Chapter 2

by Frank Norris

　　After his breakfast the following Monday morning, McTeaguelooked over the appointments he had written down in thebook-slate that hung against the screen. His writing wasimmense, very clumsy, and very round, with huge, full-bellied l's and h's. He saw that he had made an appointmentat one o'clock for Miss Baker, the retired dressmaker, alittle old maid who had a tiny room a few doors down thehall. It adjoined that of Old Grannis.Quite an affair had arisen from this circumstance. MissBaker and Old Grannis were both over sixty, and yet it wascurrent talk amongst the lodgers of the flat that the twowere in love with each other . Singularly enough, they werenot even acquaintances; never a word had passed betweenthem. At intervals they met on the stairway; he on his wayto his little dog hospital, she returning from a bit ofmarketing in the street. At such times they passed eachother with averted eyes, pretending a certain pre-occupation, suddenly seized with a great embarrassment, thetimidity of a second childhood. He went on about hisbusiness, disturbed and thoughtful. She hurried up to hertiny room, her curious little false curls shaking with heragitation, the faintest suggestion of a flush coming andgoing in her withered cheeks. The emotion of one of thesechance meetings remained with them during all the rest ofthe day.Was it the first romance in the lives of each? Did OldGrannis ever remember a certain face amongst those that hehad known when he was young Grannis--the face of some pale-haired girl, such as one sees in the old cathedral towns ofEngland? Did Miss Baker still treasure up in a seldomopened drawer or box some faded daguerreotype, some strangeold-fashioned likeness, with its curling hair and highstock? It was impossible to say.Maria Macapa, the Mexican woman who took care of thelodgers' rooms, had been the first to call the flat'sattention to the affair, spreading the news of it from roomto room, from floor to floor. Of late she had made a greatdiscovery; all the women folk of the flat were yet vibrantwith it. Old Grannis came home from his work at fouro'clock, and between that time and six Miss Baker would sitin her room, her hands idle in her lap, doing nothing,listening, waiting. Old Grannis did the same, drawing hisarm-chair near to the wall, knowing that Miss Baker was uponthe other side, conscious, perhaps, that she was thinking ofhim; and there the two would sit through the hours of theafternoon, listening and waiting, they did not know exactlyfor what, but near to each other, separated only by the thinpartition of their rooms. They had come to know eachother's habits. Old Grannis knew that at quarter of fiveprecisely Miss Baker made a cup of tea over the oil stove onthe stand between the bureau and the window. Miss Bakerfelt instinctively the exact moment when Old Grannis tookdown his little binding apparatus from the second shelf ofhis clothes closet and began his favorite occupation ofbinding pamphlets--pamphlets that he never read, for allthat.In his "Parlors" McTeague began his week's work. He glancedin the glass saucer in which he kept his sponge-gold, andnoticing that he had used up all his pellets, set aboutmaking some more. In examining Miss Baker's teeth at thepreliminary sitting he had found a cavity in one of theincisors. Miss Baker had decided to have it filled withgold. McTeague remembered now that it was what is called a"proximate case," where there is not sufficient room to fillwith large pieces of gold. He told himself that he shouldhave to use "mats" in the filling. He made some dozen ofthese "mats" from his tape of non-cohesive gold, cutting ittransversely into small pieces that could be insertededgewise between the teeth and consolidated by packing.After he had made his "mats" he continued with the otherkind of gold fillings, such as he would have occasion to useduring the week; "blocks" to be used in large proximalcavities, made by folding the tape on itself a number oftimes and then shaping it with the soldering pliers;"cylinders" for commencing fillings, which he formed byrolling the tape around a needle called a "broach," cuttingit afterwards into different lengths. He worked slowly,mechanically, turning the foil between his fingers with themanual dexterity that one sometimes sees in stupid persons.His head was quite empty of all thought, and he did notwhistle over his work as another man might have done. Thecanary made up for his silence, trilling and chitteringcontinually, splashing about in its morning bath, keeping upan incessant noise and movement that would have beenmaddening to any one but McTeague, who seemed to have nonerves at all.After he had finished his fillings, he made a