But it was obvious to me that he was nervous and frightened and not acting like himself at all. So I concluded that maybe the idea of him holding back wasn’t so farfetched.
Maybe Carrie wasn’t just sick.
Maybe it was far worse than that. Something was making him act peculiar. And I sure did want to find out what that was.
I sat on my porch swing that evening, kicking the swing easy and watching John’s place. I felt sneaky and miserable doing it, like I was some kind of a spy, but I just kept on staring over there. And as it started to get dark, only his kitchen light was on, just like always.
Sometimes when a thing’s going wrong, a body gets to having a compulsion. It just takes hold of him, and he can’t help but do the first thing that occurs to him. He’s just got to.
Well, that was what happened to me. All of a sudden I couldn’t sit still no more. I figured to go on over to John’s house and get inside somehow and see what was going on. Whether he wanted me to or not. Trust or not. I had to see if Carrie was still alive, see if she was sick, see what was up. Anything would be better than sitting on that old swing and looking at his kitchen light and wondering.
I moved down off my porch and started towards his house. My stomach had begun to churn with fear, although to be truthful I don’t know even yet exactly what I was afraid of. Maybe just of what I was about to do. Handy to his house I began to slow up. My upper lip got to feeling cold and clammy. And the closer I came to the bright light of John’s kitchen, the darker everything else around me seemed to be.
It was really strange and unusual that night. In spite of all the rain just earlier that evening and in the past weeks, the sky was so clear and so dark you could see stars right down to the horizon. There was some houses way off in the distance, with their lights on, and it was hard to tell what was lights from the houses and what was stars. You don’t often get that.
I stopped just outside his gate, stood there for a couple of long minutes before I even dared to go into his yard. And I guess I never knew how much noise a creaky old wooden gate could make until that night.
I got to the edge of the house and then, bent over nearly double and moving slow as I could, I snuck on over to the window. I stood up carefully at the corner of it and peeked in.
It seemed so bright inside. John was sitting alone at the kitchen table. He was looking right at the window, but I was sure he didn’t see me. He appeared to be in a daze. He nodded his head. He did it again, like he was listening. I couldn’t see anybody else in the room. There was a look of unhappiness on his face that I’ll never forget, and it appeared like he had been weeping. He was just painful to see, is all.
Well sir, all of a sudden he starts to shake his head no, just a little and then a little more, and next harder and harder, like he had had enough. And then he sort of throws the chair backward and jerks himself up real quick, till he was standing. He let out this long, low moan that got louder until it was a scream. And again he screamed.
Then he run out of the kitchen, wailing things all the while, but I couldn’t make out what any of the words were.
Well, I was shocked so bad I could hardly move. But then I knew I had to do something, and so I circled the house slowly in the dark, trying for a look inside. There wasn’t a light in any of the windows or anywhere else but the kitchen. I could hardly believe that. He had to be in there somewhere.
It was fully dark outside now, too, and I kicked a pail that I didn’t see or it was some other fool thing, and I was scared he would hear. Or maybe I was scared he wouldn’t hear, I don’t know. But when I stood quiet, there was still only the silence.
Around the back of the house I was surprised that the river had got so close up the bank there that I had to be careful I did not slip into it as I circled. I could hear it moving by ever so slowly and ever so quietly. And it was a lot closer. Massive is what the Susquehanna river was that night. Dark, and quiet, and massive. And somehow majestic. Big rivers are like that.
I guess maybe it had got to within three feet of the house. Real close anyways. And it was still rising. I could hear clumps of sod falling in, washing away. It was an awesome thing, being in all that dark and knowing that the river was hissing quietly by almost tight up against the house, like a giant, slowly coiling snake that had a life of its own. I could feel it going by as well as hear it.
So I carefully worked my way round back to the kitchen window again, and I looked in, pretty boldly this time. But there was nothing unusual in there, except for how filthy it all was.
I waited for about five minutes. No sign of John returning. Everything was quiet. I’ll tell you, I felt about as strange as I want to, just standing there. It could have been peaceful that night, except for what was going on in the house. Or what I feared was going on.
My stomach was really cramping up good by this time, and my hands were all cold, and my upper lip. It felt as if someone was sticking needles into the back of my neck.
I stood there for a few more minutes, trying to decide. And then just suddenly I knew what I had to do. Moving as quietly as was possible for me, I came round to the steps and eased up onto the porch. I stood in front of the door, hesitating.
My head was going this way and that. I wanted to run. But the Lehmanns were my friends, and I had to try to help, whatever the problem was.
I opened the door carefully. I moved inside, at first as quietly as I could, but then in consideration of John I decided to make as much noise as possible, so he wouldn’t think I was sneaking around in his house.
“John?” I called.
There was no answer.
“Where are you, John?”
Again there was no answer of any kind.
Then I got to be really frightened for him. I figured to try upstairs first, and I climbed up the steps to the bedrooms just as quickly as my old legs would take me, looked in one after another of them, but neither John nor Carrie was anywhere. Each room was clean and neat and all made up. Next I got myself up the narrow steps to his attic, and I searched around everywhere, but all I saw was old cribs and picture frames and boxes tied with faded ribbons. It looked like no one had even been in the attic for years.
I stood up there shaking, and I expelled all the air that had been building up in my lungs. I forced myself to relax, and then I worked my way, slowly now, back down to the kitchen. I cannot tell you how depressed I had become. Their marriage, our friendship, the passing of the years, the joy of the last few weeks with them — all of it was a big whirl in my mind. I don’t know what I expected to find up there, but I did expect to find something. Carrie was missing, that was for sure, and that was bad news. And John was not answering my calls.
Only the cellar was left.
I was tired enough by the time I got back to the kitchen that I had to sit down for a little. The table was cluttered with dirty dishes and empty quart jars. That depressed me even more, because it looked to me like John had been alone for a good while, eating peaches out of a jar like an old bachelor who no longer cared very much. Or maybe the peaches reminded him of Carrie, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it was not a good sign either way.
God, my head was awhirl with all these strange thoughts!
I suppose I sat at that table for another five minutes, trying to calm myself. The only sound was the slow even ticking of John’s Ansonia that Carrie brought him home from the Chicago World’s Fair.