“Oh?”
“Yes.” She rubbed her neck. “This god damn heat and boredom. Don’t take any credit for yourself. It’s enough to drive a person crazy, looking for something to do.”
“Is—is that the way you look at it?”
“Partly. I can’t stand just sitting here in the room. I’ll be god damned if I’ll go outside in the sun. So that doesn’t leave much.”
“Well, I never heard of it coming this way. Not in all my life. I don’t know what to think.”
“Better decide soon,” Barbara said. “What you said about the moment of decision is true, right now. Do you want to, or don’t you?” She gazed past him, suddenly thoughtful.
“What is it?”
“Maybe—maybe well find out, once and for all.”
Verne go up from the bed. “My God. But where? I don’t want the bed folding up at the crucial moment, with us inside it.”
“It’s not that bad.” She smiled. “But we really can’t use it. Look at it sagging.”
They looked at it.
“Well, how about the floor?” Verne said. “We can put a sheet down or something. Either that or outside on the lawn. But it’s too sunny there. Of course, if the bathtub is large enough—”
“Oh, stop it! It’s not that funny.”
“I thought you said you didn’t care any more.”
“I don’t. But it’s not like drinking a glass of water.”
“Lenin said it was.”
“Well, it isn’t. Anyhow, what will we do?”
“Don’t change your mind while I’m working it out.” Verne looked around the room. “We could move the mattress onto the floor. That way it’ll be soft, and there won’t be any hazard. What do you say?”
“All right.”
Barbara began carrying the clothes from the bed, over to the dressers. She heaped them in stacks until the bed was clear. Verne took hold of one end of the mattress and she took hold of the other. They laid the mattress and the bedding onto the floor.
Verne straightened up. “How’s that? Almost as good as the bank of a stream.”
“It’s good enough.” She wiped her neck. “This infernal god damn heat. Will it never go away?”
“You’ll forget it in a few minutes. That’s the virtue of this. You can be stabbed and roasted and murdered during, and you don’t notice until after.”
Barbara leaned against the wall and began to take her shoes and socks off. “Well? I hope you’re going to do this, too. You must be at least that much of a gentleman.”
Verne took off his shoes and socks slowly. Barbara unbuttoned her shirt and laid it on the dresser with the other clothes.
“What’s holding you up?” she said.
“A man can’t go to trusting extremes. He may be called on to leap out of the window. I’ll leave the rest of my stuff on.”
“Suit yourself. But if I’m going to do it I want the pleasure of getting out of these sticky clothes.” She reached behind her, unhooking the bra. She put the bra with the shirt, in a heap on the dresser.
Verne contemplated her. “Nice.”
“Come on. Let’s hurry, for heaven’s sake. I’m irritable enough to change my mind.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Only I can’t think of anything else to do. That’s the trouble with this sort of thing. The heat reduces you to animal level. Basic things.”
“Well, it’s the original form of entertainment.”
Barbara finished undressing, gathering up all her things and putting them on the dresser. “It feels a lot better this way. Maybe we ought to run around like this all week long. Until the yuks come.”
“What would Carl think?” Verne said, testing the mattress with his foot. “He’d be struck blind.”
“He’ll learn. Now? Ready?” She examined the clock. “We have five hours before it starts to get cool. Can we string it out until evening?”
“There’s a limit, even for Verne Tildon.”
Barbara sat down on the bedding and gingerly made herself comfortable. “You know, down here it’s cooler. I don’t feel all prickly and gummy anymore.” She rested her head on her arm, watching Verne. “Is there a moral there?”
“There’s a moral in everything.” Verne gazed down at her. “How about the door? You really want to leave it open?”
“Who would come along?”
“No one. But you have to give my conditionings a break. After all, I’m an old man and I’ve learned a way of doing things.” He closed the door and then got down with her on the bedding.
“Doesn’t this seem to be your way?”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. You don’t find this objectionable, do you?” She gasped. “Be careful, damn it!”
“Objectionable? Oh, no.” He added, “You know, you really have filled out in four years. Very nice.”
“Thanks. It should cost you extra, since you’re getting such a good deal.”
“You have changed since last time.”
“Sure,” Barbara said. “But it’s a cruel world.”
“Odd,” Verne said. “You’d think it would make you warmer, and instead it makes you feel sort of icy.”
“I suppose. Anyhow, I don’t feel so fretful and agonized anymore.”
“What, then?”
“Nothing at all. Just leave me alone for a while.” She closed her eyes. “When you close your eyes it’s as dark as night. Verne, I think you and I must be different from the others. We like it dark and cold. We have the shades down. We resent the sunlight. There’s something symbolic in that. And Carl goes rushing around outside.”
“For a little while today you thought maybe you wanted to run in the sun.”
“I would have gone ten feet and fallen over dead. Just let me lie here with my eyes shut. Don’t jar me. I’m all relaxed and at ease. They ought to recommend this to neurotic patients. It does wonders.”
