Wives and Lovers

15

On Monday night the wind stopped and fog began to move in from the sea across the city like a giant cataract across an eye.

Mrs. Freeman watched it from her dining-room window. It settled down into the trees and between the houses and crept under the cracks of doors; lights grew hazy, people vanished; the foghorn began to bray from the lighthouse on the Mesa.

Mrs. Freeman closed all the windows and pulled down the blinds and went back to the letter she had received in the morning mail. It was written on cheap hotel stationery and the handwriting was like a child’s, hesitant and uneven, and punctuated with blobs of ink.

Her birthday was on the fifth, but it was the nicest letter she had ever received from him. When the doorbell rang her heart quickened for an instant in the hope that it might be Robert, that the act of writing to her had made him homesick and he had decided to come back right away for a home-cooked meal and a view of the sea.

She opened the door and saw George, his outlines blurred by fog, his voice muffled.

“Is Ruby here?”

She looked at him dully, as if he had spoken a name she’d never heard before.

He coughed and said, “May I come in?”

“Yes. Yes, come in.” She closed the door behind him, trembling a little. “It’s cold, a cold night. I can smell winter in the air and here it isn’t even fall yet. But that’s Channel City for you, we get some of our best weather in December or January.”

“I suppose so, but—”

“We can talk in the dining room. I have the heater going.”

They sat down at the round oak table under the beaded chandelier. In spite of the gas heater hissing in the corner, the room was chilly, as if the old walls had absorbed one too many fogs.

“Ruby,” Mrs. Freeman said. “She didn’t call you?”

“No.”

“I asked her to. I said you must be sure and tell Mr. Anderson before you leave. He’ll want to know, I said, he’ll be around asking for you.”

“She’s gone, then?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday morning. It was very sudden.”

“It must have been.”

“Even so she ought to have told you. It’s not fair leaving it to me. She could have called you.”

“Maybe she tried. Maybe the line was busy.”

“I’ll bet you that’s what happened.”

He leaned across the table. “But you wouldn’t bet much, would you?”

“No,” she said, turning away. “Not much. She was — I tried to talk to her. She was a headstrong girl. Nothing mattered to her except what she wanted at the moment.”

“And what did she want?”

“Him,” Mrs. Freeman said quietly. “Just him. Nobody else counted. Some women are like that.”

Not many, she thought. But some. The unlucky ones. And the men they love are unlucky too. Like Robert.

She looked at the bowl of wax fruit in the center of the table. The fruit came from the dime store but Robert had made the bowl himself out of a cracked phonograph record according to directions he’d found in an old magazine, steaming the record over the teakettle and when it was soft shaping it into a scalloped bowl. “Why, Robert, it’s beautiful!” “It’s not bad, is it?” “It’s just beautiful.” “Maybe I can get hold of a bunch of old records and start a whole new business.” “That’s a wonderful idea.” “Honest to God, I think we got something here. I think we’re going to hit the jackpot, Carrie, old girl.” “Of course, of course we are, dear.”

Of course. Because she couldn’t bear to hurt him, she had encouraged him beyond all reason and reality. The hurt came anyway, and it was shattering and final. He tried to sell one of the bowls to Mrs. Haggerty next door and Mrs. Haggerty said her kids had been making bowls like that for years at the Y.M.C.A. crafts club.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Freeman said, but it wasn’t clear from her tone whom she was sorry for, George or Robert or Ruby or herself.

George lit a cigarette and the smoke curled up into the beaded chandelier and softened its glare.

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t be any use anyway, trying to find her.”

“But you know she went with him — with the man?”

“I saw them leave in his car. A nice-looking car. Green. When she said goodbye to me she put her arms around me, can you beat it?” Mrs. Freeman’s mouth tightened. “You’d think we’d been friends or something, the way she said goodbye to me like that, as if she was kind of sorry she had to leave. Well, I can’t be responsible for all the girls that cross my path. It’s just — I took kind of a personal interest in Ruby. She reminds me of someone I knew years ago. Ruby’s a little harder than this other girl I knew. Maybe she’ll have better luck. She’s not a bad girl.”

“Ruby,” George said carefully, “is a liar and a thief and a cheat.”

She shook her head. “It might seem that way to you, you’ve been hurt. She lies, yes. People lie when the truth is too hard to bear.”

“She didn’t tell me she was interested in someone else, never even hinted at it.”

“She didn’t tell me either. No one ever came here for her or called her except you. It was a shock to me when he turned up on Saturday night looking for her. I thought it was just a common drunk making all that noise outside. When I went out to quiet him down he asked for Ruby. That was the first I knew about it.”

“Saturday night,” George repeated.

“Early Sunday morning, more like it. He’d been to one of those Fiesta parties and was all dressed up like a caballero or whatever you call them. I couldn’t let him wander around in that condition and not even dressed proper, so I went upstairs and woke Ruby and between the two of us, we got him in here on the couch. He fell asleep right away.”

“What was he like?”

“Like?” Mrs. Freeman blinked. “Well, sometimes it’s kind of hard to tell when a man’s drunk, but he seemed nice enough. Nothing special that I could see except he had lovely manners. I guess you’d say he was a gentleman.”

