Samedi the Deafness (8 page)

David stopped at the door to a room.

—Well, he said. I have to go in here. See you.

He slipped through the door and shut it.

James looked up and down the hall. Where exactly was he now? The halls all looked the same. All the walls were neatly painted, all the rooms were neatly numbered, but none of the numbers were consecutive.

Should he knock and ask David the way back?

A woman appeared behind him out of another door.

—Sim? she asked.

—Yes, he said.

—Don't know your way around, do you? Don't you? Do you?

—No, he said.

—Well, she said. It's no crime. You won't be punished, no, no. Have no fear of that. Come along with me. She led James up a set of stairs, and through a bridge back into the main building. Apparently he had passed into some sort of exterior set of buildings. When that had happened, he could not say. Had he been underground? He tried to remember if the rooms they had passed through had had windows. He closed his eyes and thought back. No, they hadn't.

—Here we are, said the woman.

James recognized up ahead the stairwell at the top of which was his bedroom.

—Someone else will be coming along shortly, said the woman, and left him to the kind attentions of the stairwell.

And so it turned out that the house was nothing like James had supposed. It was perhaps some kind of hospital, a sort of asylum, but the particulars had so far escaped him. Also, there was a clear-cut distinction between the House Proper and the Hospital, although their rooms mingled. Evidently James had crossed from the one into the other, and had thus gone foul.

—Tonight, said James in the quiet of his room, I will read this manual from beginning to end. I will have no such troubles again.

And also he thought that perhaps it was true that McHale had been mad. Perhaps the Samedi threat had nothing to do with these people.

There was the newspaper on James's side table. The note, of course, was there, which James had had read to him in the car. There were other articles, however, that were of interest.

James picked it up and began to read. It seemed that the government had stepped up their attempts to catch this Samedi. They had caught three men and two women, all having some connection. Of these, they had managed to make none speak, three having committed suicide in jail, one escaping from a closed cell, and the fifth, a woman, not responding verbally to any address whatsoever. There had been many others they had caught who, after questioning it was soon realized, had nothing whatever to do with the threat.

The suicides and arrests had made the police even more apprehensive, and had cemented the threat as a real possibility. Cameras had been set up to watch possible mail drops. The government was, the newspaper assured James, doing all that it could to protect its populace.

Meanwhile there were many theories on what the reprisal would be. Some thought a dirty atomic device. Others supposed anthrax or some kind of manufactured virus.

There was a knock. A moment later, two knocks.

Maid service, thought James.

—Come in, he said.

The Visit of Grieve, Part 3

It was not the maid. Instead, Grieve. That is to say, Lily Violet.

—Hey, you! she said, and kissed him on the cheek. So you finally got here!

She had two suitcases. They were James's suitcases.

—I stopped by your house, she said, and got the rest of your

things.

—You what? said James.

—Got your things, said Grieve. I thought you would need them.

She put the suitcases by the wardrobe, and then sat heavily in the cushioned chair. She looked rather nice.

—Well, I'm tired out. So, what do you think?

—What do I think? asked James.

—Of the place. What do you think? Isn't it nice?

James said that the place was indeed nice but a bit strange, and he wasn't sure he really understood why he had been brought and also that it seemed to him it was her fault, but maybe not, and what had been the reason for the rubber mask, and also perhaps it would be possible for her to arrange that he speak with her father.

Grieve laughed when he said this last.

—You can't just speak with him, you know. It doesn't work like that.

—No? he asked.

—No, she said. He's very busy, but busy in a different way than you might think. He's not to be approached, not to be asked questions. If he has something to say to you, he will. Certainly he will ask you about McHale, and maybe about your work. He is intrigued by mnemonists, so you have that in your favor.

Grieve stood up, walked over to the bed, and jumped onto it.

—Not bad, she said. I've never been in this room.

She stood up again.

—I'm going to go and have supper. But perhaps I'll stop by again later on.

—I never got my supper, said James. I tried to, but it didn't work out.

—Hmmm, said Grieve. Well, you can have something sent up, I suppose. I would invite you to come with me, but it just wouldn't do.

She thought about it a moment.

—No, it just wouldn't do. You'll have to work something else out. She smiled.

—Anyway, I'll drop in unannounced. I always do.

James was leaning against the wall with his arms drawn up in front of him. She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.

—Isn't it nice being here? she asked, and was gone.

