It was cold out and Lee had a heavy robe on. She said, “George, I am very hungry.”
“Sorry I was late,” I said, taking off my coat, going to the kitchen. Slob was wailing and I said, “Okay, you're hungry too. Hold up a minute and you'll both get something to eat.”
I'd brought in liver and frozen vegetables and beer, and as I cooked, Lee stood in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, watching me. Then she went to get an opener for the beer. I was annoyed that I was late, and damn tired of being her persona! maid. I said, “Leave the beer alone. And get dressed. Comb your hair and wash your face. I don't like you sitting at the table unwashed.”
She left the kitchen and when I had the food on the table I went into the living room to call her. She was sitting in the big leather chair—ashes all over it. The robe had fallen from her , legs, exposing her strong thighs. I looked at the other piles of ashes and cigarette butts around, said, “Thought I told you to get dressed? Look at yourself. My God, haven't you taken a bath lately?”
She stood up, smiled—her little mouth becoming so big—said, “Eat first. I am hungry.” She started for the kitchen and I caught her at the doorway, held her arm.
“No. First you wash your face, brush your teeth, comb your hair.”
She was staring at me with a faint tolerant smile, as though I was an idiot she had to humor. She pointed to the food on the table. “Food... cold.”
“Then let it get cold! I told you a half hour ago to dress. Now do it.” I walked over and sat down and started to eat. She didn't move, merely stood there, staring at me. I ate some more, then got up and went over to her, said as if talking to a child, “Do as I told you or you won't....”
She suddenly said something in German that sounded like a curse, brushed past me and made for the table. As I turned I saw Slob up on the table, eating from her dish. The poor cat had never done that before, but I had forgotten all about feeding him.
Lee made a savage swipe at him with her big hand, sending him crashing against the opposite wall. He hit with a really sickening thud, dropped to the floor on his back, blood streaming from his mouth.
I cursed her as I bent over the cat. He was moaning with a weak, pitiful sound. I lifted him as tenderly as I could, ran out and hailed a cab. He was dead before I reached the vet's, and I left him there.
I was chilled to the bone and in a furious mood when I returned. Lee wasn't in the kitchen, although the light was still on. She had eaten her supper and most of mine, and several crushed butts were on the dirty dishes. I ran into the bedroom. She was propped up on the bed. “You bitch, you killed Slob!”
“Eat my food,” Lee said casually.
“Goddamn you, that was my cat!” I tried to control my voice.
“In Europe no katzen—people eat katzen,” she said. Her robe was open, showing her big breasts and she seemed the most obscene creature I'd ever laid eyes on. I said coldly, clearly, “Lee I want you to get out. To-night, you understand? This is my house and I want you out!”
She shook her head. “No.”
“No? Get up and start packing or I'll throw you out!” I screamed.
She opened her robe farther, smiled up at me.
I cursed her, words I hadn't used since I was a kid. I grabbed her hand, yelled, “You're getting out, bag and baggage and...!”
She suddenly pulled me down on the bed, on top of her, and I struck her across the face, a loud hard slap. For a moment we wrestled and her eyes seemed very bright. Then her hands were at my throat as I frantically punched and clawed at her.
There was no mistaking the look in her eyes, she was going to strangle me with her powerful hands!
I twisted and pulled at those hands, but she was too strong and big for me. My throat seemed on fire and the room started to become hazy as I battled her. I must have worked my way to the side of the bed, for suddenly I fell off the bed. The sudden jerk of my body broke her hold on my throat. As I gulped air, I rolled away from her clutching hands, scrambled to my feet. She jumped off the bed, a crazy sneer on her face.
I ran for the door and the street but moving with startling speed, she cut me off. I crossed the living room, made the kitchen. I knew I'd never have time to open the back door, and I grabbed a large bread knife, turned to face her. The sight of the knife slowed her up, but didn't stop her. She advanced toward me slowly and I knew I'd have to kill her or she would certainly kill me. I was sick with fear, and without knowing I was saying it, I suddenly shouted, “Achtung! Achtung!” and waved the knife at her.
She stopped stock still, her big face turned pale, the anger left her eyes and the usual blank look returned. All I needed was the Nazi double-cross on my arm. I felt relieved, and ashamed, it was pretty low, even to save my life. I think the words meant, danger, or attention. I remember seeing them in war pictures of mined fields.
Lee reached over and took a cigarette from the pack on the table, lit it, thumbed the match at me, then turned and walked leisurely out of the kitchen. She sat down on the couch in the living room, blew out a cloud of smoke. I looked down at the knife in my hand and nearly fainted. If it was a shock to think I had been ready to kill, if it was more of a shock to think of the Nazi role I had taken, the greatest shock of all was the thought deep in my mind, bursting to the surface: Lee had killed Hank!
My hand was trembling so I couldn't hold the knife. I rested it on the kitchen table for a moment, then picked it up, went into the living room. I sat facing her—and near the door. For a long moment we stared at each other, this semi-nude giant of a woman and I, and the big bread knife gave the scene melodramatic, almost comic overtones. The past few minutes seemed a fantastic nightmare that had never happened—yet they had.
She smiled, “George, everything okay. We forget, hey boy?” She had that damn drawl back in her voice.
I said, “I'm giving you ten minutes to pack and get out, or I'll call the police. You understand... police... cops... p-o-l-i-c-e!”
She shook her head. “I stay here.”
“The hell you will! I know damn well you killed Hank. You were supposed to be in the basement using a washing machine! Why they'd have to beat you to make you use a washing machine!” I sounded like Marion. “I'll have something to tell the police—if you don't get out.”
She kept staring at me in that odd, puzzled way she had, as though trying to understand what I was saying. Then she said, “No, I stay here. Police tell Lee have no reason to kill Hank. Police say Lee finish with that. I stay here, like it here. Maybe you have reason to kill Hank.”
“Me!”
She nodded. “Lee not very bright. Hank say so, you say too. Lee have no reason push Hank from window. Lee downstairs. Maybe you push Hank? Possible, it is... moglichkeit.”
“What the devil are you talking about? Look, you're wasting time.” I glanced at my wrist watch. The crystal had been broken during our fight and the watch had stopped, but I told her, “You have just seven minutes to pack and leave, or I call the police.”
She shrugged her heavy shoulders. “Lee stay, maybe George go. Maybe Lee ask for police. Police be... how you say... want to know why you kill Hank. But you say I no go, you give me money.... all weeks... like before, Lee forget why George kill Hank... you and Lee be... okay. Good here, okay here, boy.” She looked around the room, lit a cigarette calmly, then blew out a cloud of smoke and laughed in my face. Her laughter was shrill, unreal, and made me shiver.