The Immigrants Page 8

  “Well, that’s Tony. But we got the money, Mark, and we’ll have the ship. How do you feel?”

  “Good.”

  “Not nervous?”

  “A little nervous.”

  “I tell you how I feel,” Dan said. “I feel like we got the whole world in our hands. God damn it, Mark, the whole fuckin’ world–right here!” Holding out his two hands and staring at them, and then bursting into laughter. “Levy and Lavette. How does that sound?”

  “Good. Sounds good.”

  “Marcus, old buddy,” Dan said, “you and me–I got a notion we were made for this partnership. You are sane and sober, I go off half cocked given the slightest chance. But we both of us got brains, and that’s what counts. A year ago I would have rushed out and gotten myself laid to celebrate. Now I’m in love. Maybe. I think I am.”

  Mark grinned. “It’s a long haul, Danny.”

  “We got all the time in the world. Let’s get drunk.”

  “Sarah’ll peel my hide off.”

  “Hell, it’ll grow back.”

  They went to Maguire’s Bar and matched each other with rye shots and beer chasers. Mark was not a good drinker, and when they left the place, Dan’s arm kept him on his feet. Dan guided them down to the wharf. It was late afternoon, the boats in, the catch disposed of.

  “Let’s sail,” Dan said. “Clear our heads and calm our souls.”

  “No. Danny, you can’t handle those boats alone. Anyway, you’re drunk.”

  “You’re drunk, buddy-boy. Don’t worry. That blue water’s my mama and papa. I was raised up on that bay. Shit, I could sail the Oregon Queen alone if I had to. I can sail any goddamn thing that floats. Now you just set yourself in there and I’ll take care of things.”

  Nodding his head trustingly, Mark climbed into the boat. Dan untied the ropes and kicked off from the dock. Sprawled out in the hold, Mark was vaguely aware of the strong odor of fish. Dan turned over the engine, and as it caught, he took the wheel and guided the boat out into the bay.

  The water was soft, smooth, and glistening gold in the light of the setting sun, and above them the hills of the city glistened like jeweled tiaras. Except for an old lumber scow in the distance, the bay was empty, a slow, gentle tide running toward the Golden Gate. Already, the eastern slopes of Marin County had turned a somber black, and a thousand swooping gulls screeched farewell to the day.

  Dan set the throttle low and strapped the wheel, and then he sprawled out alongside of Mark. They were moving out away from the city, holding it in clear view.

  “Up there–right up there to the top of Nob Hill, that’s where we’re going, old buddy, because it’s our city, and they are going to know it. They sure as hell are.”

  Since the first guest had arrived, Jean Seldon had not taken her eyes off the entrance to the room, waiting for him. Her mother watched her. Did her mother know? That would come later in the evening, when her mother would demand to know who had invited him. “I did,” she would say. “Why?” “Because I wanted him here.” “And you knew I did not want him here?” “But I did.” Or perhaps not precisely in those terms. Her mother never screamed or lost her temper; her weapons were silence, cold fury, scorn; and all of these were weapons Jean understood and could use in kind. Her father would simply accept it. She had the feeling that he regarded Dan Lavette with amused respect, and if he dared challenge her, she would point out that if he could have Mayor McCarthy and Police Chief Martin as guests in his house, she could certainly invite Dan Lavette.

  Yet she was nervous, sufficiently so for her mother to say to her, “Jean, what on earth is wrong with you? The Brockers said you ignored them. You’re not ill?” “I’m just fine, mother.” Mary Seldon could not pursue it. There were fifty guests expected, in what was more or less a tribute to the new mayor, Patrick Henry McCarthy, who had been swept into office by the Union Labor Party, and here he was already to meet the kings and the pashas and the nabobs, his sworn enemies during the campaign and now the convivial recipients of his charming Irish brogue, the Brockers and the Whittiers and the Callans and all the others who ruled the city and so much of the state; and Mary Seldon was totally preoccupied with the business of being a hostess. As for Jean, she turned a deaf ear to the three or four young men who had been asked as her friends, in particular Alan Brocker, who had courted her for the past two years. When he complained that she had not given him two minutes of her attention, Jean, who never minced words, informed him that two minutes were sufficient to bore her to tears.

