Tornado Pratt by Paul Ableman Page B

AIN
    You see—did I mention? I had some scheme for going into politics.Seems inconceivable now, Horace, that I could have—still I did—back about nineteen twenty-eight—thought I’d get me elected junior senator for Illinois and then maybe—then what? Become maybe—maybe President—and then change—some good and—why didn’t I? Because—because—oh God! Nat began to die. So it was not just Pratt’s time of pain but also
N AT’S T IME OF P AIN
    First thing she just began to get sick if we stayed out drinking. She might get a pain in the stomach. At first, I didn’t believe her. I thought she was just pretending in order to get me home and away from the booze. All my life, Horace, I have shown a tendency to drink too much. My strong constitution has normally protected me from the adverse effects although it is possible that the reason I have been struck down on this atoll is because I have softened my arteries with alcohol. Before, I was in fine shape, very vigorous for a man of seventy-two and quite capable of screwing two dames in one day. But now the blood-fountain has erupted in my brain and must drown the personality of Tornado Pratt.
    So one day, when we were having a party in a circus ring, Nat started complaining about the pain. Supposing she was feigning the disorder, I just snapped to some stooge: “get my car” and then I sent Nat home alone in the car, making it clear to her, in a kindly but firm way, that I did not believe her and had caught on that she was just trying to stop me drinking. But that was one of the most fantastic parties I ever gave, Horace, and you couldn’t have dragged me away with a team.
    Imagine an elephant with a bar on its back! We had that. Imagine police captains swigging bootleg gin on a flying trapeze. I saw it that night. Imagine a United States’ congressman in a clown’s baggy pants and painted red nose volleying custard pies at a supreme Court judge. It happened on that occasion. Imagine a hundred glittering girls wafting through the air in silver pants and bras. Cost fifty thousand bucks that party, Horace. Everyone behaved like a nut with that fierce determination to let go which is only shown by those who normally have to keep a rigid grip on their outlines. I danced with a lion and dove a hundred feet into a net. I drank maybe a quart of imported scotch and it turned my brain into a furnace of delight. So I was not sympathetic when Nat said she had a pain and I sent her home with the chauffeur.
    After that evening, she didn’t complain much, because of her desire not to upset me and it was about three months later Inoticed she was white and biting her lip. My heart took a dive and I rushed her to Schumacher. I could see he knew there was something wrong but he couldn’t come up with the answer at first and he tried to reassure me. Then, about a month later, he first got it to show up on an X-ray. Nat had cancer of the stomach.
    She lost fifteen pounds in weight. She was like a little girl with big eyes. I got Ezra to find out who was the best surgeon in America and then I flew to New York and offered him a huge sum of money to operate on Nat. That doctor turned out to be a communist and would not put Nat forwards even for any amount of money. So then I came at him with:
    “Okay, Doc, don’t do it for money. I won’t pay you a thing. But I’m still asking you to fly back with me to Chicago and operate. I tell you why. I’ll give away all my money to the poor. I’ll be a poor man myself for the rest of my life. I give you my word. What I’m asking you now, Doc, is to operate on my wife, not because I pay you more than others and not because I have any claim on a man with your beliefs but just because I love her so much. I promise you this, Doc, there is no one on your waiting list who loves anyone as much as I love my Nat. There just couldn’t be.”
    And he came, Horace, and he operated on Nat. The operation was a success but he had to cut away half