The Perfect Host (14 page)

Plodding through the dim wood toward the trail, he came to the spot at which he had had his strange encounter. Here on the moss, there on the side of a shrub, yonder on the rocks where the furry body of a dead mouse lay twisted, were patches of blight. Some of it looked like the work of a blowtorch, some of it looked like a rust; but wherever it was, something was dead.

He stopped. Fellow was dead, that mouse was dead, that moss and those leaves where dead. A man could be dead, a culture could be dead. He tried to understand a civilization built on a metaphysical concept, and could not. He tried to understand how a civilization could die when that concept was negated, and could not. He knew, however, that these things could be whether he understood or not. He knew, because, for a moment, he had looked in a direction which he did not understand.

He closed his eyes and frowned. “Keep it simple,” he muttered. Those other-men, those creatures—they
had
to find something different.
“We will die first.” What would that death be? And what would come after the death?

Life after death.

He laughed. They’d die and go to Heaven.

Then he remembered what Heaven was to these people, and he stopped laughing. It wasn’t funny. He looked at the blight. It wasn’t funny at all.

He sat down on a rock where he could see the dead mouse, put his chin in his hands, and wondered how, how in the name of Heaven, he could tell anyone.

S
ANDRA OPENED THE
door. It was Golly. He walked in, kicked the door closed without looking at it, taking Sandra’s arm as he passed her. He spun her around to him for a kiss.

She wiped her mouth. “I don’t like that, Golly.”

“I do.” He kissed her again. His clothes were not very clean. Sandra stayed passive in his arms, waiting to be released. He pushed her away abruptly, and turned his back. “Paul’s been here,” he said.

She shook her head, making a tiny negative sound. Golly picked up a severely expensive handkerchief from the divan and tossed it to her. “Ain’t yours.”

“It is.”

He sat down, lit a cigarette, and then looked at her. “With that P sewed on?” He compressed his lips. “I got no use for a two-timing woman, Sanny. Even less for a dumb one.”

Sandra’s forehead paled, heightening the red on her cheekbones. “If you don’t like it, Golly—”

When Golly laughed, his teeth showed right up to the gums. He was wiry and slender, with shoulders a bit too wide for his hips. Sandra was always unnerved by his utter relaxation. With Paul, now, she was continually afraid of using bad grammar.

“What’s funny?” she snapped.

“You,” Golly said, not laughing any more at all. “You really think you can get rid of me just by telling me off?” He folded his arms. “If I ever catch Paul here, I’ll kill him. You know that.”

It was perfectly true, she thought, watching him, trying to build up some armor against his narrow gaze. “Tell
him
that,” she said slowly. “He’s your brother, not mine. Incidentally, I’m not married to either of you. Not likely to be, either, as long as this feud goes on.”

She walked over to him, stood near, knowing that he would touch her if she came an inch closer, knowing that he wanted her to. Her hair was chestnut, and she wore it long, with a rakish part on the left. Her nose was aquiline and her mouth a little twisted when she relaxed her features. Her brows made her eyes look closer together than they were, so that in profile her face changed startlingly.

No one ever treated Sandra gently but Paul. Paul was funny, though. You never could tell about Paul.… Golly, now, was predictable. Golly was going to get sore, right away, when she got this off her chest. She spoke freely:

“Golly, I like Paul. Can you understand that? Yes, he was here. He’ll be here any time he feels like it, any time I ask him to come. I won’t have you telling me who can and who can’t come here.”

A smile sprang to his lips as if it were something caught from his shrugging shoulders. He rose and came toward her. She stepped back, and he continued across to the door.

“I’m not rushing you, Sanny,” he said, “but you might as well get used to the idea of having me around. ’Night.” The door closed behind him, then opened again. He leaned in and said very softly, “If you see Paul again, he won’t live twenty-four hours. You can tell him that from me.”

Sandra drew a breath to speak, put out her hand—but he was gone. She stood for a full minute looking at the door, and then went to the divan’s end-table and viciously snubbed out his cigarette.

At a dance Sandra had met Paul. He was clean-cut, charming, and wore well cut, soft-toned clothes and perfect collars. From the very first Sandra sensed some lack in him, but could never determine quite what it was. She stopped wondering about it when she met Golly.

