Pin (25 page)

“Just the two of you,” Pappy said nodding at the walls. Ursula shot a terrified glance at me. I could see she didn't want any mention of Pin at this point.

“That's why we don't use all of it,” I said, smiling. Ursula breathed relief.

“OK,” Ralph said, reaching for the door behind him. “We'll be in touch.”

“Please,” Ursula said. “The moment you know anything, anything at all.”

They both said good-bye and left. The moment the door closed, Ursula's expression changed. She looked like a small child again. “Now I'm really worried,” she said.

“Now I'm not,” I replied and started for the kitchen.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, c'mon, Ursula. It's pretty obvious, isn't it? He left his car up there and went off with someone. Probably a girl he met at the lounge.”

“I don't believe it.”

“You mean, you don't want to believe it. There's a difference.” She followed me into the kitchen. “Let's have some tea and relax. Once you get a chance to think this thing out intelligently, you'll see I'm right.”

“But what do you suppose Ralph Wilson meant by ‘other possibilities'?”

“Nothing. He was just being dramatic and overly important. Don't you remember him in high school? He was always one of those hall monitors, ready to turn someone in for cutting into line or pushing. I never liked him.”

“Still, it makes me shiver,” she said, embracing herself.

“The tea will warm you up. Go into the living room and sit by the fire I made. I'll bring it in.”

“I think Mrs. Spartacus closed the library once
she saw I was really going home and she'd be alone…. She looks terrible. I was afraid she'd die right there.”

“I can't think of a better place for a librarian to pass away, can you?”

“Oh, Leon, you've got such a dry sense of humor, just like the doctor had.”

She went into the living room. I thought about the snow filling up my footprints in the backyard, and I smiled at the clever way I had handled my return from the pond. I had taken great pains to step in my own footprints, thus making it look as though someone had gone into the woods but had not returned. Later, when Pin and I could sit and relax alone, I planned to tell him all about it. He enjoyed those kinds of details. He had given me a plan, but it had only been in a sort of outline form. I had filled it in, and at the moment, I was very proud of my work.

Somehow, I thought, this is all going to find itself in my epic poem.

“Pin's in his room,” I called. I knew she'd be wondering about him. “I'm going to put some rum in your tea. That's sure to make you feel better. Then I'll get Pin and the three of us will relax together. Just like old times, eh?”

“Whatever you think, Leon,” she said in a very tired voice. “I don't feel like doing a thing.”

“There's nothing for you to do. I'll have you warmed up in a little while,” I said. I started to whistle. I remember having this feeling of elation, this tremendous surge of optimism. I was tapping the teakettle lightly with a spoon, getting her cup and saucer ready, dancing and swaying as I took down the bottle of rum from the cabinet over the sink. In
my mind things weren't going to just be as they were before, they were going to be better than they had been before.

“How are you doing?” I shouted out to the living room. There was a moment of silence. Then she answered, straining for volume.

“OK, but your fire's just about died out.”

“I'll be right in there to build it up,” I sang out. The thought was just beginning to fight its way out from some dark passage of my mind and broke out into my consciousness when Ursula replied.

“It's all right. I'll do it. I need to do something,” she said. I had the kettle still in my right hand and I froze in position. There was no scream. My heart was pounding. I was about to relax, believing it had burned up in the fire. Then I heard the crash of china, some of the knick-knacks on the mantel above the fireplace. That was followed by silence. I turned and waited. More silence. Carefully, I put the kettle down on the stove and turned to the doorway. When I stepped out into the living room, Ursula was standing there looking down at the wooden portion of Stan's leg in her hands. It was charred some, but otherwise pretty much intact. Perhaps it had been treated with something to prevent it from burning. Perhaps the fire hadn't taken to it. I don't know, but there it was.

I'll never forget the look on Ursula's face at that moment. She looked up at me with an expression of such awe and horror that even I was suddenly taken with the grotesqueness of what had occurred. Her mouth opened as if she were voicing a great scream. The skin of her face pulled back, twisted, wrinkled. Her eyes squirmed, closed and opened with slow movements. It was as if she were trying to focus in
on something. She looked down at the leg again and then dropped it at her feet. I wondered if it had been very hot to the touch. She backed away, staring down at it, all the while not making a sound. I took a few steps forward and looked down at the leg as if I were seeing it for the first time myself.

“Where's Stan?” she said, her voice high-pitched, straining. All I did was shake my head. “What have you done?” There was such a mixture of fear and pity in her. I had never seen anything like it. I actually stepped back, shaking my head. I wanted to feel as outraged as she was. I couldn't stand being on the defensive. The first idea that came to my mind was, it wasn't my fault.

“I don't know,” I said. “Pin. Pin must know,” I added. I even nodded my head for emphasis, just the way I used to when Ursula was a little girl. “Pin will tell us,” I heard my little boy's voice say. “Pin knows everything, Ursula.”

Did she scream? I really can't remember. I know it sounds stupid, but there were so many thoughts going through my mind at the time and I heard so many voices screaming at me from the past. My mother was shouting about her rug being messed up by the ashes of the charred leg. My father was losing his patience over my poor interest in a medical profession. Ursula was having a temper tantrum because I just sat and stared at her silently, pretending to be Pin. All these memories rushed down on me at once. So you see, it's not so unreasonable for me to have forgotten whether or not she screamed.