  Her nervousness was due in part to the fact that she was by no means certain that Dan Lavette would appear. She had told him that it would be a formal affair and that he would be expected to wear a tuxedo. He had none. He had never worn one. But now, watching the door and listening to the chatter of her friend Marcy Callan, she saw him come through the wide double doors, tuxedo and all, wearing his dinner jacket as if it had been molded to his enormous body, looking for her over the heads of the others.

  “Who is he?” Marcy Callan asked her. “Oh, no, he’s not your fisherman?”

  “He is. And if you go near him, I’ll claw your eyes out.” Then she went to him, quickly, avoiding the eyes of her mother, who had also seen him, and took his arm. “Oh, Danny, you were so brave to come.”

  “You are goddamn right,” he whispered to her. “What in hell am I doing here?”

  “Being handsome and charming and witty and brilliant–which is exactly what one would expect from the man who intends to marry Thomas Seldon’s one and only child.” She took his arm. “Come, let me introduce you to the royalty.”

  Looking at her, Dan would have allowed her to introduce him to the devil himself. She wore a gown of peach-colored crêpe de Chine, and her honey-colored hair was piled like a crown on her head. On her high heels, she was only a few inches shorter than he, and the two of them together became the target for every eye in the room. She felt the keen edge of her triumph; her mother and father could do nothing now but be as pleasant and engaging as host and hostess should. The whispers began, Jean’s fisherman, the Tenderloin brawler–she’s been seeing him for ages, but who can blame her? Smiling serenely, she introduced him to James Brocker. “This is Daniel Lavette, my friend.” She whispered to Dan, “The other bank. He and daddy have all the money in the world.”

  Whittier shook hands with him coldly. “Bought your ship yet?”

  “Just about.”

  Joe Callan, a heavy mountain of a man, studied him thoughtfully. “So you’re Seldon’s fisherman,” he said. Marcy, his daughter, clung to his arm.

  “I’m nobody’s fisherman, Mr. Callan,” Dan replied. “Not even yours.”

  Jean ignored Marcy and steered Dan away. “You’ve just insulted the richest man in California. Do you know who he is?”

  “The hell with him.”

  “I adore you. And this is our new mayor. Mayor McCarthy, this is Dan Lavette.”

  They shook hands. McCarthy’s blue eyes twinkled. “Ah, lad,” he said, “you got the prize of the evening.”

  “I have.”

  “And I hear you’re a plain man, like myself.” He leaned toward Dan. “ ’Tis a den of thieves that we’re in. Watch your step, laddie.”

  “What did he say?” Jean wanted to know.

  “That I’m in a den of thieves.”

  “Delicious.” She faced her mother, who nodded coldly to Dan.

  “Mr. Lavette.”

  “Thank you for asking me to come here,” Dan said.

  “Yes.” Mother and daughter exchanged looks, and Jean steered Dan away.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing. Here’s daddy. Be very nice.”

  He shook hands with Seldon. “Glad to see you,” Seldon said. “We’ll find time for a chat later.”

  The introductions went on: heavy-jowled men who smelled of power and success, stout bejeweled women who smelled of fine French perfume. Names Dan had heard about, names that were in the newspapers; he nodded, smiled
, took hands that were offered to him, and then breathed a sigh of relief when Jean drew him out of the crowd into the solarium. There, sheltered by the palms and ferns, Jean said, “You don’t like us very much, do you?”

  “They don’t like me.”

  “ ‘Granddad worked in the placer mines, Daddy’s on Nob Hill, if it weren’t for Sutter and Sutter’s gold, I’d still be sucking swill.’ I learned that when I was five. It used to enrage mother. She’s from Boston. The fact is that you are the envy of every woman in the room. I love your dinner jacket.”

  “We got the loan, Jean. Mark Levy and I are buying the Oregon Queen. We’ve been fighting over the price with Swenson for two weeks and now we made the deal. It’s just the beginning. I swear to you, it’s just the beginning.” He took her in his arms.