hook broachfrom a bit of piano wire to replace an old one that he hadlost. It was time for his dinner then, and when he returnedfrom the car conductors' coffee-joint, he found Miss Bakerwaiting for him.The ancient little dressmaker was at all times willing totalk of Old Grannis to anybody that would listen, quiteunconscious of the gossip of the flat. McTeague found herall a-flutter with excitement. Something extraordinary hadhappened. She had found out that the wall-paper in OldGrannis's room was the same as that in hers."It has led me to thinking, Doctor McTeague," she exclaimed,shaking her little false curls at him. "You know my room isso small, anyhow, and the wall-paper being the same--thepattern from my room continues right into his--I declare, Ibelieve at one time that was all one room. Think of it, doyou suppose it was? It almost amounts to our occupying thesame room. I don't know--why, really--do you think I shouldspeak to the landlady about it? He bound pamphlets lastnight until half-past nine. They say that he's the youngerson of a baronet; that there are reasons for his not comingto the title; his stepfather wronged him cruelly."No one had ever said such a thing. It was preposterous toimagine any mystery connected with Old Grannis. Miss Bakerhad chosen to invent the little fiction, had created thetitle and the unjust stepfather from some dim memories ofthe novels of her girlhood.She took her place in the operating chair. McTeaguebegan the filling. There was a long silence. It wasimpossible for McTeague to work and talk at the same time.He was just burnishing the last "mat" in Miss Baker's tooth,when the door of the "Parlors" opened, jangling the bellwhich he had hung over it, and which was absolutelyunnecessary. McTeague turned, one foot on the pedal of hisdental engine, the corundum disk whirling between hisfingers.It was Marcus Schouler who came in, ushering a young girl ofabout twenty."Hello, Mac," exclaimed Marcus; "busy? Brought my cousinround about that broken tooth."McTeague nodded his head gravely."In a minute," he answered.Marcus and his cousin Trina sat down in the rigid chairsunderneath the steel engraving of the Court of Lorenzo de'Medici. They began talking in low tones. The girl lookedabout the room, noticing the stone pug dog, the riflemanufacturer's calendar, the canary in its little giltprison, and the tumbled blankets on the unmade bed-loungeagainst the wall. Marcus began telling her about McTeague."We're pals," he explained, just above a whisper. "Ah,Mac's all right, you bet. Say, Trina, he's the strongestduck you ever saw. What do you suppose? He can pull outyour teeth with his fingers; yes, he can. What do you thinkof that? With his fingers, mind you; he can, for a fact.Get on to the size of him, anyhow. Ah, Mac's all right!"Maria Macapa had come into the room while he had beenspeaking. She was making up McTeague's bed. Suddenly Marcusexclaimed under his breath: "Now we'll have some fun. It'sthe girl that takes care of the rooms. She's a greaser, andshe's queer in the head. She ain't regularly crazy, butI don't know, she's queer. Y'ought to hear her go on abouta gold dinner service she says her folks used to own. Askher what her name is and see what she'll say." Trina shrankback, a little frightened."No, you ask," she whispered."Ah, go on; what you 'fraid of?" urged Marcus. Trinashook her head energetically, shutting her lips together."Well, listen here," answered Marcus, nudging her; thenraising his voice, he said:"How do, Maria?" Maria nodded to him over her shoulder asshe bent over the lounge."Workun hard nowadays, Maria?""Pretty hard.""Didunt always have to work for your living, though, didyou, when you ate offa gold dishes?" Maria didn't answer,except by putting her chin in the air and shutting her eyes,as though to say she knew a long story about that if she hada mind to talk. All Marcus's efforts to draw her out on thesubject were unavailing. She only responded by movements ofher head."Can't always start her going," Marcus told his cousin."What does she do, though, when you ask her about her name?""Oh, sure," said Marcus, who had forgotten. "Say, Maria,what's your name?""Huh?" asked Maria, straightening up, her hands on he hips."Tell us your name," repeated Marcus."Name is Maria--Miranda--Macapa." Then, after a pause, sheadded, as though she had but that moment thought of it, "Hada flying squirrel an' let him go."Invariably Maria Macapa made this answer. It was not alwaysshe would talk about the famous service of gold plate, but aquestion as to her name never failed to elicit the samestrange answer, delivered in a rapid undertone: "Name isMaria--Miranda--Macapa." Then, as if struck with an afterthought, "Had a flying