by Gene Wolfe
Ann said, “Mr. Hwan is lying, too. He said he’d never seen it.”
“That bothers me,” Miss Sun admitted. “He isn’t a liar—he’s just the other way, in fact. I’m going to have a talk with him the first chance I get. If I find out anything, I may tell you the next time you come in.”
Shields grinned. “May?”
“It depends on exactly what I find out, doesn’t it?” Miss Sun glanced at her watch. “I should go—the doors are supposed to be locked already. You take your time and enjoy your dinner. Hwan will put anything you want to save in cartons for you.”
“Thank you,” Shields said. “You’ve been very helpful.” He rose as she did and seated himself again when she was gone.
Ann said, “You’re right, she was. Oranges and tangerines—that’s it, of course. Both are cheap, both easy to get even in a country place like this. If it’s too tart, use more oranges. If it’s too sweet, more tangerines.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Shields told her.
“Do you know, Willie, I didn’t really think it was. What did you mean?”
“That seeing the castle doesn’t depend on what culture you come from. Hwan saw it and that girl didn’t, even though he’s still Chinese, culturally, and she’s culturally American. It doesn’t seem to depend on desire, either. She wanted to see it, but she didn’t.”
“Okay, I’ll play Devil’s Advocate,” Ann said, swallowing a mouthful of duck. “Have you considered that it might depend on credulity?”
“Rejected,” Shields told her. “I saw it, and I’ve been in the automobile business since we got out of college. You don’t have much credulity left after the first few years. Besides, I saw it when I wasn’t expecting to, or even thinking about it.” He helped himself to fried bean curd. “Now tell me about your adventures. Did you say you met a cowboy? What happened to the car?”
“It’s got blood on the upholstery in back. And yes, I most certainly did. I told you I went to the office to ask that lady about the man on the horse, remember?”
Shields nodded.
“She told me there was a summer camp down Old Penton Road—it’s called Meadow Grass. They have a lot of horses there, and sometimes the kids ride them at night, although it’s against the rules.” Briefly, Ann described her encounters with Wrangler and Lisa. “So I got this scrumptious recipe for cheesecake that the counselor’s mother got from her friend. Then one of the girls, Sissy Stevenson—do you know her, Willie? When I said that, you looked as though you did.”
Shields nodded. “I was just talking to her on the phone. She and another girl, a foreign girl, I think, are taking care of Bob.”
Ann stopped chewing to stare at him. “You’re kidding! How in the world … ?”
He waved the question away. “I don’t know. I don’t know much about it at all, but I should know a lot more after I go down there and pick him up, which I’m going to do as soon as we finish. What was your connection with Sissy?”
“She was the one who showed me the horses, that’s all—all except Buck, because Wrangler was still out on Buck. They were all dry and seemed rested, so if it was one of those horses it had to be Buck, but I don’t really think it was. The horse we saw was a lot bigger than Buck, for one thing, at least as big as Boomer, the biggest horse there. But it wasn’t Boomer, and the man on him certainly wasn’t wearing a hat like Wrangler’s, if he was wearing a hat at all. Do you think he was, Willie?”
Shields shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“If he was, it was a cap or something like that, something close-fitting.” Ann sipped tea while she considered the matter. “Anyway, I thanked Sissy and got in the Buick, and off I went.”
“How did—”
“Please don’t interrupt, Willie. I’m trying to tell you. Well, the first thing was that I took the wrong road. I mean, it was the right one, the road to the main entrance. But it wasn’t the one I’d come over before, the road I knew. Pretty soon I was sure I was lost, but there wasn’t any place to turn around, so I just kept driving, hoping the road would come out somewhere. And—Willie, have you ever seen a horse in a cowboy movie just run away like crazy after somebody’d shot the cowboy and he fell off?”
Shields nodded. “Sure.”