“That’s my theory. I’ve been following that advice for years.”
“I know,” Barbara said.
Verne looked down into her face, so close to his, but he could not read her expression. Her eyes were shut. He bent over a little and touched his lips to her forehead.
She frowned. “Cut that out! None of that.”
“Really? This is strange. You don’t want me to kiss you, but you don’t mind the rest.”
“I enjoy the rest. After all, it’s been almost six months for me.”
“Almost that long for me, too. Most of these girls who work for the Company are after your pelt to hang up on the wall.”
“A battle. Between you losing your pelt and the girl losing her greatest pride.”
“Once they get you under lock and key they can quit their job. That’s the psychology of a working woman. To them, it’s a way of getting out of the grind. But take college girls, on the other hand. It’s a completely different proposition. Marriage would only interfere with their fun.”
“Which is your attitude. And therefore you can strike up quite a business.”
Verne agreed.
“Where do I fit into the picture? I don’t seem to fall into any of your categories.”
“That happens,” Verne admitted. He was silent. After a moment he went on: “Well, are you ready to call it quits for today? We can carry on some other time.”
“Don’t be too sure. Next time I might not feel the same. Better take advantage while you have it. What time is it? I can’t see the clock.”
“Still four hours to go. We’re doing as well as could be expected. Shall we—shall we go on?”
“For Christ’s sake!” Barbara said angrily, stirring a little. “Come on.”
“I guess a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“Your other phrase is: The woods are full of them.”
Verne nodded.
Presently he said, “Well, I’m sorry. But even if there’s a month to go I’m finished.” He waited for her to say something. She did not answer. S
he lay with her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling. “Are you all right?”
There was no response.
“What is it?” Verne said. Her face was strange, twisting oddly. The muscles around her mouth locked, hard and rigid. They began to work. “For God’s sake, what’s the matter? What is it?”
“Verne.”
“Yes? What’s wrong?”
“Verne, there’s something wrong.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” She opened her eyes, wide and terrified, staring up at him. “Let me up.”
He helped her to her feet. She stood shakily, pressing her fist against her cheek.
“What is it? Are you sick?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s—something psychological.” She tried to smile. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing physical?”
“No.” Her voice was a whisper.
“What did it feel like?”
“Verne, give me my clothes.”
He handed her clothing to her, from the top of the dresser. She dressed quickly, her hands shaking. When she had finished she sat down on the bed springs and tied her shoes. She did not speak.
“Are you all right now?” Verne asked.
“Yes.” Her face was pale and set, like frozen marble. All the color had drained out of her. Her arms were grey. He could see her teeth chattering. All across her forehead and lip were tiny beads of icy perspiration.
“For God’s sake,” Verne said, alarmed. “Will you tell me what it is?”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“What I said? When? What do you mean?”
“About—about the moment. The choice.”
“Yes.”
“Verne, something happened. Didn’t you feel it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She was looking at him. “You didn’t feel it?”
“I felt cold. But it seemed good to me. Because of the heat Do you mean that?”
“I don’t mean that” She rubbed her forehead. “Something terrible happened. Something got in. Like in a dream. Drifting in, cold and made out of fog…”
They were both silent.
“It felt good at first,” Verne said finally. “It had been so hot I guess I didn’t get it as strongly.”
“It was waiting. Like the thing in the dream. It was waiting there, all around us. Waiting to get in.”
Verne considered. “We didn’t do anything wrong. People do it all the time. Even the best people get to earth that way.”
“But something got in. Something that was waiting. Cold and dead. It—it got inside me.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.” Barbara brushed at her eyes, wiping them. “I didn’t know there was anything. It came near after—after we began. It was there all the time.” She looked up at him tearfully. “It’s always been there, waiting to—”
“For God’s sake. That’s foolish. This is only a guilt complex setting up. A personification of some mental guilt.”
“But you felt it, too.”
“No.” But he had felt it! He licked his lips.
Barbara watched him. “You did. I can tell. Not as strong, but you did. In spite of what you say.”
“All right,” Verne said impatiently.
“Verne?”
“What.”
“It was like a sentence. A curse. As if we’re—doomed.”
Verne grunted.
After a long time Barbara went on in a tight voice, “Maybe we better put the bedding back.”
They lifted the bedding and put it down on the springs. Verne pushed it into place with his hands. The bed looked as it had before. “That’s that,” Verne said.
They sat down on the bed. Barbara was still pale and shaken. She shivered. “I’m cold. I’m cold all over. Cold and clammy. Like a—a leper. Like worms and wet tomb stones. The grave. Cold, damp stone.”
She took his hand and put it against her face. He started, pulling back. Her skin was moist and frigid. He swallowed, rubbing his hands together. “A reaction. A psychological reaction.”
“I feel so awful.”
“I know.”
