The Inventor and the Actress

by WILLIAM SAROYAN

THERE was a boy and the boy’s two older sisters in the house across the alley. Sometimes he liked them and sometimes he thought they were the worst thing that had ever happened to him, for they were always coming into the yard that was his own as if it were theirs, too.

They had the family name of Shehady and the boy was called Paddy by his sisters. Paddy called the biggest sister Bellie, which she hated because her name was Belle, and he called the other one Daze, though of course the name was properly Daisy.

Belle was always dolling up in her mother’s old clothes and asking if she looked at all like Ava Gardner or Marilyn Monroe or any of the other women she had seen lately in a movie, and of course she never did. She always looked like Belle, who looked like nothing at all in God’s green earth a fellow could half think of as being a girl. And yet that’s all she thought about: to be a girl, a big girl, a great big girl like Ava Gardner.

One day when Paddy came over into the yard he said, “Guess what Bellie’s going to be, Jim?”

“How should I know what she’s going to be?” Jim said. He was always a little surprised and annoyed by the way Paddy came up on a fellow all of a sudden and asked some fool question in his shrill nervous voice. Once or twice when Jim had been thinking about something to invent he jumped when he heard Paddy’s voice, but lately, about a year now, he wasn’t jumping any more, and not getting especially annoyed, either.

“Actress,” Paddy said. “She’s going on the stage. Daze ain’t going with her.”

Jim was removing the dry black casings from walnuts that had fallen off the tree in the back yard. After you got the casings off they were ready to break with a hammer. They were hard walnuts, but once you ever got through the thick shell the meat in there, arranged in a way that was so perfect a fellow never could figure out how it was done or who ever thought of such a thing, was the besttasting thing in the whole world. That was what made it worth Jim’s while to go to all the trouble, getting his hands stained black from the casings. The tree was old. It grew a great many walnuts every year. There were some in the garage from two or three years ago. His mother spoke once of using them for fuel, there were so many of them and nobody eating them, but Jim told her he wanted them. He was going to clean them and eat them, but of course he never got around to it, and every now and then his mother probably burned some. They made a great fire, but he didn’t like them to be burned. He kept the casings and empty shells in a box, and set them aside for his mother to burn, but he didn’t want the whole walnuts burned. You just don’t burn things like that.

“What are you doing?” Paddy said.

“Cleaning these walnuts,” Jim said.

Paddy had seen Jim dozens of times cleaning them, but he asked the question every time, as if Jim was actually finding out from the way they were made how to invent something that would make him one of the richest men in the world. Jim always answered the question as if it were brand-new.

“Can I help you?” Paddy said.

“Sure, but you’ll get; your hands dirty.”

“I don’t care.”

So Paddy Shehady sat down under the tree in Jim’s back yard and began to take the casing off one of the walnuts.

“ How many of ‘em have you got ? ” Paddy wanted to know.

“The garage is half full of them, almost,” Jim said.

“Are you going to clean ‘em all?”

“Well, I clean some and put ‘em away,” Jim said, “and then when I want to break them they’re clean and ready. If you break them when they’re not clean you can’t break them right and you spoil most of the nut inside.”

“Can I break this one and eat the nut in there?” Paddy said.

“Sure,” Jim said. “But don’t hurt your hand.”

2

PADDY had hurt his hand twice already, once bad enough to have Mrs. Shehady herself come over into the yard — not enough the two girls and the boy coming over all the time, the mother, too — and she’d wanted Jim to tell her just what Paddy had done to hurt his hand so. Jim had told her, and then she had asked if Jim’s mother was home, and he’d told her she wasn’t, and then she’d asked a couple of hundred other questions, the mother herself standing there by the hour and not letting him go about his business. She was a big woman, almost as big as the wrestlers he’d seen at the side show during the County Fair last summer, but it was fat mostly. At the same time she was nervous and she was always wondering when the cost of living was going to come down where it used to be.