“Well, it was just like that. Here was this poor horse—it was Buck, of course—galloping right across the road in front of me, with nobody on him. I almost hit him, just like you almost hit that other horse. Of course I slowed down, and somebody in the back seat said not to pay any attention to the horse. Well, I’m telling you, I just about jumped out of my skin! I slammed on the brakes, and she bumped her nose on the back of the front seat. I think that’s where most of the blood comes from.”
Shields asked, “Who was she?”
“The French girl from the camp, Lucie something. She had to get to town, she had to meet somebody. And so she’d hidden in the back of our car—how do you like that? Well, I told her to forget it, I was going to turn around and take her back the first chance I got.”
Shields nodded approvingly, wondering whether he could have been so stern.
“But I couldn’t. There’s just this narrow dirt road, with no place to turn, so I had to keep driving. I knew I’d come out on the highway, and then I’d be able to turn around and go back without getting stuck. The shoulders were pure mud; I sank in up to my ankles, practically, when I got out.”
“Why did you get out?” he asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Pretty soon I saw a man lying beside the road. She didn’t want me to stop, but how could I drive past somebody who needed help? I stopped and got out, and it was Wrangler, the cowboy from the camp. I think he must have fallen off his horse. He was unconscious, and he was bleeding a little.”
“So you put him in the back seat. I suppose I would have, too.”
“That’s right, I did. I tried to bandage him first, but my handkerchief wouldn’t reach around his head. Women used to tear off the bottoms of their petticoats—I’ve seen it on TV. They must’ve been cotton, but my slip’s nylon. It wouldn’t tear, and it wouldn’t have sopped up much blood anyway. So we laid him on the back seat, and I showed Lucie how to hold my handkerchief to his head. After that I drove as fast as I could. Did you know there’s a hospital here, Willie?”
“So I understand—one ambulance.”
“But I’ll bet you haven’t been in it. It’s just a little place, smaller than our fire station. We came up to it like a hot-rod, Willie. You should’ve seen us! When I got out, there was blood all over in back; it was just terrible. I yelled when I saw it, and some people came out and got him; he looked awful, too—he was so white. After that I found a phone and called you here.”
“Thank you,” Shields said.
“So that’s my story—captured at gunpoint, escaped, and a daring rescue of a wounded cowboy. On TV that would be a whole season. You said that Bob—is that the man who was with you in the museum? That he was at Meadow Grass. How’d he get there?”
Shields shrugged; he had been considering what was left of the double-cooked pork, but had wisely decided he was too full for another bite. “All I can do is guess. I called the motel, and the old woman there said she thought you and Merc might have gone down to that camp; so I called the camp and talked to Sissy Stevenson. I gave her my name, and she wanted to know whether I knew Bob—they’d found one of my cards in his wallet. She told me that some girl was missing, and the counselor had gone out to look for her and come across Bob, lost and just about exhausted. I wanted to talk to him, but he was asleep and she didn’t want to wake him. Then I asked to talk to the counselor, but she’d gone out to search some more.”
Ann’s eyes shone. “This’s strange, isn’t it, Willie?”
“Not really half as strange as seeing the castle. Somebody kidnapped Bob. God knows why, but they did. I think he must’ve gotten away from them. Not as easily as you escaped—”
“I was only teasing about that. Go on.”
“I don’t think there’s much more to go on about. Bob ran away. In that rain they probably couldn’t see him when he was twenty feet off, and it would tend to muffle any noise he made—breaking sticks, or anything like that. My guess is that he kept running till he dropped, and then this counselor …”
“Lisa Solomon,” Ann supplied.
“Right, Lisa Solomon. He probably lay there till she found him. Anyway, Miss Solomon had Sissy call the hospital, but they wouldn’t send their ambulance. They told her there was only one and it was at some accident; they said that if Bob wasn’t hurt, she should just let him rest until morning. So the girls helped him undress and got him into bed, and as soon as he was asleep they went through his pockets to see who he was.”
