The Outsider

  He shook his head; his body was trembling all over.

  “You must know; you say you did it,” she said.

  Could he ever tell her? He had to try. He had to talk or he could not go on living. He had to try to get for once in his life from behind himself, to walk out of his house as she had once walked out of her house to meet him.

  “Eva,” he whispered hoarsely, still clutching her legs. “It goes way back…God, help me to explain…I want to explain…” He felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “You see, Eva, I don’t believe in anything…” He spoke in a tone of voice that he knew sounded unreal, not convincing. But how could he make it sound otherwise? How did one tell these things?

  “What had Gil done to you?” she asked in a whisper that carried an overtone of hope.

  “Nothing,” he sighed and felt that he would choke. “Oh, God, he did nothing to me…Eva, I’m praying to you to try to understand me…Somebody must understand me…I’ll die if you don’t understand…Look, when you can’t believe in anything, when you’re just here on this earth and there’s nothing, nothing else…Oh, Christ, I can’t explain it! You have to feel it! You have to live it! It has to be in your blood before it can become real to you…I feel like I’m talking to you from another world…Trying to talk to you through a glass wall…I know you can’t understand…But, Eva, you must love me and trust me!” He shook his head in bewilderment. “If you understood, you’d suffer too like I did…Oh, no; you’ll never understand this…” Despair was full in him. “I didn’t ever want to tell you like this…” All of his hope had gone and he was talking to her out of a sense of futility.

  “When did you kill him?”

  “When I went down to see what had happened…They were fighting…God, I can’t explain how I felt…When I looked at them, I suddenly hated them both…They’d done nothing to me…They weren’t even paying any attention to me; they were fighting so hard that they didn’t even know that I was in the room…” He knew that what he was saying did not sound convincing to her. And the knowledge of it maddened him; he stood and began shouting: “Don’t you understand? You’ve been scared, haven’t you? You know what it means to live senselessly? When every day is a foolish day? And when I stood in that room I saw more senselessness and foolishness right before my eyes and I felt a way to stop it! I hated what I saw! And I hated myself because all my life I was unable to do anything about it…I tell you, I hated it. It insulted me…I wanted to blot it out, wipe it from the face of the earth…” It seemed that he had forgotten that he was speaking to her; his hands and arms made gestures as he stood in the dim room before her and reenacted his crime. “I took the table leg and battered Herndon down, killed him…I did it; yes…I wasn’t angry with him personally; not then…I’d been angry with him before, but I felt no anger then…I killed ’im because I didn’t think he had a right to live…Did you ever feel like that about anybody? No; you couldn’t feel that…” He paused and rubbed his eyes; then he seemed to remember that he was telling her about what had happened. “Then I hit Gil…He wasn’t expecting it…I was mad with them…No; not personally mad. Don’t you know what I mean…? I can’t say it right, goddammit, I can’t… I wanted to live so badly; I wanted a good life so terribly much that what I saw made me mad, mad… And I killed them…Eva, believe me…It was that that made me kill them…” He looked at her and there was no light of comprehension in her eyes. “Oh, God, you don’t believe me…You can’t believe me…But you must, Eva; you can; you of all the people in the world can understand…I know it…” His voice died away in a whisper. Then he resumed, reciting his words as though he was reliving the scene of the murder and blood again. “I kept hitting them until they were dead…I wasn’t sorry…I knew I was right…Then I wiped off all the fingerprints…I didn’t want to be caught; I didn’t want to be punished…Then I came up to you…That’s what I did, Eva. Now, can you understand that?”

  She was white as a sheet; she seemed not to breathe.

  “And Hilton too?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Yes,” he sighed.

  “Because he knew?”

  “No; not exactly. No.”

  “Then why?”

  “Mainly because of what he did to Bob…And because of what he wanted to do to me,” he said, speaking mechanically.

  She was still as a block of ice. Her eyes stared unseeingly into the shadows of the room. Then he saw her body jerk as some idea came into her mind.

