If Morning Ever Comes

10

Outside it was sheer blackness, rolling in around him with the wind. He walked down Shelley’s steps slowly, pausing when he reached the street to button up the collar of his coat. But walking was too quiet; he wanted to run. And if no one had been within earshot he would have started singing, too, or laughing at nothing, because he felt happy and easy. But it was the hour just before bedtime, when everyone had something to do outdoors — walk the dog, or set out the milk bottles, or simply take a breath of fresh air in the yard before they shut themselves up in their houses for the night. So he ran silently; he doubled up his fists and tore down the sidewalk with the leaves rattling behind him and people occasionally pausing on their porches to turn and watch him run.

Someone came down a front walk and set a cat down outside the gate. It was a small cat of some nameless color, with its sling-eyes glowing, and when its owner turned to go inside, the cat hunched sullenly on the sidewalk as if it resented being put out for the night. It stared unblinkingly at Ben Joe. Ben Joe stooped down to pat it.

“There, there, cat,” he said. His hand reached out for the cat almost blindly, aiming only for a blurred patch of darkness against the lighter background of the sidewalk. When he felt the cat’s head under his hand he stroked it gently. “I’ll take care of you,” he said.

The cat was used to people; it began purring instantly and pressing its little head against Ben Joe’s hand. Ben Joe picked it up and began walking again, hugging the cat next to his chest to keep it warm. He was afraid to run, for fear the cat would become frightened, but he was tired, anyway, and contented himself with walking fast.

Some of the houses were already dark; most of them still had soft yellow lights in the windows. He could see people moving around upstairs, pulling down shades or simply walking about their rooms in bathrobes. In one house a woman stood brushing her hair, and Ben Joe stopped to watch the dreamlike rhythm of it. Then the little cat stirred restlessly, and Ben Joe went on. The sky above the lights of the houses was a deep blue-black, but when he stepped out into the street and kept his eyes away from the lights it was pale and glowing, and stretched almost white behind the black skeletons of trees. He was almost running again, and the cat began mewing softly and squirming in his arms.

“Now, don’t you worry, cat,” Ben Joe said. “No call to worry.”

He laughed, for no reason he could name. Laughing made his teeth cold. He closed his mouth and his teeth felt cold and dry against the inside of his lips.

“That you, Ben Joe?” someone called.

He turned; a dark figure was standing on the sidewalk.

“It’s me,” he said. “Who’s that?”

“Jenny.”

“Oh. What you doing out?”

“Nothing.” She stepped off the sidewalk and walked over to him. “I went to bed early and just got myself all wound up in the bed sheets,” she said. “Thought I’d have a walk and hot milk and then try going to bed all over again. What’s that you got?”

“A cat. There’s something I meant to talk to you about.”

“Where’d you get him?” She bent forward to see the cat, and then touched it. All he could see of her was a pale face and the dark hollows where her eyes were. “Doesn’t like being carried,” she said.

“I’m keeping it warm. I wanted to ask you—”

“It doesn’t want to be kept warm.”

“It does too. Jenny, there’s a sort of money matter I’d like to—”

“You better put it down, Ben Joe.”

“He likes me, I tell you.”

“Got his own little overcoat sewn right on him, doesn’t he? What’s he want to be kept warm for? No, when they squirm like that, Ben Joe …”

He gave in, knowing she was right, and bent to let the cat hop and run away.

“It’s much happier now,” she said.

“Jenny!”

“Well, I’m listening.”

He smiled suddenly, without knowing why. “Oh, never mind,” he said. “Oh, what the hell, what the hell …”

“Well, good night, Ben Joe.”

“Night.”

He was off again, tearing along the cracked pavement and leaving Jenny far behind. He swung three times around the tree on his corner, the way he had always done for good luck when he was small. Then he clattered through the wire gate and up the walk to the porch. The bark from the tree had left his palm gritty: he rubbed his hand against the side of his coat as he climbed the steps. At the front door, dark now with only the softest yellow light glimmering through the round stained-glass window, he bumped smack into a girl and boy.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” he said, and found himself smiling again. “I didn’t see you. Funny house this is — they just never think of leaving the light on for you. They forget all about you, the minute you—”

He opened the screen door with a flourish, almost bumping into the couple, and with his hand on the knob of the inside door he turned back again.

“Excuse me,” he said.

John Horner and Joanne were looking at him, their faces serious and lit very dimly by the pale-yellow light. Joanne’s hand was clasped in John’s, against John’s chest, but it was forgotten now as they both stared at him.

“Quite all right,” said John Horner.

The heat inside the house burned Ben Joe’s cold face. As soon as he had slammed the door behind him he ripped off his overcoat and threw it on a chair in the hallway and began undoing his collar as he climbed the stairs.

“That you, Ben Joe?” his mother called.

“Yup.”

“Come on into the living room and say hello, why don’t you?”

“I can’t,” Ben Joe said.

He stopped on the stairs, hearing his mother’s footsteps in the hallway, and turned to look down at her.

“Why can’t you?” she said.

“I just can’t. I just can’t. I can’t be bothered with that right now.”

“You can’t be—”

He climbed the rest of the stairs at a steady, slow pace. His tie trailed by one hand. It wasn’t until he was in the upstairs hallway that he let the actual picture of the couple on the porch come back to him, and then all he did was stop and stare tiredly at the wallpaper. After a minute he turned and started doggedly down the hall toward his room.