Chapter 16

by Frank Norris

　　A week passed, then a fortnight, then a month. It was amonth of the greatest anxiety and unquietude for Trina.McTeague was out of a job, could find nothing to do; andTrina, who saw the impossibility of saving as much money asusual out of her earnings under the present conditions, wason the lookout for cheaper quarters. In spite of hisoutcries and sulky resistance Trina had induced her husbandto consent to such a move, bewildering him with a torrent ofphrases and marvellous columns of figures by which sheproved conclusively that they were in a condition but oneremove from downright destitution.The dentist continued idle. Since his ill success with themanufacturers of surgical instruments he had made but twoattempts to secure a job. Trina had gone to see UncleOelbermann and had obtained for McTeague a position in theshipping department of the wholesale toy store. However, itwas a position that involved a certain amount of ciphering,and McTeague had been obliged to throw it up in two days.Then for a time they had entertained a wild idea that aplace on the police force could be secured for McTeague. Hecould pass the physical examination with flying colors, andRyer, who had become the secretary of the Polk StreetImprovement Club, promised the requisite political "pull."If McTeague had shown a certain energy in the matter theattempt might have been successful; but he was toostupid, or of late had become too listless to exert himselfgreatly, and the affair resulted only in a violent quarrelwith Ryer.McTeague had lost his ambition. He did not care to betterhis situation. All he wanted was a warm place to sleep andthree good meals a day. At the first--at the very first--hehad chafed at his idleness and had spent the days with hiswife in their one narrow room, walking back and forth withthe restlessness of a caged brute, or sitting motionless forhours, watching Trina at her work, feeling a dull glow ofshame at the idea that she was supporting him. This feelinghad worn off quickly, however. Trina's work was only hardwhen she chose to make it so, and as a rule she supportedtheir misfortunes with a silent fortitude.Then, wearied at his inaction and feeling the need ofmovement and exercise, McTeague would light his pipe andtake a turn upon the great avenue one block above PolkStreet. A gang of laborers were digging the foundations fora large brownstone house, and McTeague found interest andamusement in leaning over the barrier that surrounded theexcavations and watching the progress of the work. He cameto see it every afternoon; by and by he even got to know theforeman who superintended the job, and the two had longtalks together. Then McTeague would return to Polk Streetand find Heise in the back room of the harness shop, andoccasionally the day ended with some half dozen drinks ofwhiskey at Joe Frenna's saloon.It was curious to note the effect of the alcohol upon thedentist. It did not make him drunk, it made him vicious.So far from being stupefied, he became, after the fourthglass, active, alert, quick-witted, even talkative; acertain wickedness stirred in him then; he was intractable,mean; and when he had drunk a little more heavily thanusual, he found a certain pleasure in annoying andexasperating Trina, even in abusing and hurting her.It had begun on the evening of Thanksgiving Day, when Heisehad taken McTeague out to dinner with him. The dentist onthis occasion had drunk very freely. He and Heise hadreturned to Polk Street towards ten o'clock, and Heiseat once suggested a couple of drinks at Frenna's."All right, all right," said McTeague. "Drinks, that's theword. I'll go home and get some money and meet you atJoe's."Trina was awakened by her husband pinching her arm."Oh, Mac," she cried, jumping up in bed with a littlescream, "how you hurt! Oh, that hurt me dreadfully.""Give me a little money," answered the dentist, grinning,and pinching her again."I haven't a cent. There's not a--oh, Mac, will youstop? I won't have you pinch me that way.""Hurry up," answered her husband, calmly, nipping the fleshof her shoulder between his thumb and finger. "Heise'swaiting for me." Trina wrenched from him with a sharpintake of breath, frowning with pain, and caressing hershoulder."Mac, you've no idea how that hurts. Mac, stop!""Give me some money, then."In the end Trina had to comply. She gave him half a dollarfrom her dress pocket, protesting that it was the only pieceof money she had."One more, just for luck," said McTeague, pinching heragain; "and another.""How can you--how can you hurt a woman so!" exclaimedTrina, beginning to cry with the pain."Ah, now, cry," retorted the dentist. "That's right,cry. I never saw such a little fool." He went out,slamming the door in disgust.But McTeague never became a drunkard in the generallyreceived sense of the term. He did not drink to excess morethan two or three times in a month, and never upon anyoccasion did he become maudlin or staggering. Perhaps hisnerves were naturally too dull to admit of any excitation;perhaps he did not really care for the whiskey, and onlydrank because Heise and the other men at Frenna's did.Trina could often reproach