People Who Knock on the Door (29 page)

“Then after a few minutes,” Lois told the policeman, “Robbie went to his room and came back with his gun. I saw him, but it was too late. I couldn’t stop him. I’d already called my son—to come—because I felt something awful was going to happen.”

The policeman took his parents’ names, and Robbie’s and Arthur’s, even Norma’s plus her address. Then the policeman asked his mother to come with him into the study. Arthur drifted into the living room, but did not go farther, because they wanted his mother’s answers. He watched his mother pointing to where Robbie had stood and saw the policeman turn his gaze to the shotgun pellet marks in the wall. The policeman carefully avoided treading on the stain on the carpet. The plainclothesman, who Arthur supposed was a detective, and the cameraman were still at work. Then the policeman told Arthur and his mother that the body would go to the city morgue, and that tomorrow morning Mrs. Alderman would be free to make funeral arrangements.

“This is the morgue number you can call, ma’am, and if you don’t by noon tomorrow, we’ll call you.—Would you like us to get a doctor for you now to give you a sedative? Something like that? Sometimes helps.”

Lois didn’t answer, and Norma said: “I’ll stay with her for a while. If she needs anything, we’ll telephone Dr. Swithers.”

Then the front door closed, and the house was empty except for Lois, Norma and himself. Norma said something about making tea and found the kettle. Arthur crossed the living room to his father’s study, whose door was open. He had meant only to close the door, so his mother wouldn’t have to look at the carpet, but he stood for a few seconds looking at the spot where his father’s body had lain on its back, with right leg bent at the knee, arms splayed, with the sunken disaster where his throat and jaw had been. The wall to Arthur’s right showed four or five little pits in its cream-colored wallpaper from the buckshot. Robbie must have been standing on the other side of his father’s desk; his father must have been standing, from the height of the wallpaper pits, and then his father had probably taken a couple of steps toward the study door and fallen backward. The patch of dark blood on the green carpet had well-defined edges and its shape reminded Arthur of the outline of France or maybe Alaska. This was something he could take care of, he thought, and went to the kitchen for a bucket and a floor rag.

Norma was urging Lois to sit on the bench; his mother was talking, almost weeping, and Arthur supposed that was all to the good.

He drew cold water at the sink, then returned to the study to attack the carpet. The blood seemed to double itself, and the water in the bucket became deep red. Arthur changed the water in the bathroom tub and started again. The edges looked blurred, but it was hopeless, they’d have to get rid of the carpet, but he supposed what he was doing was an improvement, better than letting the stain stay here for his mother to see and soak into the wood below. The carpet was tacked down. He wiped dried blood from the wood of his father’s desk. Arthur changed the water again, forgetting if it was the second or third time, and finally he rinsed the rag and left it in a bucket of cold water in the garage.

“Tea, Arthur. Do you good,” said Norma. “Another little whiskey, too? You look a little pale.”

“No, I’m fine,” Arthur said, determined to keep on his feet in the kitchen, though his ears were ringing. The blood’s
gone
, he told himself, down the drain. A second later, the floor seemed to be moving under his feet, and then he blacked out.

Norma held a wet dish towel against his forehead and wiped his face with it.

“Just lie there for a minute, Arthur. Don’t try to get up,” Norma said. “Perfectly normal,” she added to his mother. “Poor boy’s been . . .”

Arthur wobbled to the living room sofa. Norma insisted that he stretch out and saw to it that he sipped some sweetened tea.

His mother looked pale, refused to lie down anywhere, and kept asking Norma what sounded like unfinished questions:

“Tomorrow?—What time did he say?—I don’t think Robbie knew what he was doing, do you? . . . Do you think I should phone my mother, Norma?”

“Not tonight, Lois, honestly. Not now.”

Arthur felt better and sat up. It dawned on him like a miracle that the house was empty of both Richard and Robbie, of Richard permanently, and of Robbie for an undetermined length of time.

