Agyar

SEVEN

Kellem spoke to me of dreams, and just yesterday I made reference to the dreams I used to have when I first knew her, and now I’ve had another one. Of course, I always dream, and I often remember what I dream, but I’m not speaking now about vague impressions filtered from memories, fears, and the sights and sounds that infiltrate the benumbed senses of the sleeper to invade his thoughts without waking him; I am speaking of a dream that comes with all the power of significance, and tells you what you did not know before-or would tell you if you knew how to interpret it. And then there are dreams that not only inform, but are part of the process of change-dreams that visit the world as it visits the sleeper. But we don’t really believe in those, do we?

I dreamt of Jill, naturally. Oh, certainly there was enough of the confusing dream landscape, as there always is; Kellem appeared now and then, doing what she does in life; but for the most part it was Jill, looking at me with varying expressions of horror, tenderness, wistfulness, defiance, and even lust-more expression, in fact, than I’d ever seen on her face in the real world, so I think my imagination supplied a great deal of it.

In my dream we were walking around and around some object set in the middle of a room, like a large chair, although I don’t think I was ever certain what the object was. We were playing a silly game of can’t-catch-me, but there was great urgency to the game, for all that we were, at times, laughing as we played. Then, without a resolution to the game, I was standing in front of her, holding both of her shoulders and saying, “Have you done what I ordered you to?”

She tried to look away from me, but I would not let her; in the dream, the force of my will was tangible, and very, very strong. In the end she shuddered and collapsed into some poorly defined small, furry thing, which scampered off to go fetch something or other in response to my command.

I awoke some time after this, knowing at once that the next time I saw her she would have fulfilled my wishes, and taken by a strong desire to set this dream down on paper before I forgot it; I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream like this before; I don’t think the circumstances which caused it to be have ever come up before.

I will visit Jill now, and discover if I have been deceived.

She was sitting quietly on her bed, her back resting on the wall. Her room had been partially restored to its former splendor-that is, the additions had been removed, but the artwork had not been put up again. She was wearing a white dressing gown, and I had the impression that she had been sitting there, just like that, for hours, maybe days.

I came in and shut the door behind me. She turned her head slowly, but her face betrayed no expression. I looked at her for just a moment, then she stirred herself-it seemed to take some effort-and rose from the bed. She stood before me, unbuttoned her dressing gown, let it fall to the floor, and waited.

Afterward I covered her up and left her sleeping deeply.

I went down the stairs and found Susan sitting on the couch, her feet up. She was wearing another light blue tank top and a green printed skirt. She said, “I never heard you come in.”

“I’ve been upstairs seeing Jill,” I said.

She put down her reading matter, which seemed to be a textbook, and said, “Is she any better?”

“No. Well, maybe. Her room looks better.”

“Yes. That didn’t last long. I wonder what she’ll find next.”

“She’s sleeping now, at any rate.”

“I think Don’s death hit her pretty hard.”

“Apparently.”

“She needs to come out of it, though.”

“Have you ever lost anyone close?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. My friend Vivian.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s been almost two years, now. I could say a drunk crashed into her, and it would be true, but she was pretty loaded herself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes.” Her face is amazing. Even when she was holding back any expression I could almost read her feelings like words on a page. I can’t help comparing her to Jill, whose face is dead, or Kellem, who hardly ever lets her feelings show. Except anger. Kellem has always been willing to show anger.

I studied Susan’s face and said, “But you’ve recovered from her death, I think.”

“Yes.”

“How?

She considered this. “Vivian was one of the wittiest people I’ve ever known, and one of the wisest. I wrote down everything I could remember that she’d ever said, and every once in a while I read through things, and I quote her from time to time.”

“You’re keeping her with you.”

“Yes.”

“You are very beautiful.”

She stood up and I held her, but that is all I did, then, because it wouldn’t have felt right to do more. I did kiss her once, lightly, as I was leaving. She said, “Your lips are always so cold.”

I started to say “Like my heart,” but I didn’t, for fear that she might believe me.

An altogether splendid evening; although, consequently and ironically, there is little to say about it. But it has gotten me back to work on the typewriting machine. I woke up completely recovered, and, in fact, feeling rather better than I have in some time. I took the opportunity to visit Susan, who was looking slightly wan but seemed to be in fine spirits.

After checking on Jill, who was doing better, we went off and saw a play at a little private theater in the Tunnel. The theater is called the Clubhouse, and the play itself was a fairly recent work by someone I’d never heard of that was about three generations of women and concerned itself with insanity, spelling bees, and all manner of subjects in between. It was both written and performed with a good deal of humor and genuine pathos.

