The Baby in the Icebox: And Other Short Fiction Read online

  Mr. Barlow: But this wasn’t no piece.

  Mrs. Nation: Well, I’m a-trying to tell it.

  Mr. Nation: It was something like a piece. You see, after a while she kind of learned it by heart. And then she put the banjer in. And then after a while she put in a couple of songs what she knowed. The first one come right after the part where she come to the pearly gates, and that was a piece called “The Portal Left Ajar.” And the second one come right after the Angel of the Lord tooken her by the hand and told her she had to come back to earth, ’cause all the people down here couldn’t bear to see her go. And that was a piece called “He Calleth Me.” Or something like that. And believe me, when she got through with it, it took pretty near a hour, and if there was anybody listening what wasn’t busting out crying at the end, why he wasn’t human, that was all. He just wasn’t human.

  Mr. Barlow: I see. She kind of put it up fancy. Damn, I never knowed that girl could pick a banjer.

  Mr. Nation: Oh, she’s smart. Ain’t nothing that girl can’t do.

  Mr. Barlow: Well, what next?

  Mrs. Nation: So then a preacher what was holding a revival over in Greenwood last month, he heared about her.

  Mr. Nation: Reverend Day.

  Mr. Barlow: Day? Sure. I know him.

  Mrs. Nation: And he come around one afternoon and listened at her. And then nothing wouldn’t do him but she had to go over and tell it at his meeting. And then nothing wouldn’t do Hal but she had to go.

  Mr. Nation: Aw Laura, why you tell it like that? You know yourself you was tickled to death she had the chance.

  Mrs. Nation: I was tickled to death she had the chance for one night. But I didn’t know she was going over there for the whole revival. You know I didn’t. You and her, you kept that from me.

  Mr. Barlow: Well, but what, then?

  Mrs. Nation: So then she run off with this Day.

  Mr. Barlow: How you mean, run off?

  Mrs. Nation: Mean run off, that’s what I mean.

  Mr. Nation: And not a thing to show that it’s so. Now listen. What happened? He moved to Easton, for to hold a revival there, and she went with him. And he went to Cambridge, and she went with him there, and that’s where she’s at now. And for what? To tell about it some more, same as she done in Greenwood. That there is a big card, that is. That there brings in the money, and it saves a whole lot of souls. And she’s getting paid for it. And how can you tell she run off with him?

  Mrs. Nation: I can tell by the cut of her jib.

  Mr. Nation: You ain’t got a thing to show—

  Mr. Barlow: And what next?

  Mr. Nation: Nothing next. That’s all. ’Cepting my life ain’t been worth living for the last month, what with Laura a-whooping and a-hollering and a-carrying on—

  Mrs. Nation: Why, Hal Nation!—

  Mr. Nation: And it got so bad I sent for you to come up here and see if you could straighten us out.

  Mrs. Nation: Why, Hal Nation, I never heared no man talk the way you do. Some time I wonder if you got good sense. Don’t nothing mean nothing to you what all the people is a-saying? Ain’t you got no respect for your own daughter’s vircher?

  Mr. Barlow: Have you had the law on him?

  Mr. Nation: Can’t get no law on him. Can’t prove nothing.

  Mrs. Nation: My land, Hal! My land! And all on account of you in the first place. You and your figuring out the meaning of it—

  Mr. Nation: Stop! Stop right there! That’s the first thing what we got to have out. And it ain’t no use going further till we do. (He turns earnestly to Mr. Barlow, takes careful thought before he speaks, and then proceeds in a solemn voice.) Now I ask you, and if you don’t see it my way I’m a-perfectly willing to say I was wrong, but if she weren’t in Heaven in the time when she was dead, then where the hell was she?

  Mr. Barlow: I swear, Hal, now you’re coming at me pretty strong. That there is kind of out of my line…. What you say to that, Laura?

  Mrs. Nation: I don’t say nothing.

  Mr. Nation: You said a-plenty till Day come along. You couldn’t see it no other way. Funny you ain’t got nothing to say.

  Mr. Barlow: Have you asked any preachers about it?

  Mr. Nation: We asked five or six preachers about it, not counting Day. And they all said the same thing. Said there could be no doubt about it at all. Said it had to be so.

  Mr. Barlow: Still, you can’t go by none of them preachers. I never seen one of them as what wouldn’t jump up and holler amen for anything they heared, didn’t make no difference what it was. Them bums if they had sense enough to figure anything out, why they wouldn’t be preachers…. Well, now, le’s see. Maybe we can figure it out for ourself. How was it now again?

