Earthbound

by Richard Matheson

  His smile was strained. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me last night she was here?”

  Don’t get angry, he ordered himself. “Honey, you just got home ten minutes ago,” he told her. “I haven’t seen you since you went out last night.”

  “Would you have told me if the locket hadn’t fallen out of your shirt?”

  Her question took him back. “Of course I’d have told you,” he said.

  The pause. The words he knew were coming. Don’t, he thought.

  “Like you told me about Julia?” she asked quietly.

  Even knowing that the words were coming, he felt stunned. “You’re not trying to equate this with—?”

  She wouldn’t let him finish. “I’m trying to make our reconciliation work, David,” she said. “What are you trying to do?”

  He felt flabbergasted and angry at the same time. “What is going on here?” he asked. The numbness in his head aggravated him now, preventing clear thought.

  “I think that’s my question, David,” Ellen said.

  He stared at her, appalled. “You’re not—?” He couldn’t finish, kept staring at her. “You’re not actually suggesting that—?” Again, he couldn’t finish.

  “Were you going to tell me, David?” she demanded.

  “Yes, Ellen, yes!”

  He felt immediate regret at having raised his voice. They looked at each other in heavy silence. David knew he had to speak, say something to end this terrible feeling.

  “Look,” he started. “I know you’re still disturbed about what happened but this had no bearing whatever on—”

  Her look of disbelief made him break off. He made an incredulous noise. “El, come on,” he said. “Do you really think I brought you all the way back here for a second honeymoon just to make out with some total stranger who—?” He broke off with a disgusted noise. And yet what she suspected wasn’t inconceivable, his mind threw back, dismaying him.

  Ellen’s voice made him shudder as she said, “Julia was a total stranger to me, too.”

  “Oh, come on, Ellen. Please?”

  “I have just gone through a year of lies and secrets, David. I’m a little weary of lies and secrets.”

  He was getting angry again. He started to nod. “You really think there’s something going on here, don’t you? You really think that while you were out walking, I took advantage of the time to—” He broke off, exasperated. “For pete’s sake, Ellen!”

  He watched her in amazement as she reached forward, dropped the locket into his shirt pocket and turned toward the staircase. “Ellen,” he said.

  He looked at the staircase until he heard the bedroom door close upstairs. Abruptly, then, he started forward. “No,” he muttered. “We’re not going to let things go again. We’re not.”

  He moved determinedly for the stairs, trying to think of some way he could reassure her. Instead, he found himself envisioning the ineffective creature he’d make trying to settle their difficulties while standing before her in bare feet. He faltered in mid-stride, considering the hasty donning of his socks and shoes. No. He shook his head and kept on moving. There was no time for that.

  He started up the stairs two at a time, then jarred to a gasping halt as the studio door was opened and Marianna stood before him. David gaped at her, his heartbeat staggering.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  He swallowed hard. “You startled me,” he said. He could barely speak.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  David looked at her, confused. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  “Just a little while,” she said. “I came to see you but you weren’t in the house. Then I heard you come in with your wife and—” she smiled, embarrassedly. “I was afraid she wouldn’t understand so I … hid in here.”

  “Oh,” he nodded, vaguely. Good God, had she heard everything that had gone on below? The idea made him cringe.

  “Could I speak to you a minute?” she asked.

  David glanced up the staircase worriedly.

  “Just for a minute,” Marianna said.

  “Well … all right.” His smile was awkward. “You want to come downstairs or—?”

  “In here is fine.”

  David hesitated for a moment, then nodded once. “All right” He entered the studio as Marianna stepped aside, tensing a little as she closed the door. The room was as dark as it had been the night before; without moonlight, perhaps even darker. “Did you close the drapes?” he asked.

  “I was afraid your wife might look in and see me if I didn’t.”

  David grunted, nodding. He shifted his feet on the icy floorboards.

  “Why are they bare?” Marianna asked.

  “I got my shoes and socks wet.”

  “Why don’t you sit on the couch? We can cover them with the blanket.”

  “Well—” He drew in restless breath. I have to see my wife, he thought This is ridiculous.

  “Come along,” she said. He tightened as she took him by the hand and led him across the studio to the couch; despite his disenchantment with her, her closeness still affected him strongly.

  “Sit” she said.

  David sat down. He lifted up his right foot and wrapped both hands around it. “Good Lord, it’s frozen,” he said.

  “Lift both of them,” she told him.

  Obediently, David shifted back and raised his legs, resting both feet on the couch. Marianna picked up the blanket and shook it open, David averting his face from the scale of dust. Spreading the blanket across his feet, Marianna tucked the edges in around his calves and ankles. “There,” she said. She sat beside him.

  David tried not to let her see or hear him swallow as she gazed at him. Now that his eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark, he could see that it was not complete, enough light filtering through the drapes to dilute the blackness. Marianna was dressed the same, her skirt and sweater dimly lactescent in the gloom. Only her feet were different, shod in light sandals now.

  Well? he thought, abruptly, What do you want? Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words aloud. “I tried to bring back your locket,” he said impulsively.

  Marianna fingered idly at her throat. “That’s right I left it with you, didn’t I?” she said.

