The Cat's Pajamas

They waited once more. The clock ticked.

“You know what I’d do if I was you?” said Linda. “I’d go right down to that train an’ get on an’ say ’Where’s Mr. Borden?’ an’ I’d hunt till I found him, an’ there he’d be, I bet, with all his friends in the lounge car, drinkin’, an’ I’d walk up to him an’ say, ‘Looky here, Richard Borden, I knew you when you was all damp! You said you was comin’ to see me! Why didn’t you?’ That’s what I’d say, right in front of those men friends of his!”

Susan said nothing. It was seven thirty-five. In ten more minutes the train would be pulling out again. He’s delayed, she thought. He has to come up. He’s not that sort.

“Well, Mom, I’m goin’ home. I’ll phone later.”

This time she did not try to stop Linda. The door shut. Her footsteps faded away down the hall.

With her away, Susan felt better. She felt that now with the evil influence of her child gone, Richard Borden must certainly arrive. He had just been waiting for Linda to leave, so they could be alone!

He’s down there somewhere, she thought, on that train. Her heart sickened. What if he was in the club car now, drinking, as Linda said? No! Maybe he forgot, maybe he didn’t even know this was his hometown! Some mistake, the porter’s forgot to call, or something. She twisted her hands together. Sitting down there in the warm club car, drinking. Sitting down there in the nighttime after fifteen years. All the yellow bright lights on the train, the slow steam rising. Come on, Richard! You don’t come, I’ll tell your mama! Her breathing was deep and heavy. She felt very old. You don’t come in a minute, I’ll do what Linda said, come down an’ speak right up to you!

No. She couldn’t do that. Not embarrass him in front of his friends. Not that. Let him sit there, then. It was all a mistake, anyway. The clock was crazy.

The train gave a warning shriek.

No, she thought. They can’t be getting ready to leave.

She saw the passengers climb back on the train. He must be sick, she thought. Not even on that train at all. Sick in Chicago, maybe. Sure. And if he is down there now, right now, did he get off, did he try and catch a cab at all? Maybe not enough cabs? Did he walk around the station or the town, or even look up here to the hill and the house where she was? Would she hear from him tomorrow, from New York? Or ever again, for that matter? No, never; that is, if he really was down there now. He’d never write again after this.

The train whistle blew again. A big funnel of steam rose up on the night air.

Then, with a jolting, the train moved out of the station, gained speed, and was gone.

Susan stood by the window. The house was silent. She looked at the western horizon. That must have been the wrong train. Another would be along in a minute. She picked up the alarm clock. It made a cheap tinny clicking in her hand. “Crazy old clock, givin’ the wrong time!” she cried and dropped it into the wastebasket.

She went back to the window.

The phone rang once. She didn’t turn. The phone rang again, insistently. She still watched the horizon. The phone rang six more times and would not stop.

Finally she turned and went to pick it up. She held it in her hands for a time before lifting the receiver. Then she put the receiver to her ear.

“Hello, Mom?”

It was Linda.

“Mom, you come over to my place for the night. I know how you feel,” said the voice.

“What do you mean?” cried Susan, angrily, into the mouthpiece. “He was just here!”

“What?”

“Yes, an’ he was tall an’ good lookin’, an’ he came in a yellow cab just for a minute, an’ you know what I done? I hugged an’ kissed him an’ danced him around!”

“Oh, Mom!”

“An’ he talked an’ laughed an’ was good to me an’ gave me a ten-dollar bill, an’ we remembered old times, everybody, everything, that’s what happened, an’ he went back in his yellow cab an’ caught that train an’ it’s gone. He’s a real gentleman!”

“Mom, I’m so glad.”

“Yes, sir,” said Susan, looking out the window, holding the phone in her shaking hands. “A real gentleman!”

OLÉ, OROZCO! SIQUEIROS, SÍ!

2003–2004

SAM WALTER BURST INTO MY OFFICE, stared around at all the collectors’ posters on the wall, and said: “Whatta you know about the major artists of Mexico?”