Outdoors, beyond the windows, Fay appeared on the patio. In her long green coat she stood gazing off across the field, and then she stood on tiptoe, shading her eyes. She’s seen the animals, he realized.
Her cry was audible to him. She turned, saw him through the windows. God damn gun, he thought; he still could not find it, where he had put it. Fay had an armload, her purse and some packages. She dropped them and ran on high heels to the gate. At the gate she had trouble; she could not get the latch undone. He ran across the room and pushed open the door to the patio.
By the barbecue pit, standing upright, was the long two-pronged fork that they used to lift the broiling steaks. He grabbed that and hurried toward her. Now she had gotten the gate open. On the far side she paused to kick off her shoes. Her eyes were filled with wariness. When he had gotten almost to her, she loped away, facing him, not taking her eyes from him. If I had the gun, he realized, she’d be dead now. He reached the fence and passed on through the open gate, onto the field.
Fay, not speaking to him but speaking past him, called in a sharp loud voice, “You stay there.”
The kids, he realized. Half-turning his head he saw them, standing together at the corner of the house. Both dressed up in their red coats and nice lace-edged skirts, two-tone shoes. Their hair brushed. Staring at him, staring and staring. Neither of them crying.
Backing away from him, Fay called to the children, “Go on away. Go up the road to Mrs. Silva’s.Go on!” Her voice got that commanding tone, that harshness. Both children at once jumped forward, toward her, automatically going to her. “Go on up to Mrs. Silva’s!” Fay called to them, gesturing toward the road. This time the children understood. They disappeared around the corner of the house.
He faced his wife.
“Oh,” she said, almost with delight; her face shone. “I see — you shot them.” She had backed to the dead horse and had cast a quick glance. “Well,” she said, “My goodness.”
He continued a few more steps toward her. She moved back the same distance; the distance did not change.
“You motherfucker,” she said. “You daughterfucker. You fatherfucker. You turdface. You shithead. You –” She went on steadily, never taking her eyes from him. She kept herself under control by cursing at him. And he kept on advancing toward her. Of course, she retreated equally. With her wariness.
“Call me anything you want,” he said.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll call,” she said. “I’ll call Sheriff Chisholm and have you put in jail. I’ll get the police here. I’ll get you sent away. You nut. You madman. You sick person.”
Back and back she went, never letting him get closer than ten feet from her. Now she had gotten her wind back; he saw her twist her head, measuring her distance from the barbed wire fence behind her that marked the edge of their land. Beyond the fence the ground sloped sharply, into trees and shrubs and eventually to marshy ground and a fast-moving stream. Once, he and she had pursued the Muscovy duck down onto the marshes; the duck had taken refuge among the roots of willows, and it had taken them all day to close in on her. His feet at that time had sunk down six inches with each step.
I haven’t got it, he said to himself. Now she was moving more quickly; she was getting ready to leap the fence. Like an animal. Eying it first. Being sure. One hop and over. And then off at the speed of light.
But she still retreated step by step. She was not near enough to the fence to turn her back to him.
He began to hasten.
“Ah,” she said, with excitement. And at once she turned and leaped the fence; her body spun and she was on the far side, still spinning, getting her balance. She fell to her knees, splashing in the mud and cow flop. At once she was up and off. Shows me her heels, he thought, going on to the fence himself and stooping down to crawl between the wire.
It took him a long, long time to get across. And, on the far side, he could scarcely stand upright.
There, not ten feet away, she stood watching him. Why? he wondered. Why didn’t she run off …
Again he approached her, holding the long fork toward her. She resumed her slow backward walk.
Why? he asked himself again as he slipped a little on the wet slope. And then he realized why. The children and the Silvas stood in the land behind the Silvas’ house, watching. Four people. And now a fifth person, an elderly man, joined them. He understood. She wants them to see. God, he thought. She’s making them see me. She’ll never run, never get away; she wants me to keep on, keep on. All the proof. Here. Here I am. Out in the field, pursuing her with this fork. Realizing that, he waved the fork at her.
“God damn you,” he yelled at her.
She smiled her quick, reflexive smile.
“I’ll kill you,” he shouted.
She backed away, step by step.
He turned and started toward the house. She remained where she was, not going any farther away and not following him. At last he reached the fence again. He crept between the wire and into his own field. We were on the Bracketts’ property, he realized. She still is. Standing on Bob Brackett’s field, his forty acres of swamp that we had an option on once and then let go.
When he got to the patio he looked back. Three men, starting from one of the houses up the road, were coming steadily toward him across the Bracketts’ field. Fay hung back beyond them.
Opening the back door he crept into the house. He locked the door after him and threw down the barbecue fork. And the dead animals, he realized. Proof. All that dead stuff out there. And everybody heard me say it. The doctor. Anteil. The kids saw me hit her, that day. Hell, they all know.
On the floor by the couch he found the gun. He picked it up and stood holding it, meditating. Then he seated himself on the couch. The men had halted by the fence; they could see him through the windows, sitting on the couch with the gun.
He saw Sheriff Chisholm with them, telling them to go back. Sheriff Chisholm passed by the side of the house and was gone from sight. He’ll get me in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, he thought. He knows his business. Fucking rustic farmers.
Putting the muzzle of the gun into his mouth he pulled the trigger.
A light came on. Instead of sound. He saw, for the first time. He saw it all. He saw how she had moved him. Put him up to this.
I see, he said.
Yes, I see.
Dying, he understood it all.
(seventeen)
The business of burning my things was dirty. And it wasn’t the first time. They did exactly the same thing during World War Two and even before that. It’s a pattern. Probably I should have expected it. Anyhow, I was able to salvage my geological collection. Naturally none of the samples making up that exhibit had been consumed.
The day that Charley Hume killed himself I had been feeling unusually depressed since getting out of bed. Of course, at the time I did not know the reason for my depression. Mrs. Hambro in fact remarked on my unusual mood. I spent the day outdoors working in the Hambros’ terraced gardens, one of the tasks I had undertaken as a means of repaying them for their hospitality. In addition, I did similar work for the other members of the group, including tending various animals that they owned, such as cows, goats, sheep, chickens. My experience with Charley’s animals indicated that I had a natural bent in that direction, and I even considered taking a course in animal husbandry over at Santa Rosa.
Meanwhile, of course, I kept up my spiritual life through my contact with the group. And Mrs. Hambro had introduced me to other sensitive individuals living down in the Bay Area.
My depression became so acute by four in the afternoon that I gave up working and instead went and sat on the front steps of the Hambro house and read the newspaper. Not too much later, Mrs. Hambro drove up and parked and got out in a state of excitement. She asked me if I had heard the news that something dreadful had happened at my sister’s house. I said I hadn’t heard. She didn’t know what it was –she had gotten the news in a roundabout way– but she had the idea that Charley had either killed Fay or had died of a second heart attack, or something on that order. Sheriff Chisholm was up there, and a number of cars from out of town, and what looked like County officials; anyhow men in business suits and ties had been seen walking around in front of the house.