Con lifted her clear from the floor and held her there.
The news is, he said, that were to be married.
Put me down, sir! she cried indignantly, or I will Oh, Con, where, oh, wherever did you get the nerve to say it?
A Harlem Tragedy
Harlem.
Mrs. Fink had dropped into Mrs. Cassidys flat one flight below.
Aint it a beaut? said Mrs. Cassidy.
She turned her face proudly for her friend Mrs. Fink to see. One eye was nearly closed, with a great, greenish-purple bruise around it. Her lip was cut and bleeding a little and there were red finger-marks on each side of her neck.
My husband wouldnt ever think of doing that to me, said Mrs. Fink, concealing her envy.
I wouldnt have a man, declared Mrs. Cassidy, that didnt beat me up at least once a week. Shows he thinks something of you. Say! but that last dose Jack gave me wasnt no homeopathic one. I can see stars yet. But hell be the sweetest man in town for the rest of the week to make up for it. This eye is good for theater tickets and a silk shirt waist at the very least.
I should hope, said Mrs. Fink, assuming complacency, that Mr. Fink is too much of a gentleman ever to raise his hand against me.
Oh, go on, Maggie! said Mrs. Cassidy, laughing and applying witch hazel, youre only jealous. Your old man is too frappéd and slow to ever give you a punch. He just sits down and practises physical culture with a newspaper when he comes home now aint that the truth?
Mr. Fink certainly peruses of the papers when he comes home, acknowledged Mrs. Fink, with a toss of her head; but he certainly dont ever make no Steve ODonnell out of me just to amuse himself thats a sure thing.
Mrs. Cassidy laughed the contented laugh of the guarded and happy matron[360]. With the air of Cornelia[361] exhibiting her jewels, she drew down the collar of her kimono and revealed another treasured bruise, maroon-colored, edged with olive and orange a bruise now nearly well, but still to memory dear.
Mrs. Fink capitulated. The formal light in her eye softened to envious admiration. She and Mrs. Cassidy had been chums in the downtown paper-box factory before they had married, one year before. Now she and her man occupied the flat above Mame and her man. Therefore she could not put on airs with Mame.
Dont it hurt when he soaks you? asked Mrs. Fink, curiously.
Hurt! Mrs. Cassidy gave a soprano scream of delight. Well, say did you ever have a brick house fall on you? well, thats just the way it feels just like when theyre digging you out of the ruins. Jacks got a left that spells two matinées and a new pair of Oxfords[362] and his right! well, it takes a trip to Coney and six pairs of openwork, silk lisle threads[363] to make that good.
But what does he beat you for? inquired Mrs. Fink, with wide-open eyes.
Silly! said Mrs. Cassidy, indulgently. Why, because hes full. Its generally on Saturday nights.
But what cause do you give him? persisted the seeker after knowledge.
But what does he beat you for? inquired Mrs. Fink, with wide-open eyes.
Silly! said Mrs. Cassidy, indulgently. Why, because hes full. Its generally on Saturday nights.
But what cause do you give him? persisted the seeker after knowledge.
Why, didnt I marry him? Jack comes in tanked up; and Im here, aint I? Who else has he got a right to beat? Id just like to catch him once beating anybody else! Sometimes its because supper aint ready; and sometimes its because it is. Jack aint particular about causes. He just lushes till he remembers hes married, and then he makes for home and does me up. Saturday nights I just move the furniture with sharp corners out of the way, so I wont cut my head when he gets his work in. Hes got a left swing that jars you! Sometimes I take the count in the first round; but when I feel like having a good time during the week or want some new rags I come up again for more punishment. Thats what I done last night. Jack knows Ive been wanting a black silk waist for a month, and I didnt think just one black eye would bring it. Tell you what, Mag, Ill bet you the ice cream he brings it to-night.
Mrs. Fink was thinking deeply.
My Mart, she said, never hit me a lick in his life. Its just like you said, Mame; he comes in grouchy and aint got a word to say. He never takes me out anywhere. Hes a chair-warmer at home for fair. He buys me things, but he looks so glum about it that I never appreciate em.
Mrs. Cassidy slipped an arm around her chum. You poor thing! she said. But everybody cant have a husband like Jack. Marriage wouldnt be no failure if they was all like him. These discontented wives you hear about what they need is a man to come home and kick their slats in once a week, and then make it up in kisses, and chocolate creams. Thatd give em some interest in life. What I want is a masterful man that slugs you when hes jagged and hugs you when he aint jagged. Preserve me from the man that aint got the sand to do neither!
Mrs. Fink sighed.
The hallways were suddenly filled with sound. The door flew open at the kick of Mr. Cassidy. His arms were occupied with bundles. Mame flew and hung about his neck. Her sound eye sparkled with the love light that shines in the eye of the Maori[364] maid when she recovers consciousness in the hut of the wooer who has stunned and dragged her there.
