Overload

  “A group calling itself Friends of Freedom has claimed responsibility for an explosion today at a Golden State Power & Light generating plant. The blast claimed four lives and caused a widespread failure of electric power.”

  “The disclosure was in a tape recording delivered to a local radio station late this afternoon. Police have said that information on the tape points to its authenticity. They are examining the recording for possible clues.”

  Obviously, Nim thought, the station he was listening to was not the one which received the tape. Broadcasters didn’t like to acknowledge a competitor’s existence and, even though news like this was too important to be ignored, the other radio station wasn’t being named.

  “According to reports, a man’s voice on the tape recording—so far unidentified—stated, quote, ‘Friends of Freedom are dedicated to a people’s revolution and protest against the greedy capitalist monopoly of power which belongs rightfully to the people.’ End quote.

  “Commenting on the deaths which occurred, the recording says, quote, ‘Killing was not intended, but in the people’s revolution now beginning, capitalists and their lackeys will be casualties, suffering for their crimes against humanity.’ End quote.

  “An official of Golden State Power & Light has confirmed that sabotage was the cause of today’s explosion, but would make no other comment.

  “Retail meat prices are likely to be higher soon. In Washington today the Secretary of Agriculture told a consumers …”

  Nim reached out, snapping off the radio. The news depressed him with its sickening futility. He wondered about its effect on Ardythe Talbot, whom he was soon to see.

  In the growing dusk he saw that several cars were parked outside the Talbots’ modest, neat two-story house with its profusion of flower beds—a lifelong hobby of Walter’s. Lights were on in the lower rooms.

  Nim found a spot for the Fiat, locked it, and walked up the driveway.

  5

  The front door of the house was open and a hum of voices was audible. Nim knocked and waited. When no one answered, he went in.

  In the hallway the voices became clearer. They were coming from the living room to the right, he realized. Nim could hear Ardythe. She sounded hysterical and was sobbing. He caught disconnected words. ”… those murderers, oh my God! … was good and kind, wouldn’t harm anyone … to call him those filthy names …” Interspersed were other voices, attempting to bring calm but not succeeding.

  Nim hesitated. The living room door was ajar, though he could neither see in nor be seen. He was tempted to tiptoe out, leaving as unnoticed as he had come. Then abruptly the living room door opened fully and a man came out. Closing the door quickly behind him, he leaned back against it, his bearded, sensitive face pale and strained, eyes shut tightly as if for a moment’s relief. The closed door cut off most of the sound from inside.

  “Wally,” Nim said softly. “Wally.”

  The other opened his eyes, taking a few seconds to collect himself. “Oh, it’s you, Nim. Thanks for coming.”

  Nim had known Walter Talbot Jr., an only son, almost as long as he had been a friend of the dead chief. Wally Jr., too, worked for GSP & L—as a transmission lines maintenance engineer. He was married, with children, and lived on the opposite side of the city.

  “There’s not a helluva lot anyone can say,” Nim told him. “Except I’m sorry.”

  Wally Talbot nodded. “I know.” He motioned with an apologetic gesture toward the room he had left. “I had to come out a minute. Some damn fool put the TV on and we heard that goddamned announcement those murdering bastards made. Before that we’d calmed Mother down a bit. It set her off again. You probably heard.”

  “Yes, I did. Who’s in there?”

  “Mary, for one. We left someone with the kids and came on over. Then a lot of neighbors have been coming in; most are still here. I guess they mean well, but it isn’t helping. If Dad were here he’d …” Wally stopped, forcing a wan smile. “It’s hard to get used to the idea he won’t be around any more.”

  “I’ve been feeling that way, too.” It was clear to Nim that Wally Jr. was in no shape to take charge of what was happening in the house.

  “Listen,” Nim said, “it can’t go on like this. Let’s go in there. I’ll talk to your mother and do the best I can. You and Mary start easing the others out.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. Thanks, Nim.” Obviously, what Wally had needed was a lead.

