Suddenly old, aged fifty years in fifty seconds, he wept silently as he leaned against the door…
NIGHTMARE IN GREEN
He awoke with full recollection of the decision, the big decision, he had made while lying here trying to go to sleep the night before. The decision that he must hold to without weakening if ever again he was to think of himself as a man, a whole man. He must be firm in demanding that his wife give him a divorce or all was lost and he would never again have the courage. It had been inevitable, he saw now, from the very start of their marriage six years ago, that this turning point, this tide of his affairs, would come.
To be married to a woman stronger than himself, stronger in every way, was not only intolerable but had been making him progressively more and more a helpless weakling, a hopeless mouse. His wife could, and did, best him at everything. An athlete, she could beat him easily at golf, at tennis, at everything. She could outride him and outhike him; she could drive a car better than he’d ever be able to. Expert at almost everything, she could make a fool of him at bridge or chess, even poker, which she played like a man. Worse, she had gradually taken over the reins of his business and financial affairs and could and did make more money than he had ever made or hoped to make. There was no way in which his ego, what little was left of it, had not been bruised and battered over the years of their marriage.
Until now, until Laura had come along. Sweet, lovable little Laura who was their house guest this week and who was everything that his wife was not, fragile and dainty, adorably helpless and sweet. He was mad about her and knew that in her lay salvation for him. Married to Laura he could be a man again, and would be. And she would marry him, he felt sure; she had to for she was his only hope. This time he had to win, no matter what his wife said or did.
He showered and dressed quickly, dreading the coming scene with his wife but eager to get it over with while his courage lasted. He went downstairs and found his wife alone at the breakfast table.
She looked up as he came in. «Good morning, dear,» she said. «Laura has finished breakfast and gone for a walk. I asked her to, so I could talk to you privately.»
Good, he thought, sitting down across from her. His wife had seen what had been happening to him and was making things easier by bringing up the subject herself.
«You see, William,» she said, «I want a divorce. I know this will come as a shock to you, but—Laura and I are in love with each other and are going away together.»
NIGHTMARE IN WHITE
He awoke suddenly and completely, wondering why he had let himself drop off when he hadn’t meant to, and quickly glanced at the luminous dial of his wrist watch. It gleamed brightly in the otherwise utter darkness and told him that the time was only a few minutes after eleven o’clock. He relaxed; he’d taken only a very brief cat nap. He’d gone to bed here, on this silly sofa, less than half an hour ago. If his wife really was going to come to him, it was too early. She’d have to wait until she was positive that his damned sister was asleep, and sound asleep.
It was such a ridiculous situation. They’d been married only three weeks, were on their way back home from their honeymoon, and this was the first time he’d slept alone in that time—and all because of his sister Deborah’s absurd insistence that they spend the night in her apartment here on their way back home. Another four hours’ driving would have got them there, but Debbie had insisted and finally carried her point. After all, he’d realized, a night’s continence wouldn’t hurt him, and he had been tired; it would be much better to face his last lap of driving fresh, in the morning.
Of course Debbie’s apartment had only the one bedroom and he knew in advance, before accepting her invitation, that he could not possibly have accepted her offer to sleep, herself, out here and let him and Betty have the bedroom. There are degrees of hospitality which one cannot accept, even from one’s own sweet and loving spinster sister. But he’d felt sure, or almost sure, that Betty would wait out his sister’s going to sleep and come to join him, if only for a few affectionate moments—for she might be inhibited in giving more than that lest sounds might awaken Debbie—to give him a better «good night» than, under his sister’s eyes, they’d indulged in.
Surely she’d come to him—at least for a real good night kiss, and if she was willing to risk going beyond that, so was he—and so he’d decided not to go to sleep right away, but to wait for her to come to him, at least for an hour or so.
Surely she would—yes, the door was opening quietly in the darkness and quietly closing again, only the faint click of the latch being really audible, and then there was the soft rustle of her nightgown or negligee or whatever falling, and she was under the covers with him, pressing her body against his, and the only conversation was his whispered «Darling…» and her whispered «Shhhh…» But what more conversation was needed?
None at all, none at all, but for the so-long so-short minutes until the door opened again, this time with glaring white light coming through it, outlining in white horror the silhouette of his wife standing there rigid and beginning to scream.
NIGHTMARE IN BLUE
He awoke to the brightest, bluest morning he had ever seen. Through the window beside the bed, he could see an almost incredible sky. George slid out of bed quickly, wide awake and not wanting to miss another minute of the first day of his vacation. But he dressed quietly so as not to awaken his wife. They had arrived here at the lodge—loaned them by a friend for the week of their vacation—late the evening before and Wilma had been very tired from the trip; he’d let her sleep as long as she could. He carried his shoes into the living room to put them on.
Tousle-haired little Tommy, their five-year-old, came out of the smaller bedroom he’d slept in, yawning. «Want some breakfast?» George asked him. And when Tommy nodded, «Get dressed then, and join me in the kitchen.»
George went to the kitchen but before starting breakfast, he stepped through the outside door and stood looking around; it had been dark when they’d arrived and he knew what the country was like only by description. It was virgin woodland, more beautiful than he’d pictured it. The nearest other lodge, he’d been told, was a mile away, on the other side of a fairly large lake. He couldn’t see the lake for the trees but the path that started here from the kitchen door led to it, a little less than a quarter of a mile away. His friend had told him it was good for swimming, good for fishing. The swimming didn’t interest George; he wasn’t afraid of the water but he didn’t like it either, and he’d never learned how to swim. But his wife was a good swimmer and so was Tommy—a regular little water rat, she called him.
Tommy joined him on the step; the boy’s idea of getting dressed had been to put on a pair of swim trunks so it hadn’t taken him long. «Daddy,» he said, «let’s go see the lake before we eat, huh, Daddy?»
«All right,» George said. He wasn’t hungry himself and maybe when they got back Wilma would be awake.
The lake was beautiful, an even more intense blue than the sky, and smooth as a mirror. Tommy plunged into it gleefully and George called to him to stay where it was shallow, not to swim out.