«He’s got to have four different injections,» she said, «but I can give the first two together. Now, stand above, and be ready to push down on his neck, but don’t push unless you have to. Scratch him under the chin».
The old cat’s fur was matted, its eyes were huge and empty. Once as the needle flashed above his head Dyar thought he saw an expression of alertness, even of fear, cross its face, but he scratched harder, with both hands, under the ears and along the jowls. Even when the needle went in tentatively, and then further in, it did not move.
«Now we have only two more,» said Daisy. Dyar watched the sureness of her gestures. No veterinarian could have been more deft. He said as much. She snorted. «The only good vets are amateurs. I wouldn’t let a professional touch an animal of mine». The odor of ether was very strong. «Is that ether?» Dyar asked; he was feeling alarmingly ill. «Yes, for sterilizing». She had filled the syringe again. «Now, hold him». The wind roared; it seemed as though the branch would crack the windowpane. «This may burn. He may feel it». Dyar looked up at the window; he could see his own head reflected vaguely against the night beyond. He thought he might throw up if he had to watch the needle go into the fur again. Only when Daisy stepped away from the bed did he dare lower his gaze. The cat’s eyes were half shut. He bent down: it was purring.
«Poor old beast,» said Daisy. «Now for the last. This will be easy. Tambang, sweet boy, what is it?»
«He’s purring,» said Dyar, hoping she would not look at his face. His lips felt icy, and he knew he must be very pale.
«You see how right I was to bring you? He likes you. Jack would have antagonized him in some way».
She did look at him, and he thought her eyes stayed an instant too long. But she said nothing.
«Don’t tell me he’s going to faint,» she thought. «The wretched man is completely out of contact with life». But he was making a great effort.
«The cat doesn’t seem to feel anything,» he said.
«No, I’m afraid he won’t live».
«But he’s purring».
«Will you hold him, please? This is the last».
He wanted to talk, to take his mind off his dizziness, away from what was going on just below his face on the bed. He could think of nothing to say, so he kept silent. The cat stirred slightly. Daisy straightened up, and at the same moment there was a splitting sound and a heavy crash somewhere outside in the darkness. They looked at each other. Daisy set the syringe on the table.
«I know what that was. One of our eucalyptus. God, what a night!» she said admiringly.
They shut the door and went downstairs. In the drawing room there was no one. «I daresay they’ve gone out to look. Let’s go into the library. The fireplace draws better in there. This one’s smoking».
The library was small and pleasant; the fire crackled. She pushed a wall button and they sat down on the divan. She looked at him, musing.
«Jack told me you were coming, but somehow I never thought you’d actually arrive».
«Why not?» He felt a little better now.
«Oh, you know. Such things have a way of not coming off. Frightfully good idea that misses fire. And then, of course, I can’t see really why Jack needs anyone there in that little office».
«You mean it’s not doing well?» He tried to keep his voice even.
She laid a hand on his arm and laughed. As though she were imparting a rather shameful secret, she said in a low voice: «My dear, if you think he makes even his luncheon money there, you’re gravely mistaken».
She was studying him too carefully, trying to see the effect of her words. He would refuse to react. He felt hot all over, but did not speak. Hugo entered carrying a tray of bottles and glasses. They both took brandy, and he set the tray down on a table at Dyar’s elbow and went out.
She was still looking at him.
«Oh, it’s not going well,» he said. He would not say what he was sure she was waiting for him to say: How does he keep going?
«Not at all. It never has».
«I’m sorry to hear that,» said Dyar.
«There’s no need to be. If it had gone well I daresay he wouldn’t have sent for you. He’d have had just about all he could manage by himself. As it is, I expect he needs you far more».
Dyar made a puzzled face. «I don’t follow that».
Daisy looked pleased. «Tangier. Tangier,» she said. «You’ll follow soon enough, my pet».
They heard voices in the hall.
«You’ll be wanting a good many books to read, I should think,» she said. «Do feel free to borrow anything here that interests you. Of course there’s a circulating library run by the American Legation that’s far better than the English library. But they take ages to get the new books».
«I don’t read much,» said Dyar.
«But my dear lamb, whatever are you going to do all day? You’ll be bored to distraction».
«Oh, well. Jack» —
«I doubt it,» she said. «I think you’ll be alone from morning to night, every day».
The voices were no longer audible. «They’ve gone into the kitchen,» she said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, held it up to her.
«No, thank you. I have some. But seriously, I can’t think what you’ll do all day, you know». She felt in her bag and withdrew a small gold case.
«I’ll probably have work to do,» he replied, getting a match to the end of her cigarette before she could lift her lighter.
She laughed shortly, blew out the flame, and seized his hand, the match still between his fingers. «Let me see that hand,» she said, puffing on her cigarette. Dyar smiled and held his palm out stiffly for her to examine. «Relax it,» she said, drawing the hand nearer to her face.
«Work!» she scoffed. «I see no sign of it here, my dear Mr. Dyar».
He was incensed. «Well, it’s a liar, then. Work is all I’ve ever done».
«Oh, standing in a bank, perhaps, but that’s so light it wouldn’t show». She looked carefully, pushing the flesh of the hand with her fingers. «No. I see no sign of work. No sign of anything, to be quite honest. I’ve never seen such an empty hand. It’s terrifying». She looked up at him.
Again he laughed. «You’re stumped, are you?»
«Not at all. I’ve lived in America long enough to have seen a good many American hands. All I can say is that this is the worst».
He pretended great indignation, withdrawing his hand forcibly. «What do you mean, worst?» he cried.
She looked at him with infinite concern in her eyes. «I mean,» she said, «that you have an empty life. No pattern. And nothing in you to give you any purpose. Most people can’t help following some kind of design. They do it automatically because it’s in their nature. It’s that that saves them, pulls them up short. They can’t help themselves. But you’re safe from being saved».
«A unique specimen. Is that it?»
«In a way». She searched his face questioningly for a moment. «How odd,» she murmured presently. This empty quality in him pleased her. It was rather as if he were naked, — not defenseless, exactly — merely unclothed, ready to react, and she found it attractive; men should be like that. But it struck her as strange that she should think so.
«How odd what?» he inquired. «That I should be unique?» He could see that she believed all she was saying, and since it was flattering to have the attention being paid him, he was ready to argue with her, if necessary, just to prolong it.