Ask for Me Tomorrow

Five

Violet Smith picked her way carefully around the side of the house past the thorns of the carissa and the spiked leaves of the century plants and the gopher holes in the lawn. She had seen Aragon’s car parked in the driveway and had been on her way to the barbecue room in the hope of overhearing something interesting when Mr. Decker’s bell rang. Reed was off duty and the day girl had already left, so it was Violet Smith’s Christian obligation to answer the bell. Mr. Decker had to go to the bathroom, which was messy and took forever, so that by the time she finished cleaning up, twenty minutes or more had elapsed.

Crossing the patio, she stooped to retrieve a stray leaf caught between two flagstones. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mrs. Decker talking to a strange man. She couldn’t make out the words but they must certainly have been funny because Mrs. Decker suddenly began laughing like some giddy young girl. Violet Smith transferred the leaf to the apron pocket of her uniform and slid open the screen door.

Mrs. Decker immediately sobered up and looked her age again. “You can see I’m busy, Violet Smith.”

“Mr. Decker is agitated. I think he heard a strange car come up the driveway and wants to know what is it doing here.”

“It’s waiting for Mr. Aragon,” Gilly said brusquely.

“Do I go back and tell him?”

“No. No, I’ll do it... Aragon, please stay here for a minute while I check my husband, will you?”

“Don’t hurry,” Aragon said. “I have lots of time.”

After she’d gone Violet Smith studied Aragon carefully and at length. “How come you have lots of time? Don’t you work?”

“I’m working now.”

“You give a good impression of just standing around.”

“Practice, Miss Smith. Years of practice... Mrs. Smith?”

“Violet Smith is my true name, both here and There. When people don’t call me that, I pay them no mind. I figure they might be talking to someone else. There are millions of Smiths.”

She had a point and Aragon guessed that she would cling to it even if it impaled her. He said, “I hope I haven’t disturbed Mr. Decker.”

“He’s agitated. That could be good or bad, depending. I never know. I can’t understand those monkey noises of his, meaning no disrespect. He heard a strange car and we don’t get many strangers around here.”

“Why not?”

“Mrs. Decker had Reed put up a lot of signs to scare people off, like No Peddlers, No Trespassing, Private Property, Beware of Dogs. We don’t even have a dog, except one of the gardeners brings his Airedale along in the truck which howls. The gardeners are both long-haired heathens... Have you been saved?”

“I think so.”

“Aren’t you sure?”

“It’s not the sort of thing one can be sure about until — well, until later.”

“If you think there’s any doubt, it would be better to find out now than then.”

“Yes, I guess it would.”

“You know, you kind of remind me of my son. I don’t see much of him anymore. I never raised a hand to that boy until the day he vilified the Lord. He diminished Jesus and I had to slug him. My hand pained me for several weeks. I could hardly hold my Bible.”

She began dusting the glass table with a piece of tissue which she produced from one of the half-dozen pockets of her uniform. It was apparent from her vigorous movements that her slugging hand had been completely cured and that Violet Smith was ready for another round at the sound of the bell. She was a powerful woman with thick wrists, and shoulders as wide as Aragon’s.

He said, “Why does Mrs. Decker want to scare people off?”

“They might disturb Mr. Decker. He’s pretty far gone, a real sorrowful figure. I overheard Reed asking the doctor one day if it wouldn’t be more humane to pull out the plugs. I couldn’t understand what they were talking about until the doctor used the word, ‘euthanasia.’ Then I stepped right up and said I was against it. The doctor was polite enough, but oh, that Reed has a dirty tongue in his head. I felt duty-bound to report the incident to Mrs. Decker. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“Wow, she threw a terrible fit, crying and carrying on and screaming how she wanted to have her plugs pulled out, too. Then she drank a lot of booze. I told her, ‘You can’t drown your troubles, Mrs. Decker, because troubles can swim.’ Well. If you think Reed has a dirty tongue in his head you should have heard her. My ears cringed. ‘Sticks and stones,’ I said to her, ‘sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me.’ She told me what I could do with every stick and stone between here and Seattle.”

