Mrs. Caliban Page 9

  “I sure would like to have a cutting,” he said.

  “Is it real? I mean, would it breed true? It takes a long time to tell, doesn’t it?”

  “You just have to wait and see.”

  They finished work too late for Mr Mendoza to come in for a sandwich, so Dorothy said that they probably wouldn’t see each other for a few weeks. He would be working at other houses in the neighbourhood, and after that, she would be on her vacation. He asked her to tell him the exact date when she knew, because then he would drop by to see that everything was all right while she was away.

  She ate her lunch with Larry in his room. They only turned the television on for a few minutes to watch the news. Mrs Peach, looking—with her short, permed hair, extra-strength glasses and prim but firm expression—like a caricature of an anti-vivisectionist, gave a brief speech which Dorothy thought very sensible. She raised the point that the so-called monster had been held in captivity for several months, isolated from its own species and investigated or experimented upon by scientists. The general public had never been told what sort of animal this was. She also stated that until the capture, this creature had been unknown to the scientific world. The question of Human Rights, or just rights in general, was as important in this case as though the creature had come from outer space.

  Dorothy said, “If only she had spoken up right at the beginning. It’s good, but it comes a bit late.”

  “It’s all too late now, I can feel it. Before, I only suspected. Now, I’m certain. People are too afraid now. In a way, I’m glad. If they catch me now, they won’t try to tie me up or knock me out to take me back to the Institute. They’ll just beat me to a pulp and say I was trying to eat them up. Even if I gave myself up, it’s too late. Haven’t you noticed—they keep calling me ‘the killer’?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “It’s all right. I’d prefer anything at all to going back to the Institute.”

  The afternoon came. Dorothy was not prepared to find Estelle sober, but as it turned out, Estelle did not even look as though she had been crying. What was worse, she looked like a different person. She was very quiet, sometimes sighing long sighs. She forgot where she had put things she’d just set down for a moment, and she talked in a calm monotone about the funeral arrangements and the other parents.

  Of course, Dorothy thought, there were five of them. It was going to be a joint funeral. And, naturally, the press would be having a field day.

  “I think Sandra’s taking it very hard. You know, we haven’t been on very friendly terms. She threw herself at the man I was … just to hurt me, but that’s all over. Over for me, anyway. She’s going to have to start finding out for herself now, what’s right and what isn’t. I can’t tell you how empty the house feels, Dotty.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s what it was like with Scotty. His toys, his clothes. Right at first, I kept thinking I heard his voice everywhere, coming from a different room, and I’d get up and walk into the next room just—you know, thinking none of it had happened at all. And then I’d realize again.”

  Estelle nodded slowly. Her face was like the outline of a box, with no expression whatever.

  “Estelle, did the doctor give you some kind of pills or something?”

  “Have you ever heard of a doctor who didn’t try to shoot you full of drugs? I’m not sick. I’m bereaved. That means I’ve got to keep all my strength to get through. And if I’m full of drugs, my resistance is going to be destroyed, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course. That was one of the biggest mistakes they made with me.”

  “I know. I told you.”

  “One of the things that helped the most was talking to you. And then going to work. Have you been able to cry at all?”

  “I’ve been trying not to. At least, I think that’s what’s going on.”

  “It might help.”

  “I’m afraid it wouldn’t stop. Remember what happened to you. They almost had you in the loony bin. Once you’re helpless, one of those bastards steps forward with a hypodermic and the curtain comes down on your life. You stay there and they give you massive doses of sedatives every day because you’re easier to take care of that way. And then your brain is pretty much slugged into submission. No more chance to find your way out of your troubles, ever.”

  Dorothy said she agreed. Estelle had always felt like that about doctors, by which she meant male doctors—the women, apparently, weren’t so bad. But Dorothy until her troubles, had not agreed at all. She had twice been into the hospital for minor operations as well as for Scotty, and had thought everybody was so kind and nice. Despite the boredom of waiting around, she had enjoyed being taken in to the workings of a new world. She had found it easy that nothing was expected of her, no act of hers could be a mistake, a neglect, or something she should feel guilty about. It was wonderful, she had thought, that there were experts who had dedicated their time and strength to such demanding work and who could put you right when you were in real trouble—broken, cut, bruised, scrambled up inside. Only much later did the realization of her helplessness contribute to a certainty that nurses, doctors, in fact the whole idea of medicine, had made her a victim. To her it had not brought healing. It had brought death where she was sure death had been avoidable. Her own doctor was still all right and she had one weapon against him: she could just not go, and phone to say she felt fine. But hospitals—whenever she thought about them now, she felt like a sacrificial bundle on a stone slab, with the priests whispering to each other over her head.

  “Drugs,” Estelle said. “Money and drugs, and that’s the history of civilization.”

  Dorothy wondered if Estelle was still referring to doctors, or if something had come out about Joey taking drugs. She didn’t want to bring up the subject herself. She asked when the funeral was going to be held. Estelle gave a deep sigh.

