“I should be going back to my room. I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow. I hate to go.” He lingered. “I hope he’s still asleep. Maybe I’ll move my bed to the far end of the dorm. It smells. It reeks.”
“They’ll be here soon. You won’t have to stand it much longer.”
“That’s right. Any time now, I suppose.” He took hold of the doorknob.
“Stay a while longer,” Barbara said.
Carl hesitated. He wanted very much to go back to his room and throw himself into bed. “It’s so late.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go to bed.”
Barbara nodded. Her face was expressionless. He waited a moment and then opened the door.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Carl.”
Carl smiled. She did not smile back. Was she mad at him? He was too exhausted to think about it. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He went slowly down the hall, his hands deep in his pockets. Cold night air blew around him. The hall was bleak and dim. Deserted. He came to the top of the stairs and started down, holding onto the banister.
Behind him there was a sound. He looked back.
Barbara was standing in the corridor, at the door of her room, outlined in the light. She was watching him.
“What is it?” He came back a little way.
“You forgot your book.”
Foolish embarrassment flooded over him. “Oh. I did, didn’t I?” He hurried back, along the hall toward her. “That’s what I came over for.”
Barbara stepped aside. Carl entered the room, looking around.
“Where is it?”
“On the dresser.”
Carl found the brown paper package lying where he had put it. He picked it up in his hands and stood holding it. The room was silent. Barbara came in from the hall and walked over to the window.
“Thanks for reminding me,” Carl said. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his manuscript in his lap. He ran his fingers over the rough paper, smoothing it down with automatic care. After a while he got to his feet again. He moved toward the door. “Well, I guess I—”
“Don’t leave.”
“But I—”
“I don’t want you to go.” Barbara did not look at him. Her voice was thin and hard. A sharp command. He sat down awkwardly, the bed springs sagging and groaning under him. Tiredness seeped over him. Why did she want him to stay? What for?
He laid his manuscript down on the floor. He was too tired to understand. Perhaps later on, in the morning, when he had time to think it all over, when he could fit everything together into one picture—
He leaned back, resting against the wall. He closed his eyes. Barbara stood at the window staring out, her arms folded. Carl yawned. Soon he would go, when it was all right to go. After a while. His body was like lead. He seemed to be sinking down into the bed. Like lead that had been dropped in the ocean. Down and down. He sighed, stretching out.
He must have dozed. All at once it was later.
He opened his eyes. He was stiff and cold. His head ached. Barbara was no longer standing at the window. She was sitting on the bed by him, close by. She was doing something very rapidly and silently, bending over, her hands moving. What was she doing?
He stirred, lifting up a little.
She was taking off her sandals. She unfastened her sandals and put them over in the corner, by the end of the bed. She stood up and unbuttoned her blouse. She slipped her blouse from her and hung it over the back of a chair. She unzipped her slacks. She stepped out of them and folded them into the seat of the chair.
Carl must have made a sound. Suddenly she turned, looking intently down at him. Her face was full of hunger. Full of avid desire.
He was astonished. The astonishment gave way to shock. She was gazing down at him, twitching with naked yearning, her body taut and rigid. Was he dreaming?
“What—what time is it?”
“Two o’clock.”
“Two o’clock! Good Lord. I should go.”
She said nothing. She stood in front of him in her underclothes, her body hard and pale. Some of the wild hunger had faded from her face. Her face was cold, sharp. It frightened him. Fear moved through him, gaining force.
“I have to go.” He struggled to get to his feet.
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s late.”
Barbara was silent. At last she spoke. Her voice was calm, detached. As if she were far away, remote from him. Lost in thought. “You know,” she said, “You and I are the only ones here. For miles around. I’ve been thinking about it. Except for Verne, of course. But he’s asleep.”
The room was very still. Outside the window the night was cold. He could hear the night wind moving through the trees, stirring the branches together. There was no other sound. Wind and silence. Cold darkness. It was the truth. They were the only ones alive for endless miles. The brittle frozen coldness was all around them.
“Are you afraid?” Barbara said.
“No.”
“You shouldn’t be. You see, it’s only that I want you so. But I wonder how you feel.”
He did not know how to answer.
“You are afraid.”
“No.”
“Carl, do you want to go? You may, if you want.”
He shook his head.
“Do you want to stay here?”
“I—” He hesitated. “I guess so. I think so.” His heart was pounding, pounding so loudly that he could hardly speak. He got to his feet and walked around the room, touching things, examining a print on the wall, the cover of a book. He took a book from the bookcase and opened it.
Finally he put the book back. His mouth and lips were dry. He moistened them with his tongue. “Could—could we talk for a while?”
Barbara did not answer.
“Couldn’t we talk?”
“Carl, why do you want to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s cold and barren outside. Don’t you want to stay here where it’s warm? Don’t you want to be warm?”
“Sure. Yes, of course.”
She was watching him intently. In her underclothes she seemed even more naked than when he had seen her in the water, in the little artificial lake. There were goose-pimples up and down her legs, on her thighs and arms.
“Don’t you want to be with me?”
“Yes. It’s very nice here.”