squirrel an' let him go."Why Maria should associate the release of the mythicalsquirrel with her name could not be said. About Maria theflat knew absolutely nothing further than that she wasSpanish-American. Miss Baker was the oldest lodger in theflat, and Maria was a fixture there as maid of all workwhen she had come. There was a legend to the effect thatMaria's people had been at one time immensely wealthy inCentral America.Maria turned again to her work. Trina and Marcus watchedher curiously. There was a silence. The corundum burr inMcTeague's engine hummed in a prolonged monotone. Thecanary bird chittered occasionally. The room was warm, andthe breathing of the five people in the narrow space madethe air close and thick. At long intervals an acrid odor ofink floated up from the branch post-office immediatelybelow.Maria Macapa finished her work and started to leave. As shepassed near Marcus and his cousin she stopped, and drew abunch of blue tickets furtively from her pocket. "Buy aticket in the lottery?" she inquired, looking at the girl."Just a dollar.""Go along with you, Maria," said Marcus, who had but thirtycents in his pocket. "Go along; it's against the law.""Buy a ticket," urged Maria, thrusting the bundle towardTrina. "Try your luck. The butcher on the next block wontwenty dollars the last drawing."Very uneasy, Trina bought a ticket for the sake of being ridof her. Maria disappeared."Ain't she a queer bird?" muttered Marcus. He was muchembarrassed and disturbed because he had not bought theticket for Trina.But there was a sudden movement. McTeague had just finishedwith Miss Baker."You should notice," the dressmaker said to the dentist, ina low voice, "he always leaves the door a little ajar in theafternoon." When she had gone out, Marcus Schouler broughtTrina forward."Say, Mac, this is my cousin, Trina Sieppe." The two shookhands dumbly, McTeague slowly nodding his huge head with itsgreat shock of yellow hair. Trina was very small andprettily made. Her face was round and rather pale; her eyeslong and narrow and blue, like the half-open eyes of alittle baby; her lips and the lobes of her tiny earswere pale, a little suggestive of anaemia; while across thebridge of her nose ran an adorable little line of freckles.But it was to her hair that one's attention was mostattracted. Heaps and heaps of blue-black coils and braids,a royal crown of swarthy bands, a veritable sable tiara,heavy, abundant, odorous. All the vitality that should havegiven color to her face seemed to have been absorbed by thismarvellous hair. It was the coiffure of a queen thatshadowed the pale temples of this little bourgeoise. Soheavy was it that it tipped her head backward, and theposition thrust her chin out a little. It was a charmingpoise, innocent, confiding, almost infantile.She was dressed all in black, very modest and plain. Theeffect of her pale face in all this contrasting black wasalmost monastic."Well," exclaimed Marcus suddenly, "I got to go. Must getback to work. Don't hurt her too much, Mac. S'long,Trina."McTeague and Trina were left alone. He was embarrassed,troubled. These young girls disturbed and perplexed him.He did not like them, obstinately cherishing that intuitivesuspicion of all things feminine--the perverse dislike of anovergrown boy. On the other hand, she was perfectly at herease; doubtless the woman in her was not yet awakened; shewas yet, as one might say, without sex. She was almost likea boy, frank, candid, unreserved.She took her place in the operating chair and told him whatwas the matter, looking squarely into his face. She hadfallen out of a swing the afternoon of the preceding day;one of her teeth had been knocked loose and the otheraltogether broken out.McTeague listened to her with apparent stolidity, noddinghis head from time to time as she spoke. The keenness ofhis dislike of her as a woman began to be blunted. Hethought she was rather pretty, that he even liked herbecause she was so small, so prettily made, so good naturedand straightforward."Let's have a look at your teeth," he said, picking up hismirror. "You better take your hat off." She leaned back inher chair and opened her mouth, showing the rows oflittle round teeth, as white and even as the kernels on anear of green corn, except where an ugly gap came at theside.McTeague put the mirror into her mouth, touching one andanother of her teeth with the handle of an excavator. Byand by he straightened up, wiping the moisture from themirror on his coat-sleeve."Well, Doctor," said the girl, anxiously, "it's a dreadfuldisfigurement, isn't it?" adding, "What can you do aboutit?""Well," answered McTeague, slowly, looking vaguely about onthe floor of the room, "the roots of the broken