“That’s why I’m going,” I said seriously. I lit another cigarette. “I’m at loose ends — kind of in between the Army and school. It’s a good time to do some thinking.”
“That’s it exactly,” he said. “And the hunting is something just thrown in extra really. It’s the getting away from things that counts — oh, not Monica, of course — but the other things, the pressure and all.”
“You ever been out for deer?” I asked him, trying to cover it over a little so I wouldn’t have to see the naked trapped look in his eyes.
“Just once,” he said, “a few years ago. It was just absolutely great, even though I didn’t even see any. I certainly envy you, Dan.”
“You could probably come along, if you feel like it,” I said. I think I really threw it out to see if he’d bite at it. I didn’t really expect him to go for it.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” he said. “I’m sure the others wouldn’t want a stranger horning in.” But he was hooked. Suddenly I wanted to do him a favor. Stan and I might not have agreed about much, but I figured he deserved a better break than he’d gotten. Maybe if he got away from her for a while he could get his balance again.
“I doubt if these guys would give a damn about that. It’s just a bunch my brother knows, and we just decided to take off and go.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t get away at the school!” — he paused thoughtfully —”although I have got some sick leave accumulated, and in a way it would be for health reasons, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’re doing the talking.” I laughed.
He sat back, smiling sheepishly. “I guess I do sound like I’m trying to talk myself into something,” he said.
“I don’t think the deal with our guide is really very firm yet,” I told him, “and it could just be that another guy would help swing it. I’ll talk with the others and see what they say, if you want me to.”
“Well,” he started, “don’t make it too definite. I’ll have to give it some thought and talk it over with Monica — not that I have to —” He left it hanging, but I understood. He went on quickly. “Well, we do kind of like to talk things over. We make better decisions as a team. We feel that marriages work better that way, don’t you agree?”
“Makes sense,” I said. “I’ll sound out the other guys and let you know.”
“I’d appreciate it,” he said. “But mind, nothing definite yet.”
“Sure, Stan,” I said. “I understand.”
We kicked it around for another hour or so before I finally made an excuse to get away. Stan was all right, but the house was so damned neat it gave me the creeps. I guess I’m just a natural-born slob.
7
ON Friday morning I went up to Seattle and picked up my stuff from the place where I’d had it stored. I kind of putzed around a little but I couldn’t find anybody I knew, so I drove on back to Tacoma.
I spent most of the afternoon unpacking the stuff. I wound up with books all over the place. After I got it all squared away, it dawned on me that I was just going to have to pack it all up again anyway in a little while, but what the hell? I like having my books and things out where I can lay my hands on them. It was a little crowded though. My stereo alone took up a sizable chunk of the living room.
That evening I went across town to the “art movie” theater to catch an Italian flick I’d been wanting to see for three or four years.
“I don’t see why you want to see that silly thing anyway,” Jack said when I asked him if he wanted to go along. “I know a guy who seen it Tuesday. He said it was a real loser. Nothin’ happens at all.”
“Maybe he just looked too fast,” I said. “You want to come along or not?”
“Naw, I don’t think so, Dan,” he said. “I really don’t get much out of foreign movies.”
“Just thought I’d ask,” I told him. It kind of bugs me when somebody puts something down that I’m really enthusiastic about. Probably everybody’s the same way really.
The “art theater” was like all the others I’ve been to — a grubby, rattletrappy, converted neighborhood showhouse with maybe a hundred and fifty uncomfortable seats. The lobby was painted a nauseating shade — something like a cross between pea-soup green and antique egg-yolk yellow — and the walls were cluttered with poster art and smeary abstracts. The popcorn counter had been replaced by card tables covered with paper cups full of synthetic espresso.
The movie itself was preceded by a couple of incomprehensible short subjects, an artsy cartoon, and about two years’ worth of coming attractions. Then there was the intermission, and everybody went out to gag down some of that rotten coffee and stand around making polite conversation.
I choked on a mouthful of the lukewarm ink and drifted over to lean against the wall and watch the animals.
Across the lobby I spotted Stan Larkin and Monica, she looking very bright and very chic and he hovering over her like a man with a brand-new car he’s afraid someone’s going to scratch. They chatted back and forth with bright, cultured expressions on their faces, drawing a fairly obvious wall around themselves, keeping the college kids and the freaks who thought all foreign movies were dirty at arm’s length. With that attitude, it was pretty unlikely that either of them would notice me, but I turned my head away from them anyway. A little bit of Monica went a long way.
When I turned my head, I caught a familiar face. Where in hell had I seen that little girl before? I was sure I didn’t know any of the local college kids, and with the straight hair, bare feet, granny glasses, jeans, and sweatshirt, she had to be a college girl.
Then Joan came out of the women’s john, and I snapped to it. It was Clydine, the little Pacific Avenue pamphleteer I’d met on my first night back in Tacoma. It was an impulse, but I needed some protective covering in case Stan spotted me. I pushed my way through toward them.
“Clydine!” I said in simulated surprise. “Joan! How are you girls anyway?”
They looked at me blankly for an instant, not having the faintest notion who I was. “Uh — just fine,” Clydine said, covering up beautifully. “We haven’t seen you in —” She left it hanging, hoping I’d give her a clue. Joan was still looking at me doubtfully, her eyes flickering to my haircut. While it wasn’t exactly GI, it was still too short to put me in their crowd.
“Let’s see,” I said, “it must have been just before I got sent to Leavenworth.”
Their eyes bulged slightly.
“I’ll bet you didn’t even recognize me with this haircut and without my beard,” I said, “but they keep you clipped pretty short in the Big House.” It was a little thick, but they bought it.
“How long have you been — out?” Joan asked sympathetically, the suspicion fading from her face.
“About a week now.”
“Was it — I mean — well —” Clydine’s eyes were brimming, and her hand had moved to touch my arm comfortingly. I was a martyr to the cause. She wasn’t sure exactly what cause yet, but whatever it was, she was with me all the way. Some girls are like that.
I carefully arranged my face into what I hoped was an expression of suffering nobility. “Anything,” I said in a voice thick with emotion, “anything is better than participating in an immoral war.” That ought to narrow it down for them.
Clydine embraced me impulsively. For a moment I thought she was going to plant ceremonial kisses on each of my cheeks. As soon as Clydine let go, Joan gave me a quick squeeze. I began to feel a little shitty about it. The kids were pretty obviously sincere about the whole thing.
“Come on, girls,” I said, trying to cool it a little. In about a minute one of them would have made a speech. “It wasn’t really that bad. It’s gonna take a whole lot more than a year and a half in a federal joint to get old Dan down.” I thought I’d better give them a name to hang on me.
The lobby lights blinked twice, letting us know that the projectionist was ready if we were. I was about to ease away gracefully.
“We’d better go find our seats,” Clydine said, glomming onto my arm like grim death. Joan caught the other one, and I was led down the aisle like a reluctant bridegroom.