Hello, old girl! shouted Mr. Cassidy. He shed his bundles and lifted her off her feet in a mighty hug. I got tickets for Barnum & Baileys, and if youll bust the string of one of them bundles I guess youll find that silk waist why, good evening, Mrs. Fink I didnt see you at first. Hows old Mart coming along?
Hes very well, Mr. Cassidy thanks, said Mrs. Fink. I must be going along up now. Martll be home for supper soon. Ill bring you down that pattern you wanted to-morrow, Mame.
Mrs. Fink went up to her flat and had a little cry. It was a meaningless cry, the kind of cry that only a woman knows about, a cry from no particular cause, altogether an absurd cry; the most transient and the most hopeless cry in the repertory of grief. Why had Martin never thrashed her? He was as big and strong as Jack Cassidy. Did he not care for her at all? He never quarrelled; he came home and lounged about, silent, glum, idle. He was a fairly good provider, but he ignored the spices of life.
Mrs. Finks ship of dreams was becalmed. Her captain ranged between plum duff and his hammock. If only he would shiver his timbers or stamp his foot on the quarter-deck now and then! And she had thought to sail so merrily, touching at ports in the Delectable Isles! But now, to vary the figure, she was ready to throw up the sponge, tired out, without a scratch to show for all those tame rounds with her sparring partner. For one moment she almost hated Mame Mame, with her cuts and bruises, her salve of presents and kisses; her stormy voyage with her fighting, brutal, loving mate.
Mr. Fink came home at 7. He was permeated with the curse of domesticity. Beyond the portals of his cozy home he cared not to roam, to roam. He was the man who had caught the street car, the anaconda that had swallowed its prey, the tree that lay as it had fallen.
Like the supper, Mart? asked Mrs. Fink, who had striven over it.
M-m-m-yep, grunted Mr. Fink.
After supper he gathered his newspapers to read. He sat in his stocking feet.
Arise, some new Dante[365], and sing me the befitting corner of perdition for the man who sitteth in the house in his stockinged feet. Sisters of Patience who by reason of ties or duty have endured it in silk, yarn, cotton, lisle thread or woollen does not the new canto[366] belong?
The next day was Labor Day[367]. The occupations of Mr. Cassidy and Mr. Fink ceased for one passage of the sun. Labor, triumphant, would parade and otherwise disport itself.
Mrs. Fink took Mrs. Cassidys pattern down early. Mame had on her new silk waist. Even her damaged eye managed to emit a holiday gleam. Jack was fruitfully penitent, and there was a hilarious scheme for the day afoot, with parks and picnics and Pilsener[368] in it.
A rising, indignant jealousy seized Mrs. Fink as she returned to her flat above. Oh, happy Mame, with her bruises and her quick-following balm! But was Mame to have a monopoly of happiness? Surely Martin Fink was as good a man as Jack Cassidy. Was his wife to go always unbelabored and uncaressed? A sudden, brilliant, breathless idea came to Mrs. Fink. She would show Mame that there were husbands as able to use their fists and perhaps to be as tender afterward as any Jack.
The holiday promised to be a nominal one with the Finks. Mrs. Fink had the stationary washtubs in the kitchen filled with a two weeks wash that had been soaking overnight. Mr. Fink sat in his stockinged feet reading a newspaper. Thus Labor Day presaged to speed.
Jealousy surged high in Mrs. Finks heart, and higher still surged an audacious resolve. If her man would not strike her if he would not so far prove his manhood, his prerogative and his interest in conjugal affairs, he must be prompted to his duty.
Mr. Fink lit his pipe and peacefully rubbed an ankle with a stockinged toe. He reposed in the state of matrimony like a lump of unblended suet in a pudding. This was his level Elysium to sit at ease vicariously girdling the world in print amid the wifely splashing of suds and the agreeable smells of breakfast dishes departed and dinner ones to come. Many ideas were far from his mind; but the furthest one was the thought of beating his wife.
Mrs. Fink turned on the hot water and set the washboards in the suds. Up from the flat below came the gay laugh of Mrs. Cassidy. It sounded like a taunt, a flaunting of her own happiness in the face of the unslugged bride above. Now was Mrs. Finks time.
Suddenly she turned like a fury upon the man reading.
You lazy loafer! she cried, must I work my arms off washing and toiling for the ugly likes of you? Are you a man or are you a kitchen hound?
Mr. Fink dropped his paper, motionless from surprise. She feared that he would not strike that the provocation had been insufficient. She leaped at him and struck him fiercely in the face with her clenched hand. In that instant she felt a thrill of love for him such as she had not felt for many a day. Rise up, Martin Fink, and come into your kingdom! Oh, she must feel the weight of his hand now just to show that he cared just to show that he cared!