One day Jim heard Mrs. Shehady ask his mother about that, and his mother said she didn’t know, which didn’t help Mrs. Shehady very much, and Mrs. Shehady couldn’t think of anything else to say for a long time. The time she’d come about Paddy’s hurt hand Jim told her Paddy had hurt his hand breaking walnuts. She then wanted to know if Jim had pushed Paddy or anything like that and Jim got annoyed and said he not only hadn’t pushed Paddy, he had demonstrated to Paddy a dozen times how to break a walnut without hurting his hand.

But Paddy always hurt his hand, at least a little. The time he hurt it bad he jumped up, howling and stamping his feet and saying, “I’ve smashed my hand, I’ve smashed my whole hand!” He kept shaking it and jumping up and down and running around in circles, and finally he broke down and cried bitterly, swearing at last, accusing Jim, saying it was Jim’s fault, and then ran home. He didn’t have far to run, and Jim could hear him wailing to his mother, and his mother saying all sorts of silly things to ease the pain and make him forget.

“I won’t hurt my hand,” Paddy said now. “She’s going to be like Ava Gardner, she says. You know ? All done up that way, lying there on tiger skins, and all that? She’s lying on the linoleum now.”

“What linoleum?”

“In the kitchen,” Paddy said. “Practicing. She’s not allowed in the parlor, so she’s practicing on the linoleum. She’s got an empty Quaker Oats box that she’s using for a pillow. She’s got Daze saying things to her, so she can practice saying things back the way Ava Gardner does.”

Paddy placed the walnut he’d cleaned—but he hadn’t cleaned it right — on the boulder that was as big as a big eggplant and he held it carefully with two fingers. He then picked up the hammer, and Jim watched every move he made to stop him from hurting his hand again if it looked as if he was going to. Paddy brought the hammer down on the nut and broke it, but not in half, not along the line where it was sealed together, as Jim had told him so many times was the place to strike it with the hammer. The nut was smashed, and Paddy’s fingers were hurt a little, but not much, not enough to make him jump up and cry. Paddy just dropped the hammer, grabbed the crushed nut into his right hand, and shook the other until the pain was gone. Then he transferred what he had to his left hand and began to pick through the debris for anything there that might be fit to eat.

Jim broke one, too, to be eating with him, and Paddy said, “Bellie don’t want to be somebody that ain’t famous and beautiful. She wants to be rich and refined, too. She says if she practices a little every day she can do it. She’s got Daze coming in and out of the kitchen saying things to her, like servants, like the men who go to visit Ava Gardner, like her old father, like her poor sister, and everybody else, so Bellie can lie there on the linoleum and say things back to her.”

“What’s Daze say to her?” Jim said.

“Well, you know,” Paddy said. “There was one time there where Ava or one of the others said to her own mother, ‘I don’t ever want to see you again,’ and all the old mother had gone to her about was to ask her to come home. They were lonesome or something. Well, Daze comes in and says, ‘Oh, my daughter, come home. We need you!’ And then Bellie says back to her, ‘Three years ago you drove me out into the world. I don’t ever want to see you again.’ And stuff like that.”

“I’ll break this one for you,” Jim said. He broke the nut clean in half, then cracked each half so that most of what was in there could be picked out clean and whole. He handed the stuff to Paddy, then broke one for himself.

“She’s going on the stage,” Paddy said. “She sent me over to ask can she use the garage for a stage.”

“What garage? ” Jim said.

“ This garage,” Paddy said. “We haven’t got a garage, just the tool shed that’s full of junk. Can she use your garage for a stage?”

“When?” Jim said.

“Well,” Paddy said, “now, I guess. She’s in the way there in the kitchen, and my mother don’t like it. She’s got to step around her, and sometimes she stands and listens to the two of them saying things back and forth. Bellie says she can’t practice with Mama standing there all the time not liking any of it. Shall I go and tell her all right?”

“Sure,” Jim said.

Paddy got up and ran back to the house across the alley.

3

IT WAS all right having them for neighbors most of the time, but once in a while it seemed like the worst thing that ever happened to him because he just couldn’t refuse them anything, or ask them not to come around so much, and that meant he had to stop so often thinking about the other things he was always thinking about, especially his inventions. Now, though, he looked forward to seeing Paddy’s sisters, especially Bellie practicing to go on the stage.