In the two brothers she found what she wanted. If Paul had ever reached for her suddenly, wordlessly, kissed her so that it hurt—Well, it would have been Paul. But he never did. Had Golly been soft-spoken and a little gentler, she could have loved him.

And they hated each other so much that it was dangerous for her to see either, once they both became interested.

They hated each other, and yet it was through Paul, in a way, that she first met Golly. She had a date one night with Paul and the bell rang twenty minutes early. She answered it.

“Paul, you’re early. Why—you’re not dressed. Or—that is Paul, isn’t it?”

“It is not, and don’t call me that. I’m Golly.” He wore a thick black sweater and she did not think he was wearing a shirt.

“Golly? Oh—Paul’s brother. He mentioned you once. Come in. Is Paul—”

“Will you stop talking about that dirty heel?” he snapped.

She was shocked. “Wh-what can I do for you?” she asked faintly.

“Nothin’. Hey, stand over here by the light. Hmmm. You’re okay. Like to have me around once in a while?”

“Well, I—After all, Mr. Egan—”

“To you my name’s Golly.” His hands took out a cigarette and lit it, apparently without his knowledge. “Keep away from that big slob.”

“Please!” She was certainly not prudish, but she had never met anyone like this before.

He did not apologize. Paul would have, for less. Paul often did. Sandra didn’t like this Golly, this inscrutable, impulsive brother of Paul Egan. She didn’t like him, and she didn’t tell him to go.

He stayed for forty-five minutes and in that time kissed her twice. He left her suddenly without saying good-by, and she sat staring at his cigarette butts for nearly an hour, with her heart beating too fast, before she realized that Paul had broken their date.

Her annoyance turned to puzzlement, and then to the realization that Paul had stayed away because Golly came. She laughed, a conscious effort which made her feel more calm, and spent the evening ironing and wondering how such a poisonous hatred could develop between the two.

Afterward, Golly dropped in at highly irregular intervals. Always, when he entered, it would be with that flashing search of the room, that sniffing of atmosphere. Twice he had sensed Paul’s recent presence, and the second time it happened was the occasion of his ultimatum. “If you see Paul again, he won’t live twenty-four hours.”

Sandra was frankly worried. Although admittedly dramatic, Golly could be extremely thorough. When he decided to kiss her, she got kissed. If he determined to kill Paul—but they’re
brothers
, she thought in sudden panic.
Brothers don’t kill each other
.

Do they?

Sandra began breaking dates with Paul. Golly, of course, came more often.

She liked him less each time—and she wanted to see him more. The powerful appeal of his arrogant manner almost offset her distaste for the things he did because of it. She deeply resented the advances he made, and in her heart resented him for avoiding those he could have made. She knew, too, that his casualness was neither restraint nor indifference, but a challenging half-interest. Sandra despised herself because she was affected by it but.…

Paul came, finally. She ran to the door, thinking it was Golly, for Paul never came without phoning first. But it was Paul, standing abashed under the porch light.

“Paul! Oh, you idiot! I told you not to come!”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know you did. But Sandra, I had to know why, and you wouldn’t say. Can’t I come in for just a moment?”

She stood aside, reminded too vividly of the way Golly rang and then pushed past her. “For just a moment, then.”

He came in and she took his coat wordlessly, nodding toward the divan. He sat down and began to pack his pipe neatly and nervously. Golly smoked cigarettes and left them burning on the edges of tables.

Sandra sat beside him, knowing a little disdainfully that he would come no closer. She waited for him to say something. The silence grew painful. Twice he licked his lips and opened his mouth, and twice he closed it against the pipestem.

Finally he said, “San, please. Why won’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t make it any harder than it is!” he barked, and she was startled by his tone. “Why won’t you see me any more?” When she would not answer, he asked, “Have I done something?”

You haven’t done anything, you fool
, she thought acidly. She said, “No. It’s something you won’t talk about. You mentioned Golly once, when I asked you if you had any relatives around here. Since then you have always managed to change the subject.”