  Mr. Nation: She died.

  Mr. Barlow: You’re sure of that, now. ’Cause look like to me that was pretty important.

  Mr. Nation: If her heart didn’t beat no more, then she died, didn’t she? You never seen nobody what was half dead, did you? Winship said it didn’t beat no more, and so did Travis. And Winship sent the death certificate in to the county clerk’s office, and a hell of a time I had getting it out so she could get on the school rolls again, and be alive legal and all like of that.

  Mr. Barlow: Well then, looks like she was dead. Nobody couldn’t hardly be deader than that.

  Mr. Nation: That’s right. That’s all I’m trying to say. She was dead.

  Mr. Barlow: All right then, she was dead. We know that much anyway. Now le’s see. The next thing to figure out is where she could of been before she come back to life.

  Mr. Nation: That’s right. Now keep right on going.

  Mr. Barlow: Well, first off, she could of been in Heaven, where she said she was.

  Mr. Nation: That’s right. Now where else?

  Mr. Barlow: Then…well, ain’t no sense saying that.

  Mr. Nation: Go on say it. What I want is to figure this thing out right, oncet and for all. And if a thing has got to be said, then it just as well be said.

  Mr. Barlow: What I started to say, she might of been in Hell. But ain’t no sense talking like that.

  Mr. Nation: Might just as well say it. She might of been in Hell. We ain’t going to get nowheres pussyfooting.

  Mr. Barlow: Well then, she might of been in Hell. Now where else?

  Mr. Nation: All right. Where else?

  Mr. Barlow: Dogged if I know. Where the hell else do they go when they die, anyway?

  Mr. Nation: Onliest place I can think of is she might of been still on this earth. Now can you think of any other places?

  Mr. Barlow: Nope. Damned if I can.

  Mr. Nation: All right, she might of been in Heaven, she might of been in Hell, and she might of been down here on the earth. Ain’t no other place she could of been. Now then, take Hell. What the hell would a girl fifteen year old what had always gone to church regular be doing in Hell? Tell me that oncet?

  Mr. Barlow: Well, I told you already that ain’t reasonable. Ain’t no use talking about that. Why no. ’Cause look. You mean to tell me anybody could be in Hell and not know it?

  Mr. Nation: What I tell you, Laura? Ain’t them the very same words I said not more’n two weeks ago?

  Mrs. Nation: If them is the same words you said two weeks ago, then I know there ain’t no sense to it.

  Mr. Barlow: Nope. From what I hear, when somebody goes to Hell, they’re going to get scorched, and you can bank on that. Go on, Hal.

  Mr. Nation: All right, then, she ain’t been in Hell. Now that leaves Heaven and this earth. And if she was on this earth, that means she was a ghost. And me, I don’t care what people say, I don’t believe in no ghosts.

  Mr. Barlow: By gosh! that’s right. I never thought of that. She would of been a ghost, wouldn’t she? That there wouldn’t be so good, would it? What do you think about that, Laura? Do you believe in ghosts?

  Mrs. Nation: Never mind what I believe in. I ain’t had my say yet.

  Mr. Barlow: Well now, there ain’t no us
e being bull-headed about it. We’re a-trying to figure this thing out, and we ain’t getting nowhere with you setting there rocking like you had a pain in your big toe and not doing nothing to help. The big thing now is, was she a ghost or not?

  Mrs. Nation: I ain’t never said I believed in ghosts.

  Mr. Barlow: Well me, I never believed in them neither…. But Hal, I tell you I hear tell of some funny things in my time.

  Mrs. Nation: Me too. Me too.

  Mr. Barlow: Did I ever tell you about the time I was driving along the road on the other side of the Maryland line?

  Mr. Nation: No. What was it?