He went into the garage, to give the place a new glance, to see if he could figure how it would serve as a stage. At one end were a dozen or more apple boxes full of black walnuts, at the other end was some old and broken furniture, some pots and pans, and some boxes with magazines and books and other stuff in them.

He was in the garage when Paddy put his head in and said, “She wants to know can we come in, Jim.”

“Sure,”Jim said.

Then Paddy, Bellie, and Daze one by one stepped into the garage. Bellie was all done up in black, and she was trying to act big-eyed and sad and dreamy like Ava Gardner or one of the others, and Daze was standing near her, half admiring her and half not knowing what to make of her.

“Well,”Bellie said. “About here, I thought, Jim. This is my room, you see. I’m lying here on a tiger skin, rich. But I’m sad because I’ve got so much money and no children. Now, when I lie down here, somebody’s going to knock at the door. It’s going to be a man who’s heard about me. I say, ‘Yes?’ Then you, Jim, come in.”

“Me?” Jim said. “Let Paddy do it. I’ll sit over here and clean some more walnuts and watch.”

“It would be ewer so much better if you did it, Jim, Bellie said. “Daisy will be my maid. If I want to see my tigers she’ll bring them in, or if I want to eat a few litchi nuts she’ll bring them to me on a gold plate.”

“I’ll sit over here and watch,” Jim said.

“Can I lie on this old sofa?” Bellie said.

“Sure,” Jim said.

Bellie stretched out on the sofa and grew sad. Without giving up her sadness she said, “You stand over there, Daisy, and wait for me to ask for the tigers. You go out, Paddy, and after a minute knock at the door.”

“What do I say when I come in?” Paddy said.

“Are you the famous Madam Antoinette de la Tour?” Bellie told him to say.

“Madam who?” Paddy said.

“Antoinette,” Bellie said sadly.

“Antoinette.”

“De la Tour,”Bellie said.

“De la Tour,”Paddy repeated. “Madam Antoinette do la Tour.”

Paddy went out and Bellie got ready to practice, but Paddy came right back in again without knocking.

“What do I say after that, Bellie?”

“Paddy!” Bellie said bitterly. “I won’t have you calling me Bellie. I’m going on the stage. My name’s Isabelle Shehady, but of course I’m going to change it to Belle Shade. I think that’s awful attractive, don’t you, Jim?”

”Belle Shade?” Jim said. “I guess so.”

“Well, anyway,” Paddy said. “What do I say after I say what you told me to say?” He tried to remember what she’d told him to say. “What did you tell me to say?” he said.

“ Listen carefully, Paddy,” Bellie said. “Are you Madam Antoinette de la Tour?”

“All right,” Paddy said. “Then what do I say?”

“Well,”Bellie said, “you say that, and then when I say what I say, you say whatever what I say makes you say. You know the way they do. All right now, let’s start.'’

Paddy Shehady went out of the garage. Belle Shade, as she preferred to be called, got herself into the mood, and Daze stood behind the sofa trying to be earnest about the whole thing.

Paddy knocked at the door.

“Yes?” Belle Shade said.

Paddy stepped in. “Are you Madam Antoinette de la Tour?” he said.

Belle Shade looked at him sadly a moment, and then, growing more sorrowful than ever, she said, “I am.”

Paddy looked at Jim, but Jim didn’t help him any. Jim was just looking at Bellie, so Paddylooked at Daze, but Daze didn’t help him any, either. Daze looked as if she was at a small child’s funeral, so Paddy looked at Bellie again.

“I have come from Arabia to see you,” Belle Shade told her brother Paddy to say.

“I have come from Arabia to see you,” Paddysaid.

“What, part of Arabia?" Belle Shade said sadly.

Now, you couldn’t very well blame Paddy for not knowing what to say next, but there he was feeling miserable because he didn’t know what part of Arabia he’d come from, and at the same time not daring to break the mood.

“ Bagdad,” Belle Shade whispered.

“ Bagdad,” Paddy said.

“That’s very far away,” Belle Shade said with terrible grief, “for as you know this is Paris, and Paris and Bagdad are very far apart.”

