I Would Rather Stay Poor

‘You know it is a disease,’ Iris said, a little shocked to see a sudden glaring flash light up Calvin’s staring eyes. It was gone in a brief moment, but his fleshy face was now expressionless, his almost lipless mouth like a pencil line. ‘It’s like diabetes. So long as she doesn’t touch alcohol she’ll be perfectly all right. I – I thought I should tell you.’

‘Yes… thank you.’ With an effort he relaxed and smiled at her. ‘I’m glad to know. Poor Kit! I had no idea. Well, now you’ve told me I’ll watch out. I don’t drink much myself. I can easily do without and I will.’

Iris looked curiously at him. That brief flash in his eyes had frightened her, but now the charm was back again and she wondered if she had imagined the vicious, frightening glare.

He got to his feet.

‘Well, as far as your affairs are concerned,’ he said, ‘just be patient. As soon as we leave Pittsville, you can marry your nice young sheriff.’

When she had gone, he sat behind his desk and lit a cigarette.

An alcoholic! The most unreliable, dangerous partner he could have chosen! And as the days dragged on towards the end of the month, he became aware that he was going to have trouble with it. She began to avoid him, and he guessed she was not only drinking, but losing her nerve. Whenever he ran into her, and he made a point of searching her out, he saw the obvious signs of her slow deterioration. He could see she hadn’t been sleeping. She was losing weight and her complexion was becoming like wax.

As soon as he had convinced himself she was drinking heavily, he left her alone. Alice and the old couple had already been told of their engagement. Calvin now spent much of his time in his room. From time to time, he would creep downstairs and remove Alice’s hat and coat to keep up the illusion that she was still seeing her boy-friend. Since he now seldom joined the old couple to watch television, they believed he and Kit were together upstairs, double romance pleased them.

Four nights before the date set for the bank robbery, Calvin was sitting in his room, smoking and turning the pages of a golfing magazine. The communicating door abruptly opened and Kit came in. She looked distracted and ill. She closed the door and leaned against it, her breasts heaving with her heavy breathing.

Calvin waited.

‘I’m not going through with it!’ Kit said, her voice shrill. ‘I was crazy to have agreed to do it in the first place! I’m not doing it! Do you hear me? I’m not doing it!’

‘Well, all right,’ Calvin said in a deceptively mild voice. ‘Don’t get so worked up about it. What’s the trouble?’

She stared at him, her eyes glittering.

‘Trouble? Do you call murdering that girl just trouble? I won’t let you kill her! Do you hear me?’

‘Yes… I hear you. If you don’t keep your voice down, she’ll hear you, too.’

‘You are a devil! You have no feeling. I’m not going to do it!’

‘Don’t get so excited,’ Calvin said. ‘Sit down… let’s talk about it. I thought you wanted the money.’

‘Not if it means killing her,’ Kit said, not moving. ‘I won’t have her death on my conscience!’

‘There is no other way,’ Calvin said. He stretched his long, massive legs and yawned. ‘I told you: you haven’t to do anything, I’ll do it.’

‘No! You’re going to leave her alone. Her life isn’t much, but she’s entitled to it! I won’t let you touch her!’

Calvin sucked at his cigarette, then released a stream of smoke down his nostrils.

‘I can’t do without your help,’ he said ‘Think a moment… three hundred thousand dollars! Think what it will mean to you. A poor thing like her! Who cares what happens to her?’

‘You can’t talk me into this!’ Kit said hysterically. ‘I’m not going to do it! I can’t sleep! I keep thinking of her studying her stupid books night after night while you are planning to murder her! I won’t do it! I’d rather stay poor!’

Calvin pointed to a bottle of whisky standing on the chest of drawers.

‘Have a drink. You sound as if you need one.’

Kit looked at the whisky, hesitated, then poured a large shot into the glass. She drank greedily in two long gulps and set down the glass with a little shudder.

‘I can’t do without your help,’ Calvin said. ‘Well, all right, if that’s the way you feel, then we’d better forget it. We’ll have to go on living out our miserable, drab little lives: you running a half-baked rooming-house and I the manager of a half-baked bank.’

‘I’d rather live as I’m living now than have her death on my conscience.’ She looked at the whisky bottle, hesitated, then poured another drink. ‘You’ve got to leave this house. You are evil. I can’t have you here.’

‘We’re suppose to be getting married,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘Remember?’

‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on earth! You are to go! I mean that! I won’t have you in my house!’

He thought for a moment, watching her, then he shrugged.