him with drinking too much; shenever could say that he was drunk. The alcohol had itseffect for all that. It roused the man, or rather the brutein the man, and now not only roused it, but goaded it toevil. McTeague's nature changed. It was not only thealcohol, it was idleness and a general throwing off of thegood influence his wife had had over him in the days oftheir prosperity. McTeague disliked Trina. She was aperpetual irritation to him. She annoyed him because shewas so small, so prettily made, so invariably correct andprecise. Her avarice incessantly harassed him. Herindustry was a constant reproach to him. She seemed toflaunt her work defiantly in his face. It was the red flagin the eyes of the bull. One time when he had just comeback from Frenna's and had been sitting in the chair nearher, silently watching her at her work, he exclaimed all ofa sudden:"Stop working. Stop it, I tell you. Put 'em away. Put 'emall away, or I'll pinch you.""But why--why?" Trina protested.The dentist cuffed her ears. "I won't have you work." Hetook her knife and her paint-pots away, and made her sitidly in the window the rest of the afternoon.It was, however, only when his wits had been stirred withalcohol that the dentist was brutal to his wife. At othertimes, say three weeks of every month, she was merely anincumbrance to him. They often quarrelled about Trina'smoney, her savings. The dentist was bent upon having atleast a part of them. What he would do with the money oncehe had it, he did not precisely know. He would spend it inroyal fashion, no doubt, feasting continually, buyinghimself wonderful clothes. The miner's idea of money quicklygained and lavishly squandered, persisted in his mind. Asfor Trina, the more her husband stormed, the tighter shedrew the strings of the little chamois-skin bag that she hidat the bottom of her trunk underneath her bridal dress. Herfive thousand dollars invested in Uncle Oelbermann'sbusiness was a glittering, splendid dream which came to heralmost every hour of the day as a solace and a compensationfor all her unhappiness.At times, when she knew that McTeague was far fromhome, she would lock her door, open her trunk, and pile allher little hoard on her table. By now it was four hundredand seven dollars and fifty cents. Trina would play withthis money by the hour, piling it, and repiling it, orgathering it all into one heap, and drawing back to thefarthest corner of the room to note the effect, her head onone side. She polished the gold pieces with a mixture ofsoap and ashes until they shone, wiping them carefully onher apron. Or, again, she would draw the heap lovinglytoward her and bury her face in it, delighted at the smellof it and the feel of the smooth, cool metal on her cheeks.She even put the smaller gold pieces in her mouth, andjingled them there. She loved her money with an intensitythat she could hardly express. She would plunge her smallfingers into the pile with little murmurs of affection, herlong, narrow eyes half closed and shining, her breath comingin long sighs."Ah, the dear money, the dear money," she would whisper. "Ilove you so! All mine, every penny of it. No one shallever, ever get you. How I've worked for you! How I'veslaved and saved for you! And I'm going to get more; I'mgoing to get more, more, more; a little every day."She was still looking for cheaper quarters. Whenever shecould spare a moment from her work, she would put on her hatand range up and down the entire neighborhood from Sutter toSacramento Streets, going into all the alleys and bystreets,her head in the air, looking for the "Rooms-to-let" sign.But she was in despair. All the cheaper tenements wereoccupied. She could find no room more reasonable than theone she and the dentist now occupied.As time went on, McTeague's idleness became habitual. Hedrank no more whiskey than at first, but his dislike forTrina increased with every day of their poverty, with everyday of Trina's persistent stinginess. At times--fortunatelyrare he was more than ever brutal to her. He would box herears or hit her a great blow with the back of a hair-brush,or even with his closed fist. His old-time affectionfor his "little woman," unable to stand the test ofprivation, had lapsed by degrees, and what little of it wasleft was changed, distorted, and made monstrous by thealcohol.The people about the house and the clerks at the provisionstores often remarked that Trina's fingertips were swollenand the nails purple as though they had been shut in a door.Indeed, this was the explanation she gave. The fact of thematter was that McTeague, when he had been drinking, used tobite them, crunching and grinding them with his immenseteeth, always ingenious enough to remember which were thesorest. Sometimes he extorted money from her by this means,but as often as not he did it for his own satisfaction.And in some strange, inexplicable way this brutality madeTrina all the more affectionate; aroused in her a morbid,unwholesome love of submission, a strange, unnaturalpleasure in yielding, in surrendering herself to the will ofan irresistible, virile power.Trina's emotions had narrowed with the narrowing of herdaily life. They