“Good luck,” said my father, and I remember clearly how Jay looked at him smiling a little and said, “I think we’ll need it, Mr. Ayres. Between this and the war it’s the end of the old days and the old ways.”
Now I was going in again for the first time since that day, only I was Mr. Ayres now, and Jay was young Jay who wasn’t even born the day his grandfather had locked up the old saloon for the last time. He was working behind the bar at a furious rate, but he looked at me, and after a second or two, recognized me.
“Hello, Mr. Ayres,” he said. “Beer? Something stronger?”
“Beer,” I said, and after he had served me he went back to his work without another glance. And standing there looking at my beer I knew what I must have known in my heart all along. There was no going back, there never was. Instead of cool quiet, there was hot, murky, furious noise. A racketing juke box over yelling voices. Instead of well-being, there was panic. In all my life I never felt so alone as I did then.
I drove back to the house wearily, and when I turned into Nicholas Street the silence and darkness reminded me for the first time of the late hour. Swinging into the driveway I cut the motor and let the car coast noiselessly into the garage. Then I locked the doors behind it and Kate’s car as quietly as I could and started down the alley toward the side door of the house. All I could think of now was what to tell Lucille, how to forestall her from doing something foolish and damaging, and then I was suddenly caught up short by the glare of the kitchen light coming through the window.
Matt was standing in the center of the kitchen facing Bettina. I could hear his voice, but he spoke so softly I could not make out the words. She turned away from him, and he caught her arm and swung her back so that she was held tight against his body. And then while I stood transfixed, not meaning to interlope, he drew her lips to his and kissed her with such hungry passion and tenderness combined that her body seemed to melt helplessly against his, and you could see the current between them come alive before your eyes.
No man has the right to see his daughter at a moment like that, and I suppose the good and proper man if he did would feel an outrage, an anger, a jealousy, I don’t know what. I only know that to my own surprise my feelings were an honest gladness for her and for what she had found, and a courage in myself that had been lost for a long time.
I opened the door and let it slam loudly behind me. Then I waited in the darkness of the landing until I heard Bettina’s footsteps hastily moving across the floor to the inner door, and I let her open it. She looked flustered for a moment, and then smiled at me.
“This is a fine hour to come traipsing in,” she said.
“I was out driving,” I said apologetically.
“Oh, mother said it was some kind of business deal. She went to bed long ago.”
I had an anxious thought. “Before Matt came?”
Bettina glanced at Matt, and then looked at me defiantly. “Yes,” she said. “Why?”
“No chaperon,” Matt remarked. “And right on Nicholas Street in the wee hours.”
“God forbid,” I said. “As a matter of fact, from what I heard it isn’t chaperons you people are going to have to worry about in a little while; it’s baby-sitters.”
It wasn’t in the best of taste, but I was desperately anxious to show them that I was on their side right then, and it was the only opening that came to mind. It left a blank little silence, and then Bettina said to me uncertainly, “I suppose mother told you. I mean about Matt and me.”
“She did,” I said, “and all I need to know now is the time and the place so that we can wake up Nicholas Street with the fanciest wedding it’s ever seen.”
Bettina began to glow as if a light had been turned on in her. “I’m so glad,” she said. “I mean, Matt’s been talking about elopement so long, because of mother—because there might be some fuss—but this way it’s so much better ….”
Matt looked at me levelly. “Elopement’s a great institution, Harry,” he said. “You wouldn’t really have any objection to it if I used a good, strong ladder, would you?”
We understood each other very well, he and I. “Maybe we’d better leave the details for another time,” I said. “Meanwhile, considering the hour, I’ll be getting to bed.”
“No coffee and cake?” Bettina protested.
“That’ll also be left for another time.” I kissed her and shook Matt’s hand, and left them there with the door swinging shut behind them while I slowly made my way up the stairs and through the dark hall to the bedroom. Even running up a flight of steps had never affected me before, yet as I stood there in the blackness removing my shirt I could feel my heart thudding away like a trip hammer inside me. I had made up my mind as to what I would say to Lucille, and I wanted her to wake up to hear it, but at the same time I was deathly afraid of her hearing it and glad that she was asleep so that the issue could still be kept at a distance.
Then she turned in bed, I could hear it creak under her, and sat up so that her nightgown glimmered white in the room.
“Harry?” she said.
“Yes.”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. We were speaking in the unnecessarily hushed voices that one uses in a dark room.
“It must be late.” She yawned loudly. “I’ve been in and out of bed a half dozen times waiting for you. I must have fallen asleep.”
My hand was frozen on the last button of my shirt. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“That’s all right. Did you speak to him?”
I hesitated. “About getting out and not seeing Bettina again—no.”
Her voice started to tighten. “Did you speak to him at all?”
“Yes,” I said. “I spoke to him.”
“Well, what did you tell him?”
“I told him that I’d give him the biggest wedding this town has ever seen, and, if you must know, I told it to Bettina, too.”
The light on the headboard of the bed suddenly flashed on, and Lucille glared at me with her eyes squinting against it.