“Would I?”

“It takes a gentleman not to forget his manners when he’s had a few too many. I asked Ruby, is he a drunk, I asked her. And she said, no, he hardly ever touched the stuff, this was an unusual occasion. I can’t tell you much more, Mr. Anderson, I don’t know any more. It all happened so fast and unexpected. Maybe I should have phoned you just as soon as—”

“No,” George said sharply. “No. I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’d like to feel I did my best. I tried to talk to her, reason with her. But girls that age, they know everything, they know the score before they even find out what game they’re playing.”

She rose, and George rose too, and followed her down the long drafty hall to the front door. They shook hands soberly and formally, like mourners at a funeral.

“Thank you for your trouble,” George said and tried to smile but his mouth felt dry and stiff. “You’ve been very kind.”

“I tried, I wanted to help the girl. I wanted her to get interested in someone steady and dependable, well, like you, Mr. Anderson, no flattery intended. A girl like that needs a firm hand, a good strong marriage.”

“Maybe she’ll have it.”

“How can she? He’s already married, this man, married and with three kids.”

George looked at her in silence for a long time, then he turned and opened the door and stepped out on the porch.

“Mr. Anderson?”

“It’s getting late. I’d better—”

“I didn’t mean to tell you that. It just popped out.”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re not thinking of doing anything drastic, Mr. Anderson? I mean, it wouldn’t be any use trying to find her. She’s gone. She made that clear, she’s gone for good.”

“For good. Yes, I guess you’re right.”

They stood facing each other on the porch. The fog had shut everything else out, and it was as if they were alone together in a cold gray little world of their own.

Moisture condensed on Mrs. Freeman’s home permanent and wiry curls began to spring up all over her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson. She should have told you herself.”

“What’s the man’s name?”

“I don’t — I can’t remember.”

“You’ve remembered everything else.”

“Even so. Even so, I don’t think I ought to—”

“Tell me.”

“Gordon,” Mrs. Freeman said. “She called him Gordon.”

By ten o’clock the fog had covered the city. It hung from the old oak behind Hazel’s house like angel hair on a Christmas tree.

There were no lights on in Hazel’s house and when George knocked on the front door no one answered. He walked around to the back, found the key where Hazel always left it, under the doormat, and let himself into the kitchen.

He switched on the ceiling light and went over to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. The water left a long cold trail all the way down to his stomach. The rest of his body felt like fire.

Hazel came in from the dining room, heavy-eyed and yawning. “I thought I heard some one.”

He stared at her without speaking.

“What do you want at this time of night?”

“I think you know.”

“How should I know? What’s the matter with you, are you drunk or something?”

“Come here, Hazel.”

“What for?”

“Come here. I want to look at you.”

“You can see me from there.”

“Not well enough.”

“Say, what’s wrong with you, anyway? Are you losing your mind?”

“Hazel.” He went over and took hold of both her wrists. “Tell me about the money, Hazel.”

“What money?”

“You bitch. You creeping little bitch. I’d like to kill you.”

She was afraid of him but she made no attempt to free herself or to scream for help. Letting her wrists dangle limply from his hands, she thought, it wouldn’t really matter so much anyway; Ruth is settled, Harold and Josephine have a place of their own, Gordon is gone.

“Let go of me, George.”

“Why? You’ve got something important to do, maybe? You want to cook up another of your fancy schemes?”

“Oh, stop it. I didn’t — it wasn’t a scheme. Gordon had to have the money. I got it for him the best way I could.”

“There was no scheme, eh?”

“None.”

“No idea of getting rid of Ruby because you couldn’t stand the thought of me getting married again?”

“No.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Maybe, in a way.”

“Maybe, what is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, the idea might have been in the back of my mind at the time, but I didn’t know it was there.”

He let go of her wrists and took a step back as if to see her in a new perspective. “You don’t want me to get married again, do you?”

“Not to someone like Ruby.”

“To someone like who, then?”

“We’ve talked about it before.”

“Oh yes. The nice sensible widow my own age with a little cash and some real estate.”

“There must be lots of women like that.”

“In my business I don’t meet them. Most of the ones I see are already married again, to a bottle.”

“Well, I keep looking around.”

“Do you?”

“Naturally I do. I’d like to see you settled down. It would be a load off my mind, in fact. I can’t seem to — well, to get interested in anyone myself until I see you settled.”

He glanced at her dryly. “Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?”

“It’s how I feel anyway.”

“So you’re looking around for a nice sensible widow for me?”

“Sure. Sure I am. Just today at lunch in the cafeteria I met a very—”

“What a liar you are, Hazel. You almost make me laugh.”

“Laugh yourself sick if you want to. I’m going back to bed. I have to get up early for work.”

“Wait a minute.”

“Why should I? All you can do is swear at me and call me names.”

“I can do more than that.”

“I wish you’d—”

“I can do a lot more than that, even without your cooperation.”

“You’d better leave. I think you’re drunk.”

She stepped back, pulling her bathrobe closer around her throat.