reduced themselves at last to but two, herpassion for her money and her perverted love for her husbandwhen he was brutal. She was a strange woman during thesedays.Trina had come to be on very intimate terms with MariaMacapa, and in the end the dentist's wife and the maid ofall work became great friends. Maria was constantly in andout of Trina's room, and, whenever she could, Trina threw ashawl over her head and returned Maria's calls. Trina couldreach Zerkow's dirty house without going into the street.The back yard of the flat had a gate that opened into alittle inclosure where Zerkow kept his decrepit horse andramshackle wagon, and from thence Trina could enter directlyinto Maria's kitchen. Trina made long visits to Mariaduring the morning in her dressing-gown and curl papers, andthe two talked at great length over a cup of tea served onthe edge of the sink or a corner of the laundry table. Thetalk was all of their husbands and of what to do when theycame home in aggressive moods."You never ought to fight um," advised Maria. "It onlymakes um worse. Just hump your back, and it's soonestover."They told each other of their husbands' brutalities, takinga strange sort of pride in recounting some particularlysavage blow, each trying to make out that her own husbandwas the most cruel. They critically compared each other'sbruises, each one glad when she could exhibit the worst.They exaggerated, they invented details, and, as if proud oftheir beatings, as if glorying in their husbands'mishandling, lied to each other, magnifying their ownmaltreatment. They had long and excited arguments as towhich were the most effective means of punishment, therope's ends and cart whips such as Zerkow used, or the fistsand backs of hair-brushes affected by McTeague. Mariacontended that the lash of the whip hurt the most; Trina,that the butt did the most injury.Maria showed Trina the holes in the walls and the loosenedboards in the flooring where Zerkow had been searching forthe gold plate. Of late he had been digging in the backyard and had ransacked the hay in his horse-shed for theconcealed leather chest he imagined he would find. But hewas becoming impatient, evidently."The way he goes on," Maria told Trina, "is somethundreadful. He's gettun regularly sick with it--got a feverevery night--don't sleep, and when he does, talks tohimself. Says 'More'n a hundred pieces, an' every one of'em gold. More'n a hundred pieces, an' every one of 'emgold.' Then he'll whale me with his whip, and shout, 'Youknow where it is. Tell me, tell me, you swine, or I'll dofor you.' An' then he'll get down on his knees and whimper,and beg me to tell um where I've hid it. He's just gone plumcrazy. Sometimes he has regular fits, he gets so mad, androlls on the floor and scratches himself."One morning in November, about ten o'clock, Trina pasted a"Made in France" label on the bottom of a Noah's ark, andleaned back in her chair with a long sigh of relief. Shehad just finished a large Christmas order for UncleOelbermann, and there was nothing else she could do thatmorning. The bed had not yet been made, nor had thebreakfast things been washed. Trina hesitated for a moment,then put her chin in the air indifferently."Bah!" she said, "let them go till this afternoon. I don'tcare when the room is put to rights, and I know Macdon't." She determined that instead of making the bed orwashing the dishes she would go and call on Miss Baker onthe floor below. The little dressmaker might ask her tostay to lunch, and that would be something saved, as thedentist had announced his intention that morning of taking along walk out to the Presidio to be gone all day.But Trina rapped on Miss Baker's door in vain that morning.She was out. Perhaps she was gone to the florist's to buysome geranium seeds. However, Old Grannis's door stood alittle ajar, and on hearing Trina at Miss Baker's room, theold Englishman came out into the hall."She's gone out," he said, uncertainly, and in a halfwhisper, "went out about half an hour ago. I--I think shewent to the drug store to get some wafers for the goldfish.""Don't you go to your dog hospital any more, MisterGrannis?" said Trina, leaning against the balustrade in thehall, willing to talk a moment.Old Grannis stood in the doorway of his room, in his carpetslippers and faded corduroy jacket that he wore when athome."Why--why," he said, hesitating, tapping his chinthoughtfully. "You see I'm thinking of giving up the littlehospital.""Giving it up?""You see, the people at the book store where I buy mypamphlets have found out--I told them of my contrivance forbinding books, and one of the members of the firm came up tolook at it. He offered me quite a sum if I would sell himthe right of it--the--patent of it--quite a sum. In fact--in fact--yes, quite a sum, quite." He rubbed his chintremulously and looked about him on the floor."Why, isn't that fine?" said Trina, good-naturedly. "I'mvery glad, Mister Grannis. Is it a good price?""Quite a sum--quite. In fact, I never dreamed ofhaving so much money.""Now, see here, Mister Grannis," said Trina, decisively, "Iwant to give you a good piece of advice. Here are you andMiss Baker----" The old