tooth arestill in the gum; they'll have to come out, and I guess I'llhave to pull that other bicuspid. Let me look again. Yes,"he went on in a moment, peering into her mouth with themirror, "I guess that'll have to come out, too." The toothwas loose, discolored, and evidently dead. "It's a curiouscase," McTeague went on. "I don't know as I ever had atooth like that before. It's what's called necrosis. Itdon't often happen. It'll have to come out sure."Then a discussion was opened on the subject, Trina sittingup in the chair, holding her hat in her lap; McTeagueleaning against the window frame his hands in his pockets,his eyes wandering about on the floor. Trina did not wantthe other tooth removed; one hole like that was bad enough;but two--ah, no, it was not to be thought of.But McTeague reasoned with her, tried in vain to make herunderstand that there was no vascular connection between theroot and the gum. Trina was blindly persistent, with thepersistency of a girl who has made up her mind.McTeague began to like her better and better, and after awhile commenced himself to feel that it would be a pity todisfigure such a pretty mouth. He became interested;perhaps he could do something, something in the way of acrown or bridge. "Let's look at that again," he said,picking up his mirror. He began to study the situation verycarefully, really desiring to remedy the blemish.It was the first bicuspid that was missing, and though partof the root of the second (the loose one) would remainafter its extraction, he was sure it would not be strongenough to sustain a crown. All at once he grew obstinate,resolving, with all the strength of a crude and primitiveman, to conquer the difficulty in spite of everything. Heturned over in his mind the technicalities of the case. No,evidently the root was not strong enough to sustain a crown;besides that, it was placed a little irregularly in thearch. But, fortunately, there were cavities in the twoteeth on either side of the gap--one in the first molar andone in the palatine surface of the cuspid; might he notdrill a socket in the remaining root and sockets in themolar and cuspid, and, partly by bridging, partly bycrowning, fill in the gap? He made up his mind to do it.Why he should pledge himself to this hazardous case McTeaguewas puzzled to know. With most of his clients he would havecontented himself with the extraction of the loose tooth andthe roots of the broken one. Why should he risk hisreputation in this case? He could not say why.It was the most difficult operation he had ever performed.He bungled it considerably, but in the end he succeededpassably well. He extracted the loose tooth with hisbayonet forceps and prepared the roots of the broken one asif for filling, fitting into them a flattened piece ofplatinum wire to serve as a dowel. But this was only thebeginning; altogether it was a fortnight's work. Trina camenearly every other day, and passed two, and even three,hours in the chair.By degrees McTeague's first awkwardness and suspicionvanished entirely. The two became good friends. McTeagueeven arrived at that point where he could work and talk toher at the same time--a thing that had never before beenpossible for him.Never until then had McTeague become so well acquainted witha girl of Trina's age. The younger women of Polk Street--the shop girls, the young women of the soda fountains, thewaitresses in the cheap restaurants--preferred anotherdentist, a young fellow just graduated from the college, aposer, a rider of bicycles, a man about town, who woreastonishing waistcoats and bet money on greyhoundcoursing. Trina was McTeague's first experience. With herthe feminine element suddenly entered his little world. Itwas not only her that he saw and felt, it was the woman, thewhole sex, an entire new humanity, strange and alluring,that he seemed to have discovered. How had he ignored it solong? It was dazzling, delicious, charming beyond allwords. His narrow point of view was at once enlarged andconfused, and all at once he saw that there was somethingelse in life besides concertinas and steam beer. Everythinghad to be made over again. His whole rude idea of life hadto be changed. The male virile desire in him tardilyawakened, aroused itself, strong and brutal. It wasresistless, untrained, a thing not to be held in leash aninstant.Little by little, by gradual, almost imperceptible degrees,the thought of Trina Sieppe occupied his mind from day today, from hour to hour. He found himself thinking of herconstantly; at every instant he saw her round, pale face;her narrow, milk-blue eyes; her little out-thrust chin; herheavy, huge tiara of black hair. At night he lay awake forhours under the thick blankets of the