock and the production foreman came in with the production figures. I'd just started to go over them when Nevada interrupted me.

"Jonas," he said.

I looked up. He had been there in the office all day but he was quiet and sat in a corner and I had even forgotten that he was there. "Yes?" I answered.

"Is it all right if I leave a little early?" he asked. "I got some things to do."

"Sure," I said, looking down at the production sheets again. "Take the Duesenberg. I'll get Jake to drive me home."

"I won't need it," he said. "I left my own car in the lot."

"Nevada," I called after him. "Tell Robair I'll be home for dinner at eight o'clock."

There was a moment's hesitation, then I heard his reply. "Sure thing, Jonas. I'll tell him."

I was through earlier than I had expected and pulled the Duesenberg up in front of the house at seven thirty, just as Nevada came down the steps with a valise in each hand.

He stared at me in a kind of surprise. "You're home early."

"Yeah," I answered. "I finished sooner than I thought"

"Oh," he said and continued down the steps to his car. He put the valises in the back.

I followed him down and I could see the back of his car was filled with luggage. "Where you going with all that stuff, Nevada?"

"It's mine," he said gruffly.

"I didn't say it wasn't," I said. "I just asked where you were going."

"I'm leavin'."

"On a hunting trip?" I asked. This was the time of the year Nevada and I always used to go up into the mountains when I was a kid.

"Nope," he said. "Fer good."

"Wait a minute," I said. "You just can't walk out like that."

His dark eyes bore into mine. "Who says I can't?"

"I do," I said. "How'm I going to get along without you?"

He smiled slowly. "Real good, I reckon. You don't need me to wet-nurse you no more. I been watchin' you the last few days."

"But— but," I protested.

Nevada smiled slowly. "All jobs got to end sometime, Jonas. I put about sixteen years into this one and now there's nothing left for me to do. I don't like the idea of drawing a salary with no real way to earn it."

I stared at him for a moment. He was right. There was too much man in him to hang around being a flunky. "You got enough money?"

He nodded. "I never spent a cent of my own in sixteen years. Your pappy wouldn't let me."

"What are you going to do?"

"Join up with a couple of old buddies. We're takin' a Wild-West show up the coast to California. Expect to have a real big time."

We stood around awkwardly for a moment, then Nevada put out his hand. "So long, Jonas."

I held onto his hand. I could feel the tears hovering just beneath my eyelids. "So long, Nevada."

He walked around the car and got in behind the wheel. Starting the motor he shifted into gear. He raised his hand in farewell just as he began to roll.

"Keep in touch, Nevada," I yelled after him, and watched until he was out of sight.

I walked back into the house and went into the dining room. I sat down at the empty table.

Robair came in with an envelope in his hand. "Mr. Nevada left this for you," he said.

Numbly I opened it and took out a note written laboriously in pencil:

Dear Son,

I ain't much of a man for good-bys, so this is it. There ain't nothing any more for me to do around here so I figure it's time I went. All my life I wanted to give you something for your birthday but your pappy always beat me to it. Your pappy gave you everything. So until now there was nothing you ever wanted that I could give you. In this envelope you will find something you really want. You don't have to worry about it. I went to a lawyer in Reno and signed it all over good and proper.

Happy birthday.

Your friend,

Nevada Smith

I looked at the other papers in the envelope. They were Cord Explosives Company stock certificates endorsed over to my name.

I put them down on the table and a lump began to come up in my throat. Suddenly, the house was empty. Everybody was gone. My father, Rina, Nevada. Everybody. The house began to echo with memories.

I remembered what Rina had said, about getting out from under the shadow of my father. She was right. I couldn't live in this house. It wasn't mine. It was his. For me, it would always be his house.

My mind was made up. I'd find an apartment in Reno. There wouldn't be any memories in an apartment. I'd turn the house over to McAllister. He had a family and it would save him the trouble of looking for one.

I looked down at Nevada's note again. The last line hit me. Happy birthday. A pain began to tie up my gut. I had forgotten and Nevada had been the only one left to remember.

