All Through the Night

sleep, my love, and peace attend thee ...

"Stuff is making a regular little gogetter out of you, Baby," my Daddy begun getting proud of me the hour we got off San P. Street. "Now all you need to get is a little know-how."

"Daddy, I already know how," I told him.

"You know how alright but you don't know with who. Your smalltown ways don't fit out here. You don't ask a trick to buy you a drink. You don't drink with him at all. You ask him does he want to play house or not? Buy your own drink, Baby. Don't you want to be real great? Don't you want to keep your Daddy knocked out?"

We got so great, shortly thereafter, that we were both kept knocked out. Every time we walked into a joint someone was sure to holler, "Look who's here!" Usually the bartender. Everybody with class was hollering hello. I got over being bashful and advanced clear to the Anxious-to-Please stage. "Are you satisfied, Mister? You're not disappointed?"

And Daddy got even more anxious than me. "Are you alright, Baby?" He'd sneak me a fast whisper from behind a potted palm in the lobby where he had no right whatsoever to be -- "You want to go home and rest now? You tired, Baby?"

You call that a pimp?

"Baby, did that cat act married-like? Does he want to see you again? How did he come on, Baby? Fairly great or so?"

"Not too bad," I answered offhanded one time -- "as a matter of fact, not bad at all."

"Why don't you marry the man for God's sake then?" he turned on me -- "I won't stand in your way! Imagine it -- a hustler falling in love with one of her own tricks! And you call yourself a whore? Why, I think you like this trade."

He'd never said a thing that hard to me before.

"I'll go back to car-hopping tomorrow," I told him. "I think I make as sorry a whore as you make a macker."

That hurt his feelings.

"No wife of mine is going to be seen hustling hamburgers," he got real stern to make himself out the real thing.

And I never answered him so offhand again. "Daddy, that fellow was just no good whatsoever," I'd report. "If he got an old lady I'm sorry for her."

After a spell Daddy just stopped asking. And I just minded my own peace and didn't use so much platinum nail polish.

L.A. people like a young country-looking couple. There were gifts almost every day. Ankle-bracelets and earrings and perfume for me and nylon shorts for my Daddy. Right up to the end, everyone tried to help. Even the old clerk at the desk tried to warn us the night Daddy come into the lobby with an envelope in his topcoat pocket.

"A message for you," he told Daddy and scribbled nabs on a phone slip. Daddy folded the slip without looking at it. It was still in his hand when I opened for him and they followed in like I'd opened for them.

One on each side, patting Daddy all over, and Daddy giving them the wrong pocket every time he turned. I set tight as a little gray mouse. You do yourself nothing but harm to ask, "Where's your warrant?" They'll tell you, "We don't need one for a rooming house." You can tell them, "This ain't no rooming house this is a hotel" then if you want. But one will wait while the other fetches and they'll make the warrant stick then if they have to plant something to do it. Well, you asked for it.

"Everything us two kids own in this (continued on page 69)Night(continued from page 29) world is right in that there grip, Mister," Daddy told them and got rid of his coat on the bed.

There wasn't anything but old clothes in the grip, and that was right when Daddy got his real good chance. He had two C notes in his fly and one of the nabs went into the bedroom. All Daddy had to do then was pick that envelope out of the coat pocket, hand the nabber left alone with us one of the Cs and flush the tea down the toilet. Only the other come back just then and he was the one found the right pocket at last. He tried a seed on the very tip of his big cow-tongue -- "What's this?" he asked the other clown.

"I'm sure I don't know," Daddy told him, "I never seen it before."

But he looked just so all in

• • •

I remember His Honor putting his glasses on to see how come Daddy done two years so young. They were the rimless kind. "Two murderous fights in two years." -- His Honor didn't have to keep the specs on any longer, he'd read enough for a spell. "Young man, I think you're a Menace to Society," and by the way he snapped that glass case shut I knew that was what he'd really been wanting to say all along. He had his excuse.

"I think society is a menace to my Daddy" -- it was out before I could bite my tongue. Because that was what I'd been wanting to say all along.

