Silvia said, “I better go right home and see if there’s anything I can do for Mrs. Steiner. Maybe I can take the children for a while.” Could it have been my fault? she asked herself. Could he have done it because I refused them that water, this morning? It could be, because he was there; he had not gone to work yet.
So maybe it is our fault, she thought. The way we treated them–which of us has ever been really nice to them and accepted them? But they are such dreadful whining people, always asking for help, begging and borrowing . . . who could respect them?
Going into the house she changed, in the bedroom, to her slacks and T-shirt. June Henessy followed along with her.
“Yes,” June said, “you’re right–we all have to pitch in and help where we can. I wonder if she’ll stay on or if she’ll go back to Earth. I’d go back–I’m practically ready to go back anyhow, it’s so dull here.”
Getting her purse and cigarettes, Silvia said goodbye to June and set out on the walk back down the ditch to her own home. Breathless, she arrived in time to see the police ‘copter disappearing into the sky. That was them notifying her, she decided. In the backyard she found David with the four Steiner girls; they were busy playing.
“Did they take Mrs. Steiner with them?” she called to David.
The boy scrambled at once to his feet and came up to her excitedly. “Mom, she went along with him. I’m taking care of the girls.”
That’s what I was afraid of, Silvia thought. The four girls still sat at the dam, playing a slow-motion, apathetic game with the mud and water, none of them looking up or greeting her; they seemed inert, no doubt from the shock of learning about their father’s death. Only the smallest one showed any signs of reviving, and she probably had not comprehended the news in the first place. Already, Silvia thought, that little man’s death has reached out and touched others, and the coldness is spreading. She felt the chill in her own heart. And I did not even like him, she thought.
The sight of the four Steiner girls made her quake. Am I going to have to take on these pudding-y, plump, vapid, low-class children? she asked herself. The answering thought thrust its way up, tossing every other consideration aside: _I don’t want to!_ She felt panic, because it was obvious that she had no choice; even now they were playing on her land, in her garden–she had them already.
Hopefully, the smallest girl asked, “Miz Bohlen, could we have some more water for our dam?”
Water, always wanting water, Silvia thought. Always leeching on us, as if it was a trait born into them. She ignored the child and said instead to her son, “Come into the house–I want to talk to you.”
Together, they went indoors, where the girls could not overhear.
“David,” she said, “their father is dead, it came over the radio. That’s why the police came and took her. We’ll have to help out for a while.” She tried to smile, but it was impossible. “However much we may dislike the Steiners–”
David burst out–“I don’t dislike them, Mom. How come he died? Did he have a heart attack? Was he set on by wild Bleekmen, could that be?”
“It doesn’t matter how he happened to die; what we have to think of now is what we can do for those girls.” Her mind was empty; she could think of nothing. All she knew was that she did not want to have the girls near her. “What should we do?” she asked David.
“Maybe fix them lunch. They told me they didn’t have any; she was just about to fix it.”
Silvia went out from the house and down the path. “I’m going to fix lunch, girls, for any of you who want it. Over at your house.” She waited a moment and then started toward the Steiner house. When she looked back she saw that only the smallest child was following.
The oldest girl said in a tear-choked voice, “No, thank you.”
“You’d better eat,” Silvia said, but she was relieved. “Come along,” she said to the little girl. “What’s your name?”
“Betty,” the little girl said shyly. “Could I have a egg sandwich? And cocoa?”
“We’ll see what there is,” Silvia said.
Later, while the child ate her egg sandwich and drank her cocoa, Silvia took the opportunity to explore the Steiner house. In the bedroom she came upon something which interested her: a picture of a small boy with dark, enormous, luminous eyes and curly hair; he looked, Silvia thought, like a despairing creature from some other world, some divine and yet dreadful place beyond their own.
Carrying the picture into the kitchen she asked little Betty who the boy was.
“That’s my brother Manfred,” Betty answered, her mouth full of egg and bread. Then she began to giggle. Between the giggles a few hesitant words emerged, and Silvia caught the fact that the girls were not supposed to mention their brother to anyone.
“Why doesn’t he live with you?” Silvia asked, full of curiosity.
“He’s at camp,” Betty said. “Because he can’t talk.”
“What a shame,” Silvia said, and she thought, At that camp in New Israel, no doubt. No wonder the girls aren’t supposed to mention him; he’s one of those anomalous children you hear of but never see. The thought made her sad. Unglimpsed tragedy in the Steiner household; she had never guessed. And it was in New Israel that Mr. Steiner had taken his life. Undoubtedly he had been visiting his son.
Then it has nothing to do with us, she decided as she returned the picture to its place in the bedroom. Mr. Steiner’s decision was based on a personal matter. So she felt relieved.
Strange, she thought, how one has the immediate reaction of guilt and responsibility when one hears of a suicide. If only I hadn’t done this, or had done that. . . I could have averted it. I’m at fault. And it was not so in this situation, not at all; she was a total outsider to the Steiners, sharing no part of their actual life, only imagining, in a fit of neurotic guilt, that she did so.
“Do you ever see your brother?” she asked Betty.
“I think I saw him last year,” Betty said hesitantly. “He was playing tag, and there were a lot of other boys bigger than me.”
Now, silently, the three older Steiner girls filed into the kitchen and stood by the table. At last the eldest burst out, “We changed our mind, we would like lunch.”
“All right,” Silvia said. “You can help me crack the eggs and peel them. Why don’t you go and get David, and I’ll feed him at the same time? Wouldn’t that be fun, to all eat together?”
They nodded mutely.
Walking up the main street of New Israel, Arnie Kott saw a crowd ahead and cars pulled to a halt at the curb, and he paused momentarily before turning in the direction of Anne Esterhazy’s Contemporary Arts Gift Shop. Something up, he said to himself. Robbery? Street brawl?
However, he did not have time to investigate. He continued on his way and arrived presently at the small modern shop which his ex-wife ran; hands in his trouser pockets, he sauntered in.
“Anybody home?” he called jovially.
No one there. She must have taken off to see the excitement, Arnie said to himself. Some business sense; didn’t even lock up the store.
A moment later Anne came hurrying breathlessly back into the store. “Arnie,” she said in surprise, seeing him. “Oh my God, do you know what happened? I was just talking to him, just talking, not more than an hour ago. And now he’s dead.” Tears filled her eyes. She collapsed onto a chair, found a Kleenex, and blew her nose. “It’s just terrible,” she said in a muffled voice. “And it wasn’t an accident; he did it deliberately.”
“Oh, so that’s what’s going on,” Arnie said, wishing now that he had gone on and taken a look. “Who do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t know him. He has a child at the camp; that’s how I met him.” She rubbed her eyes and sat for a time, while Arnie meandered about the store. “Well,” she said at last, “what can I do for you? It’s nice to see you.”
“My goddamn encoder broke down,” Arnie said. “You know how hard it is to get decent repair service. What could I do but come by? What do you say to having lunch with me? Lock up the store a little while.”
“Of course,” she said distractedly. “Just let me go wash my face. I feel as if it was me. I saw him, Arnie. The bus rolled right over him; they have such mass, they just can’t stop. I would like some lunch–I want to get out of here.” She hurried into the washroom–and closed the door.