Barbara took her cigarettes from her blouse. She dropped the blouse back down on the chair and lit a match. Carl watched her smoking and staring past him. Abruptly she stubbed the cigarette out against the ashtray on the table. She reached behind her, unhooking the bra. She laid the bra over her blouse on the chair. “Carl?”
“Yes.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please look at me.”
Carl looked. She had taken off all her clothes and was standing completely naked in the center of the room. Her body was pale. She was shivering in the cold. He could see her flesh ripple.
Carl looked away again. Presently there was a creaking sound. “Carl?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to come to me?”
He turned. She was lying on the bed, her naked legs raised, her arms at her sides. She was waiting for him, staring up at the ceiling.
“I—” He stood helplessly, twisting.
“Don’t you want me?”
“Yes. But I—”
“That time at the lake. When you saw me. You weren’t afraid then, were you? You were glad. I know. You didn’t run away. I could tell.”
Carl picked up his manuscript from the floor. He crossed toward the door. “I don’t want to be foolish in front of you. There are so many things I don’t know. Do we have to, now? Can’t we wait? Later—”
She rose quickly from the bed, coming toward him. “But I want you now, Carl.”
He could hear her breathing ra
pidly. Harsh, quick sounds. She slipped between him and the door, her breasts rising and falling.
“But I don’t know what to do!”
“I’ll show you.”
“Couldn’t we—wait?”
She shook her head. In the darkness outside the window the night wind rose, blowing through the trees. They could hear it moving, brushing the tree branches against the side of the building.
“Hear the wind,” Barbara said.
“Yes.”
Barbara reached out to the lamp. She snapped it off. The room was in darkness. Carl felt his heart begin to beat hard, slow booming beats, like an echoing thing far down in a vault. It was painful. He could hardly breathe. He was shaking all over, from cold and fear. In the darkness he could see nothing. Where was she? Where had she gone?
Her hand touched his arm. Then she was around him, warm and breathing, her body like fire. It burned him, the insistent pressure, pushing and beating against him. She was tearing at him, straining and clawing. He staggered.
She crowded him against the edge of the bed. He sat down heavily, the springs groaning under him. Now she was above him, filling the darkness, leaning over him. He slid away, struggling to his feet. He was weak with fear.
“Barbara—”
She was moving someplace in the darkness. He strained to hear. His arm touched something, the edge of the table. The ashtray fell to the floor, clinking.
She came quickly, grabbing for him. She was completely silent. There was no sound. Like a dream. Carl pulled away. Her nails left streaks of pain along his arms.
Again he could hear her breathing, panting in the cold darkness. He sensed her very near, almost by him. He put up his hands—
She caught hold of him, hard little arms tight around him.
Panting, breathing, silently working, she unfastened his clothes, tugging them away from him. Her unceasing, relentless fingers ripped his shirt loose, buttons flying.
He shoved her away. And was caught, swept up in a tide of flesh that engulfed him completely. He choked, gasping frantically for breath. Suddenly her teeth sank into his neck, biting into his muscles. He shoved and she let go.
Carl stepped back. He wavered, his arms out. He fell slowly, sprawling down, outstretched onto the bed. Before he could get up she was on him, pressing him back. He was helpless. Her arms were like steel.
For a moment she hung in the darkness above him, holding him down. Carl braced himself, crying out in pain. Then silently, soundlessly, she descended over him, flowing onto him, a crushing, inexorable weight.
Her breath hissed in his face. Her knees dug into him. He lay back, gasping, a sightless, weak thing lost in the darkness. The darkness and the clinging weight shuddered against him, turning into warmth, glowing and smouldering around him.
He was surrounded by warmth. A restless warmth that moved unceasingly, flowing back and forth, on and on. His eyes closed. His body relaxed. He ceased to struggle.
The motion picked him up. He was carried away, swept into the warm tide that plucked and pulled at him. Sweeping and lashing around him, scalding hot.
Finally, he slept.
Later, when much time had passed, time that was lost in the unknowable, the unthinkable, and the day was making itself ready to appear, Carl heard a sound.
He opened his eyes, lifting up suddenly in the bed, alert. Beside him the sleeping woman lay unmoving. She did not stir.
Carl listened. Far off, the sound came again. It was like thunder, a firm constant motion, a rumbling, steady and insistent. It made the building shake. It made everything in the room rattle and vibrate. Carl sat, listening intently, fully awake. Gray light was beginning to filter under the shades into the room.
The sound was coming nearer. It was moving, moving along, closer and closer. Toward them.
At last Carl sank back in the bed. He closed his eyes. He knew what the sound was. But he did not care. He was too exhausted. He was drained, left empty. He would care later, perhaps. Later it would mean a great deal.
But now he was too tired to worry or think about it. Trucks were on the road, moving along the highway, trucks and motorcycles. An endless procession hurrying through the early hours of the morning. Men bent over their handlebars, goggles and helmets, men in uniforms bumping up and down.
But at this moment it did not matter. Perhaps in some dim, distant time he would care and be interested, and worry. But now he did not feel concerned.
He sank back, farther and farther, into the soft bed. Beside him the woman stirred a little.
Carl returned to sleep.