"Prisoner remanded in lieu of bail. Cash bond set at $500. Case continued till Thursday at nine." He was really going to give it to my Daddy Thursday at nine.

Forty-eight hours to raise half a grand. It could never be done by turning tricks even at the outrageous prices I charged. "If you tell me to go for the sodium amytal, I'll go," I told him, for I'd worked with knockout drops when we were hard pressed once before. It isn't my line, but when it comes down to a matter of Daddy's freedom, I can do anything.

Daddy forbade me. "Forget the rough stuff, Baby. If you slipped we'd both be busted. Just get what you can on your coat. Then what you can on your watch. You don't actually need that Japanese kimono. If there ain't half a grand hanging in your closet I miss my guess. Only don't dump it all in one joint," he warned me. "Spread it around so it don't look like we're thinking of blowing town or nothing like that."

My coat. My watch. My kimono. Not one word about his coat, his watch, his raw silk pajamas or his red silk foulard robe. That child is so jealous of his clothes he can scarcely bear to part with a button if it's pearl.

I spread the stuff around like he told me. Half a bill for his topcoat. Another for his watch and ring. I only got 20 for the foulard robe. I didn't begin to spread my own things till his were gone. I got the half a grand up without losing either my Longine or my chubby. Daddy got to sign his bond just before midnight Wednesday.

But O that long walk down the corridor, with an eyedropper hypo in one cup of my bra and a bottle of dolaphine with a five-spot wrapped around it in the other before we made the open street.

As soon as we made it he wants to grab a cab back to the hotel for his clothes. My own coat was hanging over my arm. I told him, "I got a sneak-hunch somebody's waitin' for us there," I lied.

"Why?"

"I don't know. But I won't go back."

"I take your word only because I have to," Daddy gave in with doubt.

Then that big cold lonesome lights-out bus. Without a driver, without a rider. Waiting just for us.

The aisle had just been swept and a little wind kept snooping under the seats to see was it clean there too. We sat in the back seat, us two fools, and Daddy turned his collar up against me. He was still trying to figure whether I'd hocked his clothes ahead of my own. The question was only technical, of course, but it was important for him to know all the same. I'd never gone against orders before, and he had no way of knowing if I had or not. I scarcely could blame him for feeling brought down.

After the way he'd come hitchhiking a vegetable truck into L.A. and in two months rose to the top of the heap, from San P. Street to Beverly Hills; after all the class he took on in almost no time at all; after the argyles and the monogrammed shirts, the cordovans and the easy days, till he'd reached a point where people with class invited us both to spend an afternoon on a yacht in The Bay -- to be leaving now with no more to show than tracks down both arms and heel-holes in both socks would have brought down an even yet greater Daddy than mine. Except of course there ain't none greater. He may not be the best macker there is. But he is the meanest little old dog of a Daddy in town.

After Vegas the trick would be to see how long we could keep from coming sick in a cornfield. I didn't show him the dolaphine till it was breaking light and I was getting a weak streak through my own middle. Daddy had just reststop time enough to fix hisself. There wasn't time for me there and it's a long deal between stops. When I did fix at last I added just a drop of water to replace what I'd used, so Daddy wouldn't fret at sight of the stuff going down too fast in the bottle or he might get sick sooner than need be. Just before Vegas I took a little closer look and seen it was fuller than I'd filled it. I didn't say nothing. I just let him handle the refills and didn't let him know I was on until we got on the highway with a half a bottle of dolaphine water between us and Chicago. That was when I showed him the fiver.

He laughed then, he was feeling real good. "Everything's going to be perfect, Baby," he told me. Then we both fixed and sure enough it looked like everything would be perfect.

"Baby," he told me, "you're taking care of me in the little things."

"I'm taking care of you in the big ones as well," I told him ---- "Didn't I tell His Honor where to head in?" I got that in quick because it had to be settled while Daddy was still feeling well.

"You certainly did, Girl-Baby," he come through ever so nice.

Now you see how he is? God help me if ever his eye lit on a pawn ticket for a silk bathrobe -- but when he got a really legit beef on me, like costing us everything we own for the sake of one sassy smalltown remark, he just laughs the whole deal off.

