Paul instructed, “Four steps up.”
We went up. A door opened, let us through, and closed again behind us. A spring lock snapped.
Eleanor said, “Pull the blinds.”
Somebody answered, “Aw, the shutters are closed.”
“Pull the blinds!” she snapped.
They were pulled, three of them. The white scarf was unwound from around my head and the first thing I did was to suck in great gobs of air — through my nose. It was like coming out from under a blanket.
I was in a room. That’s all, an ordinary room with old wallpaper. There was an enameled-top table, plain chairs, an old fashioned cook stove such as advertised in mail-order catalogues, a tall cabinet, and a white pail of water.
Eleanor and three men stood around me: Paul, the driver, and a stranger. The stranger examined me.
“He don’t look so tough,” was his opinion.
Eleanor told him, “You go back with the car.”
The guy squinted at her in disbelief. The farmhouse kitchen was quiet; we were all waiting to see if the man would do as Eleanor ordered. Outside the locked door I heard the dog sniffing at the crack.
The man stared at me and turned to Eleanor.
“No kiddin’? Don’t I get to stay and—?”
Negative waggle from Eleanor. “You go back.”
That disappointed him no end. I could read easily enough what was on his mind. He wanted to stay and play with me. He stood there a moment, not in hesitation but in open frustration, and then walked into the next room. When he returned he was dressed for outdoors. Without anything more, he and the driver walked out to the car, clicking the lock behind them. We listened to the big car fade away in the distance, accompanied by the excited barking of the dog. Afterwards the dog came back.
Paul asked, “D’ya hear that dog?”
I said my usual yeah.
He showed me the Colt. “D’ya see this?”
Again yeah.
“Stay wise, fella. Y’been okay so far.”
I got a drink of water from the pail and sat down to prop my feet on the rungs of another chair. I let my overcoat fall over the back of the chair, and kept my hat on.
Eleanor went into the other room, removed her coat, and came back to hold the gun while Paul stepped outside. He returned with an armload of wood. The woodbox was behind the stove. He tossed his clothes into the next room and looked at Eleanor.
“I’m hungry.”
She nodded and moved to the cabinet. There were dishes as well as groceries in it. I set the table while she fixed supper. Paul watched me in open amazement. I stole a glance at Eleanor. She was grinning.
She made good griddle cakes, fried bacon and eggs, and filled an oversized coffee pot nearly full. I discovered a quart jar of home-canned peaches in the bottom of the cabinet and suggested we have them for dessert. Eleanor was a swell cook.
At first they decided that one of them should watch me while the other ate — Paul eating first, of course. I laughed at them and assured them it was a damn fool idea; I was hungry too and intended to eat. Just eat. I sat down and started in on the cakes. They watched me in hesitation for a few minutes and gave up. Paul kept the gun by his plate. He ate as though my touching the dishes had poisoned them.
For a long time after supper nothing happened. They seemed to be waiting for something or somebody.
I helped Eleanor with the dishes while the greasy gunman sat across the kitchen and sneered. I think it embarrassed him to see me doing that. He was beginning to have vague ideas as to what constituted courtesy, or just plain helpfulness, and didn’t quite know what to do about it.
Later on the three of us played poker with kitchen matches because Eleanor had no money with her. At first it had been a two-handed game but the natural gambler in Paul could stand only so much temptation, and he joined in.
“Y’seem to be taking this easy,” he commented.
“Why not?” I shrugged. “I can’t help it.”
“Y’coulda kept your nose clean.”
Eleanor flashed him a warning glance.
He couldn’t resist a parting lick, “The chair yu’sittin’ on ain’t so damned cold!”
Eleanor frowned openly. Paul subsided with a grimace that said he knew better. We played poker.
About nine o’clock I wanted to go outside and put on my coat. Paul followed me without his. The dog sat on the porch and glared at me. I said, Hi, pooch, and pooch growled.
The countryside was beautiful at night with untracked snow stretching across the fields, reflecting the moon. To me it was just another farm. A row of gently moving evergreens framed what must have been the north side of the house. Not too far off was a red barn looking black under the moonlight, a corncrib, and a tool shed. There were no cattle and but for us, the place seemed deserted.
“C’mon,” Paul insisted. “I’m gettin’ cold.”
We went back up the brick walk. As we climbed the steps a telephone jangled inside. Paul shoved me through the door in his eagerness to get inside. Eleanor was out of sight.
She came back into the kitchen and looked at us strangely.
“Well?” Paul demanded.
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t quite understand.”
“C’mon, give! Do we or don’t we?”
“No, Paul. The boss said no.”
“No?” He was incredulous. “What th’hell do we do?”
Eleanor indicated me, “Just once over lightly.”
The boss had said no. The meaning was clear.
Paul was still behind me. His knotted fist caught me across the side of my head. I went to my knees under the staggering blow, a thick darkness struggling to erase my eyesight. I hadn’t expected him to move so quick or to strike from behind. He did both. The words were hardly out of her mouth. I tried to spin away from him, using my knees as pivots. He waited until I was broadside to him, and a blunt, powerful kick in the ribs knocked me to the linoleum floor.
I rolled to the wall away from the stove and tried to claw my way upright. His next blow came in the back of the legs and knocked me down again. He was close. I went over backwards from my half-standing position, my head knocking him in the stomach he was so close. He jumped back as I fell, one hand clutched to his stomach.
Eleanor had reached for the kitchen table and was pulling it across the room, out of the way. She held the gun. My bosom buddy, Eleanor. For me she would gladly hold my coat.
I tried to get out of my overcoat and stopped in midthought. It would be added protection from the rib blows. They could stand only so much. Paul was coming in again, swinging his foot.
I reached up with both hands, caught it and twisted it savagely. He went to the floor, howling and cursing me as he fell. His body was heavy and solid and the old house shook when he hit. I held on to the foot and tried to twist it the other way when his fall straightened it out again. Too late I remembered he had a second foot. It caught me full in the face, the hard heel smashing against my mouth.
Outside the dog was howling madly.
Paul wriggled free and tried to get to his feet. I braced myself on my hands, found blood on the floor beneath them, and as he stood upright, threw myself at his legs. He went over backwards.
Paul’s head struck the kitchen wall. His clubbed fists were swinging in long arcs, trying to reach me. I fell on top of him and began pounding his face.
Eleanor let me get in two licks. Exactly two.
I had forgotten Eleanor, forgotten that she held a gun. Until its handle whacked me on the back of my head, just above the hairline. There was blood in my mouth, blood and shirt buttons. I couldn’t account for the buttons.
And then there was nothing.
I’ll write again, tomorrow, Louise. Now I’m supposed to go to sleep.