  “That night when you were trying to tell me,” she began in a whisper. “You spoke of Chicago…” She shook her head helplessly, then bit her pale lips. “You said you killed somebody else…”

  “Eva, Eva…Please, I need help…If ever a man needed your love, I need it…I’ve killed and killed…Have mercy on me…Pity me, but not for what has been done to me, but for what I’ve done to others and myself…You be my judge; you tell me if I’m to live now…Can you tell me…?”

  She was edging away from him; her eyes reflected horror.

  “But I thought you were against brutality—I thought you were going to tell me what Gil had done to you—I thought you hated suffering—”

  “I do!” he shouted. “That’s why I did it! I couldn’t stand the thought of it, the sight of it…!”

  She did not believe him; she could not believe him. She was a reluctant victim and he was a willing one…He stared fully at her and reached out his hand to touch her. She leaped away from him, gasping, and scrambled to her feet.

  “Eva,” he pleaded.

  She ran from him, to the door. He started after her, frantic, his bloodshot eyes glistening.

  “Eva, please try to understand…It’s hard…I know…But try, try… I can redeem myself…Let me be with you…” He was praying to her.

  She gave a short scream and ran out of the room. He followed her out of the door. Sarah came rushing down the hall.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Sarah, Sarah, help me,” Eva wailed.

  “Lionel, leave her alone,” Sarah yelled.

  Eva clutched Sarah and clung to her, her body shaking.

  “Lionel, what have you done to her?”

  Then abruptly, Eva twisted around in the arms of Sarah and looked at Cross and while she was looking he saw the light go out of her eyes. She seemed stricken, not knowing where she was; she pulled away from Sarah and ran on down the hall until she came to the door of the living room. She paused, looked wildly about her, then ran into the living room and slammed the door. He rushed to the door and heard the lock click.

  “Eva, for God’s sake, listen…”

  “What did you do to her?” Sarah wailed.

  “Leave me alone, will you!” he told her savagely.

  “But, Lionel, you’re driving her crazy…”

  The front doorbell pealed and Cross stood wondering who it was. The hell with whoever was coming…He pounded on the door of the living room with his fists as Sarah went down the hall to the front door.

  “Eva, let me come in and talk to you,” he begged her, but deep in him he felt that she never would.

  Menti came through the front door; Sarah was holding the door open for him. Behind Menti was Hank, sullen, his hands thrust deep in his overcoat pockets. Menti paused, sensing that something was happening.

  “What’s the matter here?” he asked.

  “Eva’s locked herself inside and won’t come out,” Sarah said.

  “What are you doing here?” Menti asked Cross.

  “The hell with you,” Cross snapped at him. “I’ve a right to be here.”

  “I thought the D.A. had grabbed you,” Menti said.

  “He did, but I’m free now,” Cross told him. “Your Party’s trick didn’t work, Menti.”

  “Be careful of what you say about the Party—”

  “Oh, God, don’t fight in here,” Sarah begged.

  “Eva,” Cross called through the door. “Open the door, honey!”

  Cross felt his legs trembling. What
could he do? If he could only talk to her, quiet her down, he might make her see what had happened to him.

  “Eva!” he called again.

  Cross turned and looked appealingly at Sarah.

  “Don’t you have a key to this door?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  Cross put his ear to the panel of the door; he could hear no sounds. God, what could she be doing?

  “Eva! Eva!” He took hold of the doorknob and rattled it furiously.

  He was conscious that Menti was looking at him with a sardonic smile. That sonofabitch…! But maybe Menti could help make Eva open the door.

  “Menti, call her. Tell her to open the door.”

  “Why? Leave her alone…What can I do if she runs away from you?” Menti said, chuckling.

  “Damn you!” Cross growled. He saw Hank staring at him with tense hatred. “And you too!” Cross spat at him. He turned to the door again. “Eva!”

  There came a loud, heavy pounding upon the front hall door. Sarah started toward it, then paused, looking at Cross. The pounding came again. Then a hoarse voice yelled:

  “Say, open up in there!”