  There were perhaps ten people standing or seated in the living room as Nim and Wally went in. The room was bright and comfortable, normally spacious, but seemed crowded now. It was also hot, despite air conditioning. Several conversations were being conducted at the same time and the TV had been left on, contributing to a general hubbub. Ardythe Talbot was on a sofa, surrounded by several women, one of whom was Mary, Wally Jr.’s wife. The others Nim didn’t recognize. Presumably they were the neighbors Wally had spoken of.

  Though Ardythe was sixty at her last birthday—Nim and Ruth had attended a party to celebrate it—she remained a strikingly handsome woman with a good figure and a strong face only lightly marked with beginning lines of age. Her stylishly short auburn hair was streaked naturally with gray. Ardythe played tennis regularly and the effect showed in radiant good health. Today, though, her poise had crumbled. Her tear-stained face appeared drawn and old.

  Ardythe was still speaking as she had been earlier, her voice choked, the words disjointed. But she stopped when she saw Nim.

  “Oh, Nim.” She put out her arms and the others made way as he went to her, sat beside her on the sofa and held her. “Oh, Nim,” she repeated. “You heard the terrible thing that happened to Walter?”

  “Yes, dear,” he said gently. “I heard.”

  Nim observed Wally, across the room, switch off the TV, then take his wife aside and speak to her quietly. Mary nodded. Immediately the two of them approached others, thanking them, ushering them out one by one. Nim continued to hold Ardythe, not speaking, trying to calm and comfort her. Soon the living room was quiet.

  Nim heard the front door close behind the last of the departing neighbors. Wally and Mary, who had gone out to the hallway, came back. Wally ran a hand through his hair and beard. “I could use a stiff scotch,” he announced. “Anyone else?”

  Ardythe nodded. So did Nim.

  “I’ll get them,” Mary said. She busied herself with glasses and mixes, then ashtrays, tidying the living room, removing its signs of recent occupancy. Mary was slim, gamine and businesslike. Before her marriage to Wally she worked on the creative side of an advertising agency and still did freelance work while also caring for her family.

  Ardythe was sitting up unaided now, sipping her scotch, some signs of composure returning. She said suddenly, “I expect I look a mess.”

  “No more than anyone would,” Nim assured her.

  But Ardythe had gone to a mirror. “Oh, my goodness!” She told the others, “Have your drinks. I’ll be back soon.” She left the living room, carrying her scotch, and they could hear her going upstairs. Nim reflected with wry amusement: Few men are ever as resilient or strong as women.

  Just the same, he decided, he would tell Wally first of Eric Humphrey’s warning that the family should not view Walter’s remains. He remembered, with a shudder, the chairman’s words. “… virtually no skin left … Faces are unrecognizable.” Mary had gone to the kitchen. While the two men were alone, as gently as he could and omitting details, Nim explained the situation.

  The reaction was immediate. Wally tossed back the remainder of his scotch. With tears in his eyes he protested, “Oh Christ!—it’s bad enough to hear. I couldn’t tell Mother that. You’ll have to.”

  Nim was silent, dreading what was to come.

  Fifteen minutes later Ardythe returned. She had made up her face, rearranged her hair and changed from the dress she had been wearing into a smart blouse and skirt. While her eyes and demeanor revealed grief, superficially she was closer to her normal, attra
ctive self.

  Mary, too, had returned to the living room. This time Wally replenished the drinks and the four of them sat, uneasily at first, uncertain of what to say.

  It was Ardythe who broke the silence.

  She said firmly, “I want to see Walter.” Then, turning to Wally, “Do you know where your father has been taken, what … arrangements have been made?”

  “Well … there’s a …” Wally stopped, got up and kissed his mother, then, standing where he did not have to meet her eyes, continued, “There’s a problem, Mother. Nim is going to talk to you about it. Aren’t you, Nim?”

  Nim wished he were somewhere, anywhere, else.

  “Mother, dear,” Wally said, still standing. “Mary and I have to go home to the children for a while. We’ll come back. And one of us will stay the night with you.”

  As if she had not heard, Ardythe intoned, “What problems? … Why can’t I see Walter? … Someone tell me.”

  Wally went out quietly, Mary following. Ardythe seemed unaware they had gone.

