Part 26 (1/2)
Now, with the sun almost gone, the sky looked wounded--as if a gigantic razor had been drawn across it, slicing deep. It bled richly. And the wind, which came down from High Mountain, cool as rain, sounded a little like children crying: a soft, unhappy kind of sound, rising and falling. Afraid, somehow, it seemed to Julia. Terribly afraid.
She quickened her step. I'm an idiot, she thought, looking away from the sky. A complete idiot.
That's why I'm frightened now; and if anything happens--which it won't, and can't--then I'll have no one to blame but myself.
She s.h.i.+fted the bag of groceries to her other arm and turned, slightly. There was no one in sight, except old Mr. Hannaford, pulling in his newspaper stands, preparing to close up the drug-store, and Jake Spiker, barely moving across to the Blue Haven for a gla.s.s of beer: no one else. The rippling red brick streets were silent.
But even if she got nearly all the way home, she could scream and someone would hear her.
Who would be fool enough to try anything right out in the open? Not even a lunatic. Besides, it wasn't dark yet, not technically, anyway.
Still, as she pa.s.sed the vacant lots, all shoulder-high in wild gra.s.s, Julia could not help thinking, He might be hiding there, right now. It was possible. Hiding there, all crouched up, waiting. And he'd only have to grab her, and--she wouldn't scream. She knew that suddenly, and the thought terrified her.
Sometimes you _can't_ scream . . .
If only she'd not bothered to get that spool of yellow thread over at Younger's, it would be bright daylight now, bright clear daylight. And-- Nonsense! This was the middle of the town. She was surrounded by houses full of people. People all around. Everywhere.
(_He was a hunger; a need; a force. Dark emptiness filled him. He moved, when he moved, like a leaf caught in some dark and secret river, rus.h.i.+ng. But mostly he slept now, an animal, always ready to wake and leap and be gone_ . . .) The shadows came to life, dancing where Julia walked. Now the sky was ugly and festered, and the wind had become stronger, colder. She clicked along the sidewalk, looking straight ahead, wondering, Why, why am I so infernally stupid? What's the matter with me?
Then she was home, and it was all over. The trip had taken not more than half an hour. And here was Maud, running. Julia felt her sister's arms fly around her, hugging. ”G.o.d, my G.o.d.”
And Louise's voice: ”We were just about to call Mick to go after you.”
Julia pulled free and went into the kitchen and put down the bag of groceries.
”Where in the world have you been?” Maud demanded.
”I had to get something at Younger's.” Julia took off her coat. ”They had to go look for it, and--I didn't keep track of the time.”
Maud shook her head. ”Well, I don't know,” she said wearily. ”You're just lucky you're alive, that's all.”
”Now--”
”You listen! He's out there somewhere. Don't you understand that? It's a fact. They haven't even come close to catching him yet.”
”They will,” Julia said, not knowing why: she wasn't entirely convinced of it.
”Of course they will. Meantime, how many more is he going to murder? Can you answer me that?”
”I'm going to put my coat away.” Julia brushed past her sister. Then she turned and said, ”I'm sorry you were worried. It won't happen again.” She went to the closet, feeling strangely upset. They would talk about it tonight. All night. a.n.a.lyzing, hinting, questioning. They would talk of nothing else, as from the very first. And they would not be able to conceal their delight.
”Wasn't it awful about poor Eva Schillings?”
No, Julia had thought: from her sister's point of view it was not awful at all. It was wonderful. It was priceless.
It was news.
Julia's sisters . . . Sometimes she thought of them as mice. Giant gray mice, in high white collars: groaning a little, panting a little, working about the house. Endlessly, untiringly: they would squint at pictures, knock them crooked, then straighten them again; they swept invisible dust from clean carpets and took the invisible dust outside in s.h.i.+ning pans and dumped it carefully into spotless applebaskets; they stood by beds whose sheets shone gleaming white and tight, and clucked in soft disgust, and replaced the sheets with others. All day, every day, from six in the morning until most definite dusk. Never questioning, never doubting that the work had to be done.