Englishman started nervously--"Youand Miss Baker, that have been in love with each other for----""Oh, Mrs. McTeague, that subject--if you would please--MissBaker is such an estimable lady.""Fiddlesticks!" said Trina. "You're in love with eachother, and the whole flat knows it; and you two have beenliving here side by side year in and year out, and you'venever said a word to each other. It's all nonsense. Now, Iwant you should go right in and speak to her just as soon asshe comes home, and say you've come into money and you wanther to marry you.""Impossible--impossible!" exclaimed the old Englishman,alarmed and perturbed. "It's quite out of the question. Iwouldn't presume.""Well, do you love her, or not?""Really, Mrs. McTeague, I--I--you must excuse me. It's amatter so personal--so--I--Oh, yes, I love her. Oh, yes,indeed," he exclaimed, suddenly."Well, then, she loves you. She told me so.""Oh!""She did. She said those very words."Miss Baker had said nothing of the kind--would have diedsooner than have made such a confession; but Trina had drawnher own conclusions, like every other lodger of the flat,and thought the time was come for decided action."Now you do just as I tell you, and when she comes home, goright in and see her, and have it over with. Now, don't sayanother word. I'm going; but you do just as I tell you."Trina turned about and went down-stairs. She had decided,since Miss Baker was not at home, that she would run overand see Maria; possibly she could have lunch there. At anyrate, Maria would offer her a cup of tea.Old Grannis stood for a long time just as Trina hadleft him, his hands trembling, the blood coming and going inhis withered cheeks."She said, she--she--she told her--she said that--that----"he could get no farther.Then he faced about and entered his room, closing the doorbehind him. For a long time he sat in his armchair, drawnclose to the wall in front of the table on which stood hispiles of pamphlets and his little binding apparatus."I wonder," said Trina, as she crossed the yard back ofZerkow's house, "I wonder what rent Zerkow and Maria pay forthis place. I'll bet it's cheaper than where Mac and I are."Trina found Maria sitting in front of the kitchen stove, herchin upon her breast. Trina went up to her. She was dead.And as Trina touched her shoulder, her head rolled sidewaysand showed a fearful gash in her throat under her ear. Allthe front of her dress was soaked through and through.Trina backed sharply away from the body, drawing her handsup to her very shoulders, her eyes staring and wide, anexpression of unutterable horror twisting her face."Oh-h-h!" she exclaimed in a long breath, her voice hardlyrising above a whisper. "Oh-h, isn't that horrible!"Suddenly she turned and fled through the front part of thehouse to the street door, that opened upon the little alley.She looked wildly about her. Directly across the way abutcher's boy was getting into his two-wheeled cart drawn upin front of the opposite house, while near by a peddler ofwild game was coming down the street, a brace of ducks inhis hand."Oh, say--say," gasped Trina, trying to get her voice, "say,come over here quick."The butcher's boy paused, one foot on the wheel, and stared.Trina beckoned frantically."Come over here, come over here quick."The young fellow swung himself into his seat."What's the matter with that woman?" he said, half aloud."There's a murder been done," cried Trina, swaying inthe doorway.The young fellow drove away, his head over his shoulder,staring at Trina with eyes that were fixed and absolutelydevoid of expression."What's the matter with that woman?" he said again tohimself as he turned the corner.Trina wondered why she didn't scream, how she could keepfrom it--how, at such a moment as this, she could rememberthat it was improper to make a disturbance and create ascene in the street. The peddler of wild game was lookingat her suspiciously. It would not do to tell him. He wouldgo away like the butcher's boy."Now, wait a minute," Trina said to herself, speaking aloud.She put her hands to her head. "Now, wait a minute. Itwon't do for me to lose my wits now. What must I do?" Shelooked about her. There was the same familiar aspect ofPolk Street. She could see it at the end of the alley. Thebig market opposite the flat, the delivery carts rattling upand down, the great ladies from the avenue at their morningshopping, the cable cars trundling past, loaded withpassengers. She saw a little boy in a flat leather capwhistling and calling for an unseen dog, slapping his smallknee from time to time. Two men came out of Frenna'ssaloon, laughing heartily. Heise the harness-maker stood inthe vestibule of his shop, a bundle of whittlings in hisapron of greasy ticking. And all this was going on, peoplewere laughing and living, buying and selling, walking aboutout there on the sunny sidewalks, while behind her in there--in there--in there----Heise started back from the sudden apparition of a white-lipped woman in a blue dressing-gown that seemed to rise upbefore him from his very doorstep."Well, Mrs. McTeague, you did scare me, for----""Oh, come over here quick." Trina put her hand to her neck;swallowing