Betty Blue

20

The cops had been nervous for a few days now. They’d been patrolling the area from morning till night, their cars crisscrossing the roads in the sun. Break-ins of small-town banks always cause an uproar. The only way to avoid crossing a checkpoint within a five-mile radius would have been by digging a tunnel. I had to go see this woman about moving a baby grand through her window. I was driving peacefully along a deserted road, when a cop car passed me and signaled me to stop. It was the young cop from the night behind the warehouse-the one with the steel thighs. I was running late, but I parked diligently on the shoulder. A few dandelions were growing along the side of the road. He was out of his car before I was. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not.

“Hi. Still girded for battle?” I joked.

“Show me your registration,” he said.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

He just stood there with his hand out, looking around, tired. I got out the registration.

“If you ask me, the guys who did the bank job aren’t from around here,” I added. “Myself… as you can tell by looking at me… I’m on my way to work.”

I had the feeling that I was getting on his nerves. He tapped a bebop rhythm on the hood of the car. His holster gleamed in the sun like a black panther.

“Let me look in the trunk,” he said.

I knew that he knew that I had nothing to do with his goddamn bank. He knew that I knew. He just didn’t like me-it was written all over his face-but I hadn’t the vaguest idea why. I pulled my keys out of the ignition and dangled them in front of my nose. He practically ripped them out of my hand. It was clear I was going to be late.

He screwed around with the lock for a few seconds, trying to turn the knob in all directions at once. I got out and slammed the door.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me do it. It may seem ridiculous to you, but I’d rather not have my car ruined. I use it for my work.”

I opened the trunk and moved away so he could look inside. All there was was an old book of matches, all the way in the back. I waited for a minute before closing the trunk.

“…Take advantage of the situation to air it out a little,” I said.

I got back in the ear. I went to turn the ignition key, but he leaned over and grabbed the door.

“Hey, hold on there a minute!” he said. “What about this…?”

I stuck my head out the window. He was running his hand on my tire.

“Feels like a banana peel,” he said. “I wouldn’t even use it to put flowers in.”

I cooled down immediately. I sensed trouble.

“Right, I know,” I said. “I noticed it this morning before I left. I was going to take care of it right away.”

He stood up without taking his eyes off me. I tried to send him love messages.

“I can’t let you go like that,” he said. “You’re a public menace.”

“Look, I’m not going very far. I’ll go slow. I’ll change the tire as soon as I get home. Rest assured. I have no idea how such a thing could have happened.”

He stepped away from the car, fatigued.

“All right, I’ll let it go. But in the meantime, put on the spare tire.”

I felt the hair bristle on my arms and legs. My spare tire was not in any condition to be seen by a police officer. It had about twenty-five thousand miles on it. The tire he wanted me to change looked practically new next to it. I suddenly got a frog in my throat. I offered him a cigarette.

“Rhuh… care for a smoke?… Rhuh, rhuh… hey, that bank thing must really keep you guys hopping… rhuh… wouldn’t want to be in the culprits’ shoes, rhuh…”

“Right, now let’s get moving. I haven’t got all day.”

I took out a cigarette. The jig was up. I lit it, watching the road unroll through the windshield. The cop squinted.

“Maybe you’d like me to help you…” he said.

“No,” I sighed. “It’s not worth it. It’d be a waste of time. The other tire’s also a mess. I’ll have to change it, too.”

He grabbed my door with his hands. A wild lock of hair fell down on his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“In principle, I’m supposed to immobilize your vehicle. I could even make you go the rest of the way on foot. Now we’re going to turn around here, and you’re going to stop at the first garage we come to and change that tire. I’ll follow you.”

The bottom line was that I was going to be late. But a baby grand is not something you sell every day. I felt like telling him that keeping people from working does not sign his paycheck, but the sun seemed to be getting to his brain.

“Look,” I said. “I have an appointment two minutes from here. I’m not out for a joyride, I’m on my way to sell a piano, and you know very well that small, businessmen can’t afford to miss appointments. It’s hard times for everyone these days. I give you my word that I’ll take care of the tires when I get home. I swear it.

“No,” he snapped. “Now.”

I grabbed the wheel, trying not to squeeze it too hard in my fists, but my arms were already stiff as wood.