A Visit from Grandfather

—James, he said. Come out of there.

—No, said James, I won't.

—You'll have to come out sooner or later.

—No.

—If you don't come out, I swear I'll send you to a work camp. James laughed.

—Grandpa, I know there aren't any work camps. Not for boys like me.

James's grandfather laughed too.

—Oh, I think I can find one. They'll have you peeling potatoes and making zippers. Did you know that all zippers are made by people? Machines can't make them; it's too difficult. But making zippers will eventually cripple your hands. Yes, in the countryside somewhere there are zipper factories full of children with crippled hands. Perhaps I will send you there.

—Grandpa . . . said James, laughing.

He came out from his hiding spot. His grandfather lifted him up and gave him a great big hug.

—What is it you like, young sir? asked James's grandfather.

—Gladiators, said James. And tigers. And falcons.

James's grandmother could be heard then, calling from the house.

—I think supper's ready, said James's grandfather. Shall we go in?

day the fourth

James went to the window. He could see that two police cars had made their way up the main drive. They parked blocking the driveway; policemen got out.

From out of the house came two men, Graham and one other. Who was it? He looked like a doctor. Probably Sermon.

Graham and Sermon spoke with the policemen for some time. They made gestures with their hands. To these the policemen responded with nods. These nods were in turn responded to with nods and further gestures.

After a little while, the policemen got back into their cars.

—What's going on? called Grieve from the bed.

—Nothing, said James. Some police came.

She stood up and hopped over. She had sewn herself into a bag the night before. She said she and James didn't know each other well enough to sleep in the same bed otherwise, but that certainly there was no other bed that she intended to sleep in that night but his, and he had better get used to it. He had said nothing but had watched with a great deal of astonishment as she had honestly and truly sewn herself inside a bag.

Now she was standing next to him.

—Sweetheart, she said. Hold me up, will you?

She leaned against him, and he put his arms around her. He could feel the warmness of her skin through the thin layer of cotton.

He thought then of how he had seen her in the diner and had immediately liked her. He'd liked her so much that he'd decided against her for his own good.

—You know, she said. They came for
you
.

—What? asked James.

—It's not the first time, she said. They came yesterday too. Of course, they know that you killed Mayne. They think it was for the drugs. Apparently there wasn't much money in the house. Anyway, his wife and kid have testified that you threw him out the window. So . . .

She paused, slid around in his arms and kissed him hard on the mouth.

—Father sent the police away when they came here looking for you. I guess you left the mask at the house with the package I sent it in, and they traced that here. So, they thought maybe you came here.

She turned back to the window. The police cars were now making their way along the road in the distance.

—Don't worry, she said. They'll never come to get you here. Father will see to it. And if we want to go someplace else, like Provence, or Andalusia, well, he'll see to that, too. Don't you like having me around? she asked.

James said that he had not killed Mayne, not at all. Mayne had jumped, he maintained. There was no reason for him to kill Mayne. It made no sense at all.

—But why were you in the apartment in the first place? she asked. That's what no one understands. Not that we need to. No one would ever ask you about it. It's your business, of course.

In fact, don't answer. Don't feel that you need to. Anyway, come back to bed. It's cold here by the window.

She hopped back over to the bed, flopped onto it, and crawled under the covers.

James continued looking out the window. It was Wednesday, he thought. Wednesday. Three days till Saturday. He wished he could speak to McHale again, and judge if the man was mad or not.

He turned. Grieve was up on one elbow, looking at him. Her bare shoulder and arm were out of the sewn bag. What fine skin.

Grieve cocked her head, and made a noise like a crow.

—That's the noise, she said, that crows make to warn the other crows when something that isn't a crow is coming through the woods.

The Garden

In the center of the house there was a garden. James stood by it and watched a man with scissors. First the scissors were sharpened for a very long time. The noise was somehow cruel.

Never, thought James, would I want to hear such noise through a window, to hear such a noise and not know why it had come.

The shears trimmed the plants held by the man. So sharp were they that they did not seem to touch that which they cut. The man did not look at James. All his great attention was spread throughout the garden. He was broad of face and feature, broad of limb and leg. He moved with a slow precision. Nothing seemed to escape him. His effect on the garden was noticeable. As he moved it seemed to order itself around him.

James was sure that it was Samedi. Never had he felt so lessened by the presence of another. Like a child, James turned in his own hand. Like a window he shut.