can’t do much work, sir. It can only stand by for emergencies.”
“I’m not a believer in idle money, Ethan.”
“Well, this also serves—just standing and waiting.”
The banker’s voice became frosty. “I don’t understand.” His inflection said he did understand and found it stupid, and his tone twisted a bitterness in Ethan, and the bitterness spawned a lie.
The broom traced a delicate curve against the pavement. “It’s this way, sir. That money is Mary’s temporary security if anything should happen to me.”
“Then you should use part of it to insure your life.”
“But it’s only temporary, sir. That money was Mary’s brother’s estate. Her mother is still living. She may live many years.”
“I understand. Old people can be a burden.”
“They can also sit on their money.” Ethan glanced at Mr. Baker’s face as he said his lie, and he saw a trace of color rise out of the banker’s collar. “You see, sir, if I invested Mary’s money I might lose it, the way I lost my own, the way my father lost the pot.”
“Water under the bridge, Ethan—water under the bridge. I know you got burned. But times are changing, new opportunities opening up.”
“I had my opportunity, Mr. Baker, more opportunity than good sense. Don’t forget I owned this store right after the war. Had to sell half a block of real estate to stock it—the last of our business property.”
“I know, Ethan. I’m your banker. Know your business the way your doctor knows your pulse.”
“Sure you know. Took me less than two years to damn near go bankrupt. Had to sell everything but my house to pay my debts.”
“You can’t take all the blame for that. Fresh out of the Army— no business experience. And don’t forget you ran smack into a depression, only we called it recession. Some pretty seasoned businessmen went under.”
“I went under all right. It’s the first time in history a Hawley was ever a clerk in a guinea grocery.”
“Now that’s what I don’t understand, Ethan. Anybody can go broke. What I don’t see is why you stay broke, a man of your family and background and education. It doesn’t have to be permanent unless your blood has lost its guts. What knocked you out, Ethan? What kept you knocked out?”
Ethan started an angry retort—Course you don’t understand; you’ve never had it—and then he swept a small circle of gum wrappers and cigarette butts into a pyramid and moved the pyramid toward the gutter. “Men don’t get knocked out, or I mean they can fight back against big things. What kills them is erosion; they get nudged into failure. They get slowly scared. I’m scared. Long Island Lighting Company might turn off the lights. My wife needs clothes. My children—shoes and fun. And suppose they can’t get an education? And the monthly bills and the doctor and teeth and a tonsillectomy, and beyond that suppose I get sick and can’t sweep this goddam sidewalk? Course you don’t understand. It’s slow. It rots out your guts. I can’t think beyond next month’s payment on the refrigerator. I hate my job and I’m scared I’ll lose it. How could you understand that?”
“How about Mary’s mother?”
“I told you. She sits on it. She’ll die sitting on it.”
“I didn’t know. I thought Mary came from a poor family. But I know when you’re sick you need medicine or maybe an operationor maybe a shock. Our people were daring men. You know it. They didn’t let themselves get nibbled to death. And now times are changing. There are opportunities our ancestors never dreamed of. And they’re being picked up by foreigners. Foreigners are taking us over. Wake up, Ethan.”
“And how about the refrigerator?”
“Let it go if you have to.”
“And how about Mary and the children?”
“Forget them for a while. They’ll like you better if you climb out of the hole. You’re not helping them by worrying about them.”
“And Mary’s money?”
“Lose it if you have
“I’m not a believer in idle money, Ethan.”
“Well, this also serves—just standing and waiting.”
The banker’s voice became frosty. “I don’t understand.” His inflection said he did understand and found it stupid, and his tone twisted a bitterness in Ethan, and the bitterness spawned a lie.
The broom traced a delicate curve against the pavement. “It’s this way, sir. That money is Mary’s temporary security if anything should happen to me.”
“Then you should use part of it to insure your life.”
“But it’s only temporary, sir. That money was Mary’s brother’s estate. Her mother is still living. She may live many years.”
“I understand. Old people can be a burden.”
“They can also sit on their money.” Ethan glanced at Mr. Baker’s face as he said his lie, and he saw a trace of color rise out of the banker’s collar. “You see, sir, if I invested Mary’s money I might lose it, the way I lost my own, the way my father lost the pot.”
“Water under the bridge, Ethan—water under the bridge. I know you got burned. But times are changing, new opportunities opening up.”
“I had my opportunity, Mr. Baker, more opportunity than good sense. Don’t forget I owned this store right after the war. Had to sell half a block of real estate to stock it—the last of our business property.”
“I know, Ethan. I’m your banker. Know your business the way your doctor knows your pulse.”
“Sure you know. Took me less than two years to damn near go bankrupt. Had to sell everything but my house to pay my debts.”
“You can’t take all the blame for that. Fresh out of the Army— no business experience. And don’t forget you ran smack into a depression, only we called it recession. Some pretty seasoned businessmen went under.”
“I went under all right. It’s the first time in history a Hawley was ever a clerk in a guinea grocery.”
“Now that’s what I don’t understand, Ethan. Anybody can go broke. What I don’t see is why you stay broke, a man of your family and background and education. It doesn’t have to be permanent unless your blood has lost its guts. What knocked you out, Ethan? What kept you knocked out?”
Ethan started an angry retort—Course you don’t understand; you’ve never had it—and then he swept a small circle of gum wrappers and cigarette butts into a pyramid and moved the pyramid toward the gutter. “Men don’t get knocked out, or I mean they can fight back against big things. What kills them is erosion; they get nudged into failure. They get slowly scared. I’m scared. Long Island Lighting Company might turn off the lights. My wife needs clothes. My children—shoes and fun. And suppose they can’t get an education? And the monthly bills and the doctor and teeth and a tonsillectomy, and beyond that suppose I get sick and can’t sweep this goddam sidewalk? Course you don’t understand. It’s slow. It rots out your guts. I can’t think beyond next month’s payment on the refrigerator. I hate my job and I’m scared I’ll lose it. How could you understand that?”
“How about Mary’s mother?”
“I told you. She sits on it. She’ll die sitting on it.”
“I didn’t know. I thought Mary came from a poor family. But I know when you’re sick you need medicine or maybe an operationor maybe a shock. Our people were daring men. You know it. They didn’t let themselves get nibbled to death. And now times are changing. There are opportunities our ancestors never dreamed of. And they’re being picked up by foreigners. Foreigners are taking us over. Wake up, Ethan.”
“And how about the refrigerator?”
“Let it go if you have to.”
“And how about Mary and the children?”
“Forget them for a while. They’ll like you better if you climb out of the hole. You’re not helping them by worrying about them.”
“And Mary’s money?”
“Lose it if you have
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