Phyllis Sun laid their bill on the table; it was in a brass tray with two fortune cookies. “Hwan’s gone home. Or at least, he’s gone.”
Ann said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Maybe it’s for the best—he’ll feel better in the morning, I’m sure. Did you enjoy your meal? Would you like to take the leftovers with you?”
Shields said, “It was wonderful. Thank you.”
Ann added, “And I’d love to take the rest home, especially the duck.” There were two spoonsful of duck left. “But where we’re staying, we wouldn’t have anyplace to put it.”
When Miss Sun had gone, she said, “Willie, we’re supposed to leave now. They want to close.”
“I know.” He had already taken out his wallet. Should you tip a waiter who ran away before the meal was finished? Shields decided you should not. “I’ve still got the Cherokee I told you about. I want you to drive our car over to the agency and park in back. The mechanics will be in Monday, and they can clean up the rear seat. I’ll pick you up in the Cherokee and drop you at the motel.”
“You will not! I’m going with you.”
“To the camp? You must be tired.”
“I can hardly keep my eyes open; but I know those people at the camp now, so I can vouch for you. How would they know that you’re not one of the gang that kidnapped this salesman to start with? Besides, you’ll need somebody to look after him while you drive.
“Now,” Ann continued, having settled the matter, “aren’t we going to read our fortune cookies?” She took one and snapped it open. “Listen to this, Willie: ‘You will save a king.’ You’ve got to admit that’s class! What’s yours?”
He broke the brittle cookie and pulled out the slip of paper it contained. “‘Be careful near the water.’”
14
HOUSEGUESTS
THE TELEPHONE rang as Sally shut the bedroom door. She picked it up, recalling that Tom had ordered it installed so that the third shift supervisor could wake him when there was trouble at the plant. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Sally.”
She sat down on the bed. “Hi, Mom.”
“Kate and I have been conferring about you.” Kate was her sister. “And we thought it might be nice if you came over here to sleep.”
“I have to stay here, Mom—Seth’s not home yet. What would be nice would be if Dad could come over and stay with me.” She waited, tense and expectant.
“I’m afraid he can’t do that, Sally. I could come.”
A weight settled upon her heart; she had thought she could not feel worse, yet she did. “He isn’t with you, is he? They haven’t found him.”
“I’m sure it’s just some mixup, Sally. I didn’t know you knew about it.”
“There was a deputy here. He asked about Dad.” It struck her that the deputy had never really finished talking with her, that she had not told him about her father’s friends; she added, “He’s coming back, I think. Have you called the hospital?”
“I just did, again. They still don’t have him, but there’s been a terrible accident out on the highway, and they thought he might’ve been in that. They say the ambulance should be getting in with some of those people soon. I don’t see how he could be one of them, though.”
“I don’t either,” Sally agreed. “Will you phone as soon as he gets home?”
“You’re sure you don’t want to come over?”
“Maybe I will, when Seth brings back the car.” She thought of asking Kate to come, but that would leave Mom home alone and worrying. Besides, little Judy would be sleeping now, and Kate wouldn’t come without Judy.
“I’ll call just as soon as I can, Sally. But for now we’d better hang up. He might be trying to call me.”
“Good night, Mom. Don’t worry about Dad—he’s all right.” Sally remembered an expression he sometimes used. “He’s an old cat that always lands on its feet.” Cat—tomcat. Only Tom had not landed on his feet this time.
“Good-bye, Sally.”
She hung up, staring at the bedroom door. It had moved—or at least had appeared to move—a trifle when her mother had said good-bye. Without turning the white china knob, she tugged it; the door was still latched. Like every other interior door in the house, it could at least in theory be locked with an old-fashioned square-warded key, although it had not been locked since Seth was a toddler. Tom kept a skeleton key in his desk that fit all the doors.
The house seemed very quiet tonight with Seth and Tom gone. They had often been off fishing, or Seth at school while Tom was at the plant; but this seemed different.