something that seemed to be choking her."Maria's killed--Zerkow's wife--I found her.""Get out!" exclaimed Heise, "you're joking.""Come over here--over into the house--I found her--she'sdead."Heise dashed across the street on the run, with Trina at hisheels, a trail of spilled whittlings marking his course.The two ran down the alley. The wild-game peddler, a womanwho had been washing down the steps in a neighboring house,and a man in a broad-brimmed hat stood at Zerkow's doorway,looking in from time to time, and talking together. Theyseemed puzzled."Anything wrong in here?" asked the wild-game peddler asHeise and Trina came up. Two more men stopped on the cornerof the alley and Polk Street and looked at the group. Awoman with a towel round her head raised a window oppositeZerkow's house and called to the woman who had been washingthe steps, "What is it, Mrs. Flint?"Heise was already inside the house. He turned to Trina,panting from his run."Where did you say--where was it--where?""In there," said Trina, "farther in--the next room." Theyburst into the kitchen."Lord!" ejaculated Heise, stopping a yard or so from thebody, and bending down to peer into the gray face with itsbrown lips."By God! he's killed her.""Who?""Zerkow, by God! he's killed her. Cut her throat. Healways said he would.""Zerkow?""He's killed her. Her throat's cut. Good Lord, how she didbleed! By God! he's done for her in good shape this time.""Oh, I told her--I told her," cried Trina."He's done for her sure this time.""She said she could always manage--Oh-h! It's horrible.""He's done for her sure this trip. Cut her throat.Lord, how she has bled! Did you ever see so much--that's murder--that's cold-blooded murder. He's killedher. Say, we must get a policeman. Come on."They turned back through the house. Half a dozen people--the wild-game peddler, the man with the broad-brimmed hat,the washwoman, and three other men--were in the front roomof the junk shop, a bank of excited faces surged at thedoor. Beyond this, outside, the crowd was packed solid fromone end of the alley to the other. Out in Polk Street thecable cars were nearly blocked and were bunting a way slowlythrough the throng with clanging bells. Every window hadits group. And as Trina and the harness-maker tried toforce the way from the door of the junk shop the throngsuddenly parted right and left before the passage of twoblue-coated policemen who clove a passage through the press,working their elbows energetically. They were accompaniedby a third man in citizen's clothes.Heise and Trina went back into the kitchen with the twopolicemen, the third man in citizen's clothes cleared theintruders from the front room of the junk shop and kept thecrowd back, his arm across the open door."Whew!" whistled one of the officers as they came out intothe kitchen, "cutting scrape? By George! Somebody'sbeen using his knife all right." He turned to the otherofficer. "Better get the wagon. There's a box on thesecond corner south. Now, then," he continued, turning toTrina and the harness-maker and taking out his note-book andpencil, "I want your names and addresses."It was a day of tremendous excitement for the entire street.Long after the patrol wagon had driven away, the crowdremained. In fact, until seven o'clock that evening groupscollected about the door of the junk shop, where a policemanstood guard, asking all manner of questions, advancing allmanner of opinions."Do you think they'll get him?" asked Ryer of the policeman.A dozen necks craned forward eagerly."Hoh, we'll get him all right, easy enough," answered theother, with a grand air."What? What's that? What did he say?" asked thepeople on the outskirts of the group. Those in front passedthe answer back."He says they'll get him all right, easy enough."The group looked at the policeman admiringly."He's skipped to San Jose."Where the rumor started, and how, no one knew. But everyone seemed persuaded that Zerkow had gone to San Jose."But what did he kill her for? Was he drunk?""No, he was crazy, I tell you--crazy in the head. Thoughtshe was hiding some money from him."Frenna did a big business all day long. The murder was theone subject of conversation. Little parties were made up inhis saloon--parties of twos and threes--to go over and havea look at the outside of the junk shop. Heise was the mostimportant man the length and breadth of Polk Street; almostinvariably he accompanied these parties, telling again andagain of the part he had played in the affair."It was about eleven o'clock. I was standing in front ofthe shop, when Mrs. McTeague--you know, the dentist's wife--came running across the street," and so on and so on.The next day came a fresh sensation. Polk Street read of itin the morning papers. Towards midnight on the day of themurder Zerkow's body had been found floating in the bay nearBlack Point. No one knew whether he had drowned himself orfallen from one of the wharves. Clutched in both his handswas a sack full of old and rusty pans, tin dishes--fully ahundred of them--tin cans, and iron knives and forks,collected from some dump heap."And all this," exclaimed Trina, "on account of a set ofgold dishes that never existed."