The Perfect Host (34 page)

“I says, straight out, ‘Ma’am, you fell an’ hurt yo’re head. I don’t recall a thing but that. I couldn’t do nought but what I did. Reckon it was sort of my fault anyway. I don’t mean you no harm. Soon’s you git some help I’ll leave. Where’s your menfolks?’

“That quieted her down. She tole me about herself. She was home-steadin’. Had pre-emption rights an’ eighteen months left t’ finish th’ term. Husband killed in a rock-slide. Swore to him she’d hold th’ land. Didn’t know what she’d do after, but spang shore she was a-goin’ to do that first. Lot o’ spunk.”

Kellet was quiet again. The loom of the moon took black from the sky and gave it to the eastward ridge. Powers’ pipe gurgled suddenly.

“Neighbor fourteen mile downstream was burned out the winter before. Feller eight mile ’tother way gone up to Winding Stair for a roundup, taken his wife. Be gone another two months. This little gal sweat out corn and peas for dryin’, had taters put by. Nobuddy ever come near, almost. Hot day, she just naturally bathed in the crick.

“Asked her what about drifters like me, but mebbe gunmen. She reached under the bed, drug out a derringer. Says, ‘This’s for sech trash.’ an’ a lettle pointy knife. ‘This’s for me,’ she says, just like that. I tol’ her to keep both of ’em by her. Was that sorry for her, liked her grit so, I felt half sick with it.

“Was goin’ to turn in outside, by the shed. After we talked some an’ I made her up some johnny-cake, she said I c’d bunk in th’ kitchen if I wanted. Tol’ her to lock her door. She locked it. Big wooden bar. I put down m’roll an’ turned in.”

The moon was a bead on the hill’s haloed brow; a coronet, then a crown.

Powers put his pipe away.

“In the mornin’,” said Kellet, “she couldn’t get up. I just naturally kicked the door down when she wouldn’t answer. Had a bad fever. Fast asleep an’ couldn’t wake up but for a half minute, an’ then she’d slide off ag’in. Set by her ’most all day, ’cept where I saw to my hoss an’ fixed some vittles. Did for her like you would for a kid. Kept washin’ her face with cold water. Never done nothin’ like that before; didn’t know much what to do, done the best I could.

“Afternoon, she talked for a hour or so, real wild. Mostly to her man, like he was settin’ there ’stead o’ me. He was a lucky feller. She said …

“Be damned to you what she said. But I … tuk to answerin’ her oncet in a while, just ‘Yes, honey,’ when she got to callin’ hard for him. Man a full year dead, I don’t think she really believed it, not all the way down. She said things to him like—like no woman ever thought to say to me. Anyway … when I answered thataway she’d talk quiet. If I didn’t she’d just call and call, and git all roiled up, an’ her head would bleed, so what else you expect me to do?

“Next day she was better, but weak’s a starveling colt in a blowin’ drought. Slept a lot. I found out where she’d been jerkin’ venison, an’ finished it up. Got some weeds outen her black-eye peas. Went back ever’ now an’ then to see she’s all right. Remember some red haw back over the ridge, rode over there and gathered some, fixed ’em to sun so’s she’d have ’em for dried-apple pie come winter.

“Four-five days went by like that. Got a deer one day, skinned it an’ jerked it. Done some carpenterin’ in th’ shed an’ in th’ house. Done what I could. Time I was fixin’ the door to the kitchen I’d kicked down that first mornin’, she lay a-watchin’ me an’ when I was done, she said I was good. ‘Yo’re good, Kellet,’ she said. Don’t sound like much to tell it. Was a whole lot.”

Powers watched the moon rise and balance itself on the ridge, ready to float free. A single dead tree on the summit stood against it like a black-gloved hand held to a golden face.

Kellet said, “Just looka that ol’ tree, so … strong-lookin’ an’ … so dead.”

When the moon was adrift, Kellet said, “Fixed that door with a new beam an’ good gudgeons. Man go to kick it down now’d have a job to do. She—”

Powers waited.

“—she never did use it. After she got well enough to get up an’ around a bit, even. Just left it open. Mebbe she never thought about it. Mebbe she did, too. Nights, I’d stretch out in my bedroll, lay there, and wait. Pretty soon she’d call out, ‘Good night, Kellet. Sleep good, now.’ Thing like that, that’s worth a passel o’ farmin’ an’ carpenterin’ …

“One night, ten-’leven days after I got there, woke up. She was cryin’ there in the dark in t’other room. I called out what’s the matter. She didn’t say. Just kept a-bawlin’. Figgered mebbe her head hurt her. Got up, went to th’ door. Asked her if she’s all right. She just keeps a-cryin’—not loud, mind, but cryin’ hard. Thing like that makes a man feel all tore up.