  He nodded slightly, wondering if she was going to say anything about her lie. When she didn’t, he reached into his shirt pocket with brusque annoyance and drew out the chain and locket. “Here,” he said.

  “Thank you, David.” That smile again; he fought against its effect, shivering as their fingers brushed together. Well, what do you want? he thought again. Again, he couldn’t ask aloud.

  “I—”

  “What, David?”

  He tensed. Nothing, he thought. Then, as she looked at him with curiosity, he added, uncomfortably, “I saw the photograph inside and I don’t look a bit like your—Terry.”

  “I never said you did.”

  David frowned, perplexed, then realized that she hadn’t. “Well, you—said I remind you of him,” he muttered.

  “You do,” she told him. “Very much.”

  He flexed his teeth together. Somehow the conversation was proceeding as if he’d requested to see her rather than the opposite. He braced himself to ask her what it was she wanted. He had to get upstairs to Ellen.

  “Here,” she said. He started as she held out her hand. Gingerly, he took hold of the slender chain, his fingers twitching as the locket fell from her palm, causing it to jump reboundingly against his wrist. Marianna inclined her head and, reaching backward, gathered up her long, black hair, baring the nape of her neck. “Put it on me, please?” she asked. David tightened irritably, then seeing no way out of it, pinched a chain end between each thumb and index finger, stretched it taut and carried it across her head, lowering it past her face. The locket caught on Marianna’s chin and, with a fragile sough of amusement, she raised her head briefly so that the locket dropped before her breasts, swin
ging in tiny, penduluming circles. David leaned in closer, trying, unsuccessfully, to join the links.

  “What’s the matter?” Marianna asked.

  “I can’t see what I’m doing.”

  Marianna pressed against him. “Here.” He felt a silken tingling in the flesh as she rested her cheek against his drawn-up leg; now the back of her neck was only inches from his face, milk-white even in the gloom. He squinted, trying to see the opening in the catch. The ambrosial scent of her hair and skin began affecting him. It seemed as if his lips were being, irresistibly, attracted to her neck.

  “How do you get in the house?” he asked, trying to prevent himself from kissing the neck.

  “With a key.”

  “Of course.” He closed his eyes, teeth clenching lightly. This is not the time for kissing unfamiliar napes, he told himself. He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just can’t see,” he told her, giving up. “If we could open the drapes a little …”

  Marianna reached back and took the chain ends from him. ‘There,” she said, drawing away her hands almost immediately. Why did you ask me to do it then? he thought.

  “Why did you tell me you live down the beach?” he demanded.

  “I do.”

  “Where? I saw only one house and that’s locked up.”

  “That’s the wrong one then.” Her voice was teasing.

  “Where’s the right one then?”

  “Down the beach.”

  He tensed. “Around the bluff?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She smiled. “You’ll find it David.”

  He shivered at the implication of her words. “Will I?” he resisted.

  “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” Marianna laid a hand on his and looked into his eyes.

  David had the feeling that his answer should indicate that he didn’t know her well enough to feel any such extreme emotion at her behavior. Instead, he felt himself draw breath in, strainingly, and murmur, “No.”

  Marianna’s smile was radiant. “Good,” she said, “I don’t want you ever to be angry with me.”

  Ever? he thought. What did that mean? He almost asked, then caught himself.

  “You like this room?” she asked.

  “I … guess.” She had him, constantly, off-balance, it seemed.

  “I love it,” she said, “ever since that first night.” He felt her fingers tightening on his. “I met Terry on the beach,” she told him. “I was taking a walk and he was standing by the water, looking out. We talked a while; then he invited me to his house for a drink. We sat up here and had some wine and talked. Later on, we made love. Right on this couch.”

  David started unexpectedly.

  “Are you angry that I told you?” Marianna asked.

  He swallowed, tried to smile. “No, it’s … not my—”

  “Yes, you are.” She leaned against him, her expression saddening. “Don’t be angry with me, David.”

  “I’m not,” he said. There was a feeling in his stomach which he wasn’t able to identify. Could it, possibly, be jealousy? The thought offended him. I really have to go, Marianna, he thought. He braced himself to tell her so.

  “Darling, aren’t you going to put your arm around me?” she asked.

  Something burst inside him—like a globe of ice exploding. He realized, with a start, that it was fear and drove it off, affronted. He was acting like a nervous boy. Just because she’d asked—

  The thought broke off as he watched his arm settling over Marianna’s shoulders. No, wait I didn’t mean—! He tried to countermand the movement but it was done now, Marianna leaned against him with a sigh. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, looking up at him. Dear God, how beautiful she was. He tried to think of Ellen crying in the bedroom, needing him, but the thought had no cohesion, breaking up and dissipating in the moment of its birth. There was only Marianna, dark eyes holding his, her lips so close that, if he were to lean forward just a little bit—No, wait a minute, he thought.

  “Please,” she begged.

