“Is it?”
“You know, it’s odd. All this. What you’re doing. In a way I can take a detached interest. A sort of impersonal intellectual interest. The way Carl would.”
“Interest in what?”
“In what you’re doing. The way you’re acting toward me. What you’re doing right now.”
“I wasn’t aware I was doing anything.”
“Your hostility. You blame me even more, don’t you? More than you did before—before yesterday. And if it ever happens again you’ll blame me just that much more. Every time it happens you’ll go through the same business. You were done in. Robbed. It was all my idea. I made you do it. I held you down on the bed and unbuttoned your pants.”
“Is that what I think?”
“Something like that. A period of time goes by, after it happens. After yesterday. You forget what really happened. That it was as much your idea as it was mine. You forget all that part. All you remember is that it did happen. Again. And you blame me. I can see it settling down over you like a shroud. A shroud of outrage. Frigid hostility toward me. But there’s no use blaming me. It was your fault, too.”
Barbara nodded. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I know. Now, does that settle it? Can we let the matter drop?”
Verne was nettled. “I suppose so.” He cleared his throat. “What ever you want.”
“I’d like to drop it.”
“All right. We’ll talk about something else. How much time do we have?”
Barbara looked at her watch. “About ten minutes.”
“Good.” Verne considered. “Let’s talk about what you did today. You say you enjoyed yourself? You had fun?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his treatise all about?”
“Ethics. Something to do with morals. The power of reason. Free will. I dozed a little.”
“Was it confused?”
“No. It was clear enough. But I got to thinking about other things.”
“Is he going to read more to you?”
“Yes.”
“Soon?”
Barbara did not answer.
“What’s the matter?” Verne said.
“Why do you care if he’s going to read more?”
Verne stood up. “I guess I’ll leave. You can’t keep from turning your guns on me, can you? You’re full of resentment and it’s me you want to fight.”
Barbara shrugged. “Go if you want to go. You have about seven minutes left.”
“I’ll stay.” He sat down heavily, sagging against the chair. For a time he sat, his legs crossed, picking at his sleeve. “Carl liked to read to you,” he murmured after a while. “He says it means a lot to him.”
“Good.”
“He’s beginning to like you. Before I came over here he wanted my advice.”
“On what?”
“On whether you’re too old for him.”
“Old? Too old in what way?”
“He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what way. Maybe he hasn’t found out yet what ways exist.”
“Maybe not.”
“But he is beginning to get interested in you. In some vague manner. A kind of sense that you make a good companion to read to. Very general and nebulous. Nothing to do with sex. He’s a strange kid. He’s very alert in an intellectual way. There’s nothing stupid or dumb about him. But in certain areas his mind doesn’t seem to function. Dead spots. As if he didn’t understand or hear.”
“He’s led a different life from us.”
“Maybe that’s it. He frisks around like a great big colt. I have the feeling you could shout and shout like hell at him and he’d never hear you.”
“It would depend on what you were shouting.”
“True. But you are going to let him read his stuff to you again?”
“Yes. You don’t object do you? Yesterday you seemed to think—”
“No. I don’t object. You go ahead, if that’s what you want to do. It’s probably the right thing. I’m not sure anymore. I guess we have to be saved somehow.”
Barbara nodded.
Verne eyed her. “Is—is that it? Is that what all this is about? You want to try to shake me off and get away from—from everything I represent?”
Barbara did not answer. She sat smoking silently, staring off into the distance. Verne shifted uneasily.
“Say something, damn it! Answer me.”
“That’s part of it, I suppose.”
“Then you want to call it quits between us?”
“I thought we had already decided that.”
“Not in so many words.”
“That was my impression. Isn’t that what we were going to do? Yesterday—”
“We talked about it. Had we made up our minds?” Verne’s voice was low and dry.
“I thought so.”
“I see. Well, I guess maybe you’re right. The whole thing is settled, then? You’re going to wash off your sins in lamb blood.” Verne got up and moved to the door. He stood by the door, lingering. “Remember one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to slaughter the lamb to get the blood.”
“That’s so.”
Verne shoved his hands in his pockets. “You know, Barbara, I think in a lot of ways you’re taking the wrong attitude.”
“Oh?”
“This sort of thing never works out. It’s like what you do on New Year’s Day. Resolutions. That all the wicked old habits are going to be kicked out the window. But after a couple of days there they are back again. Just as before. Resolutions don’t work.”
“What works, then?”
“I don’t know. Genuine conversions, I suppose. I don’t know much about that But the Church says that works. Where the whole soul is lifted. Not just the soul’s face.”
“Maybe this is a conversion.”
“You still look the same.” He walked back toward her. “In fact, you look pretty good. Not half bad. Even in bare feet and dirty pants. And your jacket hanging out.”
“It was your idea. You saw it before I did. That through him—”
“Christ. A story. A ghost story to scare us. The kind of thing you think up at night.”
“We were scared, weren’t we?” Barbara said softly. “We were both scared. Even you, Verne. You were scared, too. Along with me.”
“That was yesterday.” Verne grinned crookedly. “A whole day and a half ago. You’re not still thinking about it, are you?”
“Yes.”
“I advise you to forget it. I’ve changed my mind. You can ignore my previous suggestions. I’ve changed my mind about it.”
“I haven’t.”
Verne laughed. He sat down on the bed beside her. “Carl is too big. He’ll squash you to death. You won’t live through it.”
Barbara smiled stiffly.
“Do you want to have someone around like that? Running back and forth, knocking over things, talking all the time? Wait a while. Maybe somebody better will come along. Somebody even purer. More innocent. More virgin. Just wait. You don’t want to pick up the first stick you see. The woods are big.”
“And full. I remember that phrase.”
Verne put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait until you see the dove fly up. Don’t rush into this. You have a long life ahead of you.”
Barbara did not answer. Verne put his arm around her, rubbing her neck. Her skin was warm and a little damp, above the collar of her jacket, where her dark hair ended. He rubbed slowly, pressing his fingers into her firm flesh. Barbara said nothing. She swayed a little with the motion of his fingers. In the ashtray her cigarette burned down. Smoke drifted into the lamp, circling slowly around the shade.
“It’s nice in here,” Verne murmured.
“Yes.”
“You’ve made this room into something.”
“Thank you.”
“I remember that. It’s been a long time, but I still remember that. How you changed that other room. In Castle. At that party. Do you remember? That was when I first saw you. You were sitting there, at the end of the room. All by yourself. All alone. But you did something to that room, too. The same way. You changed it. The way you’ve changed this room.”