  Mr. Barlow: Well, that beat anything I ever hear tell of in my life. It was about three o’clock in the morning, and I had tooken a girl to a dance. I was a young fellow then. And I was driving back, after I dropped her where she lived, and believe me it was lonely. And I come to a piece of road what run through a woods. And the woods was mostly scrub pine, but right alongside the road was a big oak tree. It was a fine-looking tree, and had a big limb what hung out over the road. And I was letting my horse walk, ’cause it was a sandy piece of road, and I kept looking at the tree, and thinking how fine it looked, and kind of wild, ’cause the limbs was kind of swaying a lot, and the leaves was rustling, and every now and then turning gray in the moonlight, when the undersides would show up in the wind. And then I drove right under a big limb, and went on a little ways, and then all of a sudden I turned right cold. ’Cause, Hal, there wasn’t no wind!… Well, when I got in and turned my plug over to the fellow in the livery stable, I told him about it, and I swear he turned green. And then he told me that was the tree where they had lynched a nigger about ten year before, and it was a windy night, and he swung around like he was drunk before they cut him down to take the souvenirs off him, and sometimes now that tree still shakes in the same wind.

  Mr. Nation: I’d of dropped dead! I’d of dropped dead!

  Mr. Barlow: Some funny things, I tell you.

  Mr. Nation: Gosh! And no wind a-blowing!

  Mr. Barlow: Fellow told me one time you can always tell if there’s a ghost in the house by the way the cat acts. Cat won’t stay in no house with a ghost. Did you take notice of the cat when all this was going on?

  Mr. Nation: No, we didn’t. No, we didn’t. Yes, by gosh we did! Yes, we did! Laura, remember what you said when you come back from the kitchen with that hot-water bottle? Remember? Remember? You said it sure was funny how that cat was still asleep alongside the stove after all that fuss what we had upstairs. Remember?

  Mrs. Nation: I don’t recollect.

  Mr. Barlow: Well now, Laura, try just this oncet to see if you can’t be some help. You—

  Mrs. Nation: The cat was asleep, if that’s all you want to know.

  Mr. Nation: Well then, that settles it. She couldn’t of been no ghost. And that leaves Heaven.

  Mr. Barlow: I swear, Hal, I don’t see nothing wrong with that. It kind of went a little funny when you first mentioned it, but now we figured on it awhile, it don’t seem like it could have been no other way. Anyhow, not no other way that I can think of.

  Mr. Nation: All right. All right. Then how about all this here about running off? Does that sound right? Would a girl what had been to Heaven take and run off with the first preacher who come along? Would she, now?

  Mr. Barlow: Well…

  Mrs. Nation: Well nothing! Now I have to have my say. All right, she’s been in Heaven. Is she ever going back there after she run off with Day? Tell me that.

  Mr. Barlow: Well now, maybe she will at that. You know, I was talking not long ago with a fellow what had just put up a kind of a short Bible for Sunday school classes, or something like that. And he had made a kind of a study of it. And he says to me, he says, “It’s a funny thing, but there ain’t a word in the Bible agin a little cutting up. Yes,” he says, “I know most people think there is, but it’s a fact there ain’t.”

  Mrs. Nation: Then there ought to be.

  Mr. Barlow: Laura, try to act like you was a little bit bright. If we got to write the whole Bible over again to suit you, that’s right where I quit.

  Mr. Nation: Me too…. I swear, that there bellering around all the time has got my goat.

  Mr. Barlow: And suppose she is a-cutting up a little with Day? What of it? There’s always got to be some cutting up before people gets married. And she could do a whole lot worse than marry Day.

  Mrs. Nation: Ain’t he married?

  Mr. Barlow: He is not. Anyway, not when I seen him last, about six months ago. I think he did have a wife oncet but he ain’t got her no more. And I say this for Day. He may be a preacher but he’s got enough git-up-and-git to buy hisself a tent and go out and hustle and that’s more’n you can say for many young bucks here in Delaware what want to cut up with a girl.

  Mr. Nation: Ain’t nothing wrong with the fellow. I always said so, right from the beginning.

  Mr. Barlow: Look like to me, the thing for you two to do is to invite him over here. Him and Eva together. That would kind of smooth things out a bit, and at the same time git it in his head that you got your eye on him.

  Mrs. Nation: Well, we could run over and get them in the car, I reckon. And have them here to dinner. And put them back in time for the night meeting.

  Mr. Barlow: That’s the stuff, Laura. Now you’re talking something what has got some sense to it.

  Mr. Nation: That there sounds pretty good to me. That there is the thing to do.

  Mrs. Nation: I ain’t wanted to believe it of her nohow…. ’Cause I loved it so, about her having been to…to Heaven…and all…. And she told it so sweet…. And when she puts them songs in and all…. It was so beautiful.

  Mr. Barlow: Why sure, I swear, I been setting here tonight, thinking to myself it’s just about the beautifulest thing I ever hear tell of in my life. I wish one of my daughters could of done it, and could pick a banjer and all….