  No. He tried to reason with himself—to no avail. The onward movement of his arm was halting, like the gesture of a marionette, imperfectly manipulated. No, he thought again, but the counsel of his mind was powerless to stop him. Marianna’s face drew closer to him, drifting upward palely. Oh, now, wait a minute—Now her eyes were closing slowly, now the heated perfume of her breath was misting across his lower face. For God’s sake, wait! Now her lips were touching his, their softness yielding to him. No! Now they pressed in harder, animated and demanding; now he felt the fingers of her right hand sliding deep into his hair to pull him closer yet. The shadows spun around him, holding him, together with her, in a warmly fragrant chrysalis of desire from which he was incapable of breaking loose.

  When she let him go, he hitched up slightly, breathing hard. “Marianna, this is—”

  “Love me, David.”

  Something hovered in his mind: decision, like an uncommitted bird, prepared to wheel away in flight or plummet downward in attack. He watched her look of undisguised want as she turned and rose to one knee, facing him. “Love me, David,” she repeated, her voice commanding. No! he thought.

  With an impotent shudder, David slid both arms around her and she fell against him, lips, hungrily, at his again. He pulled her violently to himself, the pressure of her jutting breasts arousing him still further. Suddenly, Marianna jerked his right arm free and, twisting slightly to the side, lifted his hand to her left breast. David cupped his palm across the thrusting cone and started fondling and massaging it, feeling, through the sweater, how its nipple hardened at his touch. Marianna licked his lips tempestuously. She raked her teeth across his cheek, her breath like spilling fire on his skin. “Anything!” she whispered in his ear.

  Drawing back, eyes never leaving his, she tugged the sweater up across her head and slung it aside; David tightened at the prominence of her bust as she turned her back to him. “Quickly, darling.” His fingers trembled as he picked the four hooks from their eyes. The brassiere ends sprang apart and Marianna shucked it into his lap. “Hands,” she muttered. David held them out, numb and shaking, and she clutched them to the pendant arching of her breasts, hissing through her teeth, eyes hooded, as he dug his fingers into them. “More,” she said. Gasping, David dropped his head and started kissing them. He ran his tongue across the large, stiffened nipples and she pulled him savagely against herself, a frenzied moaning in her throat. “Feed,” she said. Her back went rigid as he began to suckle her. “Bite me, hurt me.” Her hands were clutching at his head like talons of steel. “Take them,” she ordered. “They’re yours, yours!”

  David felt himself the captive of a wild, erotic dream. How their clothes came off he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that, magically, both of them were naked and Marianna was bestowing on him the kind of headlong wantonness that he’d imagined only in his most covert of fancies—wordless, unconfined, increasingly berserk, her exquisite face gone bestial with demented sensuality, her hands and mouth like swarming creatures on his flesh, her ivory body twisting, turning, offering every possible variety of sensation, driving him deeper and deeper into a pit of mind—consuming lust until, reared up on him, back arched and stiff, tumid breasts upthrust, her expression one of insensate abandonment, she drained his loins with such a violence that it seemed as if his very blood were pouring into her.

  Then it was done and he was lying on his back in dead-weight torpor, looking up at her with eyes glazed by satiety. Still straddling him, Marianna leaned down and ran her moist tongue over his lips. “Did you like that?” she murmured.

  He couldn’t speak.

  Marianna smiled. “I think you did,” she said. “I think you loved it.” She straightened, drawing in a breath that swelled her heavy, ovate breasts. “Again?” she asked.

  He stared at her, incredulous. “Now?” he asked.

  Marianna laughed indulgently. “No, I guess you need a little rest,” she said.

  “Don’t you?”

  H
er smile hardened into one of carnal invitation. “I never need rest” she said.

  David groaned a little. “You’re a better man than I am—so to speak.” He tried to will away the rising chill of guilt.

  Marianna rose and stood beside the couch, gazing down at him. “Am I beautiful?” she asked.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “And do you love me?”

  David looked up blankly. Love?

  “Never mind. You will.” Kneeling suddenly, she kissed him with possessive ardor, right hand clutching at his hair. “You’re mine,” she whispered, fiercely. “Mine.”

  David watched in apprehensive silence as she stood again and began to dress. Abruptly, it occurred to him that Ellen might have walked in on them at any time; that she might walk in on them now. His worried gaze flicked upward automatically.

  “She didn’t hear,” Marianna told him.

  David started. “How do you—?”

  “I know,” she broke in. Was she smiling? He couldn’t tell; her face was lost in shadow. “And you don’t have to worry.” She picked up her brassiere and slipped it on. “You like my body?” she asked, reaching back to fasten it.

  “Yes.” He wasn’t certain what his feeling was at that specific moment, his diffident anxiety for her to leave balanced by a fear of not seeing her again—both emotions complicated by a constantly enlarging guilt and a sense of irritation with her for assuming that his one concern was to avoid detection by his wife. He wished that he could sit up and speak to her accordingly—but he felt as if his limbs were coated with lead. He watched her movements as she dressed. In seconds, she was done and sitting by his side.

  “I’m glad you like it” she told him, “because it’s yours.” Bending over, she kissed him lingeringly, her left hand caressing his body; David writhed at her touch, thinking, almost frightenedly: Don’t!

  Finally, she sat up. “You won’t tell her, will you?” she said.

  David tensed. Was it just imagination or had there really been a shade more bidding than appeal in Marianna’s voice?