"Stay out of sight," I hurried him then. "Here comes our transportation."

I'd thumb down a driver and get one foot in the car, then I'd say Wait For My Brother Mister and up would jump Daddy out of the bushes and come just a-trotting. I guess for a short spell there he was the up-jumpinest, very trottinest little Daddy on Route 66. Once he up-jumped and come a-trottin' so fast a lady driver wheeled off with a strip of my skirt in her door handle.

"Daddy," I scolded him, "don't up-jump so fast, else you'll be swinging a one-legged whore."

Comical things like that are what I say every now and then. Not very often. Just from time to time. If I do it oftener Daddy says, "I'll make the jokes in this family."

• • •

Neither of us were making the jokes when we stepped down off that Ogden Avenue trolley. Four cross-country days of Wait-For-My-Brother-Mister, four cross-country nights on watery dolaphine. I felt like something that had been on a raft three weeks at sea.

The sidewalks so glarey, so hard. The sky all so bare. The people when they pass looking straight ahead -- I wouldn't touch one for fear he'd scream. And how that ass-high Chicago wind comes right at you, so mad, it feels like it wants to cut you a new petoochi right then and there.

We went into a grocery and bought a box of graham crackers just to get out of that wind. A sign said Sleeping Rooms. That was for us. I just leaned, I was that done in. Christian kept one arm around me. He was trying for something I couldn't make out just what, with the old doll behind the counter. When his arm went for my wrist I knew what he was trying for. Daddy's been trying for my Longine for some time now.

He could of got maybe $12 for it off the old woman -- if he could of got it off me. But he had to settle for six on his own hour-piece. That I paid $40 for.

And then handed the six right back across the counter for a week's rent sight unseen. How could she afford to make a trade like that? She won't be in business long.

But she threw in the crackers and took us upstairs with her keys in one hand and a quart of milk in the other. The stairs were so dark we would of got lost on the way up but for that bottle. My throat was so parched I could near taste it. If she'd set it down when she opened the door I would of picked it up for her and then let my tongue just hang. But she only needed one hand to open the door.

For that door you didn't even need one hand -- it hung so far ajar we could of squeezed in between it and the jamb one by one. Inside the room she looked right into my face and set the bottle down on the dresser.

Then she looked into Daddy's and picked it up again. Daddy got too much pride to ask for things and I was too sick to. She went downstairs taking it with her.

"She needs it to light the way down," I told Daddy.

He pulled up the shade and I seen a square of red brick wall dripping wet though it wasn't raining. I seen a brassy old high-ended bed. I seen a soggy mattress made of great big lumps and tiny burns. I seen four green-paper walls. I seen a holy calendar from what year I couldn't tell but I'd judge it was B.C. This one made the San Pedro trap look sharp.

"I'll see you at the Greyhound Station," I told my Daddy.

"You can't come sick in the open street, Beth-Mary," he told me, and he got to the door before me and locked it so fast all you could see through it was two inches of the hall.

"I'm sick already," I told him though it killed me to admit it. Daddy don't let hisself come sick in his mind, heart and bowels like me. He puts his own sickness down for the sake of mine. That way I get to be sick for both of us.

He put newspapers under me, he made me a little pillow out of his hole-in-heel socks and a hand towel with a red border. He took my shoes and stockings off so's I wouldn't get runs when I started to kick. He put my chubby over me. He called me his Girl-Baby.

That's what he calls me when he loves me the most.

Watch out for Daddy when he loves you the most. You have to come next to deathbed before he lets himself act tender.

"Let me take your Longine, sweetheart," he told me, "else you'll crack the crystal when you start in to swing."

"I'd as soon keep it on," I told Daddy.

For I felt the big fear coming on. It was coming a-slipping, it was coming a-crawl, it was slipping and crawling down that slippery red wall.

"Don't leave me, Christian," I asked him then.

"I've seen you from Shawneetown. I saw you through L.A. I'm here to see you the rest of the way."

"The rest of the way is by the stars," I told him.

