Gather Yourselves Together

  Teddy looked up at the building, through the window of the car. “Well, I guess we’re here.”

  “I’ll give you a call later on.”

  “Thanks.” She opened the door and got out.

  “What do you think you’ll do tonight? About Don. Maybe it would be a good idea to go along with it for a while more. You don’t want to hit him over the head all at once.”

  “I suppose not. Well, I’ll think it over. Thanks for driving me.”

  “I’ll see you.” Verne slammed the door shut and drove off. Through his rear view mirror he could see her walking slowly up the stairs of her building, past the Negro. Then a truck turned in behind him, and he saw nothing but the heavy, expressionless face of the driver, gazing impassively ahead.

  Very late that night after he had come home from work there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?”

  A muffled male voice sounded outside, but he could not make out any words. He opened the door. It was Don.

  “Isn’t this sort of late for you to be out?”

  Don came into the room. He dropped into a low chair, sighing. “Thought I’d stop and say hello.”

  “So I see.” Verne sat down across from him. “Nothing special on your mind.”

  “No.”

  “What did you do this evening?”

  “Went to hear the Woolly Wildcats.”

  “You and your girl?”

  Don nodded.

  “She likes it, eh?”

  “Teddy’s a good girl. She responds.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “What have you been doing recently? You haven’t been at home. Pm sorry you blew up at me the other day. I was just wondering.”

  “That’s all right. I haven’t been doing anything special.”

  The telephone rang. Verne did not move.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Don rumbled.

  Verne got to his feet and went over slowly. He picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Verne, this is Teddy. Can I talk to you? Don brought me home a little while ago. You’re not in bed yet, are you? Could we—”

  “I’ll call you back. I’ll call you in a few minutes. I have company.”

  There was silence. Then the phone clicked.

  Verne hung up and walked back to his chair.

  “Who was it?” Don demanded. “Anyone I know?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure are in a tizzy these days.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Don fidgeted with the books he was carrying. Neither of them spoke. Finally Don got to his feet and moved toward the door. “Well, I guess there’s no use hanging around here. I’ll come back when you feel better.”

  “I feel all right. I’ll let you out.”

  He opened the door. Don plodded out into the hall and he closed the door after him. As soon as he heard him leave the building he phoned Teddy.

  “I’m sorry. Don was here. I couldn’t talk with him sitting right in front of me.”

  “Oh. I didn’t understand. I thought—”

  “You were wrong.” He felt irritable.

  “Verne, don’t be angry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t understand. I’m sorry I hung up that way.”

  “Well, forget it. What did you want?”

  “Oh, Verne—” She moved away from the phone. Presently she went on in a low, thin voice: “I just wanted to see if you were still up. Could we talk? Could you come over? I could take a taxi to your place, if you’re too tired.”

  It took him a while to answer. “Well… It’s hard to know what to say. I’m tired, of course. I feel like I’ve been hanging on the cross. But I want to see you. That goes without saying.”

  There was silence. “Perhaps it would be better if we got together tomorrow night instead.”

  “We’d have more time. It’s pretty late.”

  “Yes. It’s pretty late.”

  He could hear her twisting and turning, trying to know what to do. At last her voice came again, uncertain and hesitant.

  “Well, we’ll make it tomorrow night. If it’s all right. You do want to come over, don’t you? You haven’t begun to—change your mind, have you?”

  “No. I’ll be over. About seven.”

  She said goodbye and hung up. Verne went to bed. He fell asleep right away.

  The next day he telephoned her from the station, before he left to go home. It was about five o’clock in the afternoon. She sounded brighter.

  “Did you sleep all right last night?” he said.

  “Yes. I feel much better today.” Her voice was calm. Firm.

  “What time shall I come over? Seven?”

  “Verne, I’ll come over to your place. If it’s all right.”

  “My place? If you want. But it’s a mess.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “What time shall I pick you up?”

  “I’ll come by taxi. You go on home and I’ll be over later on, I have some things to do and I don’t know how long it will take. Okay?”

  “Sure.” He hung up.

  She did not come until almost nine. Restlessly, he paced around his room, deep in thought. There was no question any longer. Don could have her back. He was wasting his time; the thing had gone far enough.

  While he was thinking the bell rang. He crossed quickly to the door and opened it.

  “Hello,” Teddy said merrily. She stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark suit, a coat over one arm. And in the other hand holding a suitcase. He gaped at the suitcase. “Can I come in?”

  She entered the room, putting the suitcase down. Verne closed the door behind her. “Well,” he murmured. “It certainly doesn’t take you long when you’ve made up your mind.”

  “Come, darling, and help me unpack.” She held her coat out. “Where does this go?”

  “In the closet.”

  He showed her where the closet was. There was a cold, clammy feeling in his chest; a heavy weight seemed to drag him down. He followed her into the bedroom. She set the suitcase on the bed and snapped it open. From it she took an armload of dresses and laid them out on the bed. Slips, bras, underpants, nylons—

  “Do you want to fix me a drawer to put some of the small things into?” Teddy said.

