“My bags are out in the car, Thelma. I haven’t unpacked since I left here on Monday afternoon.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m coming back,” he said calmly. “I’m moving back into my house with my wife.”
“Stop talking like a fool.”
“I’m not a fool. Or a small boy. And I have something in my pocket more authoritative than a snowball or a rock.”
“What?”
“A gun.”
“You must be cra — Harry! Harry, listen to me...”
She put out her hand to stop him, but he brushed past her and went into the living room. She could see, quite distinctly, the contours of the gun in the lower left pocket of his suit coat.
Blake was standing in the far corner of the room, clutching his pamphlets as if they were a passport to the outside world. Drops of sweat wriggled down his temples and behind his ears, leaving moist, shiny trails like slugs.
“Hello there,” Harry said brightly. “About this proposition of yours, I think my wife and I might be interested. Tell me, does soft water make shaving any easier?”
“I–I don’t know.”
“Come, you’re old enough to shave, surely? How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“A mere boy. Do you throw snowballs?”
“I...”
“Never mind. You must excuse my wife and me for ringing you in on our private little difference of opinion. My wife hasn’t been well lately. We’re expecting a child in a few months, our first. Say, that’s going to mean a lot of extra washing, isn’t it? I think a water-softener might be a good investment. How about it, Thelma?”
“Harry,” she said dully. “Don’t. Stop.”
“Go take a pill, Thelma. You’re not well.” He turned back to the young man who had managed one surreptitious step toward the door. “You look familiar to me. Have I seen you before?”
“No,” Blake said, thinking, it’s true. He couldn’t have seen me, he had his eyes closed when I was talking to the nurse. She said he was out, out like a light...
“What’s your name?”
“Rod Blake.”
“Funny, I’d have sworn we met some place. A hospital — have you been in a hospital recently?”
“No.”
“Well, no matter. Tell me more about your product.”
“We have — several models.”
“Go ahead, talk about them. Speak your piece.”
“Well — well, as I was just saying to your wife, this is my first day on the job.”
“So?”
“I don’t know much about it yet.” Though he was still pouring sweat, he had begun to shiver, as if a cold wind was blowing through the house up from the basement of the past. “I–I’ve thought of a good idea.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Perhaps I could leave these folders with you and you can study them for yourself, facts and figures and so on. Then when you decide...”
“I’ve already decided. We’ll take one.”
“Which — which model?”
“Any model.”
“But...”
“Any model,” Harry said graciously. “All we want is enough soft water for the baby’s clothes. I’ll probably be doing some of the washing myself, so my motives aren’t entirely unselfish. Are you married?”
“N-no sir.”
“Ah well, you’ve plenty of time. I was well over thirty when I got married — took me that long to find the right girl. I found her, though, I found her. And I don’t intend to lose her.”
“Well — ah, I’d better be going now.”
“What’s your hurry?”
“I — the fact is, I have to get hold of an expert to come and measure — measure things.”
“I can see you’re a real eager-beaver. Ever see a beaver dam, by the way?”
“No sir.”
“Highly interesting. You should go out of your way to find one some time.”
“Yes sir. I will.”
“Industrious lot, beavers.”
“They certainly are.” Blake began moving toward the door, breathing heavily, as if he had just completed building a dam entirely by himself with no help from any beavers. “I’ll — I’ll put your order in right away and see about installation.”
“Oh, there’s no great rush about it.” Harry smiled fondly at his wife. “We can’t hurry Mother Nature anyway.”
“Harry. Listen to me.”
“Now, dear, don’t be embarrassed or upset about a perfectly natural process.”
“Be quiet.” Thelma watched Blake approach her and she stood squarely in the middle of the doorway, so that he couldn’t pass her on either side without pushing her away. “We don’t want a water-softener. My husband is merely amusing himself at your expense and mine. He’s probably been drinking.”
“Not drinking,” Harry said. “Thinking.”
“Drinking,” she repeated to Blake, softly, as if she were confiding a secret. “And he has a gun.”
“I know, I know, but what the hell am I supposed to do? I want to get out of here.”
“You can’t leave me alone with him.”
“You said before you weren’t afraid.”
“I didn’t know about the gun then.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Blake whispered, and he felt his knees buckle like a sick colt’s. Let me out of here in one piece and I’ll go to church every Sunday for a year.
“Thinking,” Harry went on, as if he had not heard the exchange or else considered it too trivial to bother about. “Yes, my dear, that’s what I’ve been doing, a lot of plain, common sense thinking. And I’ve decided that you’re in no condition to make the decisions for the family, now that there are going to be three of us. You’re too emotional to be allowed a freedom of choice. It’s up to me to take a firm stand, and I will. I’m head of this house, it’s time you realized that. I will decide the future. You hear that, Thelma?”
“Yes,” Thelma said. “I hear.”
“I’m glad you’re coming to your senses. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but the fact is, you’ve always been a little unstable.”
She looked grim. “Have I?”
“So it’s up to me to take over, to make all the decisions. Now the first decision I wish to make is about the water-softener. I want a water-softener and I intend to get one. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“You see how easy your role is going to be from now on? All you have to do is agree.”
“Yes.”
“Actually, it will save you trouble, it will be easier on you if I shoulder the burden of responsibilities. It puts too much of a strain on a woman, making decisions, being boss. It puts a strain on anyone.” He passed the back of his hand across his forehead. “A great strain. I’m — I’m really quite tired. Haven’t been sleeping much. Working all day, thinking all night, thinking...”
“You should lie down here, Harry, and get a good rest.” She crossed the room and began arranging the pillows at one end of the davenport. “Lie down, Harry.”
He didn’t have to be told. He sank back among the pillows, limp with exhaustion. “Lie down with me.”
“I can’t right now. I have to go out.”
“Not to the funeral? You’re not...”
“Of course not. If you don’t want me to, I won’t. You’re the boss, Harry.”
“Where are you going, then?”
“To the store. Now that you’re moving back into the house I have to stock up on groceries. What would you like for dinner?”
“I don’t know,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m so tired.”
“Fried chicken?”
“I don’t know. Kiss me, Thelma.”
Her lips touched his forehead briefly. It felt hot and dry, like something cured in the sun, or slow-baked in an oven. “You rest now, Harry. It’s such a strain, all this thinking and being boss, it’s given you a fever.”
His eyes snapped open, painfully, as if he had been pierced by a splinter of irony from her voice. “You don’t care. You don’t care about anything.”