She went into Tom’s study, a room only slightly larger than her pantry. There were inventories, still, in the basket on his desk, flimsy pink sheets weighed down with a bright casting; she would have to take them to the plant on Monday. Something there might be important, information that the new manager would need.
The skeleton key was not in the flat drawer, where she had expected to find it. She pulled out the drawer labeled Files, finding (as she had known she would) several steel files—flat, triangular, round, and half round. Tom’s little joke. The next drawer had a shallow tray in front; the key lay in it with a few yellow pencils and a ball-point pen. She picked it up and was about to shut the drawer when her glance was caught by the dusky gleam of blued steel: Tom’s pistol.
Hesitantly, she took it out, reassured by its weight in her hand. It was only a twenty-two, but it had a long, heavy barrel and a big adjustable sight. It looked dangerous, Sally thought, as of course it was. Her finger well away from the trigger, as her father had taught her, she pulled back the slide and looked into the chamber and at the clip. Both were empty—but what if Kate brought little Judy over, and Judy got into Tom’s desk? If she found Tom’s pistol, wasn’t there a chance she’d find the box of cartridges as well? Judy was too young, perhaps, to load the pistol. But in a year? Two years?
Sally reached under the tray that had held the key and took out the small, heavy box.
The slide had stayed back; there was a catch that kept it there, she remembered. She looked for it and found it, but did not push it down to free the slide. Not yet.
A rough button on one side of the handle—the grip—held the clip in place. She pressed it, and the clip slid out into her hand; she pushed shiny brass cartridges from the box into the ctip—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Tom had always shoved the clip back with the heel of his hand; Sally did the same. When she pressed down the little catch, the slide sprang forward, shouldering a cartridge from the clip into the chamber. Carefully and very firmly, she pushed up the safety so that the pistol would not fire.
With the blue cartridge box and the key in one hand and the pistol in the other, she started back toward the bedroom.
At the end of the hall, the wide front door seemed somehow menacing; she felt that the doorbell would ring before she left the hall, rung by something horrible.
And because she did, she did not leave it at all, going to the door instead, peering out through the thick glass panes and at last opening it and stepping out onto the long porch. Would the neighbors call the sheriff if they saw her come out onto her porch with the pistol in her hand? It wasn’t very likely, Sally decided, nor were they very li
kely to see her at this hour. But if they did and they called the sheriff, so much the better—she would have someone there.
Fee’s car—or had Fee come in a car? Fee’s car was gone if such a car had ever existed. The rain had stopped at last, and for a moment at least an orange harvest moon bathed the lawn in mysterious light through a break in the clouds.
Slowly, she went down the porch steps. It seemed a fearful thing to do, to go around the house with a gun in her hand; she told herself firmly that there was nothing there, and that once she had made a circuit of the whole house she would no longer be frightened. She would be able to weep for Tom again, and worry about Seth and her father, because she would no longer have to worry about herself.
A wide strip of grass barred the big oaks and maples from her carefully-tended borders. She trod it slowly, cautiously, grateful for the moonlight when it came and sorry when it left. The annuals were brave still, though they would be dead so soon. The perennials were losing their leaves. The hybrid teas would have to be covered next month; she would try to get Seth to do it, or do it herself.
As she remembered the tall white Styrofoam rose cones in the cellar, she realized she was not going to sell the house, that she would never deposit Fee’s check. Never! There would be some life insurance. They had saved some money for Seth’s education, and she was still an attractive woman—or so Tom had always said. She knew it to be true. Let Seth get a football scholarship. She might (she would) find another man, a man who would take care of her and their home, and be a father to Seth. Just as there were so many lonely women, surely there were many lonely men in the world, many of them good men.
Her index finger had curled around the trigger in a frenzy of determination; if it had not been for the safety, the pistol would have fired. She smiled at herself and relaxed—plenty of time for all this in the morning. No, plenty of time when poor Tom had been decently laid to rest.