  “Danny, someone will see us.”

  “To hell with them!”

  When Dan left–the party still in progress–Jean went directly to her room, and it occurred to her that one way to deal with this would be to go to bed and turn off the lights and give her parents until morning to cool off. But she was too stimulated, too alive, too excited to go to sleep or to lie in the dark and pretend she was asleep, as she had done so often as a little girl. Indeed, a part of her wanted the encounter and looked forward to it. She changed into a dressing gown of pale blue velvet and Alençon ruffled lace, picked up her copy of Vanity Fair, stretched out on her chaise, and waited. She tried to read, but the words were meaningless, and she let herself float into fantasy. It was about an hour later that they knocked at the door.

  “Come in. I’m awake,” Jean said.

  Her mother entered, followed by her father. He temporized immediately. “I think this should wait for the morning, Mary.”

  “I don’t,” his wife said.

  “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Jean said mildly. “You gave a party. I invited a friend. I’ve done that before.”

  “I told you I did not want him in this house,” her mother said icily.

  “I thought it was my home too. Or was I mistaken?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mary,” Seldon said, “he came here first as my guest. If Jean took a fancy to him, it’s my fault.” And to Jean, “All the same, you showed poor judgment asking him here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like the idea of your going with a man like Lavette. There are enough decent boys of decent families.”

  “You said it.” Jean smiled. “They’re boys. He’s a man.”

  “He is nobody,” her mother said. “Your father looked into his background. His folks were Italian immigrants. He has no family, no education, and no position. He lives in a shack on the waterfront, and he is certainly the last person in the world for you to spend your time with.”

  “His father was French,” Jean said calmly, “if that makes any difference. And he’s better educated and better read than half the people downstairs tonight. He’s kind and generous, and he loves me.”

  “Oh? And just what do you feel about him?” Seldon asked.

  “I love him and I intend to marry him.”

  “You are quite mad!” her mother exclaimed. “The whole thing is insane! You’re talking like a child.”

  “I am not a child, and I will not be treated like a child. I am almost twenty-one.”

  “Jean, dear,” Seldon said quietly, “your mother is surprised and upset. It’s late, and I don’t think this kind of an argument will get us anywhere. I suggest we all sleep on it.” He fairly dragged his wife out of the room, and once in their own bedroom, he said to her, “That was the worst thing you could have said.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “There is nothing I could say tonight, because she’s right. She’s been running around with kids. That’s a man.”

  Mary dropped into a chair and stared bleakly at her husband. “I will not have it.”

  “She’ll be of age, and if that’s what she wants, we’ll have it, whether we like it or not. I have one child, and I will not disown her or drive her out of the house.”

  “You could stop it.”

  “How?”

  “Buy him off. Give him money.”

  Seldon shook his head.

  “Don’t just shake your head at me.”

  “My dear Mary, your daughter’s a better judge of men than you are. You don’t buy him off. I had a talk with him before he left tonight. I told him that he could have the loan he wanted, and in return I’d expect an end to his attentions to my daughter.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He just looked at me at first. I would not want to have that kid as an enemy. Then he smiled and said that considering both our positions, he had no intention of responding with anger.”

  “And just what did he mean by that?”

  “He said he didn’t give a damn about my money, but he cared a great deal about my daughter.”

  “And her money, I assure you.”

  “I don’t think so. I really don’t think so, Mary.” He took off his jacket and pulled at his tie. “I don’t know what we can do about it,” he said slowly. “I have a feeling that Dan Lavette will get what he wants.”

  “What are you telling me–that my daughter will marry a Catholic and that there’s nothing I can do about it?”

  “Now hold on. We haven’t come to that yet.”

  “And when we do come to it, Thomas?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge then.”

  “You’re not listening. You didn’t hear a word I said. The man’s nobody, an Italian fisherman and a Catholic. Have you ever thought about Catholics, Thomas? Have you?”

  “I’ve thought about them.”

  “Have you? Have you indeed? Do you know what they are? My father would turn over in his grave at the thought. I will not have my daughter thrown to the dogs!”