  “Sure. I’ll go along with it.” He took his stuff out of the top dresser drawer, wadding everything into the bottom. “Is that enough?”

  “I don’t need very much. I brought only the things I’ll need right away.”

  She put some clothing and small packages and boxes into the drawer. Most of the dresses went into the closet. Presently she was through.

  “Where shall I put the suitcase?”

  “I’ll take it.” He lugged it into the closet and pushed it to the back. Then he turned to face her. “Now what?”

  Teddy smiled back at him without speaking.

  “I wonder what the manager will say.”

  “Don’t worry. In these big buildings they don’t care, as long as you don’t bother the other people.”

  “I see,” Verne murmured.

  Teddy laughed. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. I’m hungry! Can we eat? Have you eaten?”

  “I’ve eaten, but I’ll fix you something.” He moved toward the kitchen.

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll fix it myself. We might as well get started right.”

  Verne studied her. “I almost believe you’re serious about this.”

  “Almost?” She trotted into the kitchen and began opening cupboards and drawers, looking to see what he had.

  After she had eaten they sat around the living room. Verne was in a turmoil. He kept looking at the girl and wondering what was going on in her mind. Was this real? Was it actually happening? He took out his pipe, but there was no tobacco for it. He searched his pockets for a while and then gave up. He went to the kitchen and drank a little soda and water instead.

>   When he came back Teddy had an announcement.

  “I told Don this afternoon. Are you glad?”

  “You told him what?”

  “Verne—” She came over to him, smiling, her eyes bright. Hard, able fingers closed over his arm. “He was very upset. I told him to go read a science-fiction story!” She rocked merrily back and forth on her heels.

  Verne said nothing.

  A little after eleven o’clock while he was looking through some old programs he noticed that she had left the room. She was no place in sight, in the living room or in the kitchen.

  “Teddy?”

  There was a noise from the bedroom. “I’m in here.” After a moment she said: “Verne, will you do me a favor?”

  “What is it?”

  “Will you pull down the shades?”

  He went around the living room, pulling the shades down. He went back to looking over his old programs. All at once Teddy came running into the room. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her, standing in the middle of the rug behind him. He put down his pen and swung around.

  His jaw dropped. She was naked. Bony and white, she stood smiling at him, her little breasts bobbing up and down, her hands on her hips, her feet a little apart.

  “Darling, don’t you think we should go to bed? I have to get up early tomorrow. I have to go all the way across town to Manhattan.”

  Verne got to his feet. He walked all around her, staring in amazement at her thin body. She turned to face him. In the bedroom the bedspread and sheets had been pulled back. “You’re really serious,” he murmured. He shook his head. “Well, this takes the cake.”

  Her smile froze. She said nothing, but her lean loins tensed, muscles standing out like cords.

  “It’s impossible. It really is.” Inside him the cold clammy weight grew. As if a net were around him, a great damp curtain, pulling him down. She had taken off all her clothes. He could see them piled up on a chair by the bed. Even her shoes. Everything. It was grotesque. He shut his eyes.

  “Verne—”

  “Let’s face it! For Christ’s sake.” He pushed his glasses up, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll be damned if—”

  He stopped. Across her face an expression of wild terror had flitted, so crude and stark that it startled him into silence. For a moment she blinked, her eyes burning. Then abruptly it was gone. Her mouth set in a narrow line. Her eyes filmed over. She turned without a word and walked into the bedroom.

  A moment later she came back with a heavy coat pulled around her. She pushed past him toward the front door. He caught her by the shoulder. She jumped away from him, and he stepped between her and the door. Her body was hard and tense. She stood a little way off, breathing shallowly and watching him.

  “Teddy, for God’s sake, let’s—”

  She rushed into the kitchen. He followed her, grabbing her arm. She snatched up a can opener from the drawer; he pulled it quickly away. Her fingers were like metal claws.

  “Stop it.” He held onto her arm. “Look—you couldn’t possibly stay here. It isn’t possible. They’d throw us out in twenty-four hours.” He could feel her thin arm through the coat sleeve. “Do you understand? It’s not my fault I can’t do anything about it.”

  Suddenly she relaxed. Everything seemed to run out of her. He let go of her arm slowly. “Of course,” she said. “That’s true. I guess we’ll have to think of something else.”

  “That’s right.” He patted her shoulder. “Let’s go back in the living room and sit down. Okay? We can talk it over calmly.”

  He led her back, over to the couch.

  “I ought to put on something else.” She plucked at the coat.

  “All right.” They went into the bedroom. Teddy unfastened her coat and hung it up in the closet. She dressed slowly, silently. He watched her, sitting on the bed. At last she was through. “Finished?”

  “All done.”

  He got up and went over to her. “Let’s go out and have a drink. Then we can drive around for a while. You leave the rest of your stuff here tonight and we’ll work out something tomorrow morning. We’ll figure out something. Okay? Now—where do you want to go?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Wherever you say.”