“Went on in. Called her name. She patted the side o’ the’ bed. I set down. Put my hand on her face to see if she was gettin’ the fever ag’in. Face was cool. Wet, too. She tuk my hand in her two an’ held it hard up ag’in her mouth. I didn’t know she was so strong.

“Set there quiet for two-three minutes. Got m’hand loose. Says, ‘What you bawlin’ for, ma’am?’

“She says, ‘It’s good to have you here.’

“I stood up, says, ‘You git back to yo’re rest now, ma’am.’ She—”

There were minutes between the words, but no change in his voice when he continued.

“—cried mebbe a hour. Stopped sudden, and altogether. Mebbe I slept after that, mebbe I didn’t. Don’t rightly recall.

“Next mornin’ she’s up bright an’ early, fixin’ chow. First time she done it since she’s hurt. Tole her, ‘Whoa. Take it easy, ma’am. You don’t want to tucker yo’reself out.’

“She says, ‘I coulda done this three days ago.’ Sounded mad. Don’t rightly know who she’s mad at. Fixed a powerful good breakfast.

“That day seemed the same, but it was ’way differ’nt. Other days we mostly didn’t talk nothin’ but business—caterpillars in th’ tomato vines, fix a hole in the smoke shed, an’ like that. This day we talked the same things. Difference was, we had to try hard to keep the talk where it was. An’ one more thing—didn’t neither of us say one more word ’bout any work that might have to be done—tomorrow.

“Midday, I gathered up what was mine, an’ packed my saddlebags. Brought my hoss up to th’ shed an’ watered him an’ saddled him. Didn’t see her much, but knowed she’s watchin’ me from inside th’ house.

“All done, went to pat m’hoss once on the neck. Hit him so hard he shied. Right surprised m’self.

“She come out then. She stood a-lookin’ at me. Says, ‘Good-bye, Kellet. God bless you.’

“Says good-bye to her. Then didn’t neither of us move for a minute. She says, ‘You think I’m a bad woman.’

“Says, ‘No sech a damn thing, ma’am! You was a sick one, an’ powerful lonesome. You’ll be all right now.’

“She says, ‘I’m all right. I’ll be all right long as I live,’ she says, ‘thanks to you, Kellet. Kellet,’ she says, ‘you had to think for both of us an’ you did. Yo’re a gentleman, Kellet,’ she says.

“Mounted, then, an’ rode off. On the rise, looked back, saw her still by the shed, lookin’ at me. Waved m’hat. Rode on.”

The night was a white night now, since the moon had shucked its buoyant gold for its traveling silver. Powers heard Kellet turn over, and knew he could speak now if he cared to. Somewhere a mouse screamed briefly under an owl’s silent talons. Distantly, a coyote’s hungry call built itself into the echoing loneliness.

Powers said, “So that’s what a gentleman is. A man that c’n think for two people when the time comes for it?”

“Naw-w,” drawled Kellet scornfully. “That’s just what she come to believe because I never touched her.”

Powers asked it, straight, “Why didn’t you?”

A man will tell things, sometimes, things grown into him like the calluses from his wire-cutters, things as much a part of him as, say, a notched ear or bullet scars in his belly; and his hearer should be a man who will not mention them after sun-up—perhaps not until his partner is dead—perhaps never.

Kellet said, “I cain’t.”

T
HE TWO GUNS
spoiled the lines of Bentow’s carefully fitted coat. No one but he and his tailor would have noticed it, but he would be happy when he had used them and had done with the whole business.

He stepped out of the administrative corridor into the south end of Generator Room No. 5, and glanced down its enormous length. The great dynamos crouched off into distance like an avenue of hulking houses. A slight movement in the gleaming street between them made Bentow step back into the corridor.

After an interminable wait old Zeitz, the section night watchman, trudged by, his eyes cast down, his ancient legs transmuting these indoor distances into his rounds just as mechanically as the purring monsters about him turned motion into power.

When he had gone, Bentow put his sleek head out of the corridor again, and then stepped into the room. Staying close to the aluminum-clad wall, he walked quickly to the end of the room and along it to the open doorway of Condenser Station No. 48, where his inspection route charts had shown him that Auckland Ford should be.

Ford, straight and gray, was there standing with his level eyes on the instrument panel inside. He turned in surprise as Bentow stepped inside.