“Are you crazy?” she demanded.
“No, I told them exactly what I wanted to.”
Even though her eyes were getting accustomed to the light they remained narrowed. “But you understood what I wanted. I gave you fair warning, Harry.”
“Lucille,” I said, and drew a deep breath, “you can do your damnedest. If my daughter can be talked out of this marriage because of any sins I’ve committed she doesn’t deserve Matt Chaves. And as far as Kate Ballou is concerned, it’s all over between us. So whatever tricks you want to play, go right to it. I won’t wish you good luck, but you’ve got all my sympathy, Lucille.”
She looked at me dumfounded so that both of us were posed in a fantastic tableau for what seemed a thousand years, and then she abruptly turned her back on me and lay like that in unyielding silence. After I had pulled my shirt off I switched the light out and finished undressing in the dark. I lay in bed as far from her as I could, and tried to sleep, but could not. In a little while her breathing became even and hoarse, but I still remained in the same position. I ached from head to foot when a gray dawn showed through the window, and then when it was light enough I quickly dressed, found my painting materials, and went out in the back yard to work some of my tension out.
I wanted to do an abstract treatment of the garage under the early light, but the wall of Kate’s house kept interposing. I would lay down a few strokes and find my eyes fixed on that wall, and my mind dwelling on how thin that wall was, and how incapable of keeping us apart, while Lucille had raised a barrier that needed no cement or stone to do its work perfectly. And Lucille was still capable of doing far more than that. That was a thought that kept rising over the horizon of my mind like a thundercloud.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It is curious how much a bare flicker of facial expression, a minute physical gesture, can tell to someone whose senses have been sharpened to a needle point of receptivity. Whe
n we sat down at the breakfast table Bettina gave me a single, quick, hurt glance, and then sat with her eyes downcast so that I knew at once that Lucille had made good her threat. Matt caught my eye and then pursed his lips, looking at the ceiling and shaking his head slowly, and I realized that Bettina must have immediately taken him into her confidence. And once when his hand happened to touch hers she pulled away with a sudden little fury which made it obvious on the spot that whatever she had told him he certainly had not been properly sympathetic.
Even Dick, ordinarily so grave and pleasant, seemed to be caught in the undercurrent of feeling that circled the table. It was not only the rank bad manners of his snatching the Sunday paper from the sideboard and combing through it while at the table, but he acted with such sullen antagonism to everyone that it was almost a relief when he left the table without eating more than a mouthful and slammed his way out of the room.
It was a relief that did not last long. With Dick gone, and with Junie sent off to the kitchen, and the decks, so to speak, cleared for action, Lucille turned to Matt.
“I think you know exactly what I’m going to say,” she told him, and to my surprise her voice was shaking. “I left it to my husband to make it plain that this affair between you and Bettina had gone far enough, but it looks as if he didn’t have nerve enough to speak up to you. Now I understand that Bettina told you this morning just how she felt, and that it was all over, once and for all.”
Matt nodded pleasantly at this, thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back in his chair, something which served only to key up Lucille still further. For the first time I could remember, she was addressing someone else besides myself in the shrill voice hitherto reserved only for her private discussions with me.
“I think it’s despicable, Mr. Chaves, to take advantage of people’s good nature and hospitality the way you are doing right now. And if it takes plain talk to make you understand that you aren’t free to come and go here as if you paid rent, that you aren’t at liberty to go tracking your dirty shoes …”
Matt coolly looked down at his shoes—brand-new sneakers they looked like to me—and then at Lucille. “They’re Dick’s shoes,” he remarked.
Lucille’s mouth opened in outrage, and then she struck the table with her clenched fist. “I will not be laughed at!” she cried.
“Oh,” said Matt, “I’m far from laughing. Behold a man torn from his love, ordered from the warm refuge he had found—Betty, do you think that’s a reason for laughter?”
Bettina looked at him, her eyes wide and frightened. “I think you’re rotten,” she said at last in a quiet, level voice.
He leaned forward toward her. “But do you want me to leave?”
Her lips parted, she tried to say something, and failed. Then suddenly she clapped both hands to her face, and sat there, her body racked by long, shuddering sobs. Matt was on his feet in an instant, but Lucille was just as fast, and stood there facing him and blocking Bettina from him, the mother hen guarding her chick. They glared at each other, and Matt’s face was pure, undistilled hate.
“You’re doing this to her,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s time she came to her senses,” Lucille threw back.
“She’s got no right to cry! She’s only got the right to find pleasure in every breathing moment of her life! And because you never had that for yourself you’re trying to take it away from her, too!”
“Fine words,” Lucille said coldly.
“True words,” he said, “and by God, she knows it. Only, she’s backsliding, and she knows that, too, and that’s what’s hurting her.”
“It doesn’t suit you to talk like a preacher, Mr. Chaves,” Lucille snapped. “You’d be smart to leave that to your elders and betters.”
