When he was dry he put his clothing back on. He stretched out in the dry sand and made a sand pillow for his head. A night bird flew by, croaking with sad, habitual alarm. Now then, he told himself. But nothing began. When he awoke, the beach, the sea and the sky were all the same shade of silver-gray. Far out over the Gulf lightning made a small silent calligraphy between cloud blackness and the gray horizon. A crab stood on tiptoe nearby, a small ballet of wariness. Beyond the storm dunes and sea oats was a crimson line over the mainland. He bent over and brushed the sand out of his hair. A hundred yards away, in shallow water, there was a turmoil of fish, startling him. It was still too early for birds. The tide was running in swiftly. He walked slowly along the shore line of the pass, around toward the bay side where his car was parked. When he was opposite the middle of the pass, an oiled black arc of porpoise appeared, made a gasping huff and sounded again.
He got behind the wheel of his car. Now then, he told himself. But some essential connective pinions of his mind had rusted in place. He felt as if he was trying to glance at still photographs swiftly enough to achieve the illusion of motion. But the pictures were not in order. He had reasons, but he could not link them to acts. He could devise acts, but they were naked of reason and consequence. Memory had suffered a strange inversion, so that all that was to come seemed to have the quality of things remembered.
When he reached the cottage, he showered, knotted a towel around his waist and sat at the typewriter. During the morning the phone rang several times, but he did not answer it. By eleven o’clock he had it exactly the way he wanted it. He set his alarm and slept until two o’clock. When he woke up, he read it again. He had an original and one copy. He folded them separately, after dating and signing each one. He put the carbon in an envelope and addressed it to Kat. He mailed it in town and then went to the bank lot to wait for her to come out.
Twenty-two
When Kat walked around the corner of the bank building on Tuesday afternoon, she saw Jimmy Wing’s station wagon parked beside her car. She saw him standing in the shade of the building, smoking a cigarette.
He came striding toward her. His color was not good.
“Where were you?” she asked. “Golly I called here and there.”
“I want to come to your house. I want to talk to you.”
“Of course, Jimmy! I want to stop at the hospital first though.”
“At the hospital?”
“To see Jackie. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I have to talk to you.”
“Has something else gone wrong? You look sick, Jimmy.”
“I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. I’m in perfect shape.”
“Do you want to stop at the hospital?”
“No.”
“Perhaps later?”
“Can we go to your house right now?”
“But you seem so... All right, Jimmy. Right now.”
He followed her. After a few blocks she realized he was following too closely. It was not like him. He was too good a driver. She concentrated on avoiding any traffic hazard which might cause her to stop too suddenly. When she had to stop for a light she turned and stared back at him. He sat motionless and expressionless, clasping the wheel high, his lips sucked pale, his mouth small. All the way home she invented things which could have made him act so strangely, but none of them fitted.
They went into the house through the patio door. The heavy noon rain had made the inside temperature more bearable than usual. She turned the air conditioner on. His strangeness made her nervous. And she heard herself talking too much, in the light quick way Van had called her society gabble.
“I was phoning you to tell you how Tom took it, which wasn’t very well at all, not that I expected anything else. Would you like a beer or something? Do sit down. You want to talk to me and here I am doing all the talking. When Tom heard about Jackie, he just seemed to sag all over. He turned into a little gray old man with shaking hands and tears in his eyes. He said he’d go there tomorrow night and speak out, but he would make it clear he was speaking for himself alone. He said he would not be responsible any longer for...”
“Is anybody coming here? Would your kids come here?”
“Have you heard anything I’ve been saying? Nobody is coming here. Jigger and Nat took the twins and my kids and Esperanza to an afternoon movie.”
He walked toward her with an expression so strange she instinctively backed away from him. He reached out and took hold of her upper arms and stared at her with an intensity which alarmed her.
“You’re hurting me,” she said in a faint voice.
“I wish I knew all it’s costing. But I can’t think that way any more.”
“I don’t understand, Jimmy.”
He shook her slightly. It seemed a gesture of impatience. “When you can’t figure out any of the possibilities, it’s like walking around on a roof blindfolded. You don’t even know what to be scared of.”
She felt the tears well into her eyes. “I... I don’t know what you mean, and you’re hurting my arms.”
He released her suddenly. He handed her some folded sheets. “Read this,” he said harshly. “You’ll get a signed copy in the mail.”
He walked over and sat in a fireside chair, slumped, leaned his head back, closed his eyes. She unfolded the sheets and moved closer to the window.
“James Warren Wing, Record-Journal reporter, revealed last night a conspiracy between County Commissioner Elmo Bliss and the five majority owners of the Palmland Development Company. According to Wing, Mr. Burton Lesser, Mr. Leroy Shannard, Doctor Felix Aigan, Mr. Buckland Flake and Mr. William Gormin all entered into a verbal agreement with Commissioner Bliss some months ago whereby, after the commissioner’s term of office was expired, they will each sell him, at a nominal figure, a substantial portion of their holdings. In return, Commissioner Bliss promised to aid Palmland in their acquisition of the submerged land in Grassy Bay.
“Wing stated that Commissioner Bliss, in his presence, estimated that his capital gain, after taxes, would be in excess of $300,000, a sum which Bliss has already earmarked as a campaign fund when he enters the next gubernatorial race.
“Wing further stated that he was taken into Commissioner Bliss’s confidence on the sixth of this month when Bliss employed him, at a salary of $100 a week and expenses, to secretly assist Bliss in nullifying the conservationist efforts of Save Our Bays, Incorporated. Wing claims he was selected for this task because of his previous close associations with many of the members of the Executive Committee of Save Our Bays, Inc.
“Based on information turned over to him by Wing, Bliss brought pressure to bear on Mr. Dial Sinnat and Mrs. Doris Rowell which resulted in their resigning from the Executive Committee. Wing has kept Commissioner Bliss informed of all the promotional activities of Save Our Bays. Bliss, working quietly through various pressure groups and organizations in the county, has been responsible for a campaign of vilification and harassment unequaled in Palm County history. Wing stated that Bliss, through Leroy Shannard, his personal attorney, had employed Tampa operatives who, through the use of illegal tape recording, forced the resignation of Mr. Morton Dermond, another Executive Committee member, from his post as Director of the Palm County Art Center, and secured his immediate departure from the area.