“Okay,” I said. “Since you’re determined to give me a ticket, just go ahead and do it. At least I’ll know why I have to work today-I don’t seem to have any choice in the matter…”

“I didn’t say anything about a ticket. I said you have to change your tire!… IMMEDIATELY!!”

“Right, I got that. But if it means missing out on a sale, I’d rather have a ticket.”

He stood there silently for ten seconds staring at me. Then he took one step back and slowly drew his gun. There was no one around for miles.

“Either we do as I say,” he growled. “Or you get a bullet in your tire, for starters…!”

There was no doubt in my mind that he’d do it. Two minutes later found us rolling back toward town. I checked the morning off my list.

There was a wreck sitting in the driveway, so I signaled and pulled around into the courtyard. A dog, black with motor oil, was barking at the end of his chain. A guy was sorting bolts in a shed. He watched us pull in. It was one of those lovely spring days, just warm, no wind. There were piles of car carcasses all over the place. I got out. The junkman gave the dog a kick as he wiped his hands. He smiled at the young cop.

“Hey, Richard, what brings you here?” he said.

“My job, man. Always working.”

“I came for the tires, myself,” I said.

The dude scratched his head. He allowed as how he had three or four Mercedes in the junkpile, but the problem was to find them.

“Allow me,” I said. “I got nothing else to do today.”

They went off together to drink a beer in the shed, and I strolled through the debris. I was almost half an hour late. The carcasses were warm to the touch. The ball was in the enemy’s court. I climbed up on two or three hoods before I spotted a Mercedes.

The left front tire was good, but I’d forgotten to bring my jack-I had to go back for it. There was an aroma of old engine grease in the air. I got the tools out of my car. The two of them were sitting on wood cases, talking. I took my sweater off. I gestured to them as I walked by.

It turned out that the Mercedes in question had a camper attached to the roof. I had a real ball with the jack. By the time I finally got the damn wheel off, I was covered with sweat-my T-shirt had changed color. The sun was almost directly overhead. Now I had to do the same thing all over again. It was like rolling a boulder.

Back in the shed, it was party time; the cop was talking and the junkman was slapping his thighs, laughing. I smoked a cigarette, then got back down to work. The bolts were a little stuck. I wiped my brow with my forearm. I kept an ear tuned, in ease they called me to come have a beer. Obviously my place was there among the cinders. I listened to them yucking it up as I took off my tire.

I paid the guy. The cash disappeared into his pocket. The young cop looked at me, smugly. I turned to him:

“If you ever need a favor or anything, don’t hesitate to call…”

“Maybe I will,” he said.

I went back to my car without another word. Words are blank bullets. I pulled up a little, then circled back, then took off forward. In all of three seconds I was back on the road. Three seconds was all it took for me to realize that shit just leads to more shit.

My hands were completely black, not to mention my T-shirt, and I had a veil of oil on my forehead. I knew instinctively that piano salesmen should avoid presenting themselves this way, like the plague. I was an hour late. Still, I had no choice but to stop back at the house. I had to drive with a Kleenex in each hand.

I ripped my T-shirt off going up the stairway and made a beeline for the bathroom. Betty was in her underpants, admiring her profile in the mirror. She jumped.

“Jesus, you scared me!”

“Boy oh boy, am I late!”

By the time I got my pants off, I’d given her the whole story in brief. I jumped into the shower. I started on the dirtiest parts, using paint thinner. The room filled up with steam. Betty was still looking at herself.

“Hey,” she said. “Do you think I’m getting fat?”

“You must be kidding. I think you’re perfect/”

“I think I’m getting a stomach…”

“What are you talking about…?”

I stuck my head through the curtain.

“Hey, be a sweetheart… Call the woman and tell her I’m on my way. Make something up.”

She came and pressed herself against the curtain. I backed up into the faucet.

“Come on,” I said. “Not now…”

She stuck her tongue out at me, then left. I soaped up for the twentieth time. I heard her pick up the telephone. I told myself that if I blew this sale I’d have shot the whole day.

She was just hanging up when I got out, hair still wet, but clean, and my shirt immaculately white. I stood behind her and cupped her breasts in my hands, apologetically. I kissed her neck.

“So what did she say?” I asked.

“No problem. She’s waiting for you.”

“I’ll be back in an hour-two at the latest. I’ll hurry.”

She reached back and grabbed me, laughing.

“Do that,” she said. “I have something to show you. You left so fast this morning…”

“Listen, I’ll give you thirty seconds…”

She turned around. She had a little glass tube in her hand. She tried to look nonchalant.

