Slater had lied about her coming through Denver. He had probably lied about other things as well. The pockmarked man sounded like someone I had met quite recently, and my whole involvement felt suddenly dirty.
I couldn’t get her to say any more. “I’ve already said too much,” she said. “If I keep on, I’ll feel worse than ever. Maybe I should just take poison and save us all the grief.”
“That, of course, would be the worst thing you could do.” I calculated my next line and said it anyway. “I hope you’re not one of those people who turn suicidal on me.”
“Have you known people like that?”
“One or two. It’s always tragic, especially when they’re young.”
“I saw you looking at the scar on my arm. Back in the restaurant.”
“No use lying about it. I couldn’t help noticing.”
“Well, you’re right. I did that to myself.”
“Why?”
“Loneliness,” she said without missing a heartbeat. “Desolation, the undertow, the barren landscape. I can’t explain it. The loneliest times come when I’m adrift in a big city, or here with people who love me. When I’m really alone, up on a mountaintop somewhere, I’m fine. I go up to Archie’s cabin and I can go for a week without seeing another living soul. The feeling of peace is just incredible. Too bad we can’t live our lives on mountaintops. I really like being with people until I actually am, then I can’t stand them. Maybe I should try to find Jesus; people say that works, though I can’t imagine it working for me. I’m just not spiritually oriented. So I drift. Sometimes I don’t even know where the road’s gonna take me.”
“Talk to me, Eleanor. You got in trouble in New Mexico, then you came back here. What happened then?”
“Nothing. That’s the stupid part of it. I came fifteen hundred miles and I couldn’t go the last mile home. Instead I drove out to see Amy. But she wasn’t home and I couldn’t find her.”
“Who’s Amy?”
“Amy Harper. She was my best friend till she married Coleman Willis. The cock that walks like a man. Our relationship got a bit strained after that. It’s hard to stay friends with someone when her husband hates you.”
“How could anyone hate you?”
“I wouldn’t go to bed with him. To a guy who wears his brain between his legs, that’s the last word in insults.”
In a while I said, “So you went to see Amy but Amy wasn’t there. You wouldn’t want to kill yourself over that. Amy’ll be back.”
“How do you know?”
“People always come back.”
“Maybe so, but I won’t be here.”
No, I thought: you probably won’t be.
“What did you do then?” I said.
“Drove out to my parents’ place. Stood in the rain watching the house, afraid to come up and talk to them. God, I’ve never been so alone in my life. Then I saw them come out and drive off—going to town, I figured, for the week’s groceries. I went over to the house and sat on the porch. I wanted to die but I didn’t know how. I thought if I could just lie down and close my eyes and not wake up, I’d do it. But it’s not that easy. It’s impossible, in fact; I don’t want to die , for God’s sake, I never wanted to die. I thought maybe I could find some peace in the printshop. I used to do that when I was a little girl. When I’d get blue, I’d go back in the shop and put my cheek against that cold press and I could feel the warmth come flooding into me, especially if there were books back there and if they were books I loved. I could take a book and hold it to my heart and the world was somehow less hostile, less lonely.”
“Did that work?”
“It always works, for a while. But it’s like anything else that has fantasy at its roots. Eventually you’ve got to come back to earth. Now I’m running out of time. Something will happen, today, tomorrow…some-thing’ll happen and I’ll be history.”
She pulled herself up on the bed. I heard her shoes hit the floor.
“Would you do something for me, Mr. Janeway?”
“If I can.”
“Hold me.”
“I don’t think that’ll be any great hardship.”
“That’s all I want…just…just…”
“Sure,” I said, taking her into the cradle of my arm.
She was shivering. I drew the blanket up under my chin and the body heat spread around us. Her hair smelled sweet, as if she had just washed it. I knew I had no business smelling her hair. She snuggled tight against me and I had no right to that either. Maybe she’d go to sleep now. Maybe I could forget she was there, just like the people at Lakehurst forgot the Hindenburg when it was blowing up in front of them. Somewhere in the night Helen Reddy was singing “I Am Woman” and I was thinking you sure are , to the same driving melody. I had been what seemed like a very long time without a woman, and this one was forbidden, for more reasons than I could count.
We lay still on the bed, and slowly the dark gave way to a pale and ghostly gray. Saved by the dawn. It was five-thirty: the Rigbys would be getting up for the new day. I patted her shoulder and rolled out of bed, moving to the window for a look at the house. It was peaceful and ordinary in the rainy morning, nothing like the den of tears I had blundered into last night. I turned and looked at Eleanor. Her face was a white blur in the half-light: her eyes, I thought, were open. We didn’t say anything. I hit the John, and when I came out, she had not moved from her spot on the bed. I looked out the window. Someone in the house had turned on a light, the same one I had seen earlier. I knew then what I was going to do.
“Listen,” I said, still looking out the window. “I’ve got to tell you something.” But I never got the words out. A car came out of the misty woods and up the road toward the house. I felt heartsick watching it come. Only when it had pulled in behind my rental and stopped did the cop behind the wheel turn on his flasher.
It filled the room and colored us a flickery red and blue. Eleanor lay still as death. Down in the yard, two county cops had stepped out in the rain. One walked up the steps, meeting the Rigbys as they came out on the porch. The other came up the path to the printshop.
“Judgment day,” Eleanor said. “I had a feeling it would be today.”
10
Next case.“
”The matter of Eleanor Jane Rigby, Your Honor. Filing number one three seven five nine six.“
“Is this the prisoner?…are you Eleanor Jane Rigby?” “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you understand the nature of this proceeding?”
“I think so.”
“Let’s be sure. This is an extradition hearing, to determine whether you will be returned to the state of New Mexico to face criminal charges outstanding there. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You may contest the extradition or waive that right. Do you have an attorney?”
“A public defender, in Taos.”
“But here, in Seattle?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Would you like to consult with an attorney here?”
“I don’t see any point in it.”
“You wish to waive that right?”
“Sure…might as well.”
“Do you understand, Miss Rigby, that commencing any legal proceeding without an attorney is a risky and unwise decision?”
“It won’t matter.”
“So you wish to go ahead.”
“Sure. I just want to get it over with.”
“Very well. Mr. Wallace?”
“Yes, Your Honor. All we want to do is get her out of here.”