“Mom, I’ll stay here tonight. Don’t you worry. I’ll go back to the dorm and get my stuff. Now.”

“You sure you feel all right?” asked Norma, still on her feet in her house-shoes.

“Yes, and I’m going now,” Arthur said, and went to his room. He knew he had an old duffel bag that held quite a lot, and he found this at the back of his closet. “See you folks in—less than an hour. You’ll be here, Norma?”

“You bet I will,” said Norma.

Arthur drove to Hamilton Hall. Frank was not in, which made packing easier, but necessitated a note to Frank, Arthur supposed. He scribbled one and left it on Frank’s bed. He looked at his empty half of the room and found himself smiling. He was going home to a house that he loved, to his mother whom he loved, and maybe it was not nice, not normal to be happy with his father gone, dead, and his brother gone, locked up, but he felt happy enough to fly. As usual, the Resident Assistant, a senior student, was not at the desk downstairs, but tomorrow he could tell someone in the Administration Building that he would be living at home for the rest of the school year, a matter of a few days. He got into his car.

At home, Norma told him that one neighbor had called at the door; another had telephoned to ask what was the matter, having noticed the ambulance and the police car.

“They were waiting a decent interval maybe,” said Norma, who seldom had a good word for the neighbors. “They’d ring the fire department maybe an hour after they saw your house was burning.—Now your mother called up your grandmother, because I couldn’t stop her. And you two are to come over to my place for something to eat. Your mother wanted a bath, so that’s where she is. See you in a few minutes.”

Arthur carried his things into his room and began to unpack. His writing table was even dusted, he noticed, and no doubt his mother kept it that way. Ah, how sweet to put his American dictionary back in its usual place, to set his Harrap’s French dictionary next to it! And at the back of the table his fossilized sea urchins sat in a row as usual.

From the bathroom, Arthur heard occasional splashes, as if his mother were dreamily sponging water onto her shoulders. Arthur took off his T-shirt and washed at the kitchen sink, drying himself with his towel that he had brought from the dorm room. He put on a clean shirt from among the shirts left in a drawer.

Then he and his mother went across the lawn to Norma’s house. His mother seemed quiet and thoughtful, but not sad, Arthur thought, not weepy, and not in a daze either. Norma had her table laden with cold cuts, pickles, olives and salad, arranged as for a buffet.

“We can sit or take the plates over to the sofa, as you folks like,” Norma said. “Iced tea? Beer?”

It was like a party, a surprise party, Arthur felt. He served his mother and made sure she had want she wanted. Arthur found himself laughing loudly, as were Norma and his mother, and an instant later he couldn’t recall what they had been laughing at. Amazing, too, that it was already 10 o’clock.

There was a noise at the door, audible through their voices.

“Was that a knock?” Norma asked, and hauled herself from the sofa. “Who’s there?” she called through the door. There was some reply, and Norma opened the door a little.

“Is Richard here by any chance? Richard Alderman?”

Arthur recognized the voice and stood up. “No,” he said, walking toward the door. “He’s not here.”

Eddie Howell was already inside the door, his smile on. “Hello, Arthur! I’m Eddie Howell,” he said to Norma. “Sorry to bother you, but I have a date with Richard tonight, and I saw his car there and lights here, so I thought—Good evening, Lois.”

Lois was on her feet by the sofa.

“My father’s dead, Mr. Howell,” Arthur said.

Eddie Howell’s mouth formed an O-shape.

“He was killed,” Arthur said. “Around four this afternoon.”

“Killed?—Are you serious?” asked Eddie.

“Yes, it’s true,” said Lois behind Arthur. “My husband was shot. He’s dead.”

“Now, Lois, you don’t have to deal with this,” said Norma gently.

“Shot by whom?” asked Eddie.

“Robbie shot him,” Arthur replied, and deliberately stood up straighter. “They had an argument.”

“Argument about what?”

“About Irene Langley?”

“Arthur, do you and Mr. Howell want to sit down?” This was from Norma.