"By starlight or no light," he told me, and his voice started going far away then; yet I knew it was telling me I wasn't to have Stuff any more ever. Something got a grip on that red brick wall and wouldn't let go.

"Pull down the shade," I told him, "they've changed their plans."

He pulled down the shade. I could tell by the shadow that fell as it fell. I had a little secret to tell. "Where are you?" I asked him.

"Right beside you, Beth-Mary."

"They're waiting in the hall," I told my secret. "They've stole the master-key."

He put a chair under the door and stuffed the keyhole to humor me. "Daddy is right beside you."

There was somebody in that hall all the same. And somebody on the rooftop too.

The Federal man was beside the bed pressing my left hand for prints, but I hid the right under the covers because that was the one that really counted. I kept turning the wrong hand like Daddy turning the wrong pocket because it was me wearing the big W and not Daddy at all. That was what I'd been suspecting for some time now. "Beth-Mary," the Fed began to sound like my Daddy, "try to rest till dark."

"Never heard the name till now," I told him, "but the first hustling broad I meet who answers to it, I'll tell she's suppose to come downtown."

"It's only me, your little Daddy," that Fed tried his best. "Look at me, Beth-Mary."

"I have seen you somewheres before," I told him. "You're the nigger bellboy tried to pimp me off my little Daddy on San P. Street -- remind me to have him cripple you back of the parking lot. It won't take as long this time as before."

Not till that moment did Daddy know I knew about that deal.

"Beth-Mary Connery," he asked me -- "Look at me. Are you putting it on?"

"Come closer," I told him. For I was much more sly than he ever had supposed.

He came up close. He was all misty-white. "Get out! Get out!" I screamed right out -- I wanted to cry, I wanted to laugh, I was freezing cold, I was sweating-wet. I couldn't get up still I couldn't lie still. I wanted the feel of someone's hand. Yet I couldn't bear human touch.

I can hear a country mile off, sick or well. Daddy don't hear a thing till it's next to his ear.

I heard steps in the hall. I said what I heard. Was it really steps or not? He didn't know whether to duck or go blind.

"Hold my hand and be still, you talk too much," I told him --"say something to me -- Hush! What train is that?" It troubled me to hear a passenger train making time and not being able to tell was it coming or going or what.

"That's the New York Central, sweetheart." He thought he could tell me just anything.

"Christian Finnerty -- finky liar -- you good and well know that ain't no New York Central."

"Maybe it's the Illinois Central then. Maybe it's the Nickel Plate. For all I know, Baby, it could be the Rock Island."

"You lie in your teeth. You know as well as I it's the Southern Pacific."

"That's right, sweetheart," he agreed too soon, "it's the Southern Pacific for sure."

"Wait in the hall!" O I hollered right at him -- "Do as you're told!"

He closed the door quiet to make off like he done as he was told. He didn't dare leave me. Yet feared to come near me. "Little baby," I heard him ask, "don't battle me so. You're grinding your teeth."

It's the kind of sickness you do well not to grind your teeth. But I wasn't battling him. I was battling it. Though it's a sickness it's the purest of follies to battle. Yet you have to battle it all the same. Battle and grind till your strength is spent in hope of one blessed moment of rest.

That moment comes yet it's never blessed. Your nose runs. Your eyes water. Your mouth drools like a possum's in love. "Daddy," I told him, "I don't want you to see me looking this way."

Then it's some sort of fever-doze where you're dreaming by the moment. Yet know right where you are all the while. It's something real wild that can't be endured. You endure it all the same.

It's all misty-white, it's like under water. Yet of a sudden the whole room will come clear and everything in it stands out to the wallpaper's tiniest crack.

It's the sickness that turns you against yourself. You're like two people, a weak cat and a strong, with no use for each other but they can't pull apart. "I don't deserve to be punished like this," you hear the weak cat grieve.

"If you deserved it, it wouldn't be punishment," the tougher party tells.

"Then let me get it all and be done. Let me come to the end of suffering then."

The stronger cat just scorns all that.

It goes and it comes, it creeps or it runs, there is no end and it's never done.