  “Listen, don’t be hurt, but I really don’t want anybody to come. I think I can get through it by myself—just. But anything real would make me crack up. It’s going to be a performance, you know. Television, everything. Three of those families have sold the serial rights to the papers, and you should see them. You’ve never seen such people.”

  “Didn’t you know them before?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you knew the boys?”

  “No. They were just a bunch of rough kids Joey used to hang around with when he was trying to act tough. God knows what they were up to. Stealing TVs and stereos and car radios, and selling them—who knows? That’s the kind they were.”

  “Do you think they provoked this man, or monster, whatever he is? That they ganged up on him, maybe?”

  “Monster? Oh, Dorothy, I don’t believe there’s any such thing. Some kind of crocodile got up on its hind legs and broke out of that institute, but you can bet the poor thing’s dead by this time. Or probably crawled back to the beach and swam away.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “Oh, another gang, and they’re keeping quiet.”

  “There are people who say they saw him.”

  “I bet there are. There are people who could see Moby Dick in Times Square. It sounds to me like a big fight. They all had bottles and knives. So if there was only one man, he’d have to be one of these karate champions. I guess that’s possible, too.”

  Dorothy poured out a second cup of coffee for each of them. This is all my fault, she thought. I’ve given him shelter and now this has happened. If I’d taken him straight to a good lawyer, we could have worked out some sort of defence for killing those two keepers.

  Estelle stared into her cup. She stirred the coffee with a spoon, although she hadn’t put anything in.

  “Charlie and Stan called me,” she said. “That was nice.”

  “Very nice. So you’ve forgotten about them being with those girls at the fashion show.”

  “Oh, that. Unimportant.”

  “Which one of them was it that Sandra made the play for?”

  “T
hat was somebody else.”

  “My God, Estelle, you’ve got a new one?”

  “Not new. Old. Before Stan and Charlie. Years. I always felt guilty about it, but I couldn’t end it, and then I guess I didn’t want it to stop. But it’s stopped now, all right. Let’s not talk about that.”

  “Has Sandra changed towards you now? I mean, has it brought you closer together?”

  “Nope. I don’t even know if she’s going to bother to turn up for the funeral. And the way I feel now, I’m not sure I really want her around much.”

  The electric clock on the wall clicked as it sometimes did when the minute hand jumped forward. Dorothy said, “Anything I can do. You know. I’ll leave it up to you to call me, but if you don’t after a few days, I’ll call you. All right?”

  “Yes, fine. Thanks, Dotty.”

  “Try to keep eating the right things, and don’t let them give you pills, or use any other depressants.”

  “The girl means hooch. Finally she comes out with it.”

  “And I mean it.”

  “I’d like to get away from everything. Just everything.”

  “That might not be a bad idea. You could start packing after the funeral, and I’d take care of the house for you. You think about it. Are you sure you don’t want me to be with you when—”

  “No. Thanks.”

  Dorothy stood up. She said, “Any time you want to change your mind or need to talk, just pick up the phone, or come over.” She kissed Estelle on the cheek and left.

  On the way home, she thought to herself that Estelle would never just drop in without warning, any more than she herself would. It hadn’t been such a great offer of friendship: do feel free to call on me for help any time between four and six, or when I’m not likely to be in the bedroom with somebody, and certainly not before the twelfth.

  And if I hadn’t been hiding him, she thought again, it wouldn’t have happened.

  About ten blocks before the house, she noticed that she was driving directly behind Fred in his rented car. He gave no sign of realizing she was there. Where they both usually turned off to the left, he kept straight ahead until turning to the right. She followed.

  She followed him for just over ten minutes. He pulled up at the kerb in a street like the one they lived on themselves, got out, and rang someone’s doorbell. Dorothy couldn’t see who answered. She waited for a few minutes, not long, and then he came back out, got into his car, and drove on. He had been carrying something in his hand—an office file, or something like that. So, it was business, not pleasure.

  She drove home a different way, and saw the rented car there before her. Fred was in a hurry again, tying his tie at the last minute.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just out to some people’s. I don’t think I’ll be too long.”

  “They need you in a tie?”

  “It makes a good impression.”

  “Nowadays?”

  “They’re that kind of people.”

  “Let me do that for you,” Dorothy said.

  “When have I never been able to tie my own tie blindfold? I had to do it in that school play, remember?”

  “Haven’t you had anything to eat?”

  “I’ll pick something up.”

  At the last minute, he turned and kissed her on the cheek, quickly and as if panicked. He was out the door almost immediately.

  Dorothy went back into the kitchen. She sat down at the table and tried to think. All during the drive, she had been excited. She had expected to find something or someone. But there had been nothing. The house probably belonged to Art Gruber or someone else like that, who had taken home a report by mistake. And yet, she felt let down.

  Larry came and stood beside her. It was the first time he had ever come out of his room on his own during daylight, rather than waiting for her to come tell him that it was all right.

  “You shouldn’t have come out alone,” she said.

  “I heard he was gone.”

  “But I could have had the lights switched on and only the gauze curtains. Somebody outside could have seen you.”