“Don’t think so, thanks,” Arthur said. “You know Irene Langley, don’t you, Eddie?”

“Yes, sure, she goes to our church.”

“Then you know what she’s been talking about—maybe?”

Arthur could see that Eddie did, though he wasn’t admitting to it at once. “Well, I heard—But she’s not to be believed all the time, poor woman. She spoke to Robbie?” Eddie asked in a tone of surprise.

“Maybe my father did. So you know about it. Did my father tell you?”

“Oh, no, no, no.—But I sometimes see Irene. I call on her—visit her.”

What a lot of visitors Irene had! “You sure should’ve kept it from Robbie,” Arthur said. “You’re a big influence on him. Don’t you feel a little responsible for him?”

“No,” said Eddie, looking at Arthur, frowning now. “He’s Richard’s son. I had no idea they were quarreling! Richard never said anything about it.”

“Yes, if it weren’t for you—people like you,” Lois began.

“Lois, I’m so
sorry
to hear this news!” Eddie extended a hand toward Lois, but didn’t quite touch her. “I spoke with Richard just this morning at church! Robbie, too. They seemed just as usual.”

“If it weren’t—”

“Lois, now take it easy.” Norma was hovering uneasily.

Arthur had a glimpse of his mother’s taut face, of her eyelids twitching with anger or with the start of tears.

“Robbie was under your power! Like a madman!” Lois said.

“
My
power?” said Eddie, looking baffled.

“
Somebody’s
got to say it,” said Lois. “
You
know what my son was angry about. The same thing you and Richard
and
Robbie, yes, were angry about—about Arthur last summer. Arthur may have got a girl pregnant, but I mean—is it worth a death? That’s what it amounts to.
You
should go and talk to Robbie! He thinks he did the right thing!” Lois’s voice went shrill, and she shook with sobs, but she still stood upright.

Norma put her arm around Lois’s shoulders. “Lois—now you cry it all out. Won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t know what
I’ve
done to cause this,” said Eddie, almost recovering his usual smiling calm.

“Get the hell out,” Arthur muttered to Eddie.

Eddie took a small step backward, toward the door. “Where is Robbie?”

“Police took him away,” Arthur said. He went past Eddie and opened the door for him.

Eddie hesitated, then called, “Good night, Lois. Night ma’am,” and went out.

Arthur closed the door after him.

His mother stood with Norma by the sofa, holding a paper napkin to her nose, but she was not weeping.

“Asking me where Robbie is!” said Arthur.

Norma persuaded his mother to sit down. His mother had forgotten her cigarettes, so Arthur crossed the lawn to get them for her from the house. Their telephone was ringing, but Arthur didn’t bother answering it. If Norma didn’t know about Irene’s part in his father’s death, she would know now, Arthur thought. And about a girl in connection with him. Would she assume the girl was Maggie? It didn’t matter somehow, because Norma was a friend and her friendship was stronger than the rest. Arthur expected a question or two from Norma that evening, but she asked none.

27

T
he next morning, Monday, the telephone began ringing early. Arthur answered one call around 9.

“This is Bob Cole,” said a rich tenor voice. “Is that Arthur? . . . Eddie Howell called me last night and told me the sad news. I’m very shocked and saddened, Arthur. Could I possibly have a word with your mother?”

“Yes. Just a minute, I’ll call her.” Arthur did, and his mother came in from the bedroom. “The Reverend Cole now,” Arthur said.

Arthur went out to the backyard, not wanting to hear what his mother said. This morning, he had woken up early, found himself in his familiar old bed, and thought, “My God, I’m home!” and had imagined his mother coming in with coffee around 8, which was exactly what had happened. His grandmother had telephoned earlier this morning, and she was arriving at 8:30 this evening at Indi Airport. That would be to the good. The detention place where Robbie was being held had telephoned also. They wanted Lois to come this morning and sign some papers, and Arthur had offered to go, but the police wanted his mother. Arthur had taken another look at the study carpet and realized that it had to be thrown away.