bed-lounge, staringupward into the darkness, tormented with the idea of her,exasperated at the delicate, subtle mesh in which he foundhimself entangled. During the forenoons, while he wentabout his work, he thought of her. As he made his plaster-of-paris moulds at the washstand in the corner behind thescreen he turned over in his mind all that had happened, allthat had been said at the previous sitting. Her littletooth that he had extracted he kept wrapped in a bit ofnewspaper in his vest pocket. Often he took it out and heldit in the palm of his immense, horny hand, seized with somestrange elephantine sentiment, wagging his head at it,heaving tremendous sighs. What a folly!At two o'clock on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Trinaarrived and took her place in the operating chair. While athis work McTeague was every minute obliged to bend closelyover her; his hands touched her face, her cheeks, heradorable little chin; her lips pressed against his fingers.She breathed warmly on his forehead and on his eyelids,while the odor of her hair, a charming feminine perfume,sweet, heavy, enervating, came to his nostrils, sopenetrating, so delicious, that his flesh pricked andtingled with it; a veritable sensation of faintness passedover this huge, callous fellow, with his enormous bones andcorded muscles. He drew a short breath through his nose;his jaws suddenly gripped together vise-like.But this was only at times--a strange, vexing spasm, thatsubsided almost immediately. For the most part, McTeagueenjoyed the pleasure of these sittings with Trina with acertain strong calmness, blindly happy that she was there.This poor crude dentist of Polk Street, stupid, ignorant,vulgar, with his sham education and plebeian tastes, whoseonly relaxations were to eat, to drink steam beer, and toplay upon his concertina, was living through his firstromance, his first idyl. It was delightful. The long hourshe passed alone with Trina in the "Dental Parlors," silent,only for the scraping of the instruments and the pouring ofbud-burrs in the engine, in the foul atmosphere, overheatedby the little stove and heavy with the smell of ether,creosote, and stale bedding, had all the charm of secretappointments and stolen meetings under the moon.By degrees the operation progressed. One day, just afterMcTeague had put in the temporary gutta-percha fillings andnothing more could be done at that sitting, Trina asked himto examine the rest of her teeth. They were perfect, withone exception--a spot of white caries on the lateral surfaceof an incisor. McTeague filled it with gold, enlarging thecavity with hard-bits and hoe-excavators, and burring inafterward with half-cone burrs. The cavity was deep, andTrina began to wince and moan. To hurt Trina was a positiveanguish for McTeague, yet an anguish which he was obliged toendure at every hour of the sitting. It was harrowing--hesweated under it--to be forced to torture her, of all womenin the world; could anything be worse than that?"Hurt?" he inquired, anxiously.She answered by frowning, with a sharp intake of breath,putting her fingers over her closed lips and nodding herhead. McTeague sprayed the tooth with glycerite oftannin, but without effect. Rather than hurt her he foundhimself forced to the use of anaesthesia, which he hated.He had a notion that the nitrous oxide gas was dangerous, soon this occasion, as on all others, used ether.He put the sponge a half dozen times to Trina's face, morenervous than he had ever been before, watching the symptomsclosely. Her breathing became short and irregular; therewas a slight twitching of the muscles. When her thumbsturned inward toward the palms, he took the sponge away.She passed off very quickly, and, with a long sigh, sankback into the chair.McTeague straightened up, putting the sponge upon the rackbehind him, his eyes fixed upon Trina's face. For some timehe stood watching her as she lay there, unconscious andhelpless, and very pretty. He was alone with her, and shewas absolutely without defense.Suddenly the animal in the man stirred and woke; the evilinstincts that in him were so close to the surface leaped tolife, shouting and clamoring.It was a crisis--a crisis that had arisen all in an instant;a crisis for which he was totally unprepared. Blindly, andwithout knowing why, McTeague fought against it, moved by anunreasoned instinct of resistance. Within him, a certainsecond self, another better McTeague rose with the brute;both were strong, with the huge crude strength of the manhimself. The two were at grapples. There in that cheap andshabby "Dental Parlor" a dreaded struggle began. It was theold battle, old as the world, wide as the world--the suddenpanther leap of the animal, lips drawn, fangs