  “I saw there was no light on.” He sat down in a chair opposite her. He took her hand.

  Dorothy smiled. Whenever he took her hand, it made her happy. She had had an inkling of the sensation that very first time, when he had walked into the kitchen and she had handed him the celery. She kept smiling, but she thought: he’s taken his own lead now—he no longer avoids risks.

  “You are sad,” he said.

  She nodded. She told him about Estelle. “And the whole business about the funeral. We’ll probably be able to watch it on TV. It’ll be terrible.”

  “I’d be very interested to see it. You talk so much about your friend Estelle.”

  “But after that, it’s really going to be hard for you. I don’t think it’s going to be safe for you to go out at night the way you’ve been doing. They might not expect to see you driving a car, but once they do, they’ll realize. Once a thing is in the air, everyone sees it, even if it isn’t there. It’s an influence. Like the flying saucers: if one person has a big story about them, half a dozen do. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s impossible that they’ve seen anything—it just means people are prepared to notice everything, once they’ve been alerted. Before that, they really don’t see things much.”

  “You must decide,” he said. Dorothy felt relieved. If he wanted to act on his own, there would be nothing she could do. And there was another matter: when he spoke about Fred now, there was a shade to his voice. It might just be that he was jealous, that he wanted to hurt Fred. He knew how easy it was to hurt people, and he certainly had reason to want to take revenge on humankind.

  She said, “I think we’re going to have to go sooner than we’d planned. Very soon. I’ll have to think it out. In the meantime, it would be better to stay indoors.”

  “No, let’s go out, please. I want to walk on the grass in the gardens and look at the flowerbeds. Please. We could go back to the place with the chairs and the stickbushes.”

  “Bamboo. But it’s taking such a risk.”

  “I’m going to feel sick if I can’t go out. I know it.”

  The telephone rang. Jeanie Cranston was calling to ask Dorothy if she knew anything about Estelle, since the phone must be off the hook and the doors were locked, and the curtains drawn. What Jeanie really wanted to know was what her own reactions ought to be—would it be all right to send a letter, a telegram, flowers? Dorothy told her to put a note through the door if she wanted to, to stay away from the funeral, and wait for Estelle to get in touch.

  She ate an early supper with Larry. They took a lot of extra time over their coffee. He wanted to know all about the Cranstons. The more Dorothy told him, the more he seemed fascinated. What struck him as most interesting was the fact that although Dorothy and Estelle talked about the Cranstons being “friends”, neither of them genuinely liked the couple.

  “Is this usual?” he asked. After some thought, Dorothy said she figured it probably was.

  She agreed to go to the bamboo grove. While they were washing up the dishes, she asked, “When you go back, will the others think you’ve changed much? I mean, because you find all these things interesting: the Cranstons, and so forth. Will it make them think you’ve changed for the better, or just that you aren’t normal any more?”

  “It’s different,” he said. “They’ll come near me to find out. It’s like smell. What’s important is that they should still know who I am. I think they will.”

  “If you stayed away for a long time, they might not recognize you?”

  “Or other things could happen. My abilities could leave me. How to swim, how to stay under. I’m eating different things up here. My life is different, my way of using the food is different—what’s that word?”

  “Metabolism. Over a long period, maybe it would make a difference.” And, she again thought, there was the possibility of picking up a human disease. She said not
hing, but wondered if he had thought of that himself.

  It was still light when she eased the car out on to the driveway and into the street. A lovely, warm night, full of promise and romance as she had dreamed about it in her teens and as the advertisements had promised and still promised, for her and for everyone else too.

  “You are driving very slowly,” Larry whispered from the back seat.

  “It’s so nice out. And it’s still light. Shall we go down to the beach for a while?”

  “No, to the bamboo place.”

  “But we’re going to have to drive around till it gets darker.”

  “All right. The beach.”

  Dorothy drove the car to their usual place. She leaned her head back. Larry ran his hands through her hair, then got out of the car and moved into the front seat beside her.

  “You know, I think if anything happens,” she said, “so that we’re separated, or if anything goes wrong—”

  “What?”

  “—not that it will … anyway, it might be a good idea to plan to meet here. You’d have the ocean right there, so you could stay hidden for a while, couldn’t you?”

  “Yes, sure. A long time. Months.”

  “Right. And I’d show up around this time, maybe later. You’d hear the car and see the lights if you came out on to the beach.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  They drove to the street of the bamboo grove, parked and got out. They ran across a neighbouring yard, halting in the shadow of a tree.

  “Larry, I have a feeling.”

  “Lots of people.”

  “Lots of cars parked in the road. There must be a party somewhere near. It makes it so risky.”

  “Never mind. They’ll be drinking.” He took her by the hand and led her forward through the sweet evening air. They walked over the warm lawns together like the college couples she had followed in her youth with her schoolgirl friend, Joan. On perfect evenings, like this one, they had trailed courting couples for yards, for blocks, from one neighbourhood to another, wondering about whether the young lovers were really lovers, what they actually did with each other, and whether they themselves would ever be strolling along like that with a man.