But he paused where she'd faltered, caught the newel with her hand. — Something wrong? I didn't mean to alarm you.
— No I'm, please, please go right in and, and whatever you…
— No, no here, sit down. He had her arm, had her hand in fact firm in one of his — I didn't mean to alarm you.
— It wasn't that… but she let him lead her to the edge of the frayed love seat, her hand in a sharp tremor as his escaped it. — It's the, just the mess out there, Halloween out there…
— Like the whole damned world isn't it… he was pulling off the battered raincoat, — kids with nothing to do.
— No there's, there's a meanness…
— No no no, no it's plain stupidity Mrs Booth. There's much more stupidity than there is malice in the world… Something in a paper bag protruding from the raincoat pocket banged the coffee table as he passed and he caught it up more carefully, and then from the kitchen, — Mrs Booth? I didn't know you had children?
She turned sharply. — What? He was sorting keys from a pocket when she came in, standing there over the blobs and crosses, lightning strokes, hails of arrows — oh, oh that that's just, nothing… She sat down, at her elbow the eyes stared from the paper bag holes on the ragged shred of newsprint — do, do you? She edged it under the damp heap of bills, — have children I mean? He didn't have children, no, he told her, over thrusting a key in the padlock, shaking it loose. — Oh and wait, wait I'm glad I remembered. Have you got another key? to the house here? He nodded, why, had she lost hers? both of them? — No they were stolen, I mean my purse was stolen with both of them in it I know it sounds silly but…
— It doesn't sound silly. Where.
— Was it stolen? At Saks, in the ladies' room at Saks, I'd been… When, he wanted to know. — Last week, about a week ago I'd been… And what else was in it, credit cards? a driver's license? anything with this address? — I don't know, I'm not sure I mean there wasn't much money and my card at Saks wasn't, it had expired anyway and there was nothing you'd, anything like a license. I've never had a license. I mean I don't even know how to drive.
He was having difficulty getting a key free of the ring, twisting it awkwardly, finally getting it off with a wince, — here… handing it to her, — incidentally, that man who showed up here looking for me? Has he been back?
— Oh he, no. No that rude one no, I mean not that I know of and I've hardly not been here, Paul wants the house kept locked so I've been here whenever he's away not that I wouldn't anyhow, she came on as though a pause would lose him through the door he'd slid open, — be here I mean. Paul's gone now he'll be gone for two or three days and you'll probably leave before I come back, I mean I have to leave in a few minutes I have an appointment this afternoon but it's not like, it's not really going somewhere… He'd gathered up the wadded raincoat, turning for the door, hadn't he overheard her on the phone mention Montego Bay? — Oh did you? And she was up pursuing this parting pleasantry of his round the end of the table with — when you were here last yes I, maybe I did but we've had to postpone it. We have friends there who, people who Paul's awfully fond of but he's been so busy, he travels so much now but it's all just business, places like down south and Texas and Washington I mean no place you'd ever really want to go to… She'd come as far as the door where he stood just inside, examining the room as though for some detail in its disarray that might have changed since he'd left it. — They all just expect everything to get done then it's always Paul that has to do it, he's the one that has all the ideas he depends on people then he looks around and they're just not there that's why they depend on him so much, he…
— Yes while I think of it he said, his back to her standing there making a cigarette, — would it be convenient to give me a check for the rent?
— Yes I, that's what I was just going to say… she recovered the cautious step she'd taken into the room where the books lay cascaded from her last retreat there, — I mean that's why Paul forgets things here sometimes, when he left this morning he forgot to give me the rent check to deposit I mean if we mailed it to you, if we mailed you the rent then I'd know I mean I do the mail but if we still don't even know where you live?
— I wish you would then, he said, found a pencil somewhere and tore the corner from a discarded calendar, just temporary, he was staying at a friend's place while he got things cleared up.
— Oh… she read the scrap he'd handed her, her voice fallen, — it's not a real address is it, I mean it's just a box number it's not where you're staying with somebody who, you mean probably staying with somebody you've met since you, since she left I mean, I didn't mean…
He'd finally turned facing her through a gasp of smoke, sunk back against the table length litter of papers, books, folders, dirty saucers, a coffee cup, a shadeless lamp. — It's simply a man I've known for a number of years, he said, — nobody there, he's out of the country. Now I don't want to keep you, you said you had an appointment and I've got a good many things here to…
— Yes I didn't mean to pry, it's just… she backed off to the door, — I mean I don't blame you, living alone here for two whole years with everything like, everything just waiting like the silk flowers in there when you come down the stairs wait, oh wait I just thought of something before you start what you're doing wait, I'll get it… and she left him reaching down a thumbprinted glass from a bookshelf, pulling the bottle from the paper bag in the raincoat pocket and pouring a level ounce. He'd emptied the glass, made another cigarette and lit it at the sound of her down the stairs, the lines of her lips more clearly drawn now and those on her lids at less hazardous odds she came into the kitchen holding out the worn address book. — It was in the trash, it looked important I thought…
— Do you go through my trash?
She'd stopped short, across the table where he seized it from her — I didn't mean, I thought maybe you'd thrown it away by mistake it looked…
— It's, all right he muttered, standing twisting the thing in his hands as though he might have said more before he turned for the trash to drop it in, and then he paused, bent over, reaching down into the trash after it — here, you don't mind if I rescue this?
— No wait don't not that no I, wait… She caught the corner of the table, flushed, — oh… getting breath, — oh. He'd straightened up with the Natural History magazine.
— I thought you'd thrown it out.
— No that's all right yes, yes for that story about, on the cover? you said they steal cattle? And her sudden urgency seemed to weigh everything on his response, the Masai and their cattle raids, as though right now in this kitchen, clinging to the table corner, nothing else mattered.
— Well, well yes, he said — they, it's their ancient belief that all the cattle in the world belong to them. When they raid other tribes they're just taking back what was stolen from them long ago, a good serviceable fiction isn't it… He held the magazine out to her — you might want to read it? It's not what I want anyhow, there's a piece here on the Piltdown fraud I can just tear it out and…
— That's all right no, no keep the whole thing please. I, I just wish I could stay and talk to you, do you know what time it is? The clock stopped last night and I…