“It wasn’t one of your more popular nights, apparently.”

“Oh, I forgave her. I knew she was just scared like everybody else who won’t accept Jesus. Scared of the old man dying and leaving her alone, and scared of dying herself. I’m used to her bad language, anyway. She’s not a true-born lady like the first Mrs. Lockwood. Mrs. Decker was the second Mrs. Lockwood.”

“You’re acquainted with the first?”

“I see her at church twice a week. We often share the same hymn book. She’s a soprano but not one of those screechy ones, just soft and ladylike as befits her birth.”

“Is she aware that you work for Mrs. Decker?”

“Sure. At our regular evening meetings we’re encouraged to stand up and talk out our predicaments and troubles. Then afterwards we all sit around and help each other.”

“Or not.”

“Or not,” Violet Smith agreed crisply. “We aren’t geniuses, you know. It’s the feeling that counts, the realizing you’re not alone, someone else cares and wants to help.”

“Your church meetings sound very interesting.”

“Oh, they are. They’re what really converted me. I didn’t mind giving up carnality, jewelry and red meat in return for comradeship and an afterlife.”

“I think you made the right decision.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not being sarcastic like Reed or Mrs. Decker?”

“No.”

“I’m glad. You know, when you’re stuck in a place like this most of the time, you’ve got to have something lively, something hopeful, going on outside. The death house — that’s what some of the employees call it. All the pretty flowers and trees, the sun shining, the pool, the birds singing, none of it makes any difference when you’re waiting for someone to die. You want to tell the birds to shut up and the sun to drop down and the flowers to fold their petals and blow away. Imagine telling a bird to shut up. But I did one day. There was this little red-headed creature singing on top of the T. V. antenna and I screamed at him, ‘Stop it, shut up, don’t you know someone’s dying down here?’ ”

“Did you ever express these feelings at any of your church meetings?”

“No. They’d think I was a loony... Listen, I hear Mrs. Decker coming back. She’s suspicious. Pretend I never said a word, not one word, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Gilly re-entered the room through the inside door that connected it with the main part of the house. She looked flushed, as though she’d been engaged in some strenuous physical or emotional exertion. She said, “I suppose Violet Smith has talked your ear off.”

“No.”

“That’s peculiar. She does it to everyone else.”

“Oh, I do not,” Violet Smith said coldly and went outside, pushing the screen door shut behind her as hard as she could.

Gilly waited for her to disappear around the side of the house. “My husband’s all right. He sometimes reacts badly when Reed goes off duty or when something unusual happens.”

“And I’m an unusual happening?”

“To Marco, yes. I’d like you to meet him. He sees the same people day after day and I’m sure he’d enjoy some different company for a change. No matter what impression Violet Smith gave you, Marco can hear and often understand as well — or almost as well — as you and I can.”

“It might be better for me to see him some other time.”

“This is the time I want you to see him, right now. I have my reasons.”

“Very well, Mrs. Decker. You’re the boss.”

Gilly spoke his name softly. “Marco?”

Nothing happened for a minute. Then the wheelchair, which had been facing the patio, suddenly and noiselessly turned and Aragon had his first glimpse of Marco Decker. He seemed a little smaller than life. His face was pale and shriveled, and around his head there was a fringe of sparse silky hair like a baby’s. Under the lap robe his knees showed almost as thin and sharp as elbows. A mohair shawl was wrapped around his shoulders and fastened at the front with a safety pin, the extra-large size used for diapers. It heightened the image of an old man returning through the maze of years to his infancy.

This was Aragon’s first time in the presence of a terminally ill person and he understood more clearly what Violet Smith had been talking about. The imminence of death altered the meaning of things. The plants outside the window looked too grotesquely healthy, the hummingbirds among the fuchsia blossoms were too lively and brilliant, the warmth of the sun useless, even offensive. Aragon felt the reaction of his own body, the increased flow of adrenaline that increased his heartbeat and signaled his muscles to fight or flight. Run away, man. Drop down, sun. Shut up, bird.