“I didn’t like the idea of keeping it to myself all day, but it’s okay now.”

She held the little tube up to my nose, as if it contained the secret of eternal life. It looked like something you’d find in a cereal box. Except for her eyes, her whole face smiled.

“Let me guess,” I said. “It’s authentic dust from the lost island of Atlantis.”

“No, it’s a thing that tells you if you’re pregnant.” My blood pressure suddenly plunged.

“And what does it say?” I said in one breath.

“It says yes.”

“What about your fucking IUD?”

“Well, apparently things like this happen…”

I don’t know how long I stood there looking at her, rocking from one foot to the other-at least as long as it took for my brain to start working again. The air went out of the room. I found myself panting. Her eyes were fixed on mine. This helped me a little. I gradually unclenched my teeth. Then she started smiling, so I started smiling too. I didn’t really know why-my first reaction was that we had committed the Supreme Fuck-up. Maybe she was right, though-maybe it was the right thing to do. I froze all the old demons in their tracks. We burst out laughing. We laughed so hard it hurt. When I laughed with her, you could have made me swallow a bucket of poison. I put my hands on her shoulders. I played on her skin with my fingers.

“Listen,” I said. “Let me get this appointment over with, then I’ll come right home. Okay?”

“Yeah. Anyway, I have tons of laundry to do. I won’t get bored.”

I hopped in the car and drove out of town. On the street I counted twenty-five women with strollers. My throat was dry. I had trouble getting my mind around what was happening-it was an eventuality I’d never seriously considered. Images raced through my mind like rockets.

To calm myself down, I concentrated on the drive. It was beautiful. I passed the cop ear, I was going eighty. A minute later he stopped me. Richard again. He had nice teeth-healthy and straight. He took out a pad and a pen.

“Every time I see this car I know it means I have a job to do,” he whined.

I had no idea what he wanted me for-no idea of what I was even doing on this road. I smiled at him dubiously. Perhaps he had been standing there in the sun all day, ever since dawn…

“Maybe you think that changing your tire gives you the right to drive like a maniac…?”

I shoved my index finger and thumb into the corners of my eyes. I shook my head.

“Jesus, I was somewhere else,” I sighed.

“Don’t worry. If I find two or three grams of alcohol in your blood, I’ll bring you right back down to earth.”

“If it was only that,” I said. “I just found out I’m going to be a daddy!”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he closed his pad, with his pen stuck inside, and put it back in his shirt pocket. He leaned over to me.

“You wouldn’t have a cigarette, would you?” he asked.

I gave him one. Then he leaned against my door, puffing peacefully, and told me all about his eight-month-old son, who had just started crawling across the living room on all fours, and all the various brands of formula, and the thousand-and-one joys of fatherhood. I almost dozed off during his lecture on nipples. Finally he winked at me and said he’d look the other way this time, that I could go. I went.

During the last few miles I tried to put myself in a woman’s shoes, to see if I would want to have a baby-if I would feel a deep urge. But I couldn’t put myself in a woman’s shoes.

It was a beautiful house on a nice piece of land. I parked in front and got out of the car with my little black briefcase. I didn’t keep anything in it, but I’d found that it reassured people-I’d already blown a few sales by showing up with my hands in my pockets. A woman came out onto the stoop. I waved hello.

“At your service,” I said.

I followed her inside. On the other hand, if this was really what Betty wanted, I had no right to refuse her-maybe it was all part of the order of things, maybe it wasn’t death. And what was good for her would probably be good for me. Still, there was an air of terror surrounding the whole thing. It’s the kind of situation that’s always frightening. Once inside the living room, I glanced at the window and saw that the piano would make it through, no problem. I went into my spiel.

After five minutes, however, my thoughts got foggy, and I lost control of the situation.

“Does a woman really need to have a child to be fulfilled?” I asked.

The woman’s eyelashes fluttered a little. I went on to enumerate the conditions of the sale, then proceeded through the details of delivery. I would have liked to be in some deserted place, where I could sit and think everything over peacefully. This was no laughing matter. Looking around me, I wondered if this was any place for a child to be born-and this was only one small part of the problem. The lady was circling the living room, looking for the right place to put the piano.

“In your opinion, ought I to set it here, to the south?”

