“Are you leaving?”
“I think I should.” He got up, moving toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. At breakfast.”
“But why?”
Carl shook his head. He was dazed. All he could think of was getting away. The sooner the better. Leave, get away. Where no one would see him. He had to get out before he did something else. Something awful. Fear leaped through him.
“Goodbye.” He caught hold of the doorknob.
“You’re really going?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes were bright and wide. For a moment she stood facing him. Then she turned away. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Carl hesitated. “I—”
“Good night.”
“I’ll see you in the morning. At breakfast. We can talk then. All right? Tomorrow morning. Thanks a lot for the wine. Good night.”
Suddenly Barbara’s face twitched. She stiffened, rigid. “Wait”
Carl waited, puzzled.
“Did you hear it?”
Carl shook his head. “No. What?”
“Listen!”
They listened. Carl could hear nothing except his own breathing. His fingers tightened around the knob. He wanted to go. “Barbara—”
And then he heard it.
Outside the building someone was coming up the porch steps. The sound came again, distant, faint. A dragging sound. Slow steps, someone going up step by step, far below them, climbing slowly and ponderously.
“Somebody’s down there,” Carl said.
“Shhhh!”
The person was inside the building, now. Time passed, endless time. Then the person moved across the corridor to the inside stairs.
“He’s coming up.”
Barbara’s face was strangely hard. Her eyes had narrowed. “Yes. He’s coming up.”
“Who is it? Is it Verne?” Carl spoke almost in a whisper. What was the matter with Barbara? She was rigid, hard. Her face was bleak. Like stone. “Is it Verne?” he said again.
She did not answer. The person had reached the top of the stairs. He was coming down the hall, walking slowly, a little way at a time, his steps heavy and uneven.
“Is he carrying something?” Carl asked.
“He is.”
The steps came closer. The person halted, just outside the door. Carl strained, listening. He could hear breathing. Short, thick breathing, like an animal.
Barbara crossed to the door. Carl stepped back. She grabbed hold of the knob, pulling the door open wide.
In the middle of the hall stood Verne Tildon. He stood strangely, his hands shoved way down in his pockets, rocking back and forth. His glasses were on wrong, far out on his nose. He was gazing at them over his glasses. His shirt tail was out. His tie was loose. The top buttons of his shirt were unfastened.
What was the matter? Carl moved back. What was he doing out in the hall? Verne rocked back and forth, on his heels, gazing first at Carl, then at Barbara. His gaze was dim and vacant. He seemed to sag, as if all the stuffing inside him were settling. He smiled strangely, a complex, enigmatic smile.
“Well,” Verne said. “How are you?” He came slowly into the room. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongues?”
There was silence.
“Or perhaps I should say, cats got your tongue?” Verne cleared his throat. “Or perhaps—”
“All right,” Barbara said sharply. She closed the door after him. “Sit down.”
“Thank you.” Verne bowed deeply. “Thank you.” He looked uncertainly around the room.
“Over there.” Barbara indicated a chair.
“Thank you.” Verne walked unsteadily over to it. He sat down heavily, with a whoosh of air. “I hope that you don’t mind a visitor coming to see you so late.”
Barbara said nothing.
“What time is it?” Carl looked around for a clock. “Is it getting late?”
He made a move toward the door, clutching his brown paper package.
“Don’t go,” Barbara said quietly.
“No. Don’t go. Stay.” Verne belched suddenly, his eyes filming over. “Please stay.”
Carl put the manuscript down on the dresser. He walked over and stood uncertainly by Barbara.
In the straight chair, Verne Tildon gazed silently up at them, his arms resting on the chair arms. No one spoke. At last Verne sighed. He removed his glasses, and bringing out a handkerchief he began to clean the lenses, slowly and carefully, getting each speck of dust off. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket and adjusted his glasses on his nose. He crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair and looking up at them, smiling distantly, pleasantly.
“What’s been happening?” he said.
They did not answer. Carl looked down unhappily at him, not knowing what to say. Barbara walked over to the dresser and took a cigarette from the package. She lit up and returned to the bed.
“Well, Verne?” She sat down. “What brings you here so late?”
Verne frowned, concentrating. “Springtime.”
“Oh?”
“Overcome by the smell of springtime, the budding of blossoms, and the unfolding of the little plants—” He paused. “I set out.” He smiled, touching his finger tips together. Like an ancient, benevolent teacher, Carl thought. Old. Too old. Nodding and murmuring in senility. He felt a vague sadness, looking down at the man in the chair.
“Go on,” Barbara said crisply.
“So I gathered myself up. And here I am.”
Silence.
“After all, with all the plants and animals enjoying the bliss of each other’s company, each other’s willing company, it doesn’t seem right for me to be lying in my cold room, between the cold sheets. Alone. All by myself.”
They said nothing.
“What’s the matter?” Verne looked up at them, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry if I’m casting a pall over things. You have a very nice room here, Barbara. You missed your calling. You should have been an interior decorator. You would have been great. Too bad you strayed from your path. Of course, I realize this display is not a usual event. I realize that it is for special occasions, state functions and the like.” He paused for a long time, considering. “You know, when the sun goes down it gets very dark.”
They waited.
“Everything gets dark. Everything cools off. It gets cold. Cold and dark. It’s not nice at all. You can’t find your god damn way around anywhere when it’s dark.” He glanced up plaintively. “I had a hell of a time getting here. There isn’t any light to see by.”
His trousers were muddy at the knees. Bits of grass stuck out from the wool fibers.
“Easy to fall over things.” He rubbed his chin slowly, meditating. The expression on his face had changed. The enigmatic smile was gone. He was frowning, frowning as if he were in violent pain. His eyebrows knitted together, jerking tight. His fingers pressed against each other, suddenly twisting.
“I fell.” He bit his lip. “I fell.”
He reached into his coat pocket and felt slowly around, staring down at the floor. He turned to the other pocket, rummaging for an endless time. Carl and Barbara watched helplessly.
“What is it?” Carl said.
“What are you looking for?” Barbara demanded.
Verne went on, searching silently. He lurched to his feet, stumbling. Carl caught his arm. Verne pulled away. He moved off from them to the other side of the room. There he stood, staring fixedly down, still searching through his pockets, again and again.
“I’ve left or lost my pipe,” he said finally.
He looked up at them, his face drooping. Suddenly his features all seemed to melt and give way. He pushed his glasses up, wiping at his eyes.
“Want a cigarette?” Barbara said.
“I want my pipe.”