A Stir of Echoes (8 page)

  "There's a little redheaded job at the plant," he said.

  I was surprised again.

  "Oh, she knows about it," he said. "Old Lizzie knows all about it. What the hell else can she expect, though? A man needs it. That's all. And I need a lot of it. It's a matter of simple arithmetic."

  He went on telling me about the little "job"- redheaded, petite, tight-sweatered and sheathed with hugging slacks. She brought papers to the accounting department and dropped them off there.

  "I don't get much eating done at lunchtime," Frank said, winking.

EIGHT

  I CAN'T STAND HIM," Anne told me as we were getting ready for bed that night. "He's loathsome. He's got that poor woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

  I pulled off my second sock and dropped it into my shoe.

  "I know," I said.

  "All she wants is a baby," Anne said. "God! You'd think she was asking for the moon! She doesn't ask a thing of him; not a
thing.
He doesn't help her with anything! He goes out by himself whenever he damn well pleases. He begrudges her every cent she spends no matter how carefully she budgets. He yells at her and abuses her. I've seen black and blue marks on that girl-
bad
ones."

  She slung the hanger over the closet bar. "And she doesn't say a thing," she said. "All she wants is a baby.

  Seven years of marriage and that's all she asks. And
him
…"

  "Maybe that's her trouble," I said. "She lets him get away with too much."

  "What can she do?" Anne asked, sitting down at her dressing table and picking up her brush.

  "Leave him?" I suggested.

  "Where would she go?" she asked, brushing with short, angry strokes. "She hasn't a friend in the world. Both her parents have been dead for nine years. If you and I ever broke up, I, at least, could go home to my mother and father for a while to get over it. Elizabeth hasn't a place in the world to go. That's her home over there. And that-pig is making it a hell."

  I sighed. "I know," I said. I lay back on the bed. "I wonder, does she really know he's having an affair with-?"

  I stopped. I could tell from the way her head had snapped around what the answer was.

  "He's
what?"
she asked, slowly.

  We looked at each other a moment. She turned away.

  "That's fine," she said in that falsely calm voice a woman manages to achieve when she is at the height of her fury. "That's just fine. That really ices the cake. That really does."

  I smiled without amusement.

  "So she doesn't know," I said. "He said she did."

  "Oh, he's-he's a… there isn't any word bad enough." I shook my head slowly.

  "That's a real nice situation there," I said. "I feel like a soap-opera character living in this house. On one side we have a wife who kicks the guts out of her husband. On the other side we have an adulterer and a drudge." I got under the covers. "I wouldn't tell her if I were you."

  "Tell her?" Anne said. "Good God, I wouldn't dare. If anything could snap her right down the middle, that'd be it."

  She shivered.

  "Tell her. Oh… God, not me. I shudder to think what'll happen if she finds out."

  "She won't," I said.

  We were quiet a while. I lay there looking at the ceiling, wondering if I was going to have that dream again-mentally feeling around the house; as if my thoughts were insect antennae quivering, searching timidly, ready to recoil in an instant at the slightest touch of anything.

  But there was nothing. I began to think that maybe the keyed-up state Phil had left me in really was fading; that I was, already, below the level of awareness, and now it would keep sinking until I was as I had been before. Frankly, it made me feel a little disappointed. It
was
an intriguing capacity. I found myself almost straining to revitalize it in myself. Of course it didn't work. It wasn't voluntary.

  A few minutes later, Anne got in bed beside me and we turned out the lights.

  "You-think you're going to dream tonight?" she asked.

  "I don't know," I said. "I don't think so, though."

  "Maybe it's gone."

  "Could be."

  Silence a while.

  "Honey?" she said then.

  "Yes?"

  I heard her swallowing.

  "About…"

  "About last night?" I asked.

  "Yes. I-I'm sorry I let myself get out of hand."

  "It's nothing to be sorry about, honey."

  "Yes, it is," she said. "It's pointless to think about such things just because of-what's happened."

  "I guess," I said. I rolled onto my side and put my arm over her.