Susan laughed up until the end, when she cried, and then I took her home, kissed her hand at the door and bid good evening to her surprised, slightly disappointed, but seemingly charmed countenance.

Even the weather has conspired to make this a pleasant night, because, although it was cold, it was also a beautiful clear night without wind, and the sliver of moon was sharp and fine before she fell into the western skyline. The lack of wind is also serving to keep this room more snug than usual.

I feel very much like having a nice chat with Jim, so I believe that I will.

Kellem has started the game.

My spirits have improved, now that it has begun; I still don’t know precisely what she has planned, but at least I know she has started. I am more relaxed than I have been in quite some time.

I had came out of the shower; I was naked except for a towel wrapped around my head; when Jim walked up to me silently and said without preamble, “The police were here today.”

I pulled the towel away and looked at him. He was staring at the steamy bathroom over my shoulder. “Ah,” I said.

“It was about nine o’clock this morning. They knocked on the door, then broke it down.”

“You didn’t let them in?”

Jim, apparently, didn’t think that was very funny. “There were seven of them, six in uniform and one in plainclothes.”

“How were they armed?”

“Two had shotguns, the rest weren’t carrying anything.”

“I don’t like shotguns.”

“I know.”

“In the future, don’t allow them in the house.”

He barely smiled.

I said, “Did they search?”

“Oh, yes. Up one side and down the other. They were at it a good five, six hours.”

“What did they find?”

“Well, they didn’t find you.”

“I’d sort of figured that out already. What did they find?”

He almost laughed. “Some dirty laundry.”

“Did they take it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I tried to remember what I’d left out so I could determine how annoyed I ought to be. When a place has a nice hideyhole like this one does, I tend to make sure everything is there before I sleep (including these papers, by the way). I remembered that there was a nice silk shirt that I’d miss, but everything else was easily replaceable. If they had come two days earlier, they’d have found a week’s worth of dirty laundry. “Much joy may it bring them,” I said. “What did they say?”

“Most of what they talked about didn’t have anything to do with their search, and I don’t really care to repeat it.”

“Ah.”

“But they did learn that someone had been staying here, both from the laundry and from the burned candles and the ash in the fireplace.”

“Did they check for fingerprints?”

“All over.”

“Okay. They won’t match anything anyway.”

He looked startled. “You’ve never had your prints taken before?”

“Now, Jim,” I said. “You know I try to stay on the right side of the law.”

That time he laughed, though I think it was a bit forced. “What do you think they were after?”

“After?” I said. “Me, of course.”

“Well, yes, but why?”

“With that many of them? They probably think I’m dangerous. I would imagine Kellem arranged this in hopes they’d find me while I slept.”

He shook his head. “I thought you said she wouldn’t want that.”

“Well, yes, but apparently I was wrong. Unless you think it’s coincidence.”

“Not hardly,” said Jim. “What are you going to do about it?”

“After this,” I said. “I’m going to pick up my dirty laundry.”

I got dressed in what used to be the master bedroom. This has become a habit with me, to stand in front of the fireplace, dry myself off as if there were a fire going, then go over to the dressing room attached to it and put on whatever I’ve chosen to wear that day. Today, for the record, I’m wearing black zip boots, black pants, a navy blue turtleneck shirt and a brown corduroy sports coat. And my pendant, of course; I’ve had it for a long, long time, and it has become a sort of good-luck piece for me, although I’m not really superstitious. (I used to be very superstitious, but then I learned it was bad luck. A little joke there, Jim). It was Kellem who gave me the pendant, now that I think of it. She said it reminded her of me. I didn’t know what she meant, and, come to that, I still don’t; she probably just said it for effect. In any case, while I don’t pay a great deal of attention to my dress, and I tend to leave almost everything when I move, I do like to look presentable. The shoes, by the way, haven’t quite broken in and they hurt just a little.

It’s time to get serious about this; the game’s afoot, Watson, I need you. I’m going to take those papers out again and go through them once more.

Completely frustrated. I’ve been able to eliminate a few cases, but not enough to help. It seems Kellem ought to have been polite enough to leave some sort of signs on her kills. Is this what she calls being obvious? I suppose I could tell her that she’s overreacting, but the last time I tried to talk to her it didn’t work out so well.

I am tempted to try to get into the police station and go through their files, but that does seem like asking for trouble. What if they have a description of me, and I’m spotted the instant I go in?

I would love to be able to talk to Susan about this. Not that I think she could help, but it would be pleasant to be able to unload my frustration on her. Still, there’s always Jim, who has been very patient with me.

I’m not sure what to do next. Ignore everything and hope something comes up? Wait for inspiration to strike? Track down Kellem at her lair? And then what? At least I no longer have to worry about Jill or Don.