His eyes widened. “Golly.” After a long moment he breathed. “Oh. I see.” The he was quiet for so long that she flared up.

“Well?”

“Sandra,” he said with difficulty, “there are things that—that—”

“That can’t be discussed.” She stood up. “So why bother? Good night, Paul.”

He stayed where he was, looking at her with wide suffering eyes. “Sit down, Sandra. I’ll tell you as much as I can. I’d like you to understand.”

She sat down, waited.

“Golly is—is—he hates me.”

“I know.” She had a sudden, shocking mental picture of Golly’s slitted gaze, his quiet, deadly threat. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Paul said, and ran his hand roughly through his carefully combed hair. His eyes closed. “You know how—how many stories there have been about—a man’s not wanting to admit to a girl concerning—insanity in the family.”

“Paul.” Her voice was very gentle.

“Golly is a—a—He’s dangerous, Sandra.”

“I know that, too.”

“If I could only—face him, talk to him, I could make him go away and never come back. But he—he—”

“He keeps away from you.” She remembered, suddenly, the night Golly had come when Paul was due, and that Paul had not come at all. “Where does he work? Where does he live?”

“I don’t know,” said Paul worriedly. “The waterfront, a warehouse—somewhere around. I never know. I—Sandra!”

She turned with him. Their faces were close.

“There’s a
good
thing in all this,”: he said. “You wouldn’t see me. You thought that if I came here he would kill me, and you wanted to make it—safe for me. You cared enough to—”

She looked at him, his sensitive brow, his tender mouth. “Don’t
flatter yourself!” she blazed. “I don’t want to be the cause of any silly brawls, that’s all. If you want to get killed, walk in front of a truck! But don’t get me mixed up in it!”

The beginnings of a smile died on his face. He rose stiffly and went for his coat. At the door he paused, but when she did not speak, he went out, closing the door carefully behind him.

That was a lousy thing to do
, she thought, and ran out on the porch. “Paul!”

He was at the gate, opening it. He turned and came back.

“I’m sorry, Paul. I flew off the handle.”

“That’s all right,” he said softly. She knew he was still hurt because he did not offer to take the blame on himself. She drew him inside, but did not offer to take his coat.

“Listen, Paul. I’m sick and tired of having you two mess up my life. Tell me what’s the matter and let’s do something about it, once and for all. This thing can’t go on any longer the way it is. What’s the trouble between you and Golly, anyway?”

He licked his lips. “It’s a—a sort of psychosis, Sandra. You’ve seen it before, surely, but in milder forms. Most brothers—and sisters, too—feel that they are a little incomplete as long as the other exists. This is only an extreme example of it.” He put up a hand, for she was about to speak.

“No, San. Don’t catechize me about it. It’ll work out. You’ll see. If I can once get to him, get to know why he—” He shook his head. “I’ll make it all right. I’ll get rid of him. Trust me, Sandra—please trust me.”

She looked at him, and the lip which had begun to curl relaxed again. He was so very sincere, and, for the moment, so very helpless. But he would be able to do something. And he wanted to; he cared desperately about it. Golly, now, Golly didn’t care much at all. Not enough to want to do anything but—but—

“I trust you, Paul. But do something quickly, quickly, darling.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth; then, crying, ran upstairs.

Paul called her, but she did not answer, and he went away. From her bedroom window she saw him go down the path with his head
bowed. At the gate he paused, turned, removed his hat and waved it high over his head. He always did that. Always.

Three nights later, when she came home, she found Golly on the porch steps, sprawled back as if he had been poured there and half-congealed.

“Well,” she said, stopping before him.

“Hi,” he said, his arm moving by itself to give her a vague salute. She walked up the steps, trying to pass him. He plucked her from her feet, landing her ungracefully in his lap.

“Damn you!” she said into his mouth. He moved his head away, looked at her somberly, and kissed her forehead. Then he set her on her feet.

Trembling, she marched up to the door and opened it. She knew it would be no use to slam it in his face, so she left it open. She took one arm out of her coat, paused, rubbed her cheek where his unshaven face had rasped it. Paul was always spotlessly clean, fresh-shaven when he came. Why did these two men remind her of each other so? What kind of half-men were they?