“That depends on whether you intend to play the blues or not,” I said.

Anyway, I was a true bastard-it was clear. Then again, lacking courage make you a bastard? I spotted the bar by accident. I gave it a sad look, in the style of Captain Haddock. Shit, I said to myself, to think that the fucking IUD slipped out of line and I didn’t feel a thing. I had an anxiety attack: Was I merely an instrument? In the end, was there only the blooming forth of the female, and nothing for me? Don’t guys ever get a break? The attack mysteriously evaporated when the lady got out the glasses.

“Easy,” I said. “I’m not used to drinking in the afternoon.”

I couldn’t stop myself from downing my drink in one gulp, though-the anticipation had been too great. I saw Betty in her panties standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Here I was, driving myself crazy, when all anyone asked of me was to rise to the occasion-it always pays to go all the way. I poured myself another finger of maraschino.

On the way home, I forced myself to not think about it. I drove carefully, keeping to my right. The only thing they could have given me a ticket for was obstructing traffic. But I was the only car on the road. I was alone and apart from the universe-a speck of dust sliding toward an infinite tininess.

I stopped in town and bought a bottle and some passion-fruit ice cream, plus two or three cassettes that had just come out. It was like I was going to visit a sick person. I must admit, I wasn’t too chipper.

When I got home she was ecstatic. The TV was on.

“They’re going to show a Laurel and Hardy movie,” she said. It was exactly what I needed-I couldn’t have imagined anything better. We plunked ourselves down on the couch with the ice cream and the booze, and let the rest of the afternoon slip away happily without bringing up the subject. She seemed in top form, completely relaxed, as if it were just another day of eating ice cream and watching television. I felt like I’d been making a mountain out of a molehill.

At first I was thankful that she didn’t talk about it. I was afraid that we’d be forced to go into all the gory details, while what I really needed was time to adjust. Yet as the evening wore on, I started to realize that it was me who was having trouble containing himself. After dinner, as she was busy gulping down a plain yogurt, I found myself cracking my knuckles.

Finally, in bed, I put my foot in it, while stroking her thighs:

“So, tell me… how do you feel about being pregnant…?”

“Gee, I don’t really know yet. It’s not really sure. To be sure I have to go get a test.”

She squeezed herself against me and spread her legs.

“Right, but what if it was sure…? Would you like that?”

I felt her fur under my fingers, but I stopped myself. She could try and squirm out of it all she wanted-I needed a straight answer. She got the message.

“Well, I’d really rather not think about it too much,” she said. “But my first impression is that it’s not so bad…”

That was all I wanted to know. Things being clear, I went down on her in a way that made my head spin. While we were screwing, I imagined that her IUD was an unhinged door, flapping in the wind.

The next day she went to get tested. The day after that, I stopped in front of a certain kind of store for the first time in my life and did some detailed window-shopping. It was horrible, but I knew that sooner or later I’d have to go in. To get my feet wet, I bought two Oshkosh jammies, one red and one black. The saleswoman assured me that I’d be happy with them-there was absolutely no shrinking.

I spent the rest of the day observing Betty. Her feet were six inches off the ground. I got discreetly plastered while she was making an apple pie. I took out the garbage in the spirit of a Greek tragedy.

Outside, the sky was a dizzying red, the sun’s last rays casting a sequined light. I found my arms twice as tan as before, the hairs nearly blond. It was dinnertime, and there was no one on the street-no one to see what I was doing. There was me, though. I went and crouched down in front of the store window. I smoked a cigarette, soft and sweet. There were a few sounds off in the distance, but the street itself was silent. I let my ashes fall delicately between my feet. Life was no longer absurdly simple-it was horribly complicated, and sometimes very tiring. I grimaced in the sunlight, like someone with ten inches up his ass. I looked until my eyes filled with tears, then a car passed by and I stood up. There was nothing left to see, anyway. Nothing but some guy who had just taken out his pitiful garbage at day’s end.

After two or three days, I’d gotten used to things. My brain went back to its normal functioning rhythm. There was a strange sort of calm in the house-an atmosphere that I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t bad. I had the feeling that Betty was breathing a bit easier, as if she’d come to the end of a long race. I noticed that the perpetual tension that had always lived in her had somehow gone soft.

