Pin (23 page)

“Leon,” she said, “I feel very frightened. I keep thinking the phone's going to ring and it's going to be the police to tell us of a terrible accident. It's going to be just like the phone call we got about mother and the doctor.”

“You're talking yourself into something, Ursula.”

“I can't help it. I can't think of anything else.”

“You ought to try to get some sleep.”

“I could never do it. I'm even afraid to close my eyes. All I'll see is Stan's body mangled in an auto wreck.”

“What a gruesome imagination.”

“I can't help it.”

“Stop saying you can't help it, damnit.” I sat up.

“I'm sorry.” She stopped pacing and sat at the edge of my bed. She was staring across the room at some of Pin's things I had brought up. “Leon?”

“What?”

“Why would you want to crowd Pin in here with you when he has a room all to himself?”

“We've been through this before.”

“I know,” she said in her most ingratiating tone of voice, “but what I'm saying is true, isn't it?”

“I don't mind sharing my room. I don't need all this space.”

“But just think of the effort—bringing him up, taking him down, bringing him up …”

“I don't mind the effort,” I said and rubbed my lower legs. My body began taking on that creeping numbness again. It traveled up my legs, reaching my hips quickly. I had the craziest feeling, just as though I had stepped into ice water and I was going down deeper and deeper. I must have looked frightened too, because Ursula's expression changed immediately.

“What's wrong?”

“Just my legs fell asleep. It's nothing,” I said, lying back.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Leon. You've had that problem before.”

“I'm just very tired, that's all. It's all right,” I added sharply. “Let's go to sleep.”

“OK,” she said. She sounded very small and frightened. I really felt sorry for snapping at her. I took her hand and held it for an instant. She smiled, leaned down, and kissed me on the forehead. Then I turned toward the wall and rushed at sleep, desperate for the sanctuary within it.

I
AWOKE VERY SLOWLY THE NEXT MORNING AND HAD A
great sense of confusion. My sleep had been an extraordinarily deep one, and coming out of it was more gradual than usual. After a moment or two, I remembered that Ursula had spent the night with me, but when I turned over, she was gone. I listened for her for a while because it was very silent in the house. That surprised me. I sat up, wiping my eyes and rubbing my cheeks to bring some sensation of life to my face. Then I looked out the window and clapped my hands in joy. It was snowing. It was a light snow, with tiny, tiny flakes, the kind of a snow that goes on for quite a while. Things couldn't have worked out better. I was eager to get up and get started. I listened for Ursula again, heard nothing,
and then got up and quickly slipped on my pants. Her clothes from the day before were still lying on the chair in the corner. I went to the bathroom and washed in warm water. The thought of cold water on my face made me uneasy for some reason that morning.

When I finished dressing and went downstairs, I found Ursula sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the clock on the wall. She had a cup of coffee before her but apparently had prepared nothing else. I stood there in the doorway, looking at her for a moment without speaking. She was dressed for work and her hair was combed back tightly and pinned behind her head. She was so still and neat looking that I was reminded of a manikin in a department store window. Apparently she had gotten up very early because it was only seven-thirty now.

“Is that all you're having for breakfast?” I asked, moving to get myself a cup of coffee too.

“I've been sitting here since seven staring at the clock. I haven't the nerve to call his aunt.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear that. The poor old lady's probably fast asleep at this hour.”

“I'm not afraid of waking her. I'm afraid of what she'll tell me. I don't want to hear her say that Stan's not there and hasn't been all night, or Stan's been in an accident,” she said. She spoke in a dry monotone, stiff-necked, staring ahead. I felt she was really in a bad way.

“If he had returned, don't you think he would have called?”

“Yes, but I still have to call her.”

“So call her.” I took out some eggs and set up the poacher. “Want some eggs?”

“No, I'm not hungry.”

“OK,” I sang out and began making myself some breakfast. I got a tough day's work ahead of me, I thought, better have a good meal. Ursula got up and approached the phone. She stared down at it dramatically. I had to look away. I listened to her dial, slowly, carefully. I could hear the phone ringing and ringing. She had the receiver a little away from her ear. Then I heard Stan's aunt.

“Good morning,” Ursula said. “I'm sorry if I woke you.” That was all she said. Stan's aunt did the rest of the talking. Ursula listened and listened. Finally she said, “Thank you. Yes, I'll keep in touch.”

I turned and looked at her quickly and then went back to the poacher. She went back to the table and sat down.

“OK,” I said. “So what did she say?”

“What I expected. She called the police too. She called early this morning. There's been no trace of him. Leon, what do you suppose could possibly have happened to him?”

“I don't know. Anything. Maybe he just got tired of the whole scene—you, me, his aunt, his wooden leg—and split. Maybe this is an aftereffect of his war experience. I don't know. How should I know?”

“Well,” she said, getting up reluctantly, “I guess I'll go to work and try to keep busy in the library. It might help me to keep some sanity today. If you should hear …”

“Don't even say it. The moment I heard, I would call you.” She started out. “Ursula,” I called as I set my eggs on the table, “you're going to have to face the possibility that he just pulled out.”