Although, now that I think of it, how did Don know what to do? Even if he’d watched a few movies and read a few novels, his knowledge seemed far too complete. There’s a mystery there. I might have been too hasty with him; although it is certainly too late to worry about that now. But perhaps I ought to try to find the source of his knowledge. At any rate, that will give me something to do.

I’ve just come back from spending a few hours visiting our neighbor, Bill. I met him and his infuriating dog again as I was leaving the house, and, once again, the dog nearly went berserk. Bill apologized, and we spoke, and he renewed his offer, and this time I accepted. Their house is about as different from Jim’s as you can imagine for two houses in the same neighborhood. It is from the 1950’s, a style I detest, with low ceilings and space conservation everywhere; although when the forced-air heating system started up I began to see the virtues. It is very simply decorated, mostly with books. I was pleased to see a good number of old, leather-bound editions of Dickens and Hawthorne and such.

The dog wouldn’t settle down, so they put it out in the fenced-in backyard, and showered me with apologies about which I was quite gracious.

His wife’s name is Dorothy (I didn’t ask her if she was from Kansas, although I was tempted), and she’s a bright, slightly dumpy middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair. They tried to feed me and I declined, eventually accepting half a cup of coffee.

We spoke about the college, and he mentioned that he had a new project.

“What’s that?” I said.

“It’s called the Swaggart Study.”

“From Jimmy Swaggart?”

“No, no, Don Swaggart.”

I kept my face impassive. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of him.”

“He’s the guy who started the project, over in Sociology.”

“Oh.”

“He died recently, and he was pretty much the main force behind it, so we decided to keep it going in his honor and name it after him.”

“That was thoughtful. An older fellow?”

“No, quite young. He was killed. Some sort of break-in at his house.”

“Really? A shame. Did you know him?”

Bill nodded. “Yes. Very well, in fact.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It was a shock. It’s hard to get to be my age without having a close friend die unexpectedly like that, but I’ve managed.”

“I’ve never gotten used to it myself,” I said.

He nodded, then laughed a little. “I still don’t quite believe it. I mean, I’ve read Spider Robinson; people don’t really die. Not dead dead.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

Dorothy offered me some Rondele on crackers which I declined, and then she asked if I had any children.

“No. Do you?” Which was the cue for them to get the pictures out. Lord! They even had a son in the army, stationed in Germany; it was the kind of photograph that makes you think the kid is an officer if you don’t know insignia. They also had a daughter who, judging from her graduation picture, was not unattractive. I started to ask about her, then changed my mind.

The conversation drifted after that. Bill brought up Young Don once or twice more, but I had nothing to say about him, and we eventually worked our way to a discussion of crime in general. I was able to keep a straight face while agreeing with most of what they said.

Then Dorothy said, “The police were over at the house across the street today.”

“Really?” said Bill and I at the same time.

She nodded. “I went out and asked one of the officers what was going on, and he ordered me back in the house.”

“It must have been serious, then,” I said.

Bill nodded. “That’s the real problem with empty houses; you never know who might move in, unofficially.”

“Indeed,” I said. “That is very true.”

A long day today. I went back to see Jill, hoping she might be able to tell me where Young Don got his great ideas. I opened up her door and went in, and found the place full of flowers, a tray next to the bed, a teapot and cup on the tray, and Jill lying sound asleep. Someone had evidently been taking care of her.

I tried to wake her up, but she only moaned a little and, if anything, fell deeper into unconsciousness. Not knowing what else to do, I turned to go, and found Susan in the doorway, looking at me with an expression that seemed puzzled and not entirely happy. I held my smile until I should know what she was about. She didn’t waste any time telling me.

“What have you been doing to Jill?” she said. She looked right at me, her voice and expression without fear or compromise, and I felt the way I suppose the lion feels when confronted by his trainer with whip and chair.

Yet, despite the horrible plunging sensation in my chest, and the odd tingling at the bottoms of my feet and in my palms, I determined not to give up anything more than necessary. I said, “What do you mean?”

“Jill,” she said, “has been lying here all day, hardly waking up for more than five or ten minutes, and she’s been calling your name and moaning.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “she misses me.”

“She’s been moaning ‘no, Jack, please don’t.’ Does that sound like she misses you?”

It came to me that I’d been hearing those very words, in her voice, while I was sleeping. In my dreams I had thought it slightly amusing; now I did not. I groped for a reply, and finally settled on asking “Could she mean, please don’t go?”

“I think not,” said Susan, biting out the words one at a time. She was still looking at me in a manner that was nearly accusing.

