Free Norwood by Charles Portis Page B

“You’re not figuring your tips in on that?”
    â€œI don’t have time to talk, fellow. Beat it, okay? If I was on the city payroll it would be different. Everybody thinks I’m on the city payroll.”
    â€œYou’re trying to make it sound like you have to shine more shoes than you really do. Why don’t you figure your tips in on it?”
    The shine man stood up and put one fist on his hip and did a Mediterranean fast burn. “You can’t figure it that way, Mr. Smart Guy. You gotta figure it on your base rate, which is twenty cents. A lotta smart guys think they know more about my business than I do.”
    The man in the chair put down his magazine. “Look, I’m in kind of a hurry,” he said.
    â€œSure, you’re in a hurry,” said the shine man. “ I’m in a hurry, everybody in the world is in a hurry except this smart guy that has time to go down the street telling everybody how to run their business. How can I work with a smart guy standing over my shoulder telling me how to run my business? The answer is— I can’t. ”
    â€œLeave him alone, buddy,” said the man in the chair.
    â€œGo bother Mayor Wagner,” said the shine man. “He needs advice. Tell him how to run the city. He’s on the city payroll. Don’t bother me, bother somebody on the city payroll.”
    The subway was cleaner and more brightly lighted than Norwood had expected, and it moved faster. He jostled his way forward to the front car and looked through the glass with his hands cupped around his face. He was disappointed to find the tunnel so roomy. Only a very fat man could be trapped in it with a train coming. The air smelled of electricity and dirt.
    In one of the pedestrian tunnels at the Union Square stop a man was stretched out on the concrete having a fit and forcing people to step around him in the narrow passageway. Norwood watched him as he gave a few terminal jerks and a long sigh. He knew he should look to see if the man had swallowed his tongue, the way they used to have to do with that Eubanks boy in the fifth grade, but he didn’t want to put his finger in the man’s mouth unless he had to. It was all right for doctors. They didn’t care where they put their hands. He lifted the man by the armpits and propped him against the wall. The man rolled his eyes. His legs were rubbery and he couldn’t stand alone.
    â€œYou want some water?” said Norwood.
    â€œWater? Yeah.”
    â€œWell . . . I don’t have any. How about a cigarette?”
    â€œYou can’t smoke down here.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?”
    â€œI’ll be all right in a minute.”
    A woman with some packages stopped and inquired and Norwood told her to go see if she could find somebody. She said she would tell a transit policeman. Norwood waited. Without the blockage people rushed along now in a steady stream. No policeman came. A foot brushed the guitar and made it ring. The man closed his eyes and took a nap standing there. No policeman. Norwood reached out into the stream and grabbed a man’s arm, a dapper man in a neat metallic suit.
    â€œHold this fellow up a minute.”
    The man jumped and did as he was told. Then he said, “Hey, what is this, you?”
    Norwood was picking up his gear. “Somebody’s coming to get him. They’re on the way.”
    â€œWhere are you going? What do you think you’re doing? You can’t detain me like this. I’m an officer of the court. I’ve got to get downtown.”
    â€œWe all got to catch trains. I can’t be down here helping folks out all day myself. I don’t even live here.”
    â€œI won’t be put in a false position, you. This is a false position.”
    â€œI got to go.”
    Norwood found the Canarsie line with no trouble but on the train he let his mind wander and the next thing he knew he was under the river, and