EPILOGUE
THE YOUNG SOLDIER got off his motorcycle and stumped over. He was short and heavy, loaded down with equipment. His back bulged with a metal case, a rifle, a flashlight, tools, and many small lumpy objects wrapped up and tied together. He wore the parts of several uniforms, the shirt too large for him, the cap much too small. His legs were wound with cloth.
Carl and Barbara and Verne watched silently. The young soldier came up to them and stopped in front of them. He bowed slightly, keeping his eyes on them. His face was flat and featureless, like a dish. He reached into his shirt pocket and brought out his papers.
“The others are following. They will be here in a few minutes.”
“We’re all ready to leave,” Verne said. “Our stuff is packed in the truck.”
“Good.” The young soldier bowed slightly again and turned to go back to his motorcycle.
Carl ran up to him and walked along beside him. “You don’t mind if I talk to you, do you? Can I ask you a couple of things?”
The young soldier glanced at him and nodded.
“What do you think of the place? All these buildings and machinery. You know, we’ve been here a long time. It feels strange to leave.”
The young soldier nodded noncommittally. He stopped at his motorcycle, looking around. The office building reared up at the edge of the road.
“That’s our office. Where we do all our paper work. Do you want to come inside and see it? The records are still stored there. In the closet. We didn’t take anything away. Everything is left for you. It’s no good to us. I guess you’ll want to set up your headquarters there.”
The young soldier nodded. He crossed the road and started up the steps. Carl followed him, up the steps and into the office.
“Kind of a gloomy day,” Carl said.
The young soldier wandered around the office. He stopped at the desk, examining the typewriter and all the papers scattered around. He opened the drawer and peered into it.
“You can clean all that out,” Carl said. “You’ll probably want to throw most of it away.”
“Yes.” The young soldier pulled the chair back and sat down at the desk. He stared impassively up at Carl. Carl began to feel a little uneasy. What was he thinking? It was impossible to tell. The man’s face was perfectly blank. Presently his gaze moved from Carl to what Carl held gripped in his hand.
Carl looked down. “This? This is a treatise. A treatise on ethics. Philosophy.”
The young soldier continued to gaze at the brown paper wrapped package in Carl’s hand.
“Are you interested in such things?” Carl asked. He looked out the window. Verne was backing the truck out of the shed, onto the road. “I have to be going in a minute. He’s getting the truck out. I don’t want to be left behind. There won’t be any other way to get out of here.”
The young soldier said nothing.
Carl moved away from the window. “I’ve always wanted to talk to one of you people. There are things I want to know. I’ve been trying to find them out. Working them out in my mind. But I can’t seem to get all of the answers. I can’t seem to get them straight.”
The soldier was watching him.
“I’ve been thinking a long time. Maybe you can help me. Maybe you know. Can I ask you?”
The soldier nodded.
“You people believe in force. Don’t you? Don’t you believe in force?” Carl ru
bbed his eyes, shaking his head wearily. “I’ll be going in a minute. You know about such things. Force. Violence. Are things like that right? How can you know? You use force. You use ruthless force to get what you want. To get things done. You think they have to be done. You’re completely ruthless about it. You let nothing stand in your way. You destroy everything in your way because it has to be done. Isn’t that so? Isn’t that what you do?”
Outside, beyond the office, the truck horn sounded harshly. Carl jumped a little. He moved toward the desk.
“But what if you’re wrong? How can you be sure? Is there some way to tell? Maybe you can give me the answer. Is a person right in using force? He thinks he’s doing the right thing. But maybe he’s wrong. How is he to know? How do you know you’re right? Maybe you’re wrong. You destroy everybody who stands in your way. Maybe you’re destroying too much. Maybe you’re making a mistake. How do you know? Do you know? Is there some way to tell?”
The young soldier said nothing.
“Can’t you tell me?” Carl asked.
Still the young soldier said nothing. He sat at the desk silently, his face bland and expressionless. Carl began to become angry.
“I’d like to know how you can be so sure you’re doing the right thing. I’d like to see what proof you have. Can’t you tell me in so many words? What do you go on? Where’s your sanction? How can you be certain you’re doing the right thing?”
The young soldier sat for a moment. He reached out his hand and touched Carl’s manuscript.
“Do you want to see it?” Carl held it out. But the young soldier shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
The young soldier reached into his shirt. He brought out a little paperback book, shabby and worn, creased and folded again and again. He opened it, spreading it out on the table, smoothing the corners. He made a motion to Carl to come over. Carl came over beside him, looking down at the book. The characters were Chinese.
Tracing the words with his fingers the young soldier translated, slowly and haltingly.
“You oppressed peoples of the world! Arise! You have nothing to lose but your age-old bondage that has held you down. That has made slaves of you and taken what is yours. A new spirit is marching. Come out of your farms, from your land, from your shops. Join with us as we march through the world, crushing all those who oppose us. All the imperialists. All the reactionaries. All the blood-suckers who have drunk the people’s blood. The world must be cleaned. The world must be seared clean. The face of the earth must be burned clean of the maggots and pests who have eaten and fed on the people. They must be cut into bits, tramped on, spat on, brought to their knees. From country to country, land to land, the—”