“Maybe,” she said. I was encouraged. At least she
was finally admitting to the possibility. “I'll call at lunchtime anyway,” she added and left.

I had a great appetite. When I looked out the window, I saw that the snow had gotten harder and bigger. Things looked perfect. After I cleared the table, I went to Pin's door and unlocked it slowly. There he was, sitting vigil over Stan's lifeless body. The room was dark because the shades on the windows were drawn and the gray, overcast, snowy sky sent little light through them. Pin didn't even notice my entrance because he was so involved with Stan. I cleared my throat.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Perfect.”

“You don't know how right you are. If you could just peek out that window there, you'd see a made-to-order snow.”

“Really? That's great.”

“I'll go get the sack. The earlier I do this, the better. More snow to cover my tracks.”

“Right. You look sharp this morning. How's Ursula taking it?”

“As expected. She'll snap out of it with time. Already I've gotten her to admit to the possibility of his having run off.”

“That's wonderful. OK, go to it,” he said, and I went out to the garage to get the sack and pick. It wasn't too difficult to get Stan into the sack. All I had to do was slip it over his legs and then stand him up for a moment. His body dropped down like a cast-iron weight. I didn't look at him much because his face was so ghastly to me. But when I lifted him, I had the feeling I was lifting a thing instead of a man. For a moment I felt nauseated and dizzy. I had
to set the sack down and turn away. Pin didn't say anything. He knew what I was going through. After a few deep breaths, I was myself again.

“I'll take him out the back door.”

“Of course. He's heavy. It'll be rough going. The pond's quite a distance.”

“I know. Once I get through the open backyard, I'll drag him some.”

“When you return, we'll have a drink together and celebrate.”

“Right. Here I go,” I said. I knelt down and grasped the sack around the middle. He was very heavy. With great strain, I lifted him onto my shoulder and straightened up. Then I reached out and took the pick. It was difficult to navigate myself through the door and past all the living-room furniture as I went through the house to get to the back door. A few times I banged into things, and once I nearly lost balance and fell over with him. By the time I had gotten out the back door, I was already puffing madly.

“Christ,” I muttered to myself, “how the hell am I going to make it? I've got to make it,” I answered. The snow was very heavy now and there was a strong wind that carried the flakes right into my face. My feet sunk about three inches into the hard crust that was there before, making each step a great effort.

The woods were about twenty-five yards behind the house. I had to stop and rest about midway. That was a mistake, though, because it took an even greater effort to lift him back up and over my shoulder once I started again. Also, the sack made a large impression in the snow. I had completely overlooked the fact that it would, and I chastised
myself for being so careless. I didn't tell Pin about that when I returned because I was totally ashamed of my own stupidity. As I stood there catching my breath, I stared at the old set of swings that had long since rusted. Ursula and I had spent little time on them. They're the kind of playground toy you enjoy more with friends around, and since we had so few friends, we hardly used them.

The snow was getting down the back of my coat collar. I had to tighten the neck button, but that made it harder to breathe. I was struggling for breath with Stan's body on my shoulder, so I unbuttoned it again and let the damn snow penetrate my clothing. The snow was falling so hard that I could barely see where I was going. Most of the time I walked with my eyes closed, taking big, ponderous steps. I used the pick to brace myself from time to time, and that also made an impression in the snow. I comforted myself by thinking that no one would ever figure out what all these impressions were anyway. Also, the way the snow was falling, it would all be nearly covered in a matter of hours.

I was grateful when I finally reached the woods. The cover of trees made the blinding snow less annoying. I stopped again, lowering the sack to the ground, this time confident that the woods would serve well to hide the traces. I stood there for a few moments, trying to catch my breath and prepare myself for the distance I had yet to cover. Looking around the woods, I was reminded of times when I was young and I used to come into the forest to be alone and imagine my own little world. I could still hear Ursula calling me afternoons, trying to get me to come out and play with her. I would stand behind a tree and peer out at her straining to be heard. Her
eyes closed and her face contorted under the great effort as she screamed my name over and over. Ursula always hated to play alone, no matter how many toys my parents bought her. She needed me to help her imagine and create.

I thought I saw a curtain move in a window facing the back of the house. It was probably Pin checking to see how far I had gone. I knelt down again and struggled to get the sack over my shoulder. When I stood up, I almost toppled backward and had to cling to the side of a tree for balance. Then I began to plod through the forest, following a pathway I knew well. I had to rest again before I reached the pond. And when I started once more, I forgot to take the pick and had to drop the sack and go back for it. I bawled myself out for my own carelessness and stupidity. I spoke aloud. In fact, I was talking aloud most of the time. I held a whole conversation with Stan in the sack.

“We're almost there,” I told him. “You'll like the old pond. Ursula and I spent many afternoons there. I caught a fish there once, with just a hook and string and a piece of bread. I threw the fish back in because Ursula felt sorry for it. That's the way Ursula is, even today. She can't stand to see the smallest creature hurt.