They ran like arteries through the old house, keeping it alive. For it had become now a part of them, and they a part of it--like the handcrank mahogany Victrola in the hail, or the lion-pelted sofa, or the Boutelle piano (ten years silent, its keys yellowed and decayed and ferocious, like the teeth of an aged mule).
Nights, they spoke of sin. Also of other times and better days: Maud and Louise-- sitting there in the bellying heat of the obsolete but steadfast stove, hooking rugs, crocheting doilies, sewing linen, chatting, chatting.
Occasionally Julia listened, because she was there and there was nothing else to do; but mostly she didn't. It had become a simple thing to rock and nod and think of nothing at all, while _they_ traded dreams and dead husbands, constantly relis.h.i.+ng their mutual widowhood--relis.h.i.+ng it!--pitching these fragile ghosts into moral combat. ”Ernie, G.o.d rest him, was an honorable man.” (So were they all, Julia would think, all honorable men; but we are here to praise Caesar, not to bury him ...)”Jack would be alive today if it hadn't been for the trunk lid slamming down on his head: that's what started it all.” Poor Ernie! Poor Jack!
(_He walked along the railroad tracks, blending with the night. He could have been young, or old: an age-hiding beard dirtied his face and throat. He wore a blue sweater, ripped in a dozen places.
On the front of the sweater was sewn a large felt letter: E. Also sewn there was a small design showing a football and calipers. His gray trousers were dark with a stain where he had fouled them. He walkedalong the tracks, seeing and not seeing the pulse of light far ahead; thinking and not thinking, Perhaps I'll find it there, Perhaps they won't catch me, Perhaps I won't be hungry any more_ . . .) ”You forgot the margarine,” Louise said, holding the large sack upside down.
”Did I? I'm sorry.” Julia took her place at the table. The food immediately began to make her ill: the sight of it, the smell of it. Great bowls of beans, crisp-skinned chunks of turkey, mashed potatoes.
She put some on her plate, and watched her sisters. They ate earnestly; and now, for no reason, this, too, was upsetting.
She looked away. What was it? What was wrong?
”Mick says that fellow didn't die,” Maud announced. ”Julia--”
”What fellow?”
”At the asylum, that got choked. He's going to be all right.”
”That's good.”
Louise broke a square of toast. She addressed Maud: ”What else did he say, when you talked to him? Are they making any progress?”
”Some. I understand there's a bunch of police coming down from Seattle. If they don't get him in a few days, they'll bring in some bloodhounds from out-of-state. Of course, you can imagine how much Mick likes _that!_”
”Well, it's his own fault. If he was any kind of a sheriff, he'd of caught that fellow a long time before this. I mean, after all, Burlington just isn't that big.” Louise dismembered a turkey leg, ripped little shreds of the meat off, put them into her mouth.
Maud shook her head. ”I don't know. Mick claims it isn't like catching an ordinary criminal. With this one, you never can guess what he's going to do, or where he'll be. n.o.body has figured out how he stays alive, for instance.
”Probably,” Louise said, ”he eats bugs and things.”
Julia folded her napkin quickly and pressed it onto the table.
Maud said, ”No. Most likely he finds stray dogs and cats.”
They finished the meal in silence. Not, Julia knew, because there was any lull in thought: merely so the rest could be savored in the living room, next to the fire. A proper place for everything.
They moved out of the kitchen. Louise insisted on doing the dishes, while Maud settled at the radio and tried to find a local news broadcast. Finally she snapped the radio off, angrily. ”You'd think they'd at least keep us informed! Isn't that the least they could do?”
Louise materialized in her favorite chair. The kitchen was dark. The stove warmed noisily, its metal sides undulating.
And it was time.
”Where do you suppose he is right now?” Maud asked.
Louise shrugged. ”Out there somewhere. If they'd got him, Mick would of called us. He's out there somewhere.”
”Yes. Laughing at all of us, too, I'll wager. Trying to figure out who'll be next.”