“Arthur!” his mother called.

He ran from the toolshed to the back door, which caused him to cross his father’s study again. He pulled the study door on the living room shut behind him.

“Betty Brewster,” said Lois, holding the telephone toward him.

“I heard about yesterday from a—a woman friend you don’t know, I think,” Betty said. “I’m absolutely shocked.—As I said to your mother, I’m calling to ask if you need any help. If there’s anything I can do. Services.”

“Thanks, Betty. I don’t know what my mother said. Can’t think of anything. I’m staying here, and my grandma’s coming tonight.”

He was glad that Betty didn’t ask any reason for Robbie’s deed. His mother was still not back from the trip to the place of detention when Arthur left the house at half past 12 for his exam at 1. In Everett Hall, where the exam was, he kept his eyes on the corridor floor as he walked, and was glad that no one he knew approached him or spoke to him. And even this afternoon, the notice about his father’s death might not be in the
Herald
, maybe not until tomorrow. When he reached the room where the exam took place, no talking was allowed. The students sat two seats apart, to discourage cheating. Arthur’s eyes met those of a boy he knew, who grinned quickly and gave a thumbs-up at Arthur.

Five minutes later, Arthur was in another world. This was the Introduction to Philosophy exam.

Leaving Everett Hall at nearly 4 p.m., Arthur caught a glimpse of Francey, trotting in calf-length cut-off jeans and a red shirt toward a car whose door someone inside the car was holding open for her. The sight of Francey had no effect on him at all. That was just as well. That was even progress.

And tonight his grandma would arrive. That was something to be happy about, fetching her at the airport. Early that morning, his mother had spruced up the spare room, cut some day lilies and put them in a vase, in case the rest of the day would bring too many chores for her to take care of details. Arthur found a note at home.

Back around 5:30. Can you get three steaks out of freezer? In mad hurry at after 1.

His mother had gone to the Home this afternoon as usual. Rovy was making gentle noises in his “I am hungry” voice and rubbing his length against Arthur’s legs. Arthur fed him, then took three steaks from the freezer and put them on a big wooden chopping board which he stuck in the oven, out of Rovy’s reach.

“Rovy, do you realize we’re alone, alone,
alone
?” Arthur said to the cat.

No reply from Rovy to this. His hunched, brindled body jerked as he dived into his food.

At half past 5, his mother’s car crept up in the driveway. What were they going to do with his father’s car? Sell the damned thing, Arthur hoped, though it was the best of the three cars now. Arthur didn’t want to touch it or drive it, ever. His mother came into the kitchen by way of the garage door.

“Hi, Mom! I just made coffee. Want some?”

“Yes. Whew!” She had two big blue ledgers from the Home in her arms.

“How was it? Why’d you go to the Home today, Mom?—Did you see Robbie?” Arthur was curious about Robbie, despite himself.

“Yes. Must wash my hands.” She went off to the bathroom.

Arthur poured the coffee.

“Yes, Robbie,” his mother said, coming back. “He was in a room with three or four other boys—reading magazines.”

“Well,” Arthur said. “Magazines.—Where is this place?”

“It’s a building behind the main police headquarters here. This is temporary. Then he’ll go to another place near Indi.” His mother spoke carefully, stirring her coffee.

Arthur waited patiently for her to say more.

“At the other place, they’ll have some kind of hearing in something like a juvenile court. Maybe even at this place, I don’t know.”

“Well—did Robbie say anything more to you?”

“No, almost nothing,” his mother replied promptly. “He seemed not the least bit sorry, you know? Or even sad.”

Arthur could imagine.

“Then I went to where Richard is,” said his mother, staring at the table, and now tears started in her eyes. “I had to go there—after seeing Robbie.”

Arthur writhed. “Mom, why didn’t you phone me this morning and I’d have gone with you? I was here!”