“Afraid of me, Hazel?”

“No.”

“You are, though. You’re shaking like a leaf. What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

She shook her head.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Take — take your hands off me.”

“That’s what you really want?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

“When I touch you like this you feel no response?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“No! Yes! I’m sure.”

“All right. I just thought I’d ask.”

He took his hands away, looked at them for a moment as if they were strange new parts of his body, and put them in his pocket. The color had drained out of his face and his eyes bulged, dark and glassy like marbles.

Walking over to the table he pulled out a chair and sat down and crossed his legs, moving stiffly as if he was in pain.

He said in a low voice, “You’d better start looking a little harder for that widow. I don’t like living alone.”

“George.”

“I guess I owe you an apology. All right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“You? What for?”

“The money.”

“The money,” he repeated with a grim little smile. “That seems like a long time ago. It hardly matters any more.”

“What does matter?”

“Nothing that I can think of.”

“Did you—” Hazel stopped and swallowed hard. “Did you love her very much?”

“Christ. What a question.”

“That’s no answer.”

“I thought about her a lot. When she was away I wanted to see her, but when I saw her she made me nervous, I couldn’t stand her sometimes. If that’s love, I loved her.”

“That isn’t how you used to feel about me, is it, George?”

“No.”

“We had a lot of laughs together, didn’t we? Remember the time you brought home that wrestler from New Jersey and he damn near wrecked the place and finally you had to pin him down?”

“I didn’t pin him down,” he said flatly. “He practically passed out. He could have broken my neck if he’d have been sober.”

“That’s not true. You’re very strong.”

“Oh stop it, Hazel.”

“Well, you are.”

“Stop it. I’m tired, I’m sick of myself. I’m a big fat nothing, let’s face it.”

“You’re just feeling a little low tonight. Tomorrow morning you’ll—”

“Tomorrow morning, next week, next month. It seems to me that all I’ve had for the past year is a future. The hell with it. I’d sell thirty years of future for ten minutes of present.”

“You’re pretty hard up then.”

“Sure I am. What do you expect? I haven’t had a wife for over a year.”

The phone began to ring in the dining room and Hazel went to answer it. It was impossible to tell from her expression whether she was relieved or disappointed by the interruption, but when she spoke into the telephone she sounded quite cross.

“Hello? Yes, it’s me... Now wait a minute, take it easy. Are you sure?... Well, lock all the doors and call the police... Who cares what she’d think, she’s halfway to Chicago by this time... You’re sure you’re not imagining things?... Well, wait a minute. George is here. Talk to him.”

She turned to call George but he was already there at her elbow.

He said, “Who is it?”

“Ruth. She’s staying with the Foster kids while Elaine’s away. She says there’s a burglar trying to get into the house.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know, but suppose there really is?”

“I’ll talk to her.” He took the phone from Hazel’s hand. “Ruth, it’s George. Now what’s this about a burglar?”

Ruth’s voice came over the wire, dripping bitterness. “Oh, I heard what you said. I know what you’re thinking, that it’s all in my imagination. Well, I didn’t imagine the dog barking, I didn’t imagine someone trying the back door, I didn’t im—”

“All right, Ruth, you didn’t.”

“He’s out there now. I saw him with my own eyes, standing in the yard. And there’s a car parked out on the street. I can’t see if anyone’s in it but there might be, there might even be a whole gang of them. A man came around this afternoon trying to sell vacuum cleaners. I told him the Fosters were away, I was only the housekeeper. It could be the same man. I can’t tell, it’s too foggy.”

“Well, sit tight until I get there.”

“I hate to put you to this trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” George said dryly. “I haven’t anything else to do. It’ll keep me out of mischief.”

Hazel followed him to the front door. “I could go with you, George.”

“I’m in a hurry and you’re not dressed.”

“I could slip a coat on. It won’t take me a minute. I’d like to go.”

“Why?”

“Well, the excitement, I guess.”

“Is that all?”

She shook her head, rather shyly.

“What’s the real reason, Hazel?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do,” George said. “You don’t want to be left alone. You’d rather come with me, not because it’s me — I’m nothing special as far as you’re concerned — but just to get out of an empty house.”

“That’s not true, not all of it is, anyway.” She opened the door for him and the fog drifted into the room like ectoplasm. “You could come back and tell me all about it.”

“I could. Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be damned,” George said and went out to his car. He walked very quickly as if purposely gathering momentum to carry him along in case his decision to leave should begin to falter.

Ruth put down the phone, and tiptoed through the darkness to the front hall. Here, on the bottom step of the staircase, she sat with the brass poker across her lap and the little dog at her feet, a pair of strange sentinels guarding the sleeping children.

The whole house was quiet. All the noise and confusion, the screams for help, the wail of sirens, the shriek of brakes, she had heard merely in her own mind. The only real noises had been the barking of the little dog and the faint but unmistakable click of the back-door latch.

She was afraid, but pushing its way up through the cold layers of fear was a feeling of triumph. The prowler outside was her enemy, the synthesis of all her enemies; he was real and alive and identifiable, and she was armed against him, guarding the children, with help on the way.