For the next half hour or longer they were upstairs, downstairs, in and out of the living room, opening unused drawers onto collections of Christmas ribbon, feeling under chairs, lifting up newspapers and magazines, shaking out pillows and grabbing under cushions. To look into their faces you would have thought they had lost their grail, their cross, their anchor. Why couldn't Nailles go to the party without his wallet? He couldn't. "I came into the house," he said, "and I made a drink and then I went upstairs and undressed and took a shower." "Oh here it is," cried Nellie. It was the pure voice of an angel, freed from the mortal bonds of grossness and aspiration. "It was in the pantry under the minutes of your last meeting. You must have put it there when you made your drink." "Thank you darling, thank you," said Nailles to his deliverer. They started for the party. Thunder sounded. The noise reminded Nailles again of what it had felt like to be young and easy. "You know I was awfully happy that summer I climbed in the Tirol," he said. "I climbed the Grand Kaiser and the Pengelstein. In the Tirol when there's a thunderstorm they ring all the church bells. All up and down the valley. It's very exciting. I don't know why I tell you all of this. I guess it must be the storm."
Eliot and Nellie got to the party at quarter to eight. Ten minutes later Hammer parked his car at the foot of the driveway. He was very drunk and had not changed his clothes. He wore a sweater. Tony called down to him: "Please bring your car up. There's plenty of room on the lawn. Please bring your car up." When Hammer did not move Tony jogged down the drive. "Please bring your car up the driveway," he said. "There's still plenty of room on the hill."
"I have to leave early," Hammer said, "and I thought that if I parked here it would be easier to get away."
"You won't have any trouble," Tony said. "They're only expecting about thirty cars."
"Well get in then," Hammer said, "and I'll drive you up the hill."
As soon as Tony slipped into the car Hammer flushed the Mace into his eyes. Tony let out a loud, hoarse roar of pain and fell forward, striking his head on the dashboard. Hammer gave him a vicious, a murderer's blow with the truncheon. He drove the short distance to church, where the door was, as usual, unlocked for prayer and meditation.
He was luckier than he knew. Ten minutes earlier Miss Templeton had finished arranging the roses on the altar. He dragged Tony into the narthex and then went back to his car for the gasoline. Then he locked the narthex door, the only door into the church, excepting the door to the vestarium. The only light that burned was the vigil, and in this faint light he dragged Tony down the aisle to the chancel. He found the switch for the chancel lights and was about to pour the gasoline onto Tony when he thought he would first smoke a cigarette. He was tired and winded. He laughed when he noticed how expertly the Lamb of God on the altar hooked its hoof around the wooden standard of Christendom. He heard a stir from the narthex and he thought his heart would explode until he realized that it was nothing. It had begun to rain. That was all.
When Rutuola got out of a taxi at the Lewellens' the headwaiter stopped him. "If it's a delivery," he said, "you'll have to go in the back way."
"I have to see Mr. Nailles," the swami said.
"You can't come in here."
"Mr. Nailles, Mr. Nailles," he shouted. "Mr. Nailles, come here quickly please."
Nailles, who was standing at one of the bars, heard his name called and left the tent. "Go to Christ's Church," Rutuola said. "Don't ask me any questions. Go to Christ's Church now."
Nailles felt, from Rutuola's voice, that Tony was in danger but he did not run to the car and did nothing else hurriedly. His lips were swollen. His nerves were unusually steady. Some cars, coming up from the railroad station where the late train had just arrived, slowed him down but he did not take the risk of trying to pass them. When he got to the church he recognized Hammer's car. In some way he had expected this. He pounded on the locked door.
"Who is it," Hammer asked.
"Nailles."
"You can't get in. I've locked all the doors."
"What are you doing, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to kill Tony."
Nailles returned to his car. There was a loud and painful ringing in his ears that seemed like some part of his purposefulness. He was neither frightened nor confused. He drove directly to Chestnut Lane, got the chain saw from the cellar and returned to the church.
"Hammer?"
"Yes."
"Is Tony all right?"
"He's all right now but I'm going to kill him. First I want to finish this cigarette."
Nailles put his foot on the strut of the saw and gave a steady draw to the starting cord. The cylinders made a putting sound and then, as the transmission caught, the chain began its howling. The lancet door was paneled but the interstices were made of thin wood and the chain splintered and cut through them. He made a diagonal slash across the door and broke it easily with his shoulders. Hammer was sitting in a front pew, crying. The red gasoline tank was beside him. Nailles lifted his son off the altar and carried him out into the rain. It was pouring. Water seemed to crowd into the light. The rain fell with such force that it stripped the leaves off the trees and the air smelled of bilge. It was the cold rain that brought Tony around. "Daddy," he mumbled, "Daddy. Who was that man in the sweater? What did he want?"
"Are you hurt? I mean are you seriously hurt? Do you think we ought to go to the hospital?"
"No I'm all right. I have a headache and my eyes hurt but I'd rather go home."
The papers carried the story. "Chain saw balks bizarre homicide. Eliot Nailles, of Chestnut Lane, Bullet Park, New York, cut his way through the locked door of Christ's Church early last evening with a chain saw and succeeded in saving the life of his son, Anthony. Paul Hammer, also of Bullet Park, confessed to attempted homicide and was remanded to the State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Hammer confessed to having kidnapped the young man from a dinner party given by Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Lewellen of Marlborough Circle. He carried Nailles to the church with the object of immolating him in the chancel. He intended, he claimed, to awaken the world."
Tony went back to school on Monday and Nailles-drugged-went off to work and everything was as wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful as it had been.
About The Author
JOHN CHEEVER was born in Quincy, Massachusetts, in 1912 and went to school at Thayer Academy in South Braintree. BULLET PARK is his third novel. He has published five collections of stories, among them The Enormous Radio and The Housebreaker of Shady Hill. His first novel, The Wapshot Chronicle, won the 1958 National Book Award. In 1965 he received the Howells Medal for Fiction from the National Academy of Arts and Letters.