  Mr. Nation: Now Laura, ain’t no use crying. What you crying about?

  Mr. Barlow: Hal, looks like to me the thing for you to do is to take Laura in and put her to bed. And I don’t know but I’m ready to turn in myself if you two think you’re all straightened out now. ’Cause I got to catch that early train down from Greenwood….

  (They rise, Mr. Barlow stretching and winding his watch, Mrs. Nation sniffling, and Mr. Nation awkwardly guiding her into the house.)

  Mr. Nation: Come on, now, Laura…. Why, sure she was up in Heaven!… Couldn’t of been nowheres else…. Why sure…. Stands to reason….

  Short Stories

  CAIN’S FIRST PUBLISHED SHORT story—“Pastorale”—was written for H. L. Mencken while Cain was still working on the New York World, and it grew out of a profile of William Gilbert Patten that Cain did for the Saturday Evening Post. Patten, who wrote under the pseudonym Burt L. Standish, created the fictional hero Frank Merriwell, and Cain was probably drawn to him because they both started their careers in the same manner—trying to sell short stories to magazines. During their interview, Patten told Cain a story about a couple of western roughnecks who committed a gruesome crime. Patten’s point in telling the story was to illustrate a friend’s fiendish sense of humor, but to Patten’s horror Cain took the anecdote as truly hilarious and, furthermore, asked Patten if he could use it someday in a piece of fiction. Patten said he did not mind, and Cain thought about it for several months before shifting the story to his favorite locale and telling it in the first person, through the eyes of an Eastern Shore roughneck. He called it “Pastorale,” a deceptively benign title for its grisly doings, and submitted it to Mencken, who published it in the March 1928 Mercury. It is a very funny tale, told in the Ring Lardner manner, and David Madden, author of the only full-length literary study of Cain, considers it Cain’s best short story. It was also an extremely important event in Cain’s evolution as a writer of fiction. In the first place, he now found that he could tell a story in some manner other than dialogue or one-act plays by writing in the first pe
rson, preferably the voice of some “low-life character,” as his mother called the type. “The only way I can keep on the track at all,” he said, trying to explain this idiosyncrasy, “is to pretend to be somebody else—to put it in dialect and thus get it told. If I try to do it in my own language I find that I have none. A style that seems to be personal enough for ordinary gassing refuses to get going for an imaginary narrative. So long as I merely report what people might have said under certain circumstances, I am all right; but the moment I have to step in myself, and try to create the impression that what happened to those people really matters, then I am sunk. I flounder about, not knowing whether I should skip to the scene at the church or pile in a little more of the talk at the post office. The reason is…I don’t care what happened. It doesn’t matter to me. Narratively, I do not exist, I have no impulse to hold an audience.”

  In “Pastorale,” Cain not only managed to make his narrator care what happened, enabling the story to move, he also found his favorite theme: Although two people may get away with committing a crime, they cannot live with it.

  “Pastorale” was also important to Cain as a demonstration that his style was in no way influenced by or copied from Ernest Hemingway, as some critics charged. “Pastorale” was written in late 1927, and by then Cain’s narrative technique and ear for dialogue—which in a few years would constitute one of the most widely discussed and imitated literary styles in the country—were clearly established. His realistic, colloquial dialogue had gradually emerged from the pieces he had been writing for Mencken since 1924; and the technique he used in most of his novels, themselves written in the first person, originated more or less with “Pastorale.” He says—and there is no reason not to believe him—that he did not read Hemingway until Men Without Women appeared in 1928, and he was tremendously impressed. But what surprised him was “an echo I found in it, of something I couldn’t place.” Then he remembered the voice: It was Roxy Stimson, the divorced wife of Jess Smith, a lackey of Attorney General Harry Daugherty, one of the key figures in the Teapot Dome scandal. In 1924 Roxy testified at the Senate Hearings on Teapot Dome and her manner of speech, as Cain recalled, “burst on the country like a July Fourth rocket.” Her tale, describing Smith’s slow deterioration as he was caught up in the scandal and his own foolish speculations in the stock market, electrified the country, especially the literary world, for which Roxy briefly became the object of a cult. “She could come popping out with some bromide,” Cain said, “a cornball expression that should have been pure hush puppy, and somehow transform it, the way Dvořak transformed folk music, so it stayed in your ear as a classic.”