“Yes, they are,” Baddy said. He was getting into the spirit of the thing now, and chances were he’d do all right as the man from Bagdad. “But I got here all right,” he went on.

“Did you have a pleasant voyage?" Belle Shade said.

“I came by train,” Paddy said.

“I trust you slept well en route,” Belle said.

“I slept all right,” Paddy said. “I trust you slept all right en route, too.”

“I have been here the whole time,” Belle said. “I have not traveled since Chuck fought the duel. I have been in Paris the whole time, here in this lonely castle with my memories.”

“Oh,” Baddy said. He thought fast, then hit on something. “How is Chuck?” he said.

“ Dead,”Belle said.

“ How is his father? ”

“Dead.”

“Has he got a brother?”

“Yes, he has a small brother,” Belle said.

“ How’s he? ”

“He’s dying,” Belle said. She let her hand fall backward toward Daze.

“Marie,” she said, “please bring me my tigers. I’m lonely.”

“ Yes, Madam,” Daze said.

Daze got on her hands and knees and crawled around the sofa to Belle Shade, who looked sadly at her tigers. Her hand fell on Daze’s head.

“My poor, lonely tigers,”Belle said.

“Well,” Paddy said, “I guess I’ll go back to Bagdad.”

Belle Shade sat up suddenly, almost terrified. “ Wait ! “ she cried.

“I’m a little late,” Baddy said. “It takes a lot of time to get back to Bagdad.”

“Wait, wait!” Belle cried. “Don’t leave me!”

“Why not?” Baddy said.

“I’m dying, too.”

“Is it anything contagious?” Paddy said.

“No, no!” Belle said. “You’re safe. It’s sanitary.”

“What have you got?” Paddy said.

“A broken heart,”Belle said.

“You better call a doctor,” Paddy said.

He went out quickly. Daze stopped being two tigers, and got up and went to Jim.

“Belle wants to be famous,”she said. “She’s very good, don’t you think?”

Belle Shade was still acting, still dying of a broken heart. Paddy came back in and looked at her a minute. “ Who’s Chuck, Bellie?” he said.

“Belle Shade, Paddy! Will you please stop calling me Bellie?”

“Well, anyway, who’s Chuck?”

“Anybody,” Belle said. “A man. In the play.”

“Oh,” Baddy said.

They all went out into the yard now under the old walnut tree. Jim sat down and began to take the casing off a walnut. Paddy sat beside him, and then Belle and Daze. They spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning and breaking walnuts, eating them, and talking about the stage, and life itself. It was almost dark when Mrs. Shehady came across the alley to get them and stop a moment to chat with Jim.

“How’s your mama?” she said.

“She’s fine, thanks,” Jim said.

“ Where is she?” Mrs. Shehady said.

“Well, she’s not home from work yet,” Jim said.

“At the store? ”

“In the office at the store,” Jim said.

“I always forget,” Mrs. Shehady said. “Walpole’s. It’s the best store in town, too. You tell her I was asking for her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said.

Then they all went off in the dark.

Jim got all the casings and shells together, put them in a box, and took the box to the fireplace in the living room, trying all the while to think of something useful to invent. It was only five, and dark already. His mother wouldn’t be home until around halt past six. He started a fire in the fireplace and sat at the window, looking out at the house across the alley, at the people in the house.

Mr. Shehady was home from his job at the Southern Pacific, and Mrs. Shehady had them all at the table in the dining room. She was pouring soup into bowls and putting the bowls down one by one in front of them.

They were a good family and he liked them — the small sensible father, the big nervous mother, the simple son, and the two daughters, the one who wanted to go on the stage and be famous, and the one who didn’t know what she wanted to do.

Most of the time it was fine having them in the house across the alley, but sometimes when he was thinking, when he was trying to figure out something complicated or wonderful to invent, and they surrounded him with their strange ways, he believed their getting into his life was just about the worst thing that over happened to him.

“I’ve just got to invent something,” Jim thought, but he couldn’t get Belle Shade out of his mind long enough to think of something.

“Whoever invented her,” he thought, “sure must have got a big surprise.”