  "You-promise we-"

  "All right," I said, "we won't talk about it."

  "I-just don't think it's-sensible," she said.

  "I suppose not," I said.

  She kissed my cheek. "Good night, honey," she said.

  "Good night," I said. On the bedside table, the radium-faced clock read eleven-thirty.

  "No!"

  I wrenched up from the mattress, awareness razoring in my mind. My eyes were wide open, stiffly set. I stared toward the living room.

  Anne had jolted awake with me. I heard her now, her voice shaking.

"Again?"
she asked.

  "Yes. Y-es."

  "Oh… no.
No"
." She sounded almost angry.

  We sat there a few moments. I could feel my chest rising and falling with fitful motion, the breath gushing out through my nostrils. My lips were sealed together, my heart thudded harshly, off-time.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked. There was a scared, embittered challenge in her voice.

  "What-can I do?"

  She drew in a rasping breath.

"Get up and see."

  I twisted around. "Honey, what is it?"

  "What is it? What kind of question is that? You know what it is. Now get up-" A sobbing broke her voice.
"Get up and go in there."

  Breath shuddered in me. I felt myself shaking helplessly. Every time I thought about the woman she seemed to flare into strengthened clarity in my mind - white-faced and staring, her dark eyes asking for something.

  I caught my breath.

  "All right," I said. I don't know if I was talking to Anne or to the woman. "All right." I snapped aside the covers and dropped my legs over the side of the bed.

  "Honey." The anger was suddenly gone from her voice. Only concerned fear remained.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I… I'll go with you."

  I swallowed dryly. "You stay," I said.

  "No, I-I want to. I want to."

  I rubbed a shaking hand over my face and drew away cold sweat. I knew I should make her stay.

  "All right," I heard myself saying. "Come on then."

  I heard the liquid rustle of her nightgown as she got up. I saw the dark outline of her figure against the window. I stood and we came together at the foot of the bed. I felt her hand clutch at mine and I grabbed it tightly. It was cold and dry; it trembled in my grip.

  I took a deep breath and tried to stop the shaking of my stomach muscles. They were tight and cramped again. I felt that hot, needling pulse at my temples.

  "All right," I said. "Come on."

  Did ever two people stalk the darkness more slowly? We moved as if our legs were lead, as if we were statues come only half alive. We edged to the door in whispers of movement; and all the time my heart kept beating faster and faster and I thought I could almost hear the beat of it. My hand shook now too. It was no comforting strength to her. How can there be comfort from a frightened man?

  We reached the hall and stopped as if by mutual consent. Between us and the living room was a door. We stood there shivering in the darkness; then jolted with shock as, in the other bedroom, Richard stirred a little. Then I heard Anne's voice, barely audible.

"Open it"
she said.

  I set myself. I gripped her hand until I'm sure it must have hurt her.

  Abruptly, I kicked open the door.

  We both recoiled automatically, braced for the worst.

  Then it all seemed to drain away with a sudden recession. Our hands fell apart.

  We walked into the empty living room. The tingling in my head was fading, the knots untying in my stomach.

  I saw Anne lean against the wall.

  "You bastard," she said clearly and there was only amused relief in her shaky voice. "Oh, you double-dyed bastard."

  I swallowed.

"Honey,
I… thought she was in here."

  "Sure you did, ducky," she said. "Sure you did." Her hand patted me and I felt how it shook.

  She took a deep breath.

  "Well," she said, "shall we retire?" I knew from the sound of her voice that she would have screamed her lungs out if we'd seen anything.

  "In a moment," I said.

  She went back to bed. I heard her climb under the covers and heard her say, "Come on, Madame Wallace."

  "Right away."

  I went to bed and lay quietly beside her. I didn't tell her about the cold, damp breeze that had passed over me as I'd turned from the living room.

NINE

  WELL, I GOT US A BABY-SITTER FOR TONIGHT, " Anne told me cheerfully when I got home Thursday afternoon. I lowered my gurgling son from my shoulder and put him on the floor. I kissed my wife.

  "Good," I said. "Fine. We can use a night out after what we've been through."