"Then why just dole it? Let me have it all at once," the weak cat begs.

"If you could see an end it wouldn't be punishment."

It's all so useless. It's nothing like sleep.

Once my eyes cleared and I saw Daddy plain: he was watching the light beyond the shade, waiting for the dark to come down. "Here I am," I could guess what he was thinking, "without a penny, without a friend. And a W on my forehead. If I get picked up it'll be a long deal before us two fools sleep side by side again. Who would fix a poor broad in a rented bed then?"

"Daddy," I whispered to him, "I got too many worries to go through with this."

He tried to give me something by mouth but my lips felt pebbly. I spit it all out. Daddy ought to have known better than that. Your mouth doesn't want it, it's your vein crying out. You can't ease a vein habit by mouth. Not even with graham crackers.

I felt him unstrapping my Longine. "You're getting it all spittly," he told me. I tried to swing my arm but I was too weak.

"Put it where I can see it," I asked him and he strapped it onto a handle of the bureau. I could see the shiny golden circle hanging even though I couldn't see the time. At least I knew where time was to be had.

"Baby," he told me, "you got the worst part over."

Then the big sick hit me bigger and sicker than before.

It comes on real quiet, like nabbers at work -- the only thing on earth that moves fast and slow at one and the same time. The only thing that's something deep inside you and something far outside too. The only thing that feels so soft that hits so hard. The only thing that's more like nabbers at work than nabbers at work.

Nabs holding both your arms -- then letting you pull loose just to see where you'll hide. There's a key in your door but it won't turn. Nabbers coming down both sides trying all doors -- Get your back flat against your wall. Maybe they won't try this door at all. Maybe they'll never find you.

They're trying it, they're telling your name doorway to door -- "Beth-Mary Connery. Beth-Mary Connery. Beth-Mary ---- I saw my Daddy's face, so dear, so sort of pulled with care -- "Beth-Mary, I'm right here."

Then I knew nabbers at work had been just sounds inside my every ears.

Spook-docs and croakers, bug-docs and such, meatballs and matrons, nurses and all, there's not one cares whether you live or you die. For not one knows what true suffering is. But Daddy who stayed on my side and beside me that sorriest day of any, you know. And you're the onliest one who knows.

People like to say a pimp is a crime and a shame. But who's the one friend a hustling broad's got? Who's the one who cuts in, bold as can be, when Nab comes to take you? Who puts down that real soft rap only you can hear to let you know your time is up and is everything alright in there Baby? And when a trick says "Where's the 20 I had in my wallet?" -- Who's the one he got to see? Who's the one don't let you get trapped with the monstering kind?

When 10 o'clock in the morning feels like the dead of night and God has forgot you, who still keeps watch over you?

"What time is it, Daddy?" I asked him.

"Time to get off the wild side, Beth-Mary," he told me like he'd found out for himself at last. Then just set on. So pale, so wan.

I turned my head toward him so's he'd know I was with him.

"Is it getting a little darker, Christian?"

"It's nigh to dark, Beth-Mary."

All I could do was touch his wan hand. My fingers were too weak to hold it. Yet he took it into mine and pressed my palm to let me know.

"Baby," he told me, "I'm sorry for what I done to you on South San Pedro Street."

And said it so low. As though I were part of his very heart still. That I heard it clear as little bells.

I must have slept then for a spell, because I dreamed I was buying seeds for some flower that blooms under water and when I woke it was raining. And someone kept humming from ever so far. When the rain stopped the little hum stopped. And all was wondrous still. When the rain began the hum began, from ever so far I could scarcely hear.

"Is that you humming. Daddy?" I asked.

Nobody answered. Nobody was near. The hum came closer -- a little girl's humming. How could such a tiny hum come from so terribly far?

"You need sleep, Mother," she said my name. Sick as I was, my heart sank yet farther.

I lay on my pillow, how long I can't tell. After a time I noticed my Longine was gone. But it was all one by then.

I didn't have to open my eyes to know that Christian was gone too. I didn't care, one way nor another.

I didn't care for anything.