I set down my drink and hurried in the direction of the door.
“How did you happen to change your mind and come here?” Barrows asked me, swirling his drink.
I said, “The Lincoln thought Pris would be here.”
“Well, Rosen, I hate to say it, but in my opinion it did you a rotten favor. You’re really bats to let yourself get hooked by that girl.”
“I don’t agree.”
“Hell, that’s because you’re sick, all three of you, Pris and the Lincoln and you. I tell you, Rosen, Johnny Booth was worth a million of the Lincolns. I think what we’ll do is patch it up and use it for our Lunar development . . . after all, Booth is a good old familiar American name; no reason why the family next door can’t be named Booth. You know, Rosen, you must come to Luna someday and see what we’ve done. You have no conception of it, none at all. No offense, but it’s impossible to understand from here; you have to go there.”
“That’s so, Mr. Rosen,” Mrs. Nild said.
I said, “A successful man doesn’t have to stoop to bamboozlement.”
“Bamboozlement!” Barrows exclaimed. “Hell, it was an attempt to nudge people into doing what they’re going to be doing someday anyhow. Oh hell, I don’t want to argue. This has been quite a day; I’m tired. I feel no animosity toward anyone.” He grinned at me. “If your little firm had linked up with us–you must have had an intuition of what it would have meant; you picked me out, I didn’t pick you out. But it’s water over the dam for you, now. Not for me; we’ll go on and do it, possibly using the Booth–but anyhow in some manner, by some means.”
Mrs. Nild said, “Everyone knows that, Sam.” She patted him.
“Thanks, Collie,” Barrows said. “I just hate to see the guy this way, no goals, no vision, no ambitions. It’s heartbreaking. It is.”
I said nothing; I stood at the bedroom door, waiting for them to finish talking to me.
To me Mrs. Nild said, “Go ahead on in. You might as well.”
Taking hold of the knob I opened the bedroom door.
The bedroom lay in darkness. In the center I could make out the outlines of a bed. On the bed a figure lay. It had propped itself up with a pillow, and it was smoking a cigarette; or was it actually a cigarette? The bedroom smelled of cigar smoke. Hurrying to a light switch I turned on the light.
In the bed lay my father, smoking a cigar and regarding me with a frowning, thoughtful expression. He had on his bathrobe and pajamas, and beside the bed he had placed his fur-lined slippers. Next to the slippers were his suitcase and his clothes neatly piled.
“Close the door, _mein Sohn_,” he said in a gentle voice.
Bewildered, I automatically complied; I shut the door behind me but not quickly enough to obliterate the howls of laughter from the living room, the roars from Sam Barrows and Mrs. Nild. What a joke they had played on me, all this time; all their talk, solemn and pretentious–knowing that Pris was not in here, was not in the apartment at all, that the Lincoln had been mistaken.
“A shame, Louis,” my father said, evidently reading my expression. “Perhaps I should have stepped out and put an end to the banter, and yet I was interested in what Mr. Barrows said; it was not entirely beside the point, was it? He is a great man in some ways. Sit down.” He nodded toward the chair by the bed, and I sat.
“You don’t know where she is?” I said. “You can’t help me either?”
“Afraid not, Louis.”
It was not even worth it to get up and leave. This was as far as I could go, here to this chair, beside my father’s bed, as he sat smoking.
The door burst open and a man with his face on upside down appeared, my brother Chester, bustling and full of importance. “I’ve got a good room for us, Dad,” he said, and then, seeing me, he smiled happily. “So here you are, Louis; after all our trouble we at last manage to locate you.”
“Several times,” my father said, “I was tempted to correct Mr. Barrows; however, a man like him can’t be reeducated, so why waste time?”
I could not bear the idea that my father was about to launch into one of his philosophical tirades; sinking down on the chair and pretending not to hear him I made his words blur into fly-like buzzing. In my stupor of disappointment I imagined how it would have been if there had been no joke played on me, if I had found Pris here in this room, lying on the bed.
Think how it would have been. I would have found her asleep, perhaps drunk; I would have lifted her up and held her in my arms, brushed her hair back from her eyes, kissed her on the ear. I could imagine her stirring to life as I woke her up from her drunken nap.
“You’re not paying attention,” my father said reprovingly. And I was not; I was completely away from the dismal disappointment, into my dream of Pris. “You still pursue this will-of-the-wisp.” He frowned at me.
In my dream of a happier life I kissed Pris once more, and she opened her eyes. I laid her back down, lay against her and hugged her.
“How’s the Lincoln?” Pris’s voice, murmuring at my ear. She showed no surprise at seeing me, or at my having gathered her up and kissed her; in fact she did not show any reaction at all. But that was Pris.
“As good as could be expected.” I awkwardly caressed her hair as she lay on her back gazing up at me in the darkness. I could barely discern her outline there. “No,” I admitted; “actually it’s in terrible shape. It’s having a psychotic depression. What do you care? You did it.”
“I saved it,” Pris said remotely, languidly. “Bring me a cigarette, will you?”
I lit a cigarette for her and handed it to her. She lay smoking.
My father’s voice came to me, “Ignore this introverted ideal, _mein Sohn_–it takes you away from reality, like Mr. Barrows told you, and this is serious! This is what Doctor Horstowski, if you’ll excuse the expression, would have to call ill; do you see?”
Dimly I heard Chester’s voice. “It’s schizophrenia, Dad, like all those adolescent kids; millions of Americans have it without knowing it, they never get into the clinics. I read an article, it told about that.”
Pris said, “You’re a good person, Louis. I feel sorry for you, being in love with me. You’re wasting your time, but I suppose you don’t care about that. Can you explain what love is? Love like that?”
“No,” I said.
“Won’t you try?” she said. “Is the door locked? If it isn’t, go lock it.”
“Hell,” I said miserably, “I can’t shut them out; they’re right here on top of us. We’ll never be away from them, we’ll never be alone, just the two of us–I know it.” But I went anyhow, knowing what I knew, and shut and locked the door.
When I got back to the bed I found Pris standing up on it; she was unzipping her skirt. She drew her skirt up over her head and tossed it away from her, onto a chair; she was undressing. Now she kicked off her shoes.
“Who else can teach me, Louis, if not you?” she said. “Pull the covers back.” She began taking off her underwear, but I stopped her. “Why not?”
“I’m going mad,” I said. “I can’t stand this. I have to go back to Boise and see Doctor Horstowski; this can’t go on, not here with my family in the same room.”
Pris said gently, “Tomorrow we’ll fly back to Boise. But not now.” She dragged the bedspread and blankets and top sheet back, got in, and, picking up her cigarette again, lay naked, not covering herself up but simply lying there. “I’m so tired, Louis. Stay with me here tonight.”
“I just can’t,” I said.
“Then take me back to where you’re staying.”
“I can’t do that either; the Lincoln is there.”
“Louis,” she said, “I just want to go to sleep; lie down and cover us up. They won’t bother us. Don’t be afraid of them. I’m sorry the Lincoln had one of its fits. Don’t blame me for that, Louis; it has them anyhow, and I did save its life. It’s my child . . . isn’t it?”
“I guess you could put it like that,” I said.
“I brought it to life, I mothered it. I’m very proud of that. When I saw that filthy Booth object. . . all I wanted to do was kill it on the spot. As soon as I saw it I knew what it was for. Could I be your mother, too? I wish I had brought you to life like I did it; I wish I had brought all kinds of people into life . . . everybody. I give life, and tonight I took it, and that’s a good thing, if you can bear to do that. It takes a lot of strength to take someone’s life, don’t you think, Louis?”