He looked at her with surprise, and, I think, a little admiration. “No,” he said at last, “I suppose it doesn’t suit me very well. So let’s dispense with it, let’s get down to cold cases. Maybe that’s more my style.” He turned to me. “Harry,” he said, “everybody here knows the score, and there’s no reason to pretend otherwise. I mean, about you and Kate.”
“Matt,” I protested, “there’s no reason to drag that in.”
“I think there is, Harry, because that’s what set all this off right now. You see, I had a long talk with Kate last night. I was supposed to tell you about it sometime when we were alone today, but I think that doing it right out in the open might clear up some of the reek of hypocrisy in this room.”
He was trying to strike back at Lucille, I knew, and yet he was only hurting me. And there was no way of stopping him.
“Kate’s giving up the house next door, Harry. She can’t stand living here the way things are, and tonight she’s packing up some personal stuff and moving back to the city for good. When she gets an apartment I’m supposed to take care of getting all the furniture and stuff shipped there.”
“That’s smart,” I forced myself to say. “I think that’s a wise move.”
“And about time!” Lucille said triumphantly.
“Is it?” Matt said. “Well, there’s one other thing I’m supposed to tell you, Harry. She wants you to come along with her. Tonight if you possibly can, and if not, as soon as you can clear things up and settle down in New York. She says it’s got to be one way or the other, Harry, and she’s willing to take her chances this way. And while she didn’t say it I can tell you what the reason is. She loves you, and nothing else matters a damn.”
He was addressing this as much to Bettina as to me, and when she put her hands down to look at me uncertainly and fearfully I felt myself going weak with hopelessness.
“I’m sorry, Matt,” I said. “It wouldn’t work out.”
It was a slap in the face to him.
“You’re a fool, Harry!” His voice was incredulous. “You’ll get a divorce—make a good life for yourself …!
“No,” I said, “I’m not going to do it, Matt. Please forget it. Forget the whole thing.”
He came around the table swiftly and his hand dug into my shoulder hard enough to make me wince. “I don’t believe you, Harry. My God, you still love her, don’t you!”
The words were like a knife thrust. “Matt!” I shouted, and then pulled away from him and almost blindly ran out of the room.
I ran like that right out to the open porch, and while I stood there trying to right my thoughts some people passed by—I didn’t even recognize them—and it struck me then how I must look, what they must be thinking. So I went back to the empty living room, and sat in my armchair there. The newspaper was in the chair, but I had no heart to look at it, to do anything, for that matter, but sit there with my eyes closed, half-dozing, but never quite enough to numb the pain in me.
That is how Lucille found me when she came to tell me that Kate Ballou was dead.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It has been my misfortune that while I have seen death only twice in my lifetime, in each case it has been death by violence. Not the peaceful parting words, the closing of the eyes in the last sleep, but the abrupt and violent wrenching of life from its shell. What is left after that is impossible to recognize or understand. It is what you loved, and yet it is not. It is there, and it isn’t. Nothing is very real then, but you turn your face from reality, because you know it can only intensify your hurt.
All I could think at first was that she must be terribly uncomfortable lying there like that on those steps, and even after Matt went upstairs and returned with a sheet that he threw over her I couldn’t shake that thought. Then he helped me upstairs to the kitchen, and we sat there mutely until Morten and Dr. Greenspan arrived. It was only after that that an edge of clarity started to cut through the gray gelatinous limbo I was sunk in.
Somehow, I had imagined that they would lay her out decently, and carry her away at once so that she need not be uncomfortable any more. Instead, Dr. Greenspan remained in the cellar, while Morten came up looking grave and concerned, and started a sort of aimless worrying through
the house. I could hear his footsteps sounding through the rooms, and up the stairs, and over my head, until each step became a hammer blow on my skull. Finally, he came down to the kitchen again, and the doctor joined him there shaking his head. They spoke together quietly in a corner for a long while, and then Morten turned to Matt and me.
“Somebody ought to be notified,” he said. “Do you know of any relatives, any people maybe, I should get in touch with?”
“I don’t know of any relatives,” Matt said.
“Any other people? Somebody close to her?”
“No,” Matt said, “I’m the only one close to her.”
The meaning of that stabbed me.
“Wait a second, Morten,” I started to say, but Matt cut me off angrily.
“Keep out of this, Harry!” he said. “You don’t have anything to do with it.”
He was only trying to help me, I understood, but in his own interests it was the worst thing he could have said just then. A subtle change came over Morten’s whole manner. He rocked slowly back and forth on his feet, studying Matt up and down, and pursing his lips all the while. Then he said very softly, “I suppose you’re Mr. Ayres’ lawyer, aren’t you?”
“No,” Matt said, “I’m his friend.”
Morten made a gesture toward the cellar. “And that young lady, you were her friend, too.”
“Yes, I was.”
“In fact,” Morten remarked, “just about everybody’s friend.”
Matt stood up facing him. “You’re getting at something,” he said slowly, “but I don’t know what. Now why don’t you just speak up and get it over with.”
“Oh, I will,” Morten said, “I will. But if you don’t mind, I would like to do it next door, so that I can talk to everybody all together. Is that all right with you, Harry?”
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