Something on His Mind

"You––" said the innkeeper and then stopped. He had been about to say: "You have had a rough time of it." The newcomer had the air of a man who has been badly beaten. His cheeks were mottled so that they might have been bruised. Under each eye hung a black pouch, and his lips were swollen. Furthermore, the man had a wild, hunted look and his tired eyelids, struggling against the heavy hand of sleep, blinked rapidly as he glanced from side to side.

"Well?" he said. "What?" There was a hoarse savagery in his voice which the innkeeper did not like.

"I was going to say," said the innkeeper, "you are welcome."

The innkeeper looked away from the stranger's face, and smiled. The man was flipping a large silver coin in the air and catching it as it fell. In the gloom of the tavern you could have seen the flash of the innkeeper's eyes as they followed the flight of the piece of money.

"Wine?" he said.

"Strong wine."

The innkeeper bowed.

"Have one yourself," said the stranger. He looked about him. There was only one other customer – a silent, elderly man with a broken nose. "You too."

"I don't mind if I do," said the innkeeper.

"You're very kind," said the other man.

The stranger nodded and drank.

"My Lord," said the innkeeper. "Your hand!"

"What about my hand?"

"You have bitten it!"

The stranger blinked at his left fist. From a ring of blue marks, reluctant drops of blood slowly oozed. He said: "What's that?"

"Nothing, sir. Only for a moment you startled me, biting your hand like that."

"For God's sake shut up and get some more wine!"

Two more men came in – one fat, the other thin. They saw the stranger and there was something about him that stopped the casual trickle of their conversation. The fat one glanced at the innkeeper, who winked and nodded. "Your Honor, shall I give these gentlemen a drink too?"

The stranger stopped spinning the coin and hurled it across the counter. Bowing to the ground, the innkeeper murmured: "May you live a thousand years, my lord."

Silence came again. "Your health, honored sir," said the fat man. "Have you come far?"

"Yes," said the stranger.

"From . . .?"

The stranger raised his eyes, and there was such utter desperation in that glance that the fat man gulped his drink and said no more. The thin man tried to make conversation. "Plenty of excitement in town these days," he said. "Hear the latest? Riots. It seems there was --"

"For God's sake!" said the stranger, in a queer, high voice. "Is there no musician here? Does nobody play? Does nobody dance? Does nobody sing? Is there nothing in this stinking, dirty, filthy city that . . . Are there no women? Then for the love of God bring me more wine!" The stranger produced another silver piece, which he flipped and spun with nervous intensity but did not forfeit. "Curse you, hurry!" The innkeeper spilled dark puddles of pungent wine in his haste, and set out more cups.

"Long life," said the fat man.

The stranger laughed and drank. The innkeeper whistled. The thin man coughed. Nobody liked the sound of that laughter. "Well?" said the stranger. "Isn't anybody saying anything? Haven't you got any tongues? Are you struck deaf and dumb and paralyzed? God damn you – talk!"

"It's a hot day," said the innkeeper.

"Getting dark," said the man with a broken nose.

"Looks like a storm," said the thin man.

The fat man cleared his throat and said: "Yesterday I heard a good joke, but I seem to have forgotten it."

"More drinks," said the stranger.

"Steady," said the fat man. "I've got work to do. How's business?" he asked of the innkeeper.

"How's what? Business, did you say? What business? Don't make me laugh. Business! I can't pay my way any more. Taxes here, taxes there . . . And then again, I'm at the wrong end of town. It's dead."

"It's slack everywhere," said the fat man. Addressing the stranger, he added: "Don't you find it so?"

"Don't I find what so?"

"Business bad."

"Yes."

Outside, the quiet street lay, salt white in the blinding daylight. A shadow fell over the threshold. Two women were coming in followed by some men. The innkeeper winked and made a gesture, upon which the women smiled and sat at the stranger's table. He looked at them gloomily. One of the women was young and beautiful. The (concluded on page 78)On his mind (continued from page 68) other was older, but fully painted. There were shadows under her eyes, and her ears supported heavy metal rings.

"Wine, for God's sake!" said the stranger.

The room was full now. "For everybody?"

"Yes, fill 'em up." The stranger looked at the coin he was spinning, and threw it across the room to the innkeeper, who caught it and pocketed it in one smooth gesture.

"You ought to get some change," said the man who looked like a wrestler.

The younger woman looked at the stranger, touched his hand, and said: "In trouble, dear?"

"No," said the stranger, and pushed her away.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

"No."

"Dance?"

"No."

"Will you buy me a drink?"

The stranger was staring out into the street. The morning shadows had crept close to the houses. It was noon. He pushed away his wine cup, which fell to the floor and seemed to explode in a star-shaped splash of glistening purple.

"Did you go up the hill?" somebody asked.

Somebody else replied: "What for? It's all over by now. I've got something better to do."

The stranger pushed his way towards the door. There was a little white fleck in each corner of his mouth, which some unendurable misery had twisted into a narrow, lipless oblong.

"Hey!" cried the innkeeper. "You owe me for one round."

The stranger stopped suddenly as if he had encountered an invisible wall. They saw him thrust a hand into his pouch, fumble, and withdraw a great clenched fist. He swung his hand. Everybody winced and ducked. There was a smash and a jangle of silver. People threw themselves on the falling money in a cursing heap.

"Here," said the stranger. "The other 28 pieces."

The innkeeper, standing in a stranger attitude – for he had one foot on a coin and one fist clenched in the air where it had closed upon another – stared after him.

The young woman, hiding five pieces in her bosom, said: "He seemed to have something on his mind."

"All the same," said the innkeeper, "I wish we had a customer like him every day."

"For God's sake!" he cried. "Does nobody play or dance or sing here?"