  “Please … Why can’t I …?”

  Nim took her hands and held them between his own. “Ardythe, listen to me. Walter died suddenly. It was all over in less than a second. He didn’t have time to know what was happening and there could have been no pain.” Nim hoped it was true. He went on, “But because of what happened, he was disfigured.”

  Ardythe moaned.

  “Walter was my friend,” Nim persisted. “I know how he thought. He wouldn’t have wanted you to see him as he is now. He would have wanted you to remember him …” He stopped, choked by his own emotion, not sure that Ardythe had heard or, even if she had, had understood. Once more they sat in silence.

  More than an hour had gone by since Nim arrived.

  “Nim,” Ardythe said at length. “Have you had any dinner?”

  He shook his head. “There wasn’t time. I’m not hungry.” He was having trouble adjusting to Ardythe’s sudden changes of mood.

  She got up. “I’m going to make you something.”

  He followed her into the compact, orderly kitchen which Walter Talbot had designed himself. Characteristically, Walter had first made a time and motion study of functions to be performed, then positioned everything for maximum convenience and a minimal need to move around. Nim seated himself at an island worktable, watching Ardythe, not interfering, reasoning she was better off with something to do.

  She heated soup and served it in earthenware mugs, sipping her own while she put together an omelette, seasoned with chives and mushrooms. When she divided the omelette between them, Nim discovered he was hungry after all, and ate with enjoyment. Ardythe made an initial effort, then left most of her portion. They followed the meal with strong coffee which they took into the living room.

  Speaking quietly and rationally, Ardythe said, “I may insist on seeing Walter.”

  “If you do,” Nim told her, “no one can stop you. But I hope you won’t.”

  “Those people who planted the bomb, who killed Walter and the others. Do you think they’ll be caught?”

  “Eventually. But it’s never easy when you’re dealing with crazies. Because they aren’t rational, it makes them harder to catch. But if they try something similar—which they probably will—the odds are on their being caught and punished.”

  “I suppose I ought to care about them being punished. But I don’t. Is that bad?”

  “No,” Nim said. “In any case, other people will take care of that.”

  “Whatever happens, it can’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring Walter … or the others … back.” Ardythe mused, “Did you know we were married thirty-six years? I should be grateful for that. It’s more than many people have, and most of the time was good … Thirty-six years …” She began crying softly. “Hold me, Nim.”

  He put his arms around her and cradled her head on his shoulder. He could feel her crying, though not hysterically any longer. These were tears of farewell and acceptance, of memory and love; gentle and cleansing tears as the human psyche began its healing process—as old, unexplainable and wondrous as life itself.

  Holding Ardythe, Nim became aware of a fragrant, pleasing perfume. He had not noticed it when they were close together earlier, and wondered when she had put it on. Probably when she went upstairs. He switched his thoughts away.

  It was getting late, Nim realized. Outside it was fully dark, the only exterior lights from occasional passing vehicles. But the street was secluded and quiet, with traffic infrequent. Inside, the house had settled down, as houses do for the night, and was silent.

  Ardythe stirred in Nim’s arms. She had stopped crying and moved closer. He breathed the heady perfume once more. Then, to his consternation, he discovered his body becoming aroused, and an increasing awareness of Ardythe as a woman. He tried to divert his mind with other thoughts, to control and negate what was happening, but without success.

  “Kiss me, Nun.” She had moved so their faces were close. Their lips touched, gently at first, then strongly; Ardythe’s mouth was seductive, warm, demanding. As he felt sexual excitement surge in them both, he asked himself: Can this be happening?

  “Nim,” she said softly, “turn out the lights.”

  He complied, a part of him urging: Don’t do it! Go! Leave now! But even while despising himself, he knew he wouldn’t leave, and that the inner voice was a token protest only.

  There was plenty of room on the sofa. While he had turned out the lights, Ardythe had removed some of her clothing; he helped her with the rest and swiftly shed his own. As they reached out, then held each other, he found her eager, excited and experienced. Her fingers, traveling lightly, deftly, sought to please him, and succeeded. He responded in kind. Soon, Ardythe moaned, then cried aloud, “Oh God, Nim! Don’t wait any longer, please … please!”