“Marco dear, this is Tom Aragon, the young man from the lawyer’s office.”

“How do you do, Mr. Decker,” Aragon said.

The fingers of one of Marco’s hands twitched slightly in acknowledgment of the greeting.

Gilly said, “I thought I’d introduce Aragon to you and tell you exactly why I sent for him, Marco. I’d rather have kept it secret to spare you any worry, but I know you’re bound to hear hints about it from Reed or Violet Smith or one of the maids, or even from me unintentionally. When very little occurs in a house, whatever does occur is repeated and blown up out of proportion. This is a small thing, actually.”

Marco’s right eye blinked. The movement was slow and labored but the expression in the eye itself was clear: Hurry up, get on with it, I haven’t much time.

“I won’t tell you if you’re going to fuss about it because it isn’t that important.”

Hurry, hurry, giddyap, giddyap.

“Now, don’t be upset... I’ve often talked to you about B. J., haven’t I? And I’ve told you what happened. We have no secrets from each other. Well, I’ve been thinking, what if B. J. struck it rich, down in Mexico, I mean rich rich. Some of these developers rake in millions and millions, and while he was always a lousy businessman, maybe this time he struck it lucky. I talked to Smedler. He said I’d be a fool not to try and cash in on it if really big money is involved. He said I should make an effort to find B. J.”

Aragon stared at her. There wasn’t the subtlest change of expression on her face or the slightest quaver in her voice to indicate that she’d just told three lies in three sentences.

“Well, now you know what Mr. Aragon is doing here. He’s collecting material on B. J. so he’ll know where to look first, and so on. I showed him some pictures of B. J. and also the last letter I received from him five years ago. There now. That shouldn’t upset you, should it?”

Marco’s paralyzed eye remained half open but the good one was closed. He might have gone to sleep out of weariness or boredom; he might have died.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you’re sleeping when you’re not, Marco, just to make me go away. I’ll go away in a minute when I’ve finished explaining to you... Listen, he treated me badly, he almost destroyed me. It was a long time ago and everything ought to be forgotten and forgiven by now. But it’s not. He owes me. I want to see him pay a few more damages.”

The wheelchair turned, as it had before, without a sound and faced the patio again, the plants, the birds, the sun.

“All right, Marco, I’m leaving. I won’t bother you anymore.” She opened the door and went out into the corridor. With a final glance at the man in the wheelchair, Aragon followed her. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him but I felt I’d better. He’ll be quite reasonable once he gets used to the idea. If he is or isn’t, I must go ahead with the project anyway. I’ve been considering it a long time and I have no intention of giving it up. You think — you may think I’m doing all this out of revenge.”

“I may.”

“In fact you do.”

“Well, I was just wondering what the going price is for a pound of flesh.”

“The same as it’s always been,” Gilly said quietly. “A pound of flesh.”

Outside, the wind had gone down and all the billowy clouds had broken up and were strung across the sky in shreds. The plastic hose of the pool vacuum was floating in the water where Reed had dropped it. It looked like a giant white sea snake coiled to strike.

Later in the evening he called his wife, Laurie, at the hospital in San Francisco. The background noises and her crisp confident voice indicated she was on ward duty. It was the professional voice she used to intimidate germs and head nurses and to calm frightened children and their parents.

“Dr. Macgregor speaking.”

“Tom Aragon here. Remember him?”

“Vaguely. Describe him.”

“Dark-haired, kind of funny-looking, pale, could probably use some medical attention.”

“Sorry, that’s not the Tom Aragon I know who happens to be very handsome, well-built, healthy, intelligent—”

“Listen, we’re in the money, Laurie.”

“You robbed a bank.”

“No.”

“Blackmailed an old lady.”

