Her brother did not answer; she felt his mute sorrow and to herself she snickered.
“Looking for something you lost?” a man’s voice said from above her. She peeped up; it was Mr. Barnes, standing there smiling dow.
“I’m looking for a worm,” she said shyly.
“What an unsqueamish girl,” he said.
“Who are you talking to?” Bill said, in confusion. “Who’s that?”
“Mr. Barnes,” she said, explaining.
“Yes?” Mr. Barnes said.
“I was talking to my brother, not you,” Eclie said. “He asked who it was. He’s the new teacher,” she explained to Bill.
Bill said, “I see; I understand him, he’s close so I can get him. He knows Mama.”
“Our Mama?” Edie said, surprised.
“Yes,” Bill said, in a puzzled voice. “I don’t understand but he knows her and he sees her, all the time, when nobody is looking. He and she—” He broke off. “It’s awful and bad. It’s—” He choked. “I can’t say it.”
Edie stared at her teacher open-mouthed.
“There,” Bill said hopefully. “Didn’t I do something back for you? I told you something secret younever would have known. Isn’t that something?”
“Yes,” Edie said slowly, nodding in a daze. “I guess so.”
To Bonny, Hal Barnes said, “I saw your daughter today. And I got the distinct impression that she knows about us.”
“Oh Christ, how could she?” Bonny said. “It’s impossible.” She reached out and turned up the fat-lamp. The living room assumed a much more substantial quality as the chairs and a table and pictures became visible. “And anyhow it doesn’t matter; she wouldn’t care.”
To himself, Barnes thought, But she could tell George.
Thinking about Bonny’s husband made him peer past the window shade and out onto the moonlit road. No one stirred; the road was deserted and only foliage, rolling hillsides and the flat farm land below, were to be seen. A peaceful, pastoral sight, he thought. George, being the principal of the school, was at the PTA meeting and would not be home for several hours. Edie, of course, was in bed; it was eight o’clock.
And Bill he thought. Where is Bill, as Edie calls him? Roaming about the house, somewhere, spying on us? He felt uncomfortable and he moved away from the woman beside him on the couch.
“What’s the matter?” Bonny said alertly. “Hear something?”
“No. But—” He gestured.
Bonny reached out, took hold of him and drew him down to her. “My god, you’re cowardly. Didn’t the war teach you anything about life?”
“It taught me,” he said, “to value my existence and not to throw it away; it taught me to play it safe.”
Groaning, Bonny sat up; she rearranged her clothes, buttoned her blouse back up. What a contrast this man was to. Andrew Gill, who always made love to her right out in the open, in broad daylight, along the oaklined roads of West Marin, where anyone and anything might go past. He had seized her each time as he had the first time– yanking her into it, not gabbling or quaking or mumbling… maybe I ought to go back to him, she thought.
Maybe, she thought, I ought to leave them all, Barnes and George and that nutty daughter of mine; I ought to go live with Gill openly, defy the community and be happy for a change.
“Well, if we’re not going to make love,” she said, “then let’s go down to the Foresters’ Hall and listen to the satellite.”
“Are you serious?” Barnes said.
“Of course.” She went to the closet to get her coat.
“Then all you want,” he said slowly, “is to make love; that’s all you care about in a relationship.”
“What do you care about? Talking?”
He looked at her in a melancholy way, but be did not answer.
“You fruit,” she said, shaking her head. “You poor fruit. Why did you come to West Marin in the first place? Just to teach little kids and stroll around picking mushrooms?” She was overcome with disgust.
“My experience today on the playground—” Barnes began.
“You had no experience,” she interrupted. “It was just your goddam guilty conscience catching up with you. Let’s go; I want to hear Dangerfield. At least when he talks it’s fun to listen.” She put on her coat, walked quickly to the front door and opened it.
“Will Edie be all right?” Barnes asked as they started down the path.
“Sure,” she said, unable at the moment to care. Let her burn up, she said to herself. Gloomily, she plodded down the road, hands thrust deep in her coat pockets; Barnes trailed along behind her, trying to keep up with her strides.
Ahead of them two figures appeared, turning the corner and emerging into sight; she stopped, stricken, thinking one of them was George. And then she saw that the shorter, heavier man was Jack Tree and the other—she strained to see, still walking as if nothing were wrong. It was Doctor Stockstill.
“Come on,” she said over her shoulder, calmly, to Barnes. He came, then, hesitantly, wanting to turn back, to run. “Hi,” she called to Stockstill and Bluthgeld; or rather Jack Tree—she had to remember to keep calling him that. “What’s this, psychoanalysis out in the dark at night? Does that make it more effective? I’m not surprised to learn it.”
Gasping, Tree said in his hoarse, grating voice, “Bonny, I saw him again. It’s the Negro who understood about me that day when the war began, when I was going into Stockstill’s office, Remember, you sent me?”
Jokingly, Stockstill said, “They all look alike, as the saying goes. And anyhow—”
“No, it’s the same man,” Tree said. “He’s followed me here. Do you know what this means?” He looked from Bonny to Stockstil to Barnes, his eyes rubbery and enlarged, terror-stricken. “This means that it’s going to start again.”
“What’s going to start again?” Bonny said.
“The war,” Tree said to her. “Because that’s why it began last time; the Negro saw me and understood what I had done, he knew who I was and he still does. As soon as he sees me-” He broke off, wheezing and coughing in his agony. “Pardon me,” he murmured.
To Stockstil, Bonny said, “There’s a Negro here; he’s right. I saw him. Evidently he came to talk to Gill about selling his cigarettes.”
“It couldn’t be the same person,” Stockstill said. He and she went off to one side slightly, talking now between themselves.
“Certainly it could,” Bonny said. “But that doesn’t matter because that’s one of his delusions. I’ve heard biin gabble about it countless times. Some Negro was sweeping the sidewalk and saw him go into your office, and that day the war began so he’s got them connected in his mind. And now he’ll probably completely deteriorate, don’t you think?” She felt resigned; she had been expecting this to happen, eventually. “And so the period,” she said, “of stable maladjustment is drawing to a close.” Perhaps, she thought, for us all. Just plain all of us. We could not have gone on like this forever, Bluthgeld with his sheep, me with George… she sighed. “What do you think?”
Stockstil said, “I wish I had some Stelazine, but Stelazine ceased to exist on E Day. That would help him. I can’t. I’ve given that up; you know that, Bonny.” He sounded resigned, too.
“He’ll tell everyone,” she said, watching Bluthgeld, who stood repeating to Barnes what he had just told her and Stockstill. “They’ll know who he is, and they will kill him, as he fears; he’s right.”
“I can’t stop him,” Stockstill said mildly.
“You don’t particularly care,” she said.
He shrugged.
Going back to Bluthgeld, Bonny said, “Listen, Jack, let’s all go to Gill’s and see this Negro and I’ll bet he didn’t notice you that day. Do you want to bet? I’ll bet you twenty-five silver cents.”