  “Mary, I’m tired. Too tired to go on with this. Let’s sleep on it.”

  “She doesn’t know her own mind. Her head is spinning, and she’s infatuated with that hoodlum. I think she ought to go away for a while.”

  “Don’t misjudge her either,” Seldon said wearily. “She will do as she pleases. Our daughter is quite a woman.”

  The Oregon Queen was berthed at Hunter’s Point, and it was Anthony Cassala who decided that the signing of the final papers should take place on the ship. Swenson, a tall, sour-visaged man of seventy-six years who had the reputation of never having been known to smile, agreed reluctantly. Maria Cassala prepared two enormous baskets stuffed with red wine, fresh bread, salami, ham, red peppers, cheese, and fruit. The two Cassala children, Stephan, a dark-skinned, serious boy of fifteen, and Rosa, approaching her fourteenth birthday and already in the full bloom of womanhood, her breasts round and ripe and enticing, were dressed in their Sunday best. Anthony hired a carriage, and the family drove from their home on Folsom Street to the berth at Hunter’s Point. Maria, still overcome by fits of grief for the stillborn child, had fantasied a situation where eventually Dan would marry her daughter, Rosa. She had the firm conviction that the best marriages were arranged, and even though her husband became irritated when she tried to discuss this with him, she felt that Dan would understand and she was determined to bring up the subject today.

  When they reached the Oregon Queen, the others were already present, with the exception of Sam Goldberg. He arrived a few minutes later, a fat man who puffed his way up the ladder from the dock. Mark and Sarah Levy, in an equally festive mood, had brought their kids with them, and their son, Jacob, eleven years old, long-legged and as blond and blue-eyed as his mother, was already scrambling in the rigging with Clair Harvey, oblivious to his mother’s pleas. Jack Harvey had cleaned the deck and hosed it down and brought out chairs from the cabin. He spread the white cloth Maria Cassala provided on the hatch cover and helped her empty the baskets, smacking his lips over the food and showering her with compliments. Dan, wearing his hundred-dollar made-to-order suit, was being assured by Mark Levy that he had been
swindled and that a suit of equal excellence could be made for forty dollars. Even Feng Wo was present, in a new black business suit–six dollars ready-made–with a briefcase full of papers.

  “You’ll stay and have some lunch with us, Mr. Swenson,” Mark said to the tall, cadaverous Swede.

  “I got delicate stomach,” Swenson replied, eyeing the food dubiously. “This is damn good ship,” he said to Dan. “You got good buy, young fellow. I am sick of ship–yust too goddamn old for ships. But you got good buy.”

  “I’ll be as kind and gentle to her as if she was my mother,” Dan said.

  “Don’t like yokes about ship.”

  Anthony Cassala joined them and said that the papers were ready. Goldberg nodded, regarding the rusty ship unhappily. Swenson was studying Dan thoughtfully.

  “You a hard worker?” he asked.

  “Me and Mark here,” Dan replied. “We’re the hardest workers you ever saw.”

  “So don’t be young snotnose with me. I like serious boys. I like you, maybe. I tell you something. I got two steam schooners, wooden ships, six hundred tons each, and contract with City of Oakland hauling garbage. I pick up garbage and dump it at sea, and I got contract price eighty-five cents a ton. I’m sick and tired of whole lousy business, and I think I move to Los Angeles, live with my sister. Ships worth fifty thousand dollars each, I sell you both ships for price of one, fifty thousand and throw in contract. You make twenty thousand dollars’ profit first year.”

  “Garbage?”

  “You think it stinks, huh? It stinks with money.”

  “It sounds good, Mr. Swenson,” Mark said. “But we don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Cash. You want fifty thousand cash?” Dan asked.

  “Hell, no. You give me ten thousand cash and notes. You pay me ten thousand a year–you still got good profit.”

  Dan turned to Cassala, who shook his head. “Too big, Danny–too much.”

  “Hell, price ain’t too much!” Swenson snorted.

  “The job is.”

  “What’s the crew?” Dan asked.

  “Twelve men on each ship.”