The Umbrella Man and Other Stories Read online

  “One momint, pleess.” The hand that held the cigar came up high, palm outward, as though it were stopping traffic. “Now juss one momint.” He had a curiously soft, toneless voice and he kept looking at the boy all the time.

  “Shall we not perhaps make a little bet on dat?” He smiled at the boy. “Shall we not make a little bet on whether your lighter lights?”

  “Sure, I’ll bet,” the boy said. “Why not?”

  “You like to bet?”

  “Sure, I’ll always bet.”

  The man paused and examined his cigar, and I must say I didn’t much like the way he was behaving. It seemed he was already trying to make something out of this, and to embarrass the boy, and at the same time I had the feeling he was relishing a private little secret all his own.

  He looked up again at the boy and said slowly, “I like to bet, too. Why we don’t have a good bet on dis ting? A good big bet.”

  “Now wait a minute,” the boy said. “I can’t do that. But I’ll bet you a quarter. I’ll even bet you a dollar, or whatever it is over here—some shillings, I guess.”

  The little man waved his hand again. “Listen to me. Now we have some fun. We make a bet. Den we go up to my room here in de hotel where iss no wind and I bet you you cannot light dis famous lighter of yours ten times running without missing once.”

  “I’ll bet I can,” the boy said.

  “All right. Good. We make a bet, yes?”

  “Sure, I’ll bet you a buck.”

  “No, no. I make you a very good bet. I am rich man and I am sporting man also. Listen to me. Outside de hotel iss my car. Iss very fine car. American car from your country. Cadillac—”

  “Hey, now. Wait a minute.” The boy leaned back in his deck chair and he laughed. “I can’t put up that sort of property. This is crazy.”

  “Not crazy at all. You strike lighter successfully ten times running and Cadillac is yours. You like to have dis Cadillac, yes?”

  “Sure, I’d like to have a Cadillac.” The boy was still grinning.

  “All right. Fine. We make a bet and I put up my Cadillac.”

  “And what do I put up?”

  The little man carefully removed the red band from his still unlighted cigar. “I never ask you, my friend, to bet something you cannot afford. You understand?”

  “Then what do I bet?”

  “I make it very easy for you, yes?”

  “OK. You make it easy.”

  “Some small ting you can afford to give away, and if you did happen to lose it you would not feel too bad. Right?”

  “Such as what?”

  “Such as, perhaps, de little finger on your left hand.”

  “My what?” The boy stopped grinning.

  “Yes. Why not? You win, you take de car. You looss, I take de finger.”

  “I don’t get it. How d’you mean, you take the finger?”

  “I chop it off.”

  “Jumping jeepers! That’s a crazy bet. I think I’ll just make it a dollar.”

  The little man leaned back, spread out his hands palms upwards and gave a tiny contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, “Well, well, well,” he said. “I do not understand. You say it lights but you will not bet. Den we forget it, yes?”

  The boy sat quite still, staring at the bathers in the pool. Then he remembered suddenly he hadn’t lighted his cigarette. He put it between his lips, cupped his hands around the lighter and flipped the wheel. The wick lighted and burned with a small, steady, yellow flame and the way he held his hands the wind didn’t get to it at all.

  “Could I have a light, too?” I said.

  “God, I’m sorry, I forgot you didn’t have one.”

  I held out my hand for the lighter, but he stood up and came over to do it for me.

  “Thank you,” I said, and he returned to his seat.

  “You having a good time?” I asked.

  “Fine,” he answered. “It’s pretty nice here.”

  There was a silence then, and I could see that the little man had succeeded in disturbing the boy with his absurd proposal. He was sitting there very still, and it was obvious that a small tension was beginning to build up inside him. Then he started shifting about in his seat, and rubbing his chest, and stroking the back of his neck, and finally he placed both hands on his knees and began tap-tapping with his fingers against the kneecaps. Soon he was tapping with one of his feet as well.

  “Now just let me check up on this bet of yours,” he said at last. “You say we go up to your room and if I make this lighter light ten times running I win a Cadillac. If it misses just once then I forfeit the little finger of my left hand. Is that right?”

  “Certainly. Dat is de bet. But I tink you are afraid.”

  “What do we do if I lose? Do I have to hold my finger out while you chop it off?”

  “Oh, no! Dat would be no good. And you might be tempted to refuse to hold it out. What I should do I should tie one of your hands to de table before we started and I should stand dere with a knife ready to go chop de momint your lighter missed.”

  “What year is the Cadillac?” the boy asked.

  “Excuse. I not understand.”

  “What year—how old is the Cadillac?”

  “Ah! How old? Yes. It is last year. Quite new car. But I see you are not betting man. Americans never are.”

  The boy paused for just a moment and he glanced first at the English girl, then at me. “Yes,” he said sharply. “I’ll bet you.”

  “Good!” The little man clapped his hands together quietly, once. “Fine,” he said. “We do it now. And you, sir,” he turned to me, “you would perhaps be good enough to, what you call it, to—to referee.” He had pale, almost colourless eyes with tiny bright black pupils.

  “Well,” I said. “I think it’s a crazy bet. I don’t think I like it very much.”

  “Nor do I,” said the English girl. It was the first time she’d spoken. “I think it’s a stupid, ridiculous bet.”

  “Are you serious about cutting off this boy’s finger if he loses?” I said.

  “Certainly I am. Also about giving him Cadillac if he win. Come now. We go to my room.”

  He stood up. “You like to put on some clothes first?” he said.

  “No,” the boy answered. “I’ll come like this.” Then he turned to me. “I’d consider it a favour if you’d come along and referee.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll come along, but I don’t like the bet.”

  “You come too,” he said to the girl. “You come and watch.”

  The little man led the way back through the garden to the hotel. He was animated now, and excited, and that seemed to make him bounce up higher than ever on his toes as he walked along.

  “I live in annexe,” he said. “You like to see car first? Iss just here.”

  He took us to where we could see the front driveway of the hotel and he stopped and pointed to a sleek pale-green Cadillac parked close by.

  “Dere she iss. De green one. You like?”

  “Say, that’s a nice car,” the boy said.

  “All right. Now we go up and see if you can win her.”

  We followed him into the annexe and up one flight of stairs. He unlocked his door and we all trooped into what was a large pleasant double bedroom. There was a woman’s dressing gown lying across the bottom of one of the beds.

  “First,” he said, “we ‘ave a little martini.”

  The drinks were on a small table in the far corner, all ready to be mixed, and there was a shaker and ice and plenty of glasses. He began to make the martini, but meanwhile he’d rung the bell and now there was a knock on the door and a coloured maid came in.

  “Ah!” he said, putting down the bottle of gin, taking a wallet from his pocket and pulling out a pound note. “You will do something for me now, pleess.” He gave the maid the pound.

  “You keep dat,” he said. “And now we are going to play a little game in here and I want you to go off and find for me two—no tree