  “We’ll go across the street It’s a nice quiet little bar. We can talk there.”

  She nodded.

  But on the sidewalk she stopped.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I think I’d rather go right home. I don’t feel too well.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Can we walk?”

  “Walk? All that way?”

  “It’s not far.”

  “All right. We can always call a taxi when we get tired.”

  They walked slowly along. The streets were silent and lonely. Above, the sky was overcast Only a few stars were visible. One huge cloud, as large as a continent, hung across the horizon. It was moving, swelling larger and larger, spreading its opaque greyness over the whole world. One by one, the stars winked off and disappeared.

  Verne looked away. Beside him, Teddy strode along, her hands in the pockets of her coat, saying nothing. Her head was up; she was breathing deeply, her mouth half open. Drawing the air into her lungs, the cold, damp air.

  “It’s a nice night,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad we’re walking.” She slipped her arm through his. “Do you mind?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what I’ve decided?”

  He glanced at her. “What?”

  Teddy kicked a stone from the sidewalk. It rolled into the gutter. “You’re right about your apartment, of course. I remember how he looked at me—the manager. I should have realized. But that’s all over with.” She turned toward Verne, smiling. “Anyhow, it’s better to start fresh.”

  “Fresh?”

  “In a new place. Where you’ve never been before. Where you can paint and clean. Put up drapes, pictures. Start all over. Do you stay in one place very long? The same place gets stale, after a while.”

  Verne said nothing.

  “We’ll find a place with a yard. I want to plant some herbs. I’ve always wanted an herb garden. You can do wonderful things with herbs. And I can get Sheshahgen back again.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My cat.”

  “Your cat! You said—”

  “This is a different cat. I gave her to some friends. They’ll give her back again.”

  Verne was dazed. He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’re giving up your apartment? Why? Don’t you intend to—”

  Teddy smiled. “I’ve already told the landlady. I told her this morning. Verne—there’s so many things we can do! Have you ever painted an apartment? Have you? Do you know how it smells, late at night, the wet smell of the paint? You turn on the stove for coffee. The smell of the paint mixing with the coffee smell. The gas. The bright overhead light.”

  They walked on. Above them the last star had been absorbed, swallowed by the vastness of the grey continent that swelled across the sky. How could it be? How could great flaming suns, thousands of miles in diameter, burning masses bigger than the earth, be eaten up and absorbed by something so small, so unimportant as a cloud? Everything was disappearing, vanishing. All around him the world was fading into the grey mists, the hodge-podge of stars, and trash, and tree branches, newspapers, the little things that roll around in the wind.

  And himself.

  He would be swept along with the rest; he had no power to stop the motion of these things. He glanced at the girl striding along beside him. Was it possible that things could be devoured by something so weak, so thin and small, so gaunt?

  Had he always been so helpless? Was this the way it would always be? Was there nothing else for him?

  They stopped at a corner for a street light. No one was in sight. The wet streets stretched out in all directions, dark and barren. Suddenly Verne tensed. He pulled back, away from the girl.

  ??
?What is it?” Teddy said. “Why did you stop?”

  “Listen.”

  She listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

  He moved down the sidewalk, straining to hear. A sound—a faint, familiar sound. A sound he had not heard for a long time. Someone was playing a musical instrument. But he could not tell where.

  He came to a house and stood listening, his head to one side. Then he went back farther, past the house, until he stood by a fence, a lattice fence overgrown with ivy. Light was coming through the fence, where the holes were not filled up with the leaves and stems of ivy. He bent down, peering through the fence, cupping his hands.

  On the other side a boy was sitting in the middle of a garden, on a wooden stool, playing an oboe. He stared intently ahead, his eyes fixed on a music stand. Above his head an electric light bulb hung. Nothing else seemed to exist for him. Only the cold instrument in his hands, the music in front of him. Nothing else.

  All at once he stopped and turned his head. He looked past Verne, off into the distance, his instrument in his lap. Then he lifted it up again and began to play as before.

  Down at the end of the block Teddy was calling angrily. Verne stepped back onto the sidewalk and made his way slowly toward her, his hands in his pockets.

  “What happened? Why did you go back?”

  “A high school boy. Practicing on his oboe.”

  Teddy shrugged.

  They walked on.

  Verne was still gazing at Carl when the young man began to wake up. He turned slowly in the bed, stretching and opening his eyes. He blinked at Verne.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Not very long,” Verne murmured.

  Carl sat up. “What kind of a day is it?” He pulled back the shade above his bed and peered out. The sky was bright blue. The sun shone down everywhere. Off in the distance they could see the machines of the Company, tall columns, rising up like abandoned towers.

  “I guess it’s time to get up,” Carl said. He struggled out of his covers and onto his feet He smiled cheerily at Verne; his blond hair hung down over his face. He pushed it back out of the way.

  “Let’s go eat breakfast.” Carl was all excitement. “Just think—we can have anything we want! We can have turkey and creamed peas and plum pudding with brandy sauce.”