  He had a last, vague stirring of conscience and a sudden, dismaying notion that Wally Jr. and Mary might return, as they had said they would, and walk in. Then that and all else dissolved as pleasure and passion engulfed him.

  “You’re troubled, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Nim admitted. “Troubled as hell.”

  It was an hour later. They had dressed and the lights were on. A few minutes ago Wally had phoned, announcing that he and Mary were on the way back and both would stay the night.

  “Don’t be.” Ardythe touched his arm lightly and gave a swift, shy smile. “You’ve helped me more than you know.”

  Nim’s instincts told him she had left something unsaid: That the compatibility they had just shared was discovered rarely by two people and, in all probability, the experience would be repeated. If so, there was now a dual worry: Not only had he behaved shamefully on the day of his good friend’s death, but an additional complication had entered his own life—one he didn’t need.

  “I’d like to explain something,” Ardythe said. “I loved Walter dearly. He was a sweet, kind, gentle man. We had fun together; he was always interesting to be with. Life without him … well, I can’t begin to think about that yet. But Walter and I hadn’t had sex together for a long time—it must be six or seven years. Walter simply couldn’t manage it any more. That often happens to men, you know, much more than to women.”

  Nim protested, “I don’t want to hear …”

  “Whether you do or not, you’re going to. Because I don’t want you leaving here tonight all mixed up and miserable. I’ll tell you something else, Nim. You didn’t seduce me just now; I seduced you. And I knew what was going to happen, what I wanted to happen, long before you did.”

  He thought: The perfume. It had acted on him like an aphrodisiac. Could Ardythe really have intended it that way?

  “When a woman is deprived of sex at home,” Ardythe went on firmly, “she either manages or goes elsewhere. Well, I managed. I settled for what I had, which was a good man I still loved, and I didn’t go elsewhere. But it didn’t stop my wanting.”

  “Ardythe,” Nim said, “please …”

  “No, I??
?m almost finished. Today … tonight … when I realized I’d lost everything, I wanted sex more than ever. Suddenly all that missing seven years swept over me. And you were here, Nim. I’ve always liked you, maybe a little more than ‘liked,’ and you were here when I needed you most.” She smiled. “If you came to comfort me, you did. It’s that simple. Don’t make it more complicated, or feel guilt where there should be none.”

  He sighed. “If you say so, I wont.” It seemed an easy way to put conscience to rest. Perhaps too easy.

  “I say so. Now kiss me once more, and go home to Ruth.”

  He did as she said, and was relieved to be leaving before Wally and Mary arrived.

  In the car, driving home, Nim pondered the complexities of his personal life. By comparison, the intricate conundrums of Golden State Power & Light seemed simple and preferable. At the top of his own immediate problem list were Ruth, their drifting-in-circles marriage, and now Ardythe. Then there were other women he had had affairs with from time to time, including a couple of recent ones still simmering. Those kinds of involvements seemed to happen to Nim without his seeking them. Or was he deluding himself there? Did he, in fact, search out entanglements, rationalizing later that they simply happened? Either way, for almost as long as he could remember, there had been no lack of sexual opportunities.

  After his marriage to Ruth fifteen years ago, he had resolutely stayed a one-woman man—for about four years. Then an opportunity for extracurricular sex occurred, and he hadn’t fought it. Afterward there had been still more opportunities—some the usual one-night stands, others that lasted enthusiastically for a while, then faded like bright’ stars dimming before extinction. At first Nim assumed he could keep his sexual philandering a secret from Ruth—the nature of his work with its heavy demands of time, plus irregular hours, helped make that possible. Probably it even worked for a while. Then common sense told him that Ruth, who was not only sensitive but shrewd, must realize what was happening. The extraordinary thing was that she never protested, simply seeming to accept. Illogically, Ruth’s reaction—or, rather, the lack of it—galled him and still did. She should have minded, ought to have protested, perhaps shed angry tears. True, none of it might have made any difference, but Nim had asked himself: Wasn’t his defection at least worth that much?