"Would you be willing to come in with me while I call them now?"
Harry shrugged. "Sure."
Keese feinted at the front door, but decided to go around to the kitchen. He went to the wall phone. Harry sat himself down in his old place at the table, now familiar terrain.
Keese dialed the number from the back of the receipt. The phone rang for several sequences at the other end of the wire. At last the drowsy voice of a woman was heard: "Hullo."
"Is this Auto Painters?"
"I'll get him."
"Wait—" cried Keese, but she had already put the phone down.
A harsh-voiced man came on the line. "Yes?"
"What is this place?" Keese demanded.
"Don't get fresh with me," said the man. "You're calling me, and I should tell you who I am? Who are you, General of the World?"
"I'm sorry," said Keese, who was not in the market for more enemies, "I apologize to you, sir. It's just that I suspect I am the victim of a hoax. I was given your number as that of a company that paints cars, you see." He waited, but there was only silence at the other end. "Sir? Are you there?"
"I'm here," said the heavy voice.
"I don't suppose you're the Auto Painters, then, are you?" Keese wanted to give Harry every chance, so that he could not later be accused of having been unjust.
"My name's not Otto Painters," said the man.
"O.K., then please forget it. Thank you. Once again I apologize."
But the man spoke before Keese could hang up. "You want your car painted, is that it? I can do it for you, but not today, I'm busy. Tomorrow's O.K., though. I'm off tomorrow, and I can paint your car for you. What color you want? The hardware store's still open when I get off work, and I'll pick up the paint and brush. Tell me what color."
Keese asked: "You're not a professional painter of cars, are you?"
"Don't knock the job before you see it," whined the man. "That ain't fair. What's it, a hot car? What do you care how good it's painted, or why would you have called me?"
"Good question," said Keese. The voice sounded vaguely familiar to him by now. "Tell me this, you don't work at Caesar's Garlic Wars, do you?"
"Not me," said the man.
Keese sighed and hung up. He turned, flopping his hands; in one of them the yellow paper fluttered. "I don't know why I even bothered to check this out."
"Weren't they open on Saturday?" asked Harry.
"Harry, I dialed this number and talked to the persons who answered: they do not have such a business as you say."
"He won't paint your car?"
Keese twitched his nose. "With a brush?"
"What do you have to complain about?" said Harry. "You're paying, right? I'm doing you a favor. We could go to the body shop in Allenby if you prefer, and pay the standard price, which would be plenty, I assure you. Is that what you want?"
Keese was thinking.
"It's my car, isn't it?" said Harry.
Keese grimaced. "I have the feeling that you have just shown me up," he said.
"Well, if I have it wasn't intentional," Harry replied. "I've had enough, Earl. I'm leaving."
"Now, wait a minute, Harry," Keese cried. "Don't go off half-cocked. I admit that once again I failed to act well. It may be that we speak a different language. Some of your ways apparently have another significance for me than what you intend. That may be due to a difference in milieu or age or even size—"
"Well, whatever," said Harry, "I'm clearing out."
Keese smiled. "I think I can understand your chagrin. But you'll see, mark my words, things will improve after you've lived here for a while. I can still remember—"
Harry interrupted. "But I'm not going to live here any more, Earl. I said I'm leaving. I'm moving away."
Keese smiled sympathetically. "But not today, at any rate, Harry. So let's talk about it, think it over. Besides, you couldn't get a mover that quickly! Say, let's have that breakfast you promised. Where's the stuff, in the car?"
"Can't you get it through your head, Earl? I just got back from hiring a truck and some guys down at the service station. They should be on their way by now. I'm moving out immediately."
"You're not joking, are you, Harry?" Keese asked after a moment. "I can see that now. I don't know what to say. Do you mean you're moving away after less than twenty-four hours? Where are you moving to, Harry? How can you have found another home so quickly?"
"I don't have time to go into all those details," Harry shouted, opening the door. "Can't you see that, Earl?"
Keese caught the door and followed him. "Harry," he cried, "do you blame me for this? Did I ruin this place for you?"
Harry was striding rapidly towards his house, but he stopped here, turned, and said: "Don't blame yourself, Earl. You had little to do with my decision, though it is true enough that you could scarcely be called hospitable—until perhaps this morning, when it's too late. Frankly, this place began to sour on me as soon as I set foot in it."
"Well, Harry," said Keese, a bit breathlessly, owing to the haste with which he pursued him, "if I'm not to be blamed, then what's the matter?"
"Everything," said Harry. "But nothing that can really be explained: noises and drafts, where the sun sets and how the horizon looks at different times of the day, where the electric switches are, and why the toilet drips all the time."
"Old Walker put in some alterations himself, as I recall," said Keese. "Some Rube Goldberg plumbing, I think."
