“She’s taking care of all that.”
They closed the closet door. Their voices stayed in the lighted bedroom, though.
“Look, man.” It was Black-beard talking again. “You’ve really known her longer than I have, right? Her and her big friend. It was really you who arranged for her to meet me, huh?”
The other was quiet for a few moment. “Yeah.” As if he didn’t want to talk about that.
“I’m going to have to talk to her, get a few things straight. Like who really decides things. Meanwhile I want you to understand that I’m the one who does.”
“Sure.”
“I’m not gonna hang around here. Do either of them ever come out here?”
“They haven’t yet.”
“What’d you do with his clothes?”
“I got ‘em stashed away. This way he’s not gonna go running out. Also I don’t have to do his zipper for him.”
Black-beard chuckled. “Makes something else a little handier for you too, hey?”
“Hey, you know I don’t like to touch no one who’s unhealthy.” Thick-glasses sounded genuinely hurt. “He’s all blood and shit—yuck.”
“You could give him a bath.”
“Come on, get off me, Boss.”
“All right, all right.” Black-beard quenched his amusement. “Look, Gruner, you’re doing a fine job here, a helluva job. I’ll get word back to you on what to do next. You sure the phone here’s not connected?”
“Sure.”
Their voices moved away.
Later that same night—though Johnny could not be sure it really was the same night—he swam up out of sleep or stupor to hear that a party was in progress. Not in the bedroom; somewhere farther off. Voices again speaking that language that was almost Latin—this time maybe half a dozen people, having what sounded like a quiet good time. Eventually he could pick out the voice of the woman who had looked in on him the night before. He didn’t hear Black-beard’s, though, or Thick-glasses’ either.
Some strange man’s voice said, impatiently: “Oh, speak English here, why don’t you?” Impatience was smeared over with good-humor, to make it sound polite.
And then the lovely voice of the woman who had looked in on Johnny, answering in English: “I have lived on this side of the ocean for two years now. I know the custom. I choose to disregard it, usually. But if the mother tongue is hard for you, I will use English, as a favor.”
Another woman said: “If you’re doing favors, I take it that you want something; you’ve called us together to ask our help. You have brought your feuds here from across the sea. That boy in the closet is connected with it somehow, I’m sure.”
Several voices murmured agreement. The anonymous woman went on: “Well, we want nothing to do with any of that. Here there is no real knowledge of us among the breathers. No persecution ever, nothing but jokes. We wish things to remain as they are on this side of the water.”
“Au contraire,” replied the woman with the lovely voice, now more silken than ever. “I only offer you my friendship. I do not ask your help. What lies between the old one and myself is our own affair, not yours at all.”
“That’s fine with us,” a second man put in.
“I have claimed no titles or honors here among you, have I?”
“Nor has he—you say he is here now, too.”
“He is here. And you may be sure that he will claim honors—and obedience—if he wins. But all I ask is that you leave it to ourselves to settle.” The fine voice paused. “No, let me be plainer than that. I insist that you give him no help, and above all no place of sanctuary. Any of you who dare to do so will feel our wrath in days to come. His time is past, and none should look to him for leadership.”
“I hope that all of you are listening,” said the huge man’s voice, rough and elemental, like something from a thundercloud. And Johnny felt the world slip from him into darkness.
NINE
More often than not, Judy slept with the drapes of her bedroom window drawn open, and so it was tonight. Starlight and moonlight from the high sky above the lake were welcome, and dawn too, on the rare occasions that it roused her. There was no reasonable way that any human being could look in, on the second story. So when she awoke, near midnight, she wondered for a moment if it could be some trick of starlight from the new-cleared sky that made it appear that the old man, yesterday’s brief visitor, was sitting in her dressing-table chair.
“Have I frightened you, Judy?” The voice of the apparition was quite matter-of-fact.
“No, I don’t scare easily.” Actually she was beginning to wonder if she was dreaming. Judy turned to face her visitor more directly as she sat up in her bed. Automatically her hands pulled sheet and blanket up close beneath her chin, and she felt her fingers touch her nightgown’s throat, to make sure that it was buttoned. “But how did you get in?”
“I was invited, yesterday, into this house. And in my case one invitation is enough, you see. It has a permanent effect.”
“I don’t think I do see.” But truly she was not afraid of him. She wondered a little, now, and later was to wonder more, about this lack of fear.
“Of course I have not been invited into your room. Shall I apologize for being here?”
“No, I don’t mind. That is, I suppose you must have some good reason.”
The old man made a little hissing sound not quite a sigh, and shifted in his chair. “I need a little help. I thought of waking Clarissa—but when I remembered your delightful lack of fear yesterday afternoon I came to you instead.”
“A good thing you did. Gran’s had angina. But what was there yesterday afternoon to be afraid of?”
This time the little hiss was almost a chuckle. “People can be very timid. Sometimes they are even afraid of me. Believe it or not.”
“Why?”
“And one might think that these monstrous attacks upon your family would frighten you. Your mother and grandmother are both terrified, and your unhappy father is at the end of his wits, as the saying goes.”
“Oh, it’s not really that I’m so brave. It’s . . .” Judy had to pause. She had never really tried before to put into words the way she dealt with fear. “It’s just that when you’re really scared, the only thing to do is try to go beyond the fear somehow. Accept it, maybe that’s what I mean. And then go on your own way regardless.” Now that she had found words, they did seem right, or almost right, to her. She would not have expected someone else to understand them, though.
But the old man was leaning forward in his chair, nodding. “ `Go on your own way, regardless.’ I think it wonderful that you, at your age, already understand that. It does not, of course, imply a freedom from moral responsibility.”
His voice had a marveling intensity that made Judy feel uncomfortable. She asked: “What is it you need help with?”
“Help? Ah, yes.” The old man leaned back in his chair, and gave his little sigh. “I want some of Kate’s clothing. A complete outfit will be best.”
“What for?”
“Questions will not help me in what I am trying to do. The clothing may.”
Judy considered for a moment, then swung legs swathed in a long, chaste winter nightgown out of bed. She groped with her toes for slippers. “A complete outfit. Underwear too?”
“Everything, please. As if you were helping her get dressed.”
“All right. Wait here.” Belting a robe around her, Judy went out of her room and down the familiar upstairs hall to Kate’s. There she rummaged mechanically in the drawers and closet. What am I doing here? she thought. I’m definitely awake now. Was I dreaming, after all, a minute ago? Will he still be there when I get back?