THE SIXTH
It was freezing cold when he woke. He’d left the window open the night before. He limped across the floor, still draped in blankets, shut the window, and returned to bed. The sky outside was lightening.
I won’t go, he thought to himself. I can just stay here. Or, I can get all my things together and leave. I’ll go to another town. That wouldn’t be so bad. Nothing keeps me here, really. There’s no one for me here. I can go.
But Carr most of all felt the guilt of what they’d done, and Carr, of them all, was the last one who would ever run away.
I will run away, he thought.
He packed his things up hastily into a large suitcase. Then he stood looking down into it.
If I don’t go now, I’ll never be in time to meet Harp.
The door shut. The suitcase was still open on the floor, and Carr, coat in hand, ran down the stairs and out into the day.
—
He drew his hand back to knock, and the door opened. Harp was standing there, very neatly dressed. He looked quite determined. The girl Carr had seen the day before was there as well, to watch them go. She was not as wild as the day before.
— Good-bye, she said.
— Good-bye.
Harp shut the door.
— The car’s in the side alley, he said.
Out the back way and into the alley. There was the car. Out the alley into the street. Along the street to the bridge. Across the bridge to the roads beyond. All down all down to the track, where, through bare trees, one could see a stopped car and figures waiting.
— Whatever happens, don’t worry, said Harp. It’ll all work out.
— What do you mean?
— Don’t worry about what I mean. Don’t worry about anything. Just keep clear.
— All right, said Carr.
They got out. Again the Judge was standing with his second. Again the cloth was spread on the hood with the revolvers.
They approached.
The track was a long arc laid out to the side between craggy fists of trees and rising of hills. There were stands in the distance, and stables beyond the stands. Above the stands the sky seemed farther than it ought to be. What was the distance of the sky? Did it change from place to place? People thought once that heaven was somewhere beyond the moon. Everything was divided up that way. Some things were beneath the moon, others above. It meant something to be able to go beyond the moon.
The Judge’s second was explaining about how Harp might use either of the revolvers. Harp was staring at the revolvers. He wasn’t saying anything, just staring.
— Harp. Harp. Hey, Harp, said Carr. He felt that something was wrong.
— Harp!
Harp looked up suddenly. He was standing with his back to Carr. The Judge and his second were frozen.
— What’s the meaning of this?
— I’m not going to die, not today, said Harp.
— What are you doing? shouted Carr.
There was an automatic pistol in Harp’s hand.
— There’s nothing else to do, said Harp. This is how it is.
— Think of what we did, said Carr. We can’t fix that.
The Judge and his second were eyeing Harp warily. Harp seemed to waver for a second. He half lowered the pistol. Suddenly, the second dived at the car. He snatched one of the revolvers from the hood.
Harp turned his arm. He pointed his arm at the Judge’s second and shot him in the back. The man sprawled out on the ground.
Harp turned the gun back to the Judge. The shooting had given him some strength. He spoke now with determination. The thing had started.
— You killed Lubeck, and you killed Brennan. Now it’s up. It’s up. He pointed the pistol at the Judge’s head.
— No!
Carr dove at Harp. He didn’t think, he just did it. It wasn’t fair what they’d done to the Judge and his wife. It wasn’t honorable. They had a debt to make good. They had to give the Judge a chance to even things.
He struck Harp from the side. Harp fell beneath him, his pistol going off harmlessly. Harp was underneath him, breathing hard.
Carr struggled to his feet. Harp was cursing and getting up. Then a shot came from behind him. Harp fell down again. The Judge was behind them. He put a bullet into Harp on the ground. Harp was writhing. The Judge put another bullet into him, and another.
— Stop it, shouted Carr. He started for the Judge. But the Judge turned the pistol on him.
— Keep still.
Carr backed away.
— Stop it, he said.
The Judge knelt beside Harp. Harp was crying.
Another bullet came then into Harp’s head and there was just a mess on the ground where Harp had been.
— Can you see it otherwise? the Judge asked. He straightened his coat.
Carr looked over at the Judge’s second. The man was still alive, against the car, clutching at a hole in his chest.
The Judge put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Out of the trees on the far side of the track came two cars. They pulled up. Out of one came a man with a black bag, a doctor. He knelt by the Judge’s second and began to administer to him.
The Judge was quietly observing Carr.
— Why did you do that? he said.
— I don’t know, said Carr. It was the wrong thing. I should have let him shoot you.
— But you didn’t, said the Judge.
He moved as if to pat Carr on the shoulder. Carr pulled away.
— As you will, said the Judge.
He pointed to the cloth on the hood.
— Do you know what that cloth is for?
— No.
— It’s for infants. Infants get wrapped in it when you take them home from the hospital. My wife bought it when she knew she was pregnant. Feel how soft it is.
He took the cloth and held it out to Carr. Reluctantly, Carr touched the cloth. It was very soft indeed.
The Judge threw it back onto the hood. He took an envelope from his coat.
— This one, he said, is for you. Good day.
THE SEVENTH
Carr went straight home, and though it was early afternoon, shuttered the windows, lay down, and was soon asleep.
—
A loud knocking at the door: the wife of the Judge was standing in the hall.
— Leon Carr?
She was wearing a thin wool dress with the same open tweed coat. Her cheeks were gaunt. Carr had never expected to see her. He had not arranged in his head any policy for how he would speak or act.
— I’m so sorry, said Carr. I’m sorry, I…
She took his hand in hers and looked patiently into his face. Carr felt almost like crying, so kindly did she treat him.
— I’m sorry, he said again. Come in and sit down.
Then it occurred to him that perhaps she might not want to come in.
— Is that all right? he asked. Would you rather stay out there?
— No, no, she said. Here.
She came into Carr’s room. She took off her coat and sat on the bed. She was staring at him and staring at him. Her dress was very thin, and he felt very much for her then. He felt he should not, but he did and he looked at her, there, seated on his bed.
— I don’t know what to say.
He tried to think of something kind to say. He felt that because Lubeck and Brennan and Harp were dead the guilt had not gone away but was concentrated all on him.
But she drew him down to the bed beside her and took his hand. She slid it along her side and up onto her breast. She leaned in.