“Ah, I’ve got to go,” he said suddenly, getting out of the car stiffly and setting one foot toward the woods.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Why don’t you drive?” asked Kitty, laughing.
“Right,” he said, frowning and fumbling for the keys.
“Now, you’re coming to see me after you’ve talked to Leslie?”
“Sure,” he said, feeling his face. Suddenly he wanted a shave, a bath, a drink.
“Just remember. Villa number six. Dun Romin’.”
“Right,” he said absently. “Dun Romin’.”
2
Things began to happen fast. For one thing, he noticed, the days were ending much sooner. The sun, smaller and colder, dropped quickly behind a mountain. Events speeded up. A general law of acceleration prevailed. His Mercedes fairly zipped along the highway yet other cars honked and passed him.
The house was dark and silent when be stopped in the driveway. The sun seemed to be setting in the gorge. The stunted maple which looked like a post oak was nearly stripped of its leaves.
He frowned and drove into the garage. The garage was empty. Both the Rolls and Yamaiuchi’s Datsun were gone. Hm.
The house above him did not tick and settle like a lived-in house cooling off. There was a sense in its silence of people having moved away. The house did not breathe. It was unlived-in. How long had he been gone?
He was standing against the inner wall of the garage watching the oblong of eastern sky. It seemed to turn violet. A small rainbow formed. There was no cloud. He shut one eye. The rainbow went away. He opened the eye. The rainbow came back. He walked to the door. There seemed to be two doors where once there was one. He walked into the wall. He closed his left eye. One door went away.
The door was unlocked. He climbed the rear stairs to his bedroom. The sun rested on the rim of the gorge like a copper plate on a shelf. The room was filled with a rosy light. He walked around, hands in pockets. The bed had been stripped. The closet was empty. No, the Greener shotgun was still there in its case. The Luger in its holster hung from a hook. Head cocked, he gazed at the room. There was something he didn’t like about the light of the setting sun filling the empty room. The room seemed to have an emotion of its own. Was it the feeling of someone present or someone absent? He frowned again and turned quickly toward the bathroom. No, rooms do not have emotions. Rooms are only rooms. How he hated the fake sadness of things. As he turned, he fell. Christ, I’m weak from hunger, he drought. But it’s not bad to be down here on the floor. Above him the bar of sunlight stretched out straight as a plank. Motes drifted aimlessly in and out of the light. The bar of sunlight seemed significant. He sat up and shook his head. No, things do not have significances. The laser beam was nothing more than light reflected from motes he had stirred up. It was not “stark.” One place is like any other place.
A sudden sharp smell came to his nostrils. It was the smell of a Negro cabin in winter, a clean complex smell of newspapers, flour paste, coal oil, and Octagon soap. How is such a thing possible? he said, smiling, and stood up. Goodbye, Georgia.
No, the closet was not empty. A single hanger held a pair of slacks and a clean shirt he recognized and a tan cardigan sweater he did not recognize. Neatly folded on the top shelf were a T-shirt and shorts and on the shoe rack with a rolled-up sock tucked neatly in each a pair of new loafers. The gun case stood in the corner. Strange. He had never worn loafers or a cardigan sweater. Then Leslie had closed the house. She has moved me out. But she has bought me a new outfit. She has plans for me.
The bathroom was empty except for a towel, soap, comb, and his Sunbeam razor. When he saw the figure in the doorway he did not give a start but he felt his face prepare itself to address a stranger. But the stranger was his reflection in the full-length mirror fixed to the door. It was then that he saw that the expression on his face was the agreeable but slightly fearful smile one might assume with an interloper. What can I do for you? He looked like a drunk bearded mountaineer or a soldier who had fought and marched for days and slept in his clothes. The cloth of his shirt and pants felt like skin.
He ran a hot full tub. When he let himself aching and cold down into the steaming water, he groaned and laughed out loud. Oh my God, how can a simple thing like a hot bath be this good, and since it is, is happiness no more than having something you’ve done without for a long time and aaah does it matter?
He bathed for a long time, shaved carefully, combed his hair, and dressed. He looked at himself. He was thin, he felt weak, hungry, lightheaded, but fit enough. Something was odd, however. It was the cardigan sweater and loafers. They made him look like an agreeable youngish old man, like a young Dr. Marcus Welby. All he needed was a pipe. He found a new pipe on the dresser! And a Bible.
He went into the hall and down the front stairs and turned on the lights. It was only then that he found the two notes on the refectory table in the foyer. They were in envelopes addressed to him. One, in Leslie’s hand, said Poppy. The other in Bertie’s hand said Willie and below and underlined: Urgent!
Bertie’s note read:
Please call me, Willie. Urgent.
Leslie’s letter read:
Dearest Poppy:
Kitty just told me where you are. I did not want to wake you so I’m leaving this note for you, knowing you’re coming here.
I’ve forgiven you everything. I did not mind your doing your usual number and splitting for parts unknown before the wedding, but I admit it did hurt a little to learn you had spent the past week shacked up in the woods with a little forest sprite not two miles away. But we always can have the forgiveness of sins through the riches of his grace (Eph. 1:7). Anyhow, I acted like a pill myself.
But everything is different now! My joy is fulfilled (John 3:29).
Dr. Battle told me of your whereabouts during the past week. He felt consideration for your health outweighed doctor-patient confidence.
Jack Curl and Jason and I have some wonderful ideas for the love-and-faith community you and Jack are planning. What you and your little sprite do is your business, but before you make any radical decisions, lets sit down with Lewis and Jack and finalize the Marion Peabody Foundation, which was Mother’s dream.
We’ll be at Jack Curl’s house waiting for you. I laid out some clothes for you. Closed house. Will tell you more. Can’t wait to see ya.
Devotedly,
Yours in the Lord,
Leslie
Dearest? Ya? Devotedly? What’s cooking here, Leslie? The slanginess was not like her. The friendliness was ominous. The “devotedly” was somewhere north of love and south of sincerely. He liked her old sour self better.
What was she up to? He felt a faint prickle of interest under the unfamiliar cashmere of the cardigan. Dr. Marcus Welby chuckled and tapped out his empty pipe. Was she afraid he was going to marry Allie and blow the Peabody millions? Then what would happen to hers and Jack Curl’s love-and-faith community? Kelso would say they’re out to screw you. But Kelso was crazy. He shrugged. Did it matter?
He telephoned Bertie.
“Willie, I’m delighted heh heh,” said Bertie, coming as close as he could to a laugh, a hollow Hampton chortle, a whuffing sound. “Happy birthday.”
“What’s that?” he asked quickly. “Oh, yes. I forgot. Thank you.”
“This is not just your ordinary birthday,” said Bertie. Bertie’s horserace, he knew, would be slanted and keen about the nostrils.