“... not more than a few pennies a day, ma’am, and the luxury of rain water right out of your tap.”
“It’s no use wasting your time. I simply haven’t the money right now.”
“A softener will save you twice that amount in soap and detergent, water bills, wear and tear on clothing, and what’s more, it will conserve your water heater. If I could just step inside a minute and show you the actual figures...”
“Well, I don’t know.”
The young man took quick advantage of her hesitancy. Feigning clumsiness, he dropped one of the folders he was carrying, and in bending down to pick it up he changed position expertly so that when he rose again he was inside the house. The maneuver was so smooth that Thelma couldn’t help admiring it. At one period of her life she’d sold cosmetics from door to door and she knew some of the tricks, but this one was new to her.
Thelma closed the door behind him, somewhat amused at the idea of playing dumb and letting the young man think he was getting away with something. It did not occur to her that he actually was, that until an hour ago he’d known no more about water-softeners than a baby and the pamphlets he was presenting to her were distributed free at the Hydroelectric office.
“My name is Blake, ma’am. Rod Blake.”
“I’m Mrs. Bream. Sit down if you like.”
“Thanks. Now about this water-softener, of course it may seem like a large initial expense, but in the long run it will more than pay for itself, believe me. Now take this model. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but if we could have a little more light...”
Thelma pulled open the drapes, unaware that Blake wanted more light so that he could study her more carefully. Observing the bulge beneath the shabby black suit, the pallor of her skin, her tear-swollen eyes, he felt no pity at all, only a glow of exultation that his hunch had been right. This was the woman. He was more sure of it than ever when he noticed the framed tinted picture on top of the piano. A wedding picture, obviously, and the self-conscious, stiffly smiling bridegroom was the man he’d seen in the emergency ward at General Hospital on Monday night. The bride was Thelma, looking ten years younger than she did now, though Blake knew the Breams had been married for only three years.
“My house is so small,” Thelma was saying. “There wouldn’t be room for it.”
“Ah, that’s the story I hear all the time. It usually turns out that there’s some corner nobody’s thought of. Mind if I take a look for myself?”
Thelma didn’t answer or turn from the window. She was staring out at the street, her small plump hands clenched rigidly together like desperate lovers.
“Ma’am? I asked if I could...”
“Be quiet.”
Surprised, Blake followed her gaze. He could see nothing extraordinary, nothing even worth watching: a couple of children having a tricycle race, an elderly lady walking slowly between two canes, a young mother wheeling a pram, a man painting his porch, a trio of small, giggling girls lurching along in their mothers’ high-heeled shoes.
“Mrs. Bream...”
“Is that your car parked in the middle of the block facing this way?”
“I don’t have a car. I’m just getting started in the business.”
“The car — I don’t see very well these days — is it a Buick?”
“I think so.”
“About five years old?”
“About that, I guess. I don’t under—”
“Is there a man in it? My eyes — all this crying — I’ll go blind if I don’t stop... Is there a man in the car?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God, he’s watching me. Maybe he’s been there for hours, all morning... My God, what will I do? Why can’t he leave me alone?”
Blake shifted uncomfortably. What had started out, on his part, as a kind of lark was disintegrating before his eyes, like a sawdust doll spilling its insides. “I think maybe I’d better be on my way. If your kitchen’s too small and all that...”
“You can’t go now.”
“But I...”
“He’s getting out of the car, he’s heading here. You can’t leave me here alone with him.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“God knows what he’s thinking, seeing you come into the house. He may believe that you and I — oh, I don’t know. But you can’t leave now, without explaining to him that you’re just a salesman. You must have some card or identification from the company you work for.”
Blake had begun to sweat. “I’m new at the job. This is my first day. The company’s just trying me out.”
“You can tell him that.”
“No, no. I mean, I don’t work for any particular comp—”
“The pamphlets are from the Hydroelectric Company.”
“Yes, but...”
“All right, you work for the Hydroelectric Company. You needn’t be afraid,” she added contemptuously. “Harry can be unpleasant but he’d never hurt anyone.”
“Why drag me into it, for Pete’s sake?”
“You dragged yourself. No one invited you.”
Harry knocked on the door, and when Thelma didn’t answer it immediately he let himself in with his own key...
They met in the hall.
“Hello, Harry,” she said. “So you got out of the hospital. How are you?”
He peered at her through the dimness, blinking, like a man accustomed to wearing spectacles, who without them finds the world strangely altered. “You’re dressed funny.”
“Am I?”
“I don’t remember that suit.”
“I had it before we were married.”
“Black... You’re going to the funeral?”
“Yes. Are you?”
He shook his head. “Turee says it would be bad form if either of us went, under the circumstances.”
“Turee says this, Turee says that... Well, Turee can run your life for you but he’s not running mine. I’m going to the funeral. I have a right to go.”
Harry smiled at her sadly. “We all have rights we don’t, or can’t, use. Technically, I have a right to come into my own house, kiss my own wife, make love to her if I want...”
“Is this another of Turee’s ideas?”
“No. My own.”
“Well, you can stop that kind of talk, speaking of bad form. If you and Turee pretend to have such fancy manners, why don’t you practice them?” She turned away. “Besides, I — we have a visitor.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“He’s nothing, nobody. A man selling water-softeners. Claims they save money. I wonder if they really do.”
“I wonder.” Harry still wore his smile but it seemed oddly changed. It was sly, wary, incongruous, a cat smile on a cocker spaniel. “You have a perfect right to have visitors, to buy water softeners... But then, as I said, I have rights too. It’s when our rights conflict that there’s bound to be trouble.”
“I’m not afraid of your threats.”
“You’re trembling.”
“Oh, I admit you make me nervous, only it’s like walking in front of a small boy with a supply of snowballs — the idea of being hit by a snowball makes me nervous. But even if one should hit me it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s only snow. So go ahead. Throw one.”
“It’s spring. There’s no snow. Small boys might switch to rocks.”
“Oh, stop all this talk. Do what you came to do and get it over with!”
“I will. I thought I’d better explain myself first. I’ve appealed to you in various ways, Thelma, to save us both. I’ve begged for your mercy, and I’ve asked for your pity. But no matter what words were used it always amounted to me asking you. Now I’m telling you.”
She looked at him, silent and sullen.