Today was my birthday.

I was twenty-one.

IT WAS AFTER NINE O'CLOCK WHEN NEVADA PULLED the car off the highway onto the dirt road that led to the ranch. He stopped the car in front of the main house and got out. He stood there listening to the sounds of laughter coming from the casino.

A man came out on the porch and looked down at him. "Hello, Nevada."

Nevada answered without turning around. "Hello, Charlie. It sounds like the divorcées are having themselves a high ol' time."

Charlie smiled. "Why shouldn't they? Divorcin' is a pretty good piece of business for most of 'em."

Nevada turned and looked up at him. "I guess it is. Only, I can't get used to the idea of ranchin' women instead of cattle."

"Now, mebbe, you'll get used to it," Charlie said. "After all, you own fifty per cent of this spread. Time you settled down and got to work on it."

"I don't know," Nevada said. "I kinda got me the travelin' itch. I figger I been in one place long enough."

"Where you goin' to travel?" Charlie asked. "There ain't no place left. The country's all used up with roads going to every place. You're thirty years late."

Nevada nodded silently. Charlie was right but the strange thing was he didn't feel thirty years late. He felt the same as he always did. Right for now.

"I put the woman in your cabin," Charlie said. "Martha and I been waitin' supper for you."

Nevada got back into the car. "Then I better go an' get her. We'll be back as soon as I git washed up."

Charlie nodded and went back inside as the car started off. At the door, he turned and looked after it as it wound its way up the small hill toward the back of the ranch. He shook his head and went inside.

Martha was waiting for him. "How is he?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know," he answered, shaking his head again. "He seems kinda mixed up an' lost to me. I just don't know."

* * *

The cabin was dark when Nevada went in. He reached for the oil lamp beside the door and put it on a table. He struck a match and held it to the wick. The wick sputtered a moment then burst into flame. He put the chimney back on and replaced the lamp on the shelf.

Rina's voice came from behind him. "Why didn't you turn on the electricity, Nevada?"

"I like lamp light," he said simply. "Electric light ain't natural. It's wearin' on the eyes."

She was sitting in a chair facing the door, her face pale and luminous. She was wearing a heavy sweater that came down over the faded blue jeans covering her legs.

"You cold?" he asked. "I’ll start a fire."

She shook her head. "I'm not cold."

He stood there silent for a moment, then spoke. "I’ll bring in my things an' wash up. Charlie and Martha waited supper for us."

"I’ll help you bring them in."

"O.K."

They came out into the night. The stars were deep in the black velvet and the sound of music and laughter came faintly to them from down the hill.

She looked down toward the casino. "I'm glad I'm not one of them."

He handed her a suitcase. "You never could be. You ain't the type."

"I thought of divorcing him," she said. "But something inside me kept me from it even though I knew it was wrong from the beginning."

"A deal's a deal," he said shortly as he turned back into the cabin, his arms full.

"I guess that's it."

They made two more trips silently and then she sat down on the edge of the bed as he stripped off his shirt and turned to the washbasin in the corner of the small bedroom.

The muscles rippled under his startlingly white skin. The hair covering his chest was like a soft black down as it fell toward his flat, hard stomach. He covered his face and neck with soap and then splashed water over it. He reached for a towel blindly.

She gave it to him and he rubbed vigorously. He put down the towel and reached for a clean shirt. He slipped into it and began to button it.

"Wait a minute," she said suddenly. "Let me do that for you."

Her fingers were quick and light. He felt their touch against his skin like a whisper of air. She looked up into his face, her eyes wondering. "How old are you, Nevada? Your skin is like a young boy's."

He smiled suddenly.

"How old?" she persisted.

"I was born in eighty-two, according to my reckoning," he said. "My mother was a Kiowa and they didn't keep such good track of birthdays. That makes me forty-three." He finished tucking the shirt into his trousers.

"You don't look more than thirty."

He laughed, pleased despite himself. "Let's go and git some grub."