American fiction -- 20th century; Manhattan (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Women artists -- Fiction
"That black monster ... God!" He struggled with his emotions. Easter
stood, waiting, her sombre beauty never before so disquieting. Then
he got out of the accursed house, he didn't know how. He walked
like a somnambulist to Ninth Avenue and entered the first saloon he
encountered. He took a dose of whisky that brought an astonished
expression to the red face of the bartender.
"Say mister, that's a hooker you took." He tried to forget the hideous,
grotesque Brother Rainbow.
"It's my first drink of--whisky."
"And it won't be your last," said the man with a knowing grin ... Ulick
immediately ordered another and gulped it down. Nell! Ugh! She!... He
heard the cloud-harps sounding as he faltered along....
... Late that night Dora was awakened by a persistent buzzing. She
ran to the door and found Ulick helplessly leaning against the bell.
"What you my baby Jewel drunk? What a pink-tea party. Come in and go
to bed on the couch. You'll be O.K. in the morning. What for did you
go and booze like Paul or any other old drunk! You must feel awful
bad slopping down red-eye at that. I'm glad you came home to your
mamma--what's the matter?" Ulick moaned. "My side--it feels paralyzed--"
"It's only rum. Don't worry. What are you crying about?" Tears streamed
down his tortured features. "I'm crying--I'm crying--because I'm so
glad to be home again" ... he stuttered. "What a liar!" laughed Dora,
and not attempting to undress him, she covered him with a shawl and
went to her bed, where she slept the untroubled sleep of the wicked.
XII
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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