One day, for instance, I was in the middle of dealing with this crazy woman-the kind a piano salesman comes across once or twice in a lifetime-a woman with no age and bad breath, weighing in at about one-eighty. She ran from one piano to another, asking all the prices three times, her eyes looking elsewhere, lifting up all the lids, pushing down all the pedals, and at the end of thirty minutes we found ourselves back where we started, and the store stank from sweat and I thought I was going to choke to death. I was talking a little loud, so Betty came down to see what was going on.

“What I just don’t understand,” the woman was saying, “is the difference between this one and that one.”

“One has round legs and the other one has square legs,” I sighed. “Look, we’re going to close pretty soon…”

“Actually, I can’t decide between getting a piano and getting a saxophone,” she went on.

“If you can hold on for a few days, we’re getting in a shipment of ocarinas…” I said.

But she wasn’t listening. She’d stuck her head in a piano to see what was inside. I gave Betty a sign that said I’d had it up to here.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I whispered. “Tell her we’re closing.”

I went up to the apartment and I didn’t come back. I drank a tall glass of cool water. Suddenly I was struck with remorse-I knew that in two minutes Betty would be chucking the woman’s ass through the front window. I almost went down, but I held off for a minute. I didn’t hear anything-no breaking glass, not even a scream. I was stupefied. The strangest thing of all was that Betty came up forty-five minutes later, relaxed and smiling.

“She was really annoying,” she said. “You should take it a little easier with people like that.”

That night we played Scrabble. I could have made the word ovaries and gotten a triple-word score, but I scrambled it and exchanged the letters instead.

Ordinarily I got up early when I had to make a delivery. This left me the afternoon to get my strength back. I had struck a deal with these guys who hauled furniture for a store a few blocks away. I’d call them the night before and we’d meet at the corner early the next morning. We’d load the piano in a van that I rented, then they’d follow me in their truck. We’d deliver the piano and I’d give them cash. They always gave me the same smile. The morning we were supposed to deliver the baby grand, though, things didn’t exactly work out that way.

We had a seven o’clock meeting time, but I found myself alone on the sidewalk, pacing, waiting for them to show. The sky was gray-it was obviously going to rain later in the day. I hadn’t wakened Betty, I’d just slid out of bed like a lazy snake.

Ten minutes later, I saw them round the corner slowly, coming toward me, skimming the curb. They were driving so slow I wondered what the hell they were doing. When they got to me, they didn’t even stop. The driver was behind the wheel, making gestures and grimacing at me, and the other one held up a sign that said, “THE BOSS IS ON OUR ASS!!” I saw the problem immediately. I pretended to tie my shoe. Five seconds later a dark car drove by: a little man in glasses at the wheel, his jaws set.

I was not amused. When I set a delivery date I keep it. I started thinking wildly, then broke into a sprint toward Bob’s store. The lights were on upstairs. I scooped up some gravel and threw it at the window. Bob appeared.

“Shit,” I said. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really, I’ve been up since Eve o’clock, trying to get you-know-who back to sleep.”

“Bob, listen. I got a problem… I’m all alone here with a piano to deliver. Could you get free?”

“Get free? Gee, I don’t know. To give you a hand? Sure.”

“Terrific. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

I thought that with three of us, we could get the piano through the window. The truck driver alone could carry a closet up six flights, but just Bob and me… I wasn’t sure. I went back to the van and took off for the rental place. I got a young guy with a striped tie and pants with creases like knives.

“Here,” I said. “I brought your van back. I need something bigger, with a device for unloading.”

The guy thought this was pretty funny.

“Great timing… so happens a guy just brought back a twenty-five-ton pickup with a hydraulic arm.”

“Exactly what I need.”

“Only problem is you got to know how to drive it,” he smirked.

“No problem,” I said. “I could drive a slalom course in a semi.”

The truth is that it was a hell of a machine to maneuver, and it was the first time I’d ever laid hands on one. I made it across town with no damage, though-it wasn’t as diabolical as I thought. You have to start with the idea that it’s up to everybody else to get out of your way. The day was having trouble dawning-the clouds seemed glued together. I went to get Bob. I brought croissants.

We all sat down at the table, and I had a cup of coffee with them. It was so dark outside they’d had to turn the lights on. The bulb in the kitchen was a bit cruel. Annie and Bob looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks. While we were devouring our croissants, the baby decided to throw a little temper tantrum. Archie spilled his bowl of cereal all over the table. Bob got up, teetering slightly.