"Well, it's not just the house," Harry said. "Actually, I could put up with the house itself. Oh, to get it right in all respects I'd have to tear it to the ground and start all over. Which I might be willing to do if I liked any part of the neighborhood. But I don't." He pointed across the road to the field, the property of the Power & Light Company. "Who wants to look at those transformers day in and day out?"
He had a clearer view of them from his property than Keese had from his own. "But after a while," said Keese, "you forget they're there. Really. I'm a veteran of these parts."
"What about that swamp where my car was? That must be a mosquito hatchery. They must rise in clouds on summer nights!" Harry shuddered dramatically.
"County sprays that every year," Keese told him. "I can testify to the fact that hardly a bug survives." This was a barefaced lie.
Harry sniffed violently. "Yeah? Well, what does anybody do about the stink?"
"Stink?"
Harry performed a kind of reverse sneeze, so forcefully did he take air into his nostrils. "What would you call it, then? God almighty, I never smelled anything like it." He pointed his nose at heaven. "It's a rotting smell. I think it comes from that garbage pile behind your garage."
He was on the attack now. Keese's job, as he saw it, was to stand his ground without turning vicious again and giving him even more reason to dislike the neighborhood.
"Oh," Keese said, "you mean Enid's compost heap. That's where she gets her mulch. She's quite a gardener."
"It's certainly an eyesore. Will you admit that, at least?"
From where they stood, actually now on Harry's property, they had an angle on a corner of the compost pile. It was essentially a heap of dead leaves, so far as Keese could see.
"Come on, Harry," said he. "It's really not so bad." When he glanced back he saw his neighbor marching away again. "Harry, hold on!" he cried and went after him.
Harry stopped and said: "Earl, I find it curious that you are acting now as though you wanted me to stay. I should think you of all people would be ecstatic at my decision to leave."
"Aw, Harry," said Keese, playing on his sentimentality (if he had any), "you can be unfair at times."
"I'll tell you this, too, Earl: I don't like to be off to the side like this."
"Pardon?"
"This dead end," said Harry, his lip rising. "You call it a neighborhood, but it's not. There's nobody else here but us. You've got to go around the turn of the road to find another house. That's not a real neighborhood, at least not
to anybody from the city."
"You mean, you want a delly, a gutterful of refuse, and a couple of whores in a liquor-store doorway?" Keese was joking. "I've lived in the city in my day."
Harry stared at him. "What I mean is, I'd feel safer if there was somebody here other than you. Or at least in addition to."
"Now I know where I stand."
"I don't much like the looks of your house, either, Earl, so long as we're being frank."
"Are we?"
"That fake colonial, and with an extra dormer? And a window greenhouse?" Harry was really pouring in one salvo after another. "Mock-orange bush? Jesus."
"I see you can't be dissuaded, then," said Keese, to whom it occurred to the threat to move might merely be a ruse by which Harry could denigrate him with impunity. "O.K., I hope it works out better with your next home, wherever you make it. I also sympathize with your new neighbors." He couldn't resist adding that.
Harry stabbed a finger towards him. "Haha, Earl! I knew you'd show your true colors sooner or later. My congratulations on concealing them so long, you dirty little hypocrite, you. You almost took me in, do you realize that? I was just about talked into staying. This was my last trick, and it certainly paid off."
"Harry, you really are a bastard," said Keese, but he said it genially. "You're just playing hard to get, aren't you? You want to be begged. Well, I'm not going to do that, because that sort of thing has a way of backfiring. But if you want an honest statement of my feelings, I'll be glad to give it. It's your right to move, certainly, but so far as I am concerned, I'd really like you to stay." He turned away. "The truth is, I don't have any friends around here."
"Earl, you're breaking my heart," said Harry.
"No, Harry," Keese said, "don't ridicule me at this moment, when my response to you is altogether positive, in spite of certain provocations. I'm saying I realize now that while hating your guts most of the night I was really having a good time."
"You could have fooled me," said Harry.
"Come on, Harry, stay."
Harry started walking towards his house again. He spoke as if to himself: "So I can get locked in the cellar again? Thrown out of his house several times, once when I had already gone to bed? So I could be punched in the other eye? So my car could be rolled back into the swamp?"
"Next time it will be your turn," Keese said. "You can abuse me in various ways, and my resistance will be ineffectual. Is it a deal?"
"No more deals," said Harry. "They have a way of souring on me around here. I'll tell you this: I never had that trouble in the city. Everything went my way!"
"I'll bet it did," said Keese, "and it can here, too, Harry. All you need is one good break."
"I doubt I'll get it if you're anywhere near, Earl."
"Aw, sure you will, Harry. The wind's gotta change for you."
Harry made a face. "And blow more of your stink my way?"
