“But I don’t want them in there,” she explained, without troubling to say why.
He asked how she knew they went in there. Because the position of certain objects seemed to change from one day to the next. But how come she noticed this? How did she happen to visit the room so frequently herself?
“I’m drawn there,” she told him. “The other night — I couldn’t sleep, I got up to go to the bathroom, and on my way back I just found myself in Caleb’s room. I wasn’t even aware of it until I was suddenly standing there with my hand on the light switch. I suppose I was half asleep at the time.”
“Do you go there during the day?”
“Of course. I have to dust.”
“How often?”
She ignored the question. “I go there sometimes. Why shouldn’t I? I’m his mother.”
And Ariel was upsetting her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the child was sneaking around the house, skulking on the staircase, spying on her. “The only time I can relax is when she’s playing her flute,” she said, ”because then I know where she is. But how can I relax with that damned music going on?”
“Maybe it’s the flute.”
“You don’t mean that it’s enchanted, I hope?”
“You described it as some sort of semi-toy. Maybe the sound of a regular orchestral flute would be less likely to give you chills.”
“I think it’s what she plays more than the instrument. But I suppose it’s possible.”
“Suppose she took lessons.”
“I’ve suggested it. Maybe I could suggest it again.”
But nothing he suggested seemed to have much effect on her, and he came to realize she didn’t want to hear his suggestions. She merely wanted to voice her discontent. He felt himself growing increasingly irritated with her, and in a sort of desperation he wound up dragging her back to bed. He was fiercely potent, thrusting at her as if to hurt her, to punish her, to pierce her with his angry penis. But there was no pleasure in the thrusting, and he could neither reach a climax nor lose his erection, and when at last she pushed him away he felt angry with her and with himself.
They had met at the motel, arriving in separate cars, and this time she had paid for their room. Her car was the first to leave the motel parking lot, and he pulled out after her, followed her part way back to the city, then let her get ahead of him. His sexual desire was long gone now, but the tension that had been a part of it had merely taken a different form. He wanted to scream, to beat on the steering wheel with his fists, to swing the wheel hard left and plow across the median strip and take an oncoming car head-on.
He did none of these things. Instead he drove slowly and steadily into town, went to his office, left after a few minutes and had a cup of coffee at the Athenian on Meeting Street. He got back in his car and drove past Roberta’s house. Her car was parked in front and there were lights on.
It was mid-afternoon, and there were children walking around the neighborhood, singly and in groups, on their way home from school. He drove up one street and down the next, slowing down periodically to scan the faces of the children he passed.
Then, when they were more than a block away, he spotted them. Ariel and her little friend with the glasses.
He pulled the car to a stop alongside the curb, pressed a button to lower the window, kept the motor running. The two of them were deep in conversation, unlikely to notice him, and he felt driven to stay where he was and get as good a look at the girl as he could.
The two drew nearer. When they were almost abreast of his car, Ariel turned to look directly at Jeff. Something went through him when their eyes made contact, something cold. She stopped in her tracks. Her mouth was slightly open, her face ghostly pale. Beside her, the boy had stopped when she did and looked now to see what had attracted her attention.
Images flashed on the screen of Jeff’s mind. His car, animated, with eyes for headlights, leaping the curb to bear down on the two children. Ariel, nude, her breasts tipped with staring eyes, beckoning seductively to him. The boy, dancing goat-footed like Pan. Images, amorphous ones, of blood, of lust, of death.
Only a few yards separated them. He and Ariel stared deeply into each other’s eyes for an immeasurable moment. Then, with an effort, he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.
A block away, he had to pull over and stop again. His heart was pounding, his palms too slippery with sweat to grip the steering wheel. He dug out a handkerchief, dried his hands, mopped perspiration from his forehead.
Now what, he wondered, was that all about? One look into a child’s eyes and he’d been thrown so far off his good reasonable center? But something had happened, he had to admit, and he couldn’t begin to say what it was. It was as if those damned bottomless eyes of her had functioned as a mirror, showing him aspects of himself he had no desire to see.
Bobbie was overreacting to Ariel, he was still certain of that much, but he no longer felt her perceptions were so entirely out of whack. There was something about the child, something very damned unsettling.
Maybe he should tell Bobbie as much. But he knew, suddenly and certainly, that he would not. He would not tell anyone what had just happened.
Ten
“Ariel?”
Erskine was tugging at her arm. She had turned to watch the car drive off and it was gone and she continued staring after it. With an effort she turned to face Erskine.
“That was him,” she said.
“Who?”
“Didn’t you recognize him?”
“The man in the car? No. Who was he?”
“The Funeral Game.”
“Huh?”
“DWE — I forget the number. The license plate.”
“DWE-628.”
“You didn’t notice his face but you memorized his license number? You’re really weird, Erskine.”
“I didn’t even notice his license number. You told me the other day, remember?”
“And it happened to stick in your mind?”
“I remember things like that,” he said patiently. “You know that.”
“Well, it was him.” She was a shade calmer now, but her emotions continued to wrestle inside her. There was fear, and anxiety, and off to one side was a growing sense of anger. “He was the one who dropped off Roberta the other day.”
“What was it you said before about funerals?”
“He was at Caleb’s funeral.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” They were walking now, bound for Erskine’s house. “He even came out to the cemetery. I thought maybe he was studying to be a game-show host. You know, The Funeral Game.”
“Great program. How would it work?”
“You know, pick the right coffin and win a prize.”
“A free embalming. I think you’ve got something there, Jardell.”
He got carried away with the idea, suggesting various prizes and competitive trials for the program, and Ariel waited him out. Then she said, “You’re missing the point. He was waiting for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sitting there in his car with the motor running. He was waiting for me to come home from school. Then he took a close look at me and I looked at him and he drove away.”
“Oh, boy.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Paranoia strikes again.”
“I’m not being paranoid. What do you think he was doing there? He even had his window rolled down so he could get a good look.”