“Just give me five minutes to get dressed, and we’re out of here,” he said.

Archie was washing his hands in the little stream of milk that ran over the edge of the table, and the other little one was still screaming. Why do I always have to bear witness to abominable things? Annie pulled a baby bottle out of a saucepan, and we could almost hear each other again.

“So,” I said. “You and Bob getting along a little better?”

“Well, let’s say we’re getting along a LITTLE better, but that’s all. Why, you have something in mind?”

“No,” I said. “These days I use all my energy to not think about anything.”

I looked ever at my little tablemate, who was busy making patties out of his cereal, squeezing it in his hands.

“You’re an odd duck,” she said.

“I’m afraid I’m not really… unfortunately…”

When we were finally outside, Bob looked at the sky and made a face.

“I know…” I said. “Let’s not waste time.”

We carried the piano out onto the sidewalk and tied the straps on. I went and got the user’s manual out of the glove compartment, then went over to the mechanical arm. There were all kinds of levers to work it-levers to start it, make it go left, make it go right, up, down, withdraw, extend, levers to work the claw. All you had to do was coordinate everything. I turned it on.

On my first try I almost decapitated Bob-he watched me do it from the other side, standing there with a little smile. The controls were supersensitive and it took me a good ten minutes of practice before I could work them well enough. The hardest part was avoiding the sides of the truck bed.

Don’t ask me how, but I loaded the piano. I was covered with sweat. We tied it down like madmen, then took off.

I might as well have been transporting nitroglycerin, I was so nervous. The storm was hanging over our heads. I could not morally allow it to rain on a Bosendorfer-l just couldn’t. Unfortunately the heavens slowly started descending, and the truck dragged along at thirty-five.

“Bob, I’m a hair away from sinking the ship,” I said.

“I know. Why didn’t we put a tarp over it?”

“What tarp? Did you see something that looked like a tarp?

Fuck, light me a cigarette, will you…?”

He leaned forward and pushed in the cigarette lighter. I glanced at the dashboard.

“What are all these buttons for, I wonder?”

“Beats me. I don’t recognize half of them…”

I had my foot to the floor, a cold sweat running down my back. Just another fifteen minutes, I told myself-a wink of the eye, and we’re home free. The suspense was killing me. I was biting the inside of my mouth when the first drop fell on the windshield. It hurt so bad I wanted to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth.

“Hey, I found the window-washer button,” said Bob.

When we got there I drove around the house and parked next to the window, doing a slalom between the flower beds. The lady was ecstatic, walking around the truck, wringing her handkerchief.

“I decided to handle this myself,” I explained. “All my men split on me at the last minute.”

“Yes, I certainly know how it is,” she complained. “So hard to find good help nowadays…”

“You said it,” I added. “Someday they’ll come murder us in our sleep!”

“Hahaha,” she said.

I jumped out of the truck.

“And we’re off!” I shouted.

“I’ll show you how to get the window open,” she said.

There were occasional light gusts of wind, cool and wet. I knew that every second counted. The piano shone like a lake. Inside, I jittered. The atmosphere was a little like in a disaster film-the part where all you hear is the ticking of the bomb.

I untied the piano with abandon. It rocked back and forth heavily. The sky was about to crack-I was holding it at bay with sheer brain power. As soon as the window was open, I aimed carefully, then sent it through. There was a sound of breaking glass. The first drop fell on my hand. I lifted a triumphant face to the heavens. I found each little drop prettier than the one before, now that the piano was safe and dry. It was with a happy heart that I turned off the controls and went to see what in the world I could have broken.

I asked the customer to simply have the bill for the window pane forwarded to me, then gestured to Bob that it was time to undo the straps. Bob had tied the knots. I took one in my hand and discreetly showed it to him.

“You see, Bob…” I said. “A knot like this is not even worth trying to undo. It is impossibly tangled. I suppose you tied all the other ones the same way…?”

I saw in his eyes that the answer was yes. I pulled my Western S.522 out of my pocket and cut the straps, sighing.

“The devil sent you,” I told him.

Still, the piano had found a home-had come through without a scratch. I didn’t have much reason to complain. Outside it was coming down in buckets. I took an almost animal-like pleasure in watching the raging storm drown out the countryside. I myself had managed to escape it. I waited for the lady to get it together to pay me, then considered the job done.