If someone had earlier told Keese that the time might come when he would plead with Harry to remain in the house next door! But he was desperate now to find an argument with which to detain him.
"Ramona!" he cried. "Ramona doesn't want to leave, I'll bet."
Harry sneered. "She's not leaving."
"You're going and she's—"
"You can have her," said Harry. "You've nothing to fear from me, Earl. She's yours."
"Oh, no," Keese said, walking backwards while he talked. "I've got no need, Harry. I'm a happily married man. I've got a daughter almost as old as—no, you'd better take your wife along. You might need her when you least expect. No—"
"Earl, as a return for all your hospitality to me as a new neighbor," said Harry, "I am presenting her to you with my compliments." He turned and hiked rapidly towards his house.
Keese realized that at the moment, at any rate, it would be useless to talk further to Harry on this theme. The only thing to do was to go at the problem from Ramona's end. He started back to his house. There wasn't a moment to lose. He heard the approach of a heavy vehicle, and he turned and watched an enormous U-Haul van lumbering into Harry's driveway.
If Harry was bluffing, he had gone pretty far.
CHAPTER 12
KEESE entered the front door—and almost knocked his daughter down. She was fully dressed and carrying her overnight case.
"What's this?" he asked. "Elaine!"
"I hoped to get out without the rigmarole," said she.
"But you've hardly been here."
"It seems like months."
"Was it that bad?" He answered himself: "Worse." He tried to seize her case, but she swung it away. "Look, Elaine, you know this isn't the normal weekend so far, but why not give it a chance? It may pick up steam."
Elaine shuddered. "That's what scares me. Who was that shooting a gun at dawn?"
Keese had forgotten that incident! "Oh, that was an accident. No harm done."
"He's a cop, isn't he?"
"Harry? No, I don't think so. By the way, he claims he is leaving already, moving out. Can you beat that?"
"Small wonder," said Elaine. "I'm on my way, too, Dad. Oh, I forgot. I have to call a cab." She put her case down, and Keese seized it.
"I can't let you leave until I get things in order!"
She smiled and picked up the handpiece from the telephone alcove. She began to dial: she had a good memory for seldomused numbers. Keese usually drove her to the bus station at Allenby.
"Elaine, please!" But she continued to dial. Keese apparently lapsed into stoicism, but actually he went behind her back, opened the triangular door of the understair closet, and reaching within, removed the phone plug from the jack that was concealed there. He counted on her to have forgotten, if she had ever known, that this instrument could be unplugged, its wire going through a U-slot at the base of the paneling. Some predecessor had made that arrangement. Until now Keese had been saving his knowledge of it.
"Oh, damn," Elaine said, "now the phone has gone off."
"Hmm," said Keese, coming around and hypocritically taking the instrument from her and pretending to test it.
"I've got it!" she cried. "You say Harry's leaving? I'll catch a ride with him."
This was worse. "Elaine," Keese said earnestly, "can't you stay a bit longer? Later on, at your convenience, I'll drive you to Allenby—or, if you'll permit, to Collegeville." (For indeed that was the quaint name of the town where her university was situated.)
She squinted at him. "The idea is to get away from you, Dad, while I can still walk."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm too young to die needlessly while on a weekend visit with my parents. It's as simple as that."
"Oh, come on, Elaine. What are you talking about?"
She put her hands on her hips and confronted him. "Why is Harry leaving? This has become a lethal neighborhood."
Keese said: "Oh, Harry—in case you didn't notice it last night—is a remarkable eccentric. On the spur of the moment he'll move his entire household."
"When has he done that?" Elaine asked defiantly.
"He's doing it now, Elaine. Don't ask me to explain the man. Anyway, look at what he did last night."
"I don't recall his doing much," said she. "You punched him in the eye."
"And why?" asked Keese. "Simply to be brutal? What's come over you, Elaine?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Harry has announced he is moving away," Keese said in a calmer voice, "having got here only yesterday. Now, can't you see what an unfortunate reflection that is on the neighborhood? In effect, isn't he rejecting this street? And if so, can we afford to let it happen?"
"If Harry's made up his mind to go," said Elaine, "I doubt there's much that could be done to dissuade him. He seems pretty stubborn to me."
"Not at all," said Keese. "He's a spiteful man, Elaine, and that type's never stubborn. He's moving out now, or perhaps merely feinting at it, for the purpose of shaming me. Spite, all of it. He believes he's demonstrating how badly I've treated him. And,
mind you, there may be people who will believe him. The Abernathys, no doubt."
"Your best friends?"
"Deceitful people, Elaine. They're no friends of mine."
"Good," said Elaine. "Marge has very bad breath."
Keese had not been aware of this failing, but he did not betray his ignorance here, lest he lose face.