She ran out of the room and up the stairs, pulling on her own hair as she rushed by me. I remembered that. Then the whistle on the teakettle began. Those details are clear. I walked back into the kitchen and
turned off the stove. My hand was shaking. I stood there for a long time thinking, going back over every detail of the afternoon. All my care and caution, all my cleverness destroyed by one dumb action. It really wasn't all my fault either. It was his. He had made the suggestion. He should have known better.

“You,” I said, busting into his room and pointing at him seated in his chair. “You who always considers the counters, the obstacles, the difficulties first; it's your fault.”

“What's my fault?”

“The leg. You told me to throw it in the fireplace. You told me to do it.”

“So?”

“She found it. It was your idea. YOUR IDEA!” I screamed. He smiled at me. The conceited, pedantic bastard smiled at me.

“Calm down, Leon. This is no way for a rational man to act. Think of your father, of his coolness, his sureness in times of great crisis.”

“Screw his coolness, damn his rational mind. Ursula found the leg. She knows.”

“Everything?”

“Not everything, but she knows.”

“You should have checked to be sure the thing had burned up.”

“She knows!” I shouted. He didn't answer. He wasn't going to deal with me when I was in such a state. I could see that on his face. “Damn you,” I said and left, slamming the door behind me.

I approached the stairs gingerly, trying to understand what had gone wrong with such a perfect plan. Everything had seemed so well done. I looked back at Pin's closed door. On the floor of the living room, the charred leg remained, defiant, confident, a part
of him that had lingered to destroy us. I rushed back and picked it up, slapping it many times against the stone of the fireplace. It chipped some, but it didn't crack.

“Damn you,” I shouted again, and I threw the leg at Pin's door. It left a mark, a black ash spot. “Damn you,” I muttered under my breath, and I walked back to the stairs. I looked up. They suddenly appeared very steep and very difficult to ascend. I began to go up, taking each step slowly, my eyes fixed ahead at the doorway to Ursula's room.

S
HE WAS SITTING IN THE DARK
. I
LOOKED AT HER, SEATED
there on the bed, her hands in her lap, staring out at me. I couldn't see her face, but I could see her rigid posture. I spent a few moments standing there, waiting to see what she would say. I had no plan in my own mind, no idea how I would start or what my angle was going to be. I kept thinking, however, that I was now in this terrible spot because Pin had told me to throw the leg into the fireplace.

“Now listen,” I began, stepping into the room. “I know how this thing looks to you. I can just imagine what's going through your mind,” I added, and I laughed. It was a very artificial laugh, and I regretted it immediately. “But there is really no reason for you to act this way.” She didn't say anything. I
reached over and switched on a small lamp in the corner.

Slowly, I walked further into the room until I was standing very near her. I wanted to look at her face. Although I was a little to the right, she continued to stare straight ahead. She blinked every few seconds, but that was the only movement visible. Her hands remained clasped in her lap. I deliberately brushed up against her right shoulder. She didn't turn and she didn't say anything.

“Are you just going to sit there without speaking?” I waited. All she did was blink. “You're acting ridiculous, sulking like a little girl.” She didn't speak. I walked away and stood by the door, looking out at the stairs. “OK,” I said, turning around, “so Stan was here. I didn't want to tell you about it, because of what happened between him and Pin.” I waited, figuring she had to show some interest now, but she didn't respond. All she did was continue to sit there, staring out, rigid and silent.

“They had an argument, you see. It all happened while I was away,” I went on, walking back toward her. “Remember, I went shopping … the shoes and stuff?” I was going to sit down beside her, but quickly changed my mind. “No use hiding the truth any longer. Pin never liked Stan. No matter what I said, he found fault with him. He didn't trust him from the start. You know how Pin is. When he forms an opinion about someone, he's stubborn and insistent. That's the way it was with him and Stan. I talked myself silly nights trying to get him to take another point of view. Honest I did, Ursula.” I waited. There was no response. “Damn it, Ursula. Are you just going to sit there without speaking forever?”

I walked back to the door quickly, turned, and then went directly to our adjoining door. I went into my room, put on the lights, and flopped on the bed. I could wait, I thought. I could wait for her to be reasonable. Meanwhile, I thought about the details of what had supposedly happened between Pin and Stan. I was sure she would want to know. I waited and waited, but she never did call to me. It was very unnerving. I assumed she had gone to sleep. At least an hour or so must have passed before I got up and looked in on her again. Would you believe it? She was still sitting there in the same position, staring at the doorway. It really got to me. I became a little nervous; maybe even a little frightened.

“All right,” I said, walking into the room. “This has gone far enough.” I went over to her and shook her, but she didn't change her expression, nor did she look at me.

“So you want to know about it, so I'll tell you,” I said. I paced about for a few moments. “When I got home from shopping, Stan was sprawled out across the living-room floor. He had been drinking before he came here. Pin said he started right in on him. He said Pin was ruining our lives; living off us like some sort of a parasite. Pin said he was very uncouth, violent. He wanted Pin to move right out, claiming that you were reluctant to marry him because you were afraid to leave me here alone with Pin. Did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous? Pin argued, of course. He's never been one to stand by and permit himself to be abused by anyone. The argument got worse, heated. Stan actually became violent. He was very drunk by this time, having taken some liquor out of our cabinets too. Pin said they wrestled about for a few moments. Fortunately for him, Stan was
too drunk to be effective. He fell backward and hit his head on the fireplace stone.”