I dropped Bob off on the way back and returned the truck to the rental office. I took a bus home. The rain had stopped, and there were a few patches of blue. The tension from the morning had exhausted me, but I was coming home with pockets full of money, and one thing compensated for the other. Even better, I managed to get the window seat right behind the driver, and nobody bothered me. I sat there watching the streets go by.

There was no one home at the apartment. I couldn’t remember if Betty had told me that she was going somewhere-yesterday seemed centuries away. I went straight to the fridge and got some things out on the table. The beer and the hard-boiled eggs were all frozen. I went to take a shower, and wait for the world to rise to human temperature.

Back in the kitchen, I gave a kick to a piece of crumpled-up paper that was lying on the floor. I find myself in this position more often than is my share, but that’s how it goes. Something’s always lying around on the floor. I picked it up. I unfolded it. I sat down and read it. It was the laboratory results. They were negative… NEGATIVE!

I cut my finger opening my beer bottle, but I didn’t notice right away. I drank it in one gulp. It must have been written somewhere that all my disappointments come by mail. It was vulgar-atrociously trite-it was a glimpse of Hell. It took me a while to react, then Betty’s absence began to weigh heavily on my shoulders. If I don’t move, I thought, I’ll burn. I grabbed the back of the chair to get up. My finger started pissing blood. I decided to run some water over it. Maybe this was why I hurt all over. I went up to the kitchen sink. Then I spotted something red in the garbage can. I already knew what it was. I fished it out with my hand. There was a black one, too. It was the Oshkosh jammies. Maybe it’s true that they wash well-we’d never really know- but one thing was sure: they didn’t stand up well to a pair of scissors. This little touch made me plunge to the murky depths. It gave me an idea of how Betty had taken the news. To all appearances, the blood was coagulating at the end of my finger, but in truth my skin was crawling-in truth, the Earth had fallen off its axis.

I controlled myself. I had to think. I ran the water over it, then wrapped it in gauze. The problem was that I was suffering for two. I had a keen intuition of what Betty must have felt. My brain was half paralyzed and my intestines were gurgling. I knew I ought to go looking for her, but for the moment I didn’t have the strength. I almost just slid into bed to wait for a blizzard to come numb me, to sweep my thoughts away. I stood there in the middle of the room, pockets full of money and finger cut. Then I hit the streets.

I searched in vain for her all afternoon. I must have covered every street in town two or three times, my eyes riveted to the sidewalks. I chased after girls who looked like her, slowed down next to porches, combed the places we frequented. I rolled through deserted streets, until very slowly the night came on. I went and filled the gas tank. When it came time to pay, I pulled out my wad of bills. The dude was wearing an Esso cap with grease smudges on it. He gave me a suspicious look.

“I just pillaged a church,” I said.

By that time, I knew, she could have been two hundred miles away. All I’d gotten for my efforts was a throbbing headache. There was only one place left to look-the cabin-but I couldn’t quite decide to go. I thought that if I didn’t find her there, then I’d never find her. I hesitated before firing my last shell. There was one chance in a million that she’d be there. Still, there was no other choice. I drove around a while longer under the neon lights, then stopped by the house to get a flashlight and throw on a jacket.

The lights were on upstairs. This didn’t surprise me. I was fully capable of leaving something on the stove, or the faucets running. In the shape I was in, I could have found the house in flames and taken it with a grain of salt. I went up.

She was sitting at the kitchen table. She was outrageously made up. Her hair was cut going in all directions. We looked at each other. In one way, I breathed deep relief. In another way, I felt myself suffocating. No words came to mind. She had set the table. She stood up without a word and got the main dish. It was meatballs in tomato sauce. We sat across from each other. She had simply demolished her face-I couldn’t stand looking at it for very long. Had I opened my mouth just then, I would have started whimpering. All that was left were her bangs. Eye shadow and lipstick were smeared all over her face. She stared at me. Her stare was the worst of all. I felt that something was going to rip apart inside me.

Without taking my eyes off her, I bent forward and shoved both my hands into the bowl of meatballs. It was hot. I picked up a handful of it. The tomato sauce ran out between my fingers. I smeared it all over my face-in my eyes, up my nose, in my hair. It burned. I stuck it everywhere, blobs of it sliding down the sides of my head and onto my legs.

With the back of my hand I wiped away a tomato-sauce tear. No one had said anything. We sat like that for quite a while.