“Well,” he said, smiling. “You’re about the last person I ever expected to see where the work gets done.”

Bentow forced himself to return the smile. “Public relations isn’t all cocktails and stuffed shirts, Mr. Ford,” he said. “I worked right through midnight tonight, and since I was at the plant, I thought I’d bone up a little on how things work. You’d be surprised how many technical questions are asked at those cocktail parties.”

“So this is research? Well, I’m glad to help. This is the first thing you’ve done that I can like, Bentow.”

“You really do dislike me, don’t you?” Bentow said, frowning.

“I didn’t say that,” said Ford. “I just don’t give a hang one way or the other. Hope I’m not being too frank.”

“Not at all,” said Bentow stiffly. He wet his lips. “Your daughter appears to have a certain amount of respect for me.”

“That isn’t respect,” said Ford bluntly. “She’s too young to know what respect is. She can understand authority and she knows who brings the feed pan. But if she wants to marry you, it’s all right with me. You’re not a bad catch. You’ve got a good income, a really impressive array of false front, and plenty of good looks. Dorcas is a sweet kid, but I faced the fact long ago that she’s not too bright.”

“She is everything in the world I want,” said Bentow solemnly.

“Good,” said Ford. “And, by Heaven, I expect you to behave accordingly, or you’ll answer to me!”

Overhead a horn honked—a series of five unpleasant
beeps
.

“That’s my call,” said Ford. “Early. My report’s not due for another ten minutes. Just a second, Bentow.”

He stalked out the low doorway and took down the phone which hung outside. Bentow shuffled his feet nervously and then moved to the far bulkhead, where he would be out of sight of the generator room. Ford was back in a moment.

“Just a reminder that the manifold in eighty-seven needs a special inspection,” he said.

“Did you tell them I was here?” Bentow asked.

“I did not. It wasn’t a social call.”

“But you’ll make your routine report ten minutes from now?”

“Of course.”

“Just wondered,” said Bentow, and thought to himself, “I’d better wait until after he reports. Killing ten minutes will give me a little practice. Do my killing by stages—”

“Well, what did you want to know?” asked Ford.

“Oh—I know pretty much the general principles,” said Bentow. “A mercury-vapor power plant using the atomic-pile heat from the transmutation factory. But tell me about these condenser stations, just as if I were some curious bubblehead at a cocktail party.”

Ford gave him a somewhat pitying look, and finally said, “All right, Mr. Curious Bubblehead from a cocktail party.” He grinned while Bentow winced. “These stations are not the condensers themselves; those are all underneath. But the mercury lines pass through here—high-pressure ones to the turbines, low-pressure ones to the exhaust chambers of the condensers. These stations check the pressures on each, all the time.”

“What exactly for?” Bentow queried.

“Well, the pressure data are matched with generator output to determine the working efficiency; with mercury-flow checks to determine the volatilization rate—that has everything to do with the chemical purity of the mercury—and, most of all, to check for leaks.”

“Yes. I know that’s important. The stuff is quick poison at those pressures.”

“Mercury vapor is poison at any pressure,” said Ford. “But at these pressures—” he pointed to the great trunks of the ducts which led through the back wall and down into the floor—“750 pounds per square inch to the turbines, and a mere 60 pounds for exhaust, the vapor can reach a lethal concentration like
that!
” and he snapped his long fingers. “The tiniest pin hole in one of those trunks over there would mean a deadly concentration of vapor here in seconds!”

“And how long would it take to kill a man?” Bentow asked curiously.

“Only a few minutes.”

“But any of you operators can smell the stuff before it gets dangerous, can’t you?”

“No. A concentration of only one part in one hundred thousand in air is dangerous. A man would be seriously poisoned by the time he felt anything at all,” said Ford.

Bentow thought this over for a moment before asking, “Well, what protects you?”

Ford pointed to a small box, screened, on a shelf. Blue-white light hovered around it. “Ikey does,” he said.

“Oh, yes—the spectral detector. Just how does it work?”

“Well, you know how dark lines show up on a spectroscope?”

“I think so,” said Bentow. “If you put a sheet of cadmium-tinted glass over your spectroscope and shoot the sun, you’ll get dark lines on the cadmium sector of the solar spectrum.”

“That’s roughly the idea. Well, Ikey there has a photo-electric cell with a mercury filter over it. Trained on it is a mercury-vapor lamp. If any trace of mercury vapor occurs in the air in here, the value of the light that reaches the cell changes because of the spectral lines which occur behind the filter. Then Ikey goes into action.”