They looked down at the floor. Neither of them spoke. At last Barbara turned and raised the shade. A flash of yellow sunlight poured into the room, blinding them. They blinked.
“That’s better,” Verne said.
“Verne, we never should have done it. That’s what it was. We brought it on ourselves. We let it in by what we did. It was our own fault. We—we called it down.”
“Why? People do it—”
“This was different.”
“How?”
“We took up where we left off four years ago. It was wrong. You can’t go back. And we did go back. Only it was worse than going back. Even worse than that.”
“Why?”
“It was all the bad part and none of the good. It was as bad as it could be. It was the slopping part, the blood and the seeping over. Mechanical. And none of the feeling. There was nothing to make it into something. When I asked you to do it I thought I was being—I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought. I wanted to find out something. It was my fault.” She looked up defensively. “But it was your fault, too.”
“Nuts. There was nothing wrong with it.”
“Wasn’t there?”
“It’s a perfectly natural act.”
“Verne, we’ve gone on with what we started four years ago. We’ve taken it up again. Only it was all the bad parts we brought back. None of the good.”
“You said that.” He got up and walked around the room. “Perhaps. I did feel something. Something coming onto me. Like a hand catching. Settling over me.”
She watched him silently.
Suddenly he stopped. “Well, actually, there’s no real problem. If our psychological apparatuses won’t allow us to be together, then we’ll have to separate. The human mind is very complex. The unconscious sense of guilt—”
“Separate? How?”
“We won’t—”
“We already have. And you told me once the time is passed, the moment of choice—”
“For Christ’s sake! This is silly.”
“Verne, does it mean we’re going to have to keep living this way, all the rest of our lives? Around and around… Can’t we break away? Will—will it always be like this? Like it is now?”
“We can separate any time we want.”
“We separated four years ago. We were apart four years. It’s too late. We’ve already done it. We’ve made our choice. It’s happened to us already.”
“Well, then if we’re in the soup we’re in the soup.” Verne smiled wryly. “And what’s so bad about it? There could be a lot worse ways to live.”
Barbara twisted. “I’m so—so dirty! So contaminated. I want to be clean.” She got up and crossed the room to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to get clean. I’ve got to try to wash it away.”
“That’s not very flattering,” Verne murmured. “I didn’t have to hit you over the head, you remember.”
“It’s my fault, then. It’s all my fault.” She shuddered. “God, I’ve become so dirty. So dirty and cold. I can’t stand it”
“Like I said,” Verne murmured. “We can stop any time. We can make this the last. Now we know. It’s a bad idea. But it’s settled. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not as easy as that. How can we stop? What can we do?”
“Quit seeing each other.”
“All right.” She sagged. “All right.”
“I guess it’ll be hard to do. At least, during the next week. But after that—”
“We didn’t see each other for four years. And here we are.”
“Well, something will break it. There’s always a way out.” He grinned, trying to be cheerful. “I’m not joking. It’s true; don’t you remember? The curse always is lifted, when the right thin
g is found.”
Barbara smoothed her slacks aimlessly.
“Think of all the old stories,” Verne said. “The old legends. Remember the Ring of the Niebelungen? The gods were cursed by having the gold. They grew old.”
Barbara nodded.
“They got rid of the curse.”
“How?”
Verne pondered. He picked his shoes up from the floor and began to put them on. “Siegfried saved them. Or almost saved them. At least, he was supposed to.”
“Siegfried?”
“The guileless fool. The virgin. Completely uncorrupted… The innocent fool.”
“Very interesting,” Barbara said. She smiled tightly, rocking back and forth, her arms folded. Some color was beginning to come back into her arms and face. “It’s not really too promising, though. Is it?”
“Why not?”
“Well, we have no Siegfried to save us. To make us clean again.”
They were both silent.
There was a sound, from the hall outside. They glanced at each other.
“What was that?” Verne said.
Barbara raised her hand. “Listen.”
They listened. Someone was coming uncertainly down the hall, cautious and timid. He came closer and closer, until he reached the door. He stopped outside, and they heard a faint breathing sound.
Verne and Barbara moved together, listening. For a time there was no sound at all. Then, at last, a faint voice came, distant and polite.
“Barbara? Verne? Are you in there?”
“For God’s sake!” Barbara exclaimed. “It’s only Carl.” She gasped in relief. “Lord.”
Verne opened the door. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Carl looked around hesitantly. “Can I come in?” He came slowly into the room, smiling at them. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right,” Barbara murmured.
“I got worn out looking around. It’s hot, all right. But I found some very interesting things. Very interesting. I thought you two might like to come with me. It’s no fun exploring around alone.”
Verne was watching Carl intently, rubbing his jaw. After a time he brought out his pipe and began to fill it slowly, still watching the boy.
“What do you say?” Carl said, looking around at them hopefully. “If you say it sounds silly I’ll agree with you, but—”
“No. No, it’s not silly. It’s something different to do.” Verne and Barbara looked at each other.