"Amen,"
she said. "I feel as if I've done ten years' field work for the Psychical Research Society."

  I laughed and patted her. "And how's the little mother?" I asked.

  "A lot better now, thank you, Mr. Medium."

  "Call me that again and I'll punch you right in the belly," I said.

  It was a forced joke. I couldn't tell her about the dull headache I'd had all day, the small stomach ache, the continuing of awareness. She was too happy for me to start it again. And, for that matter, I wasn't certain. As always, it was vague and undefined. And I was damned if I was going to bring up
feelings
again.

  "Who's the sitter?" I asked while I was washing up for supper.

  "The girl Elsie told us about," Anne said. "She's really a deal too. Only charges fifty cents an hour."

  "How about that?" I said. I thought about it a moment. "You sure she's reliable?"

  "You remember what Elsie said about her," Anne said. " 'Real reliable.' "

  I remembered.

  I drove over to get the girl a little before eight. She lived about four miles from our house which wasn't too satisfactory but we'd been looking for a baby-sitter a long time and I wasn't going to quibble. We needed a night out badly.

  I braked in front of the girl's house and started to get out when the front door opened and she came out. She was heavy and the tight blue jeans she wore did nothing to conceal it. She was wearing a brown leather jacket and there was a faded yellow ribbon like a streak of butter through the drabness of her brunette hair. She wore shell-rim glasses.

  I pushed open the door and she slid in beside me and pulled the door shut.

  "Hello," I said.

  "Hello." Her voice was faint. She didn't look at me. I released the hand brake, checked the rear-view mirror, then made a fast U-turn and started back.

  "My name's Tom Wallace," I said.

  She didn't reply.

  "Your name's Dorothy?"

  "Yes." I could hardly hear her.

  I drove a few blocks before I glanced over at her. She was staring straight ahead at the road, looking very somber. I'm not sure but I think it was at that moment I began to feel uncomfortable.

  "What's your last name?" I asked. I didn't hear what she mumbled. "What was that?" I asked.

  "Muller," she said.

  "Oh. Uh-huh." I signalled, turned right onto Hawthorne Avenue and picked up speed again.

  "Have you sat for Elsie long?" I asked.

  "Elsie Long?"

  "No. I mean Elsie Leigh. Have you been babysitting for her very long?"

  "No."

  "I see." What was there about her that disturbed me? "I-uh-we were wondering if you had a time limit," I said. "We assumed that-"

  "No," she interrupted.

  "Oh. I thought maybe-with school and everything."

  "No."

  "I see. Your mother doesn't mind, then."

  She didn't answer. Suddenly I seemed to get an impression in my mind-that she had no mother.

  "Is your mother dead?" I asked, without thinking; or, rather, thinking aloud.

  Her head turned quickly. In the darkness I could feel her eyes on me. I knew I was right even though she didn't speak.

  I cleared my throat.

  "Elsie mentioned it," I said, taking the risk that I was right as well as the risk that Elsie didn't even know about it.

  "Oh." From the way she said it I couldn't tell if she'd spotted my lie or not. She looked at the road again. So did I. I drove the rest of the way without a word, wondering what it was I felt so uneasy about.

  When we got to the house Dorothy got out of the car and walked to the front door. There she waited until I came up on the porch and opened it for her. I noticed how short she was.

  "Go on in," I said, feeling a crawling sensation on my back as she walked past me into the living room. Somehow it made me angry. I'd hoped for a pleasant evening of forgetfulness with Anne. Now all the disturbances were beginning again inexplicable and enraging.

  Anne came out of Richard's room into the living room.

  "Hi," she said.

  Dorothy's lips twitched into a mechanical smile. I saw that her white, thick-featured face was dotted with tiny pimples.

  "The baby's asleep," Anne told her. "You shouldn't have any trouble with him at all."

  Dorothy nodded. And-suddenly-I felt a shocking burst of dismay in myself. It made me catch my breath. When it left-almost immediately-it left me limp.

  "I'll be ready in a second," Anne said to me.