“I didn’t have to
see
Richard, but I had to sign some papers. One of them was for the funeral home—Gregson, you know. And I agreed that the funeral should be tomorrow. At eleven. I spoke with them. I really don’t feel like notifying anybody.” She bowed her head.

“Don’t drink any more coffee, Mom. Go and take a nap. I can make dinner—start it before I go off at seven-fifteen for Grandma.—Don’t worry about anything.”

“I don’t think we have to send a telegram to Richard’s brother Stephen, do you? I’ll write to him. They weren’t—close.”

“No, Mom.” Arthur hardly remembered his uncle Stephen whom he had met when he was about ten and who lived in Washington State. Suddenly Arthur thought of the
Herald
, which must have been dropped in the mailbox as usual around 2 p.m.

Just then, the telephone rang, and Arthur answered. It was a woman whose name he vaguely knew, offering her sympathies. Arthur said that his mother was resting now and thanked her on behalf of his mother. Then he went to the mailbox beside the front door, which held two letters and the
Chalmerston Herald
.

His father’s picture was on the front page, in a single column at the bottom, an old picture of him looking about thirty-five in a white shirt and tie and dark suit, square-faced, sturdy, faintly smiling. Where had they got that picture from?

. . . insurance and retirement benefit representative of Heritage Life was fatally shot Sunday afternoon by his son Robert, 15, according to police, in his home on West Maple Street . . .

From the way it was written, it might have been an accident. Arthur took the newspaper to his room, hoping his mother wouldn’t miss it and ask for it. His mother had gone into the bedroom to rest, but when he looked through the half-open door, he saw his mother stooped by the chest of drawers.

“I wanted to put away some more of Richard’s things before Mama comes.”

“Mom, you put away enough this morning!—Now stop, so you won’t feel tired later.” Arthur watched her drift toward the double bed and wilt. She lay on it face down, and Arthur closed the door gently.

The living room already looked slightly different: His mother had removed his father’s old tweed jacket, which so often hung on a straight chair near the study, and his pipe-rack, which he seldom used. Arthur set the table in the kitchen. The telephone rang as he was peeling potatoes.

“Damn,” he said, and went to answer it.

“Hello. It’s Irene,” said a wailing voice. “I just wanted—”

“We’re busy here just now. Sorry, I’ve—”

“Can I speak with your mother? I’d—”

Arthur hung up. Then he lifted the telephone off the hook, so his mother’s nap wouldn’t be disturbed. It was time he left the house for Indi Airport.

“I
MOST CERTAINLY WILL GO
and see Robbie,” his grandmother said as they were driving toward Chalmerston.

“I hope he’s pleasant to you,” Arthur said.

“To me? What do you mean?”

“He’s all clammed up now.” Arthur frowned at the road as he drove.

“What were they quarreling
about
? Do you know?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “I wasn’t there.”

At home, the scene was almost convincingly cheerful for several minutes. Hugs and kisses, his grandmother opening her suitcase in the spare room, then drinks in the living room while Arthur carried on making dinner.

“. . . quarreling. This was Sunday afternoon,” his mother’s voice said. “Well, I may as well tell you now, because Robbie will. Do you remember Irene Langley? Christmas with her sister?”

Arthur tried not to hear it and deliberately tossed a big cooking spoon into the sink, making a clatter.

“Oh,
no
, Lois!” said his grandmother.

Arthur put the steaks on, looked at his watch, then went into the living room.

“But what did Richard
say
?” His grandmother was sitting on the sofa, upright with attention.

“
I
found him vague,” his mother replied. “I know I—I don’t want to believe it.”

His grandmother shook her head. “And how much is she going to talk around town?—That’s a very unpleasant side of it.”

Arthur gave his grandmother a sign that dinner was ready.

Joan got up and put an arm around Lois’s shoulder, kissed her cheek. “Lois, darling, what a time for you! Arthur says dinner’s ready. Let’s forget all about this for a few minutes.”

After dinner, though it was rather late, his grandmother proposed coffee in the living room, as usual.