  Sarah opened the door and backed away as a tall, black man rushed into the hallway, his eyes wide with excitement.

  “Say, wasn’t it from this apartment that a woman jumped from a window…?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them.

  Sarah, Hank, Menti, and Cross—all of them were silent, standing open-mouthed, staring at the black man’s face. Cross, for a moment, could not think; his feelings froze; he was not even aware of his surroundings. Then a realization of what the man had said came to him in the form of a flashing image of Eva’s frail body hurtling through the icy air of the night outside. The words clanged in his mind as though someone was shouting in his ears: Oh, God, it’s Eva…! For a split second the world was blotted out; then he was running and stumbling through the doorway, falling and sliding down the dark, winding flights of rickety stairs. He reached the street panting and aching from where he had knocked himself against the walls and bannisters on his way down. He leaped clear of the steps of the stoop and saw that a crowd of Negroes had already begun to gather in a knot near the edge of the sidewalk. He sprinted to them, plowing them aside. Yes…There was Eva…She was lying half on her stomach with her face to the pavement, her body twisted so that the toes of her shoes were pointing upwards and her face was hidden in the snow. Already blobs of blood had seeped from her head and Cross could see where someone had stepped on a loosened lock of her blonde hair, crunching and burying it in the dirty snow. Eva! The word rang so loud in his mind that he was not conscious of what went on about him. He had lost. She had fled from him forever; she had taken one swift look into the black depths of his heart, into the churning horror of his deeds and had been so revolted that she had chosen this way out, had slammed her door on life.

  He knelt, turned her gently over, stared at the bruised and shattered face, the gaping, defenseless mouth, the flattened nostrils from which blood streaked and stained his trembling hands.

  “Eva, Eva,” he whimpered and cradled her head in his arms.

  He looked up at the looming circle of dark faces for the first time, his eyes pleading for help.

  “Get a doctor,” he begged.

  “Better get the police,” someone said roughly.

  “Did he kill her?”

  “Maybe a car ran over her…”

  “Naw; somebody pushed her out of a window—”

  “I heard her hit the sidewalk; it was like a pistol shot!”

  “Look, she’s a white gal!”

  “What she doing up here in Harlem?”

  “Get some help, please,” Cross pleaded. “Somebody—Somebody do something—She’s hurt!”

  An elderly Negro with white hair bent to him and whispered: “I sent in an alarm for the police.”

  “Did she jump outta a window?”

  “It was from up there—One, two, three, four—Lord, she fell six floors—She’s dead or she’ll die—”

  Cross held his breath and stared directly in front of him, holding Eva against his chest; he was afraid to look down at her broken face and her half-opened eyes…He knew that he had to look and a sigh went from him as he saw those hazel eyes now filmed and unseeing. She was limp in his arms and her body felt terribly light, as though her substance was dwindling as her life ebbed. He bent closer and saw that under the waving, tumbling coils of her blonde hair the top of her skull had been bashed in bloodily. His lips trembled as he realized that it was hopeless. Gently, he eased her body back to the snow-packed pavement and felt for her pulse; she had none. He hardly knew what happened after that. He kept kneeling, staring at her, repeating softly:

  “Eva, Eva…”

  At last Menti was at his side, and there was the dark form of Hank looming menacingly in the background. Sarah, her eyes bulging, her fingers twisting nervously, stood whimpering. And then there came to his ears the distant sound of sirens, the sirens he had so long feared, sirens that rose to a hysterical scream on the winter air. They were not sounding for him, those sirens, but for the only woman he had ever loved. He was now locked in loneliness.

  “Why did she do it?” Menti asked.

  Cross glanced at him and did not answer. He saw that Menti’s face was calm, composed, alert, devoid of grief or shock, his eyes glowing with the intense, detached curiosity of a man long schooled in disaster. To those hard, disciplined eyes the sight of Eva’s crumpled body was a thing to be expected, was something that fitted inevitably into life’s dark design.

  “Did somebody push her out?” a man’s voice asked.