aflash,hideous, monstrous, not to be resisted, and the simultaneousarousing of the other man, the better self that cries,"Down, down," without knowing why; that grips the monster;that fights to strangle it, to thrust it down and back.Dizzied and bewildered with the shock, the like of which hehad never known before, McTeague turned from Trina, gazingbewilderedly about the room. The struggle was bitter; histeeth ground themselves together with a little raspingsound; the blood sang in his ears; his face flushed scarlet;his hands twisted themselves together like the knotting ofcables. The fury in him was as the fury of a young bull inthe heat of high summer. But for all that he shook his hugehead from time to time, muttering:"No, by God! No, by God!"Dimly he seemed to realize that should he yield now he wouldnever be able to care for Trina again. She would never bethe same to him, never so radiant, so sweet, so adorable;her charm for him would vanish in an instant. Across herforehead, her little pale forehead, under the shadow of herroyal hair, he would surely see the smudge of a foul ordure,the footprint of the monster. It would be a sacrilege, anabomination. He recoiled from it, banding all his strengthto the issue."No, by God! No, by God!"He turned to his work, as if seeking a refuge in it. But ashe drew near to her again, the charm of her innocence andhelplessness came over him afresh. It was a final protestagainst his resolution. Suddenly he leaned over and kissedher, grossly, full on the mouth. The thing was done beforehe knew it. Terrified at his weakness at the very moment hebelieved himself strong, he threw himself once more into hiswork with desperate energy. By the time he was fasteningthe sheet of rubber upon the tooth, he had himself once morein hand. He was disturbed, still trembling, still vibratingwith the throes of the crisis, but he was the master; theanimal was downed, was cowed for this time, at least.But for all that, the brute was there. Long dormant, it wasnow at last alive, awake. From now on he would feel itspresence continually; would feel it tugging at its chain,watching its opportunity. Ah, the pity of it! Why could henot always love her purely, cleanly? What was thisperverse, vicious thing that lived within him, knitted tohis flesh?Below the fine fabric of all that was good in him ran thefoul stream of hereditary evil, like a sewer. The vices andsins of his father and of his father's father, to the thirdand fourth and five hundredth generation, tainted him.The evil of an entire race flowed in his veins. Why shouldit be? He did not desire it. Was he to blame?But McTeague could not understand this thing. It had facedhim, as sooner or later it faces every child of man; but itssignificance was not for him. To reason with it was beyondhim. He could only oppose to it an instinctive stubbornresistance, blind, inert.McTeague went on with his work. As he was rapping in thelittle blocks and cylinders with the mallet, Trina slowlycame back to herself with a long sigh. She still felt alittle confused, and lay quiet in the chair. There was along silence, broken only by the uneven tapping of thehardwood mallet. By and by she said, "I never felt athing," and then she smiled at him very prettily beneath therubber dam. McTeague turned to her suddenly, his mallet inone hand, his pliers holding a pellet of sponge-gold in theother. All at once he said, with the unreasoned simplicityand directness of a child: "Listen here, Miss Trina, I likeyou better than any one else; what's the matter with usgetting married?"Trina sat up in the chair quickly, and then drew back fromhim, frightened and bewildered."Will you? Will you?" said McTeague. "Say, Miss Trina,will you?""What is it? What do you mean?" she cried, confusedly, herwords muffled beneath the rubber."Will you?" repeated McTeague."No, no," she exclaimed, refusing without knowing why,suddenly seized with a fear of him, the intuitive femininefear of the male. McTeague could only repeat the same thingover and over again. Trina, more and more frightened at hishuge hands--the hands of the old-time car-boy--his immensesquare-cut head and his enormous brute strength, cried out:"No, no," behind the rubber dam, shaking her head violently,holding out her hands, and shrinking down before him in theoperating chair. McTeague came nearer to her, repeating thesame question. "No, no," she cried, terrified. Then, asshe exclaimed, "Oh, I am sick," was suddenly taken with afit of vomiting. It was the not unusual after effect of theether, aided now by her excitement and nervousness.McTeague was checked. He poured some bromide of potassiuminto a graduated glass and held it to her lips."Here, swallow this," he said.