“You’ve got to turn in early, haven’t you, Arthur?” his grandmother asked. “Exam tomorrow?”

“Yes, two of ’em.”

“Happy to be home?”

“Oh—
am
I!”

Then his grandmother frowned as she sipped her coffee. “I can see Robbie before eleven, don’t you think. Loey? No difficulties about seeing him, are there?”

“Shouldn’t think so.”

“Maybe he’ll want to come with us to the funeral? Would that be allowed?”

Lois hesitated. “Hadn’t thought about it. I’m sure it would be allowed—”

The telephone rang. Arthur let his mother answer, because it was probably one of his mother’s friends. Arthur didn’t even listen as his mother said a few phrases. Then she said:

“Arthur? It’s Maggie.” His mother extended the telephone toward him.

“
Maggie
?” Arthur took the telephone. “H’lo?”

“Hello, Arthur.” Maggie seemed to sigh. “My mother just phoned me. She said your father—well, that—”

“Yes.” Arthur shut his eyes and was glad his mother and grandmother had drifted off to the kitchen.

“She said it was in the paper that Robbie shot him. How awful, Arthur! It was an accident?”

“No.”

“My
gosh
!—I won’t ask why just now, but I wanted to say that I’m very sorry.—You’re home now? Staying?”

“Yep.” Arthur wanted to cut through the rubbish and say,
I love you, Maggie, the same as always
, even though she might reply,
I’m sorry about that
. “Y-you’re not coming home this summer, I heard.”

“Probably not, that’s true. Maybe very late this summer, the way things look . . . Will you give my love to your mother and your grandmother, too? Your mother said she’s there.”

When they hung up, he had still not said
I love you
, for which he reproached himself, then in the next instant he wondered if it hadn’t been wiser that he hadn’t said it? Mightn’t it have bored her? Girls always knew anyway, he had read somewhere. His grandmother did not come in to see him at bedtime. She and his mother were talking quietly in the living room until very late.

The next morning, Arthur left the house before 9 for the microbio exam, which began at 9:30. His mother and grandmother had already gone, on their way to Robbie’s present place of detention, and this was to be followed by the funeral at 11. Arthur was glad that his grandmother hadn’t brought up his attending the funeral, maybe by trying to postpone his exam, which might not have been possible anyway. Arthur simply didn’t want to go to his father’s funeral and listen to a lot of phony words from Bob Cole. He thought it more than likely that Irene Langley would turn up at the service in the First Church of Christ Gospel, then ride in one of the limousines to the cemetery called Greenhills on the west side of town. Arthur spat into a hedge before he leapt up the steps of Everett Hall.

When he returned home at nearly noon, his mother and grandmother were not back. They would have had to linger and talk after the funeral, he supposed. Arthur dearly wanted a beer and there were plenty in the fridge, but he was afraid of being sleepy or muddleheaded for the French exam at 2 if he drank one, so he took a shower instead. Under the shower, he thought, while he had been writing a paragraph on DNA at 11:30, his father had been lowered into the grave, the clods of earth had begun to fall on the coffin top. His father had talked so much about a soul, yet his body of course had to be disposed of like anyone’s else’s, like a dog’s or a cat’s, and eventually the worms would get at it, despite the quality of the coffin. But that wasn’t the important thing: His father had died in disgrace, or at least for a disgraceful reason. Even his mother must have been thinking, as his coffin sank into the ground, that Richard’s death needn’t have been, except for Robbie’s anger and the reason for that anger.

By the time Arthur had dressed in the bathroom, the two had returned. And it occurred to him suddenly that there was usually food and drink after a funeral at the house of the deceased. Wasn’t there? But not in his father’s case.

“Hello, Arthur.—And how was the exam?” His mother asked in a tired voice.

“Went okay.”

His grandmother was silent. She wore a purple summer dress and a black shawl around her shoulders, which she had probably put over her head in church and at the funeral. She removed the shawl and folded it twice.