“Close. One of Smedler’s clients wants me to find her first husband, who’s somewhere in Baja California. I’m not sure why, exactly. She’s given half a dozen reasons, which is five too many. But I took the job — and her money — and I’m leaving for Rio Seco tomorrow morning.”

“When was your last smallpox vaccination?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Better check it out. You had a tetanus booster this summer after you swam into the jellyfish, so that’s okay.”

“Laurie, for Pete’s sake, you’re not going into your mother-hen routine?”

She ignored the question. “It’s no joke about the water in Mexico. Don’t drink it. Don’t even brush your teeth with it. Use beer.”

“I never heard of brushing teeth with beer.”

“You could start a trend.”

“Hey, I miss you.”

“Save the soft talk for later. Now, don’t even look at any vegetable that’s not cooked or fruit that’s not peeled. Turista is bad enough — you can pick up some Lomotil to take care of that — but infectious hepatitis is worse, in fact it’s sometimes fatal... I miss you, too... Did you know there’s a place in Mexico where Hansen’s disease is endemic?”

“What’s Hansen’s disease? On second thought—”

“Leprosy.”

“Don’t tell me any more or I’ll quit right now and send all the money back to Mrs. Decker.”

“No. I mean, we can use it. Just be careful. Hansen’s disease isn’t contagious, but pick up some halazone tablets to put in water in case of emergency. Have you any antibiotics to take with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check the medicine cabinet for tetracycline or ampicillin. Also insect repellent, especially one containing D.E.E.T. And you’d better have your hair cut very short. There’ll be less chance of pediculosis.”

“I hesitate to ask—”

“Head lice.”

“Head lice?”

“Well, you’re not going to be staying at the Ritz, you know. Now, do you think you can remember all the things I’ve told you?”

“Sure. Absolutely. I’m making notes.”

She laughed. “You’re not really, are you?”

“I would be if I happened to have a pencil and some paper and knew how to spell tetracycline and ampicillin and Lomotil... How’s the job going?”

“Fine. Long hours, hard work, lethal food. But the kids are great. I’ve got one on my lap right this minute, a Vietnamese orphan. He’s a very sick little boy, but as long as someone is carrying him around or holding him he’s perfectly quiet. Do you suppose we’ll ever have any kids, Tom?”

“Under present circumstances it seems unlikely.”

“Circumstances change.”

“The decision will be yours, anyway. My minimal role merits only a fraction of a vote.”

“What would it be, though?”

“I’m not sure I want to take a chance on any kid inheriting my myopia or your tendency to cry at movies.”

“I don’t cry at movies anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t get a chance to see any. On my off-hours I sleep. I just plain sleep.”

“You could never sleep plain, Laurie. You sleep very, very pretty.”

“What are you trying to do, make me quit my job and come running?”

“Not on your life,” he said soberly. “I may need somebody to support me.”

“It’ll be fun, won’t it, when I hang up my shingle and you hang up your shingle.”

“At least our shingles will be together. Maybe they’ll have little shingles.”

“Tom, you’re not really beefing, are you?”

“No.”

“Honestly?”

“I’m not beefing. I just happen to miss you and wish you were here or I was there and the hell with Mrs. Decker’s first husband.”

“I love you, too. Listen, I have to go, they’re paging my number. Take care of yourself. Promise?”

“I promise to brush my teeth with beer and avoid head lice and lepers. Tell the little guy on your lap good night for me.”

“I will. Good night, Tom. I think you’re terribly nice.”

After he hung up he sat staring at the phone as though he half expected it to ring again. No matter how often or how long he and Laurie talked to each other, the conversation always seemed unfinished. He wanted to pick up the phone and call her back, but he thought of the kids waiting for her on the ward and how tired she’d sounded under the cool professional voice and how selfish he’d be to make things tougher by leaning on her.

He went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of beer out of a recapped quart bottle. It was a little flat, the kind good for cleaning teeth. He swished some around in his mouth by way of practice.