  “No, no,” Sarah said. “She jumped. I was there…”

  “Why did she do it, Lane?” Menti asked again, softly, insistently into Cross’s ear.

  Cross looked into Menti’s eyes without making any sign that he had heard him. The sirens were wailing closer now; then he saw the police cars turn the corner with screeching brakes; there was a swish of tires on ice and snow as the cars skidded to a stop. Blue-coated officers leaped out and ran forward. Cross saw Menti rise, detach himself stealthily from the crowd, walk down the sidewalk and slink into a candy store. Yes, Menti was going to call the Party and report. Cross envied the strength and self-possession which Menti derived from his total submissiveness to the Party; it was the Mentis of this earth that made power possible, that made leadership possible; silent Menti was, enduring, uncomplaining, obscure, humble, dutiful…Without the Mentis of this world, men could not move in concerted action, whether they wished to move to left or right, toward slavery or freedom, toward war or peace…The millions of obedient Mentis were the foundation of human life, society, mankind…What was the meaning of Menti? What did he want? What could buy his loyalty? What did he need? One thing was certain, no government on earth today was really offering Menti what he really wanted…Maybe no government could…? Cross sighed.

  “My God,” a young white cop said as he bent forward, “what’s she doing in Harlem?”

  Another cop felt for Eva’s pulse.

  “Call for an ambulance, quick!” he said.

  “Now, what happened?” another cop demanded.

  “She jumped from the window of my apartment,” Sarah managed to say.

  “Who are you?”

  “Sarah Hunter. I live up there on the sixth floor—Where you see the lights in the window,” Sarah explained in halting tones, pointing. “I don’t know what made her do it…Her husband was killed two days ago…Maybe that’s why—But she didn’t seem worried or anything—It was suddenlike—”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Mrs. Eva Blount.”

  “Where did she live?”

  “At 13 Charles Street, but she was staying with me…”

  “Hunh?” the cop grunted, looking at Cross, then at Menti who had come back. He turned and addressed a young cop. “You better get hold of the Medical Examiner’s office…” The young cop rushed
off to the police car.

  Cross stood up. He could feel Menti’s elbow touching him. The cops were now asking the names and addresses of those who had seen Eva fall, what time she had fallen, and who had seen her in the neighborhood before. Cross gave his name and address, so did Menti and Sarah.

  “You three,” the cop said, indicating Cross, Menti, and Sarah, “will have to come to the station with us.”

  Cross did not care; it was over for him. Eva was gone; she had slipped through his clutching, clumsy fingers…He had botched it and Eva’s crushed and mute face told him that this was hell: this swooping sense of meaninglessness, this having done what could never be undone…He had in him to the full the feeling that had sent him on this long, bloody, twisting road: self-loathing…

  “She’s gone,” he heard a cop say.

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  From the throat of the night another siren screamed. That must be the ambulance…Eva was dead and now in recollection he knew her for what she had meant to him; already he was feeling what he had been grasping for in his loving her. That capacity in him to suffer had seized upon this lovely, frail girl as the representation and appearance in life of what he felt had to be protected and defended. To that frightened heart he had made, out of his compulsive need for companionship, out of his hunger for solace, a promise that he had not been able to keep, that he had known he could not keep, and, as the intensity of his lying promise had swollen, so had her distance from him widened until at last she was forever beyond his reach. Self-love as well as self-hate had dogged him to the end and he had not been able to outwit the predetermined molds of his destiny. And his too-keen habit of self-reflection would not permit him to hide from himself what he had done. Between him and Eva a mutual selfishness had entwined itself, each feeding greedily on the other and on itself, and, in that reciprocally devouring passion his falsely pledged promise had been the single element that had broken the unity, smashing it beyond all mending, all recall, for eternity.

  Two internes pushed past Cross. An ague seized him as he saw them lift Eva’s limp body and place it upon a stretcher and march with it to the ambulance and shove it into the rear door. The motor roared; the ambulance started off and the siren rose to a screaming pitch…Eva…Eva…He was alone.