“No. I know it.”
“Even so,” Ruth said helplessly. “Even so. He might be quite innocent.”
“He might be,” Elaine said with a sharp laugh. “That’s the crazy part of it. I don’t even know if anything happens. I don’t know if they sit there and hold hands and stare at each other, or if they go to her place, or take a room in a hotel, or park down by the ocean.” She broke off suddenly, her face squeezed up with pain. “I’ve always done Gordon’s planning for him. I suppose if I wanted to save my reputation, I should have planned this affair of his too. As it is, everyone in town is laughing at me. They never laugh at the man, the one who’s making a fool of himself. Oh no! They laugh at the wife, the one who gets left, who gets the wool pulled over her eyes.” Tears were burning the inside of her eyelids. She turned off the lamp beside her and said in a controlled voice, “Did the baby take all his bottle?”
“Every drop. Honestly, he’s the greediest little angel I ever saw. He must have gained two pounds since I saw him last.”
“Nearly.”
“Paul didn’t want to go to bed after our story was finished, but I told him—” Ruth flushed guiltily. “I told him that maybe next Saturday night I’d bring Wendy, my dog, with me. Would that suit you, Mrs. Foster?”
“I guess so.
“Then I gave him his pretend-dog which he promptly named Wendy, and he popped right off to sleep holding the dog in his arms.” She saw the look on Mrs. Foster’s face (grief? remorse? fright?) and she added, uncertainly, “If you really want me to stay the night, I’d be glad to.”
“It’s very kind of you, Ruth.”
“I’ll just phone Hazel, then, so she won’t worry.”
She phoned Hazel, and then she tiptoed upstairs to the baby’s room. She checked to see if his blankets were straight, she listened to his breathing, and she felt his cool, soft forehead. Then she lay down in her slip, on the cot beside the baby’s bed.
11
Gordon swung the car off the highway and switched off the ignition. He had turned the radio on very loud, to keep him awake. As long as this fast, jerky music continued, he didn’t feel like sleeping and he didn’t feel like thinking. He didn’t know the tune the orchestra was playing but he sang anyway, “chewy, chewy, chewy,” and honked the horn to emphasize the rhythm.
By squinting up his eyes and concentrating, he could make out the row of houses along the highway, dark, locked for the night. In one of these houses Ruby was sleeping. He couldn’t see very well but he was pretty sure which house it was, so he honked the horn insistently. As if in answer, a train came wailing around the bend, and all other sounds were lost in its dismal echo, Yoo hoo, yoo hoo hoo! The road shuddered, the houses trembled, their windows vibrating like chattering teeth. Long after the light on the caboose had disappeared, Gordon could hear the train mourning its farewell, adieu, adieu! He would have liked to follow the train, driving along the tracks, until he caught up with it. But this was impracticable, he realized. The wheels of the car wouldn’t fit the tracks, and even if they did it would be hard to keep on them. And suppose another train came along from behind? It would smash the car to pieces, and Elaine would be mad.
He honked the horn again, to drown out the echo of the train whistle.
In one of the houses a light appeared in an upstairs window. A shadow moved behind the blind, and a minute later a light went on in the downstairs hall. A woman in a bathrobe came out on the porch, carrying a flashlight. She shone the flashlight at the car, then directly into Gordon’s face. Gordon blinked. The woman came down the porch steps, cautiously, as if she didn’t quite trust them. She was middle-aged, heavily built. Her gray hair swung in pigtails against her shoulders. She had some kind of grease plastered on her neck and around her eyes.
“What do you want?” Mrs. Freeman said. “Waking decent people in the middle of the night, you ought to be ashamed. Turn that radio down, my land, do you want to attract the cops?” She sounded very cross, but it was a surface crossness. Mrs. Freeman was, in fact, rather relieved at seeing a total stranger. When she had wakened to the sound of the horn and the blare of the radio, she’d been half-afraid that it was Robert coming home all of a sudden, as he usually did, with one of his noisy friends.
“What do you want?” she repeated, when Gordon had turned down the radio.
“I want Ruby,” Gordon said. “Tell Ruby — you tell Ruby—”
“Ruby’s asleep like everyone else with a grain of sense to them. The trouble with you is, you’re drunk.”
“I know. I know I am. I’m very sorry.”
“You better be more careful. There are cops going up and down here all night. The highway patrol is just a couple of blocks up.”
“It is?” Gordon said, blinking. “I never knew that.”
“Well, you know now. You just skiddoo on home and go to bed like everyone else.”
Gordon shook his head, apologetic but obstinate. “I prefer to sleep here. I won’t disturb anyone. I’ll go to sleep in the car and when Ruby wakes up, you tell her I’m here.”
“You can’t sleep here. They’ll pick you up and put you in jail.”
“They can’t put me in jail just because I’m very tired.”
“You and who else,” Mrs. Freeman said in disgust.
“It wouldn’t be cricket.”
“Go on, skiddoo home now.” She fluttered her hand at him as if she were shooing away a chicken. “I got enough trouble without a drunk man being picked up in front of my house.” She broke off suddenly and exclaimed, “My land, you aren’t even dressed proper!”
“It’s because I lost my hat,” Gordon said. “I put it down some place and lost it. It belongs to the costume. You see, the costume isn’t complete without the hat.” He knew that the hat wasn’t important to him, yet he was filled with an overwhelming sense of loss. I’ve lost my hat. I’ve lost something. I’m no longer a man, Elaine said so. I bear no resemblance to a man.
Mrs. Freeman was staring at him in disapproval. “You people that get drunk at Fiesta time, it’s you people that give Fiesta a bad name.”
“I’m very sorry.” He leaned his head against the back of the seat, closing his eyes. He was sorry. He didn’t want to give Fiesta a bad name or to cause Mrs. Freeman any trouble. All his desires of the evening — to sing with Judge Bowridge, to hit Elaine, to cry, to follow the train up the tracks, to go back and find his hat — they had all congealed into one great desire, to go to sleep. But Mrs. Freeman turned the flashlight full on his face again and he had to open his eyes.
“All right,” she said in a resigned voice. “I’ll go and wake her up. Now don’t go off to sleep while I’m gone, will you?” She reached in and shook his arm. “Don’t go to sleep now, you promise.”
“I promise,” Gordon said earnestly. “Tell Ruby — tell Ruby—”
“You tell her yourself,” Mrs. Freeman said, and went up the porch steps, muttering under her breath.
He had promised not to go to sleep, and he didn’t. He merely closed his eyes and floated, until he heard Ruby opening the door of the car. She was breathing hard, as if she was angry or had hurried to get out of the house.
“Ruby?” He moved his hand towards her in a helpless gesture of appeal.
She took his hand and held it, stroking it very gently, as if she was soothing a hurt. He still wasn’t sure whether she was angry or not, until she spoke: “Where ever did you get so dirty?”
He opened his eyes. She was smiling at him, amused. She had her beige coat on over her pajamas, and a scarf around her head to hide the pin curls.
“I was sitting on the ground under a tree,” Gordon said.
“I’ve never seen you dirty before.”