My temper began to rise, and I had an almost overpowering urge to take Susan right then, whatever her desires; almost overpowering, not quite. I don’t know what it was that held me back, but for a moment things hung in the balance, and in that time I think Susan saw a side of me I had not intended to show her. At any rate, she took a step backward and watched me the way one might watch a dog whose disposition has not been ascertained.

But this time, the dog only bristled a little. I regained composure, and Susan regained her puzzled look, and she seemed to shake herself as if she weren’t quite certain what it was that she almost saw.

I said, “I can hardly be responsible for her delirium. Have you consulted a doctor?”

She frowned. “No. Do you think I should?”

“Does she seem sick?”

“Look at her.”

“Well, then perhaps calling a doctor would be more productive than accusing me of I know not what crimes against your roommate.”

She took a couple of deep breaths, then nodded. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said. “I’m worried about Jill.”

“Yes. As far as I can tell, you have reason to be.”

“Then should I-?”

“Yes. If she’s still like this tomorrow, I’d call a doctor.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You could do it now, if you’re worried, but I should give it another day.”

She nodded, and I think what had really been bothering her was that she hadn’t quite known what to do with a roommate as sick as Jill apparently was, nor had she had anyone to ask. “Wait another day, you think?” she said again, as if for more reassurance.

“That’s what I’d do, unless she seems to be getting worse.”

“Okay,” she said, relaxing as the decision was made. “That’s what I’ll do.”

Now I frowned. “You look a little pale yourself. Have you eaten today?”

She blinked, as if it were a question that would never have occurred to her. “You know, I don’t believe I have. Are you hungry?”

“No, but I can keep you company. Where shall we go?”

She smiled, and she was the Susan I knew again. “Out,” she said, swinging her arms.

“Shhhh. Don’t wake patient.”

She lowered her voice, but said, “I doubt that I could.”

I led the way. As we locked the front door behind us, she said, “How do you keep getting in without my knowing it? Did Jill give you a key without mentioning it to me?”

“Trade secret,” I said.

“What trade is that? Cat burglar?”

“Yes, although I prefer the technical term.”

“What’s that?”

“Music promoter.”

She laughed. “You aren’t really a promoter, are you?”

“No, I’m afraid not. If I were, I’d give you a contract.”

“I don’t doubt that a bit,” she said.

The wind was fierce, so I sheltered her with my body. It’s funny, but there is a kind of intimacy that vanishes along with one’s clothes, and that can sometimes become stronger as more layers are added. Walking beneath the new moon, huddling against the wind and the occasional streetlights, I almost felt as if we were a single person, intertwining our emotions with our hair, her breath steaming around our heads.

She said, “There’s something fey about you, you know.”

“Fey?” I laughed. “I’ve never been called fey before.”

“You haven’t? I’m surprised.”

“I must say I prefer it to some of the things I have been called.”

She chuckled into the collar of my coat. “Don’t tell me,” she said, her voice muffled. The top of her head looked very charming that way.

“I shan’t.”

We found a restaurant called the Nawlins, which was a storefront with too many tables and not enough waiters for the space, and I bought her some shrimp Creole and a beer, which she seemed to thoroughly enjoy. After the beer she switched to coffee, and I joined her with my usual half-cup. She seemed to think that was funny.

She asked about my love life, which threw me for a bit, but I ended up telling her about Kellem, although in general terms and not by name. Susan thinks Kellem is very frightened, and wants a man to make her feel secure, but is afraid to trust anyone enough to make a difference. I almost laughed at this, and then I began wondering if there wasn’t some truth in it. I still wonder.

We drifted onto other subjects, and I cannot for the life of me remember what we talked about, but we suddenly noticed that everyone else had left and the busboy, a college-aged kid who’d gone to the Art Garfunkel school of hair fashion, was giving us significant looks. I left an extra tip for his trouble and helped Susan with her coat.

“Back home?” I said. “Or is there somewhere else worth going?”

“I wish it were summer so we could walk along the lakeshore.”

“We can anyway. Stand on the rocks and watch the waves crash while the wind-”

“Freezes our cute little behinds off. No thanks.”

“You have no trace of romance in you,” I said.

She smiled at me. “Wanna bet?”

“Right. Home then.”

We made it in spite of the powdered snow that the wind threw into our faces, though my hands were thoroughly chilled. When we got inside, I said, “You’re going to have to warm me up.”

“Let’s check on Jill, first,” she said.

“All right.”

So we did, and decided that she seemed to be breathing a little easier, though she still didn’t wake up. Then I took Susan’s hand and led her into the bedroom.

All right, yeah, she did have some romance in her, after all.