Masters Of Noir Vol Iv Part 16

In this small group here, however, one of the guys was the short, bad-tempered egg who had made the mistake of clobbering me. His back was to me. I walked up close to him, tapped him on the shoulder with my index finger, and when he turned I tapped him on the chin with my right fist. He got all loose and his eyes rolled a bit and he fell down.

Everybody stared at me. Several of the people seemed shocked, a few merely interested, but the only rise out of anybody was one guy's remark, to n.o.body in particular: "Some party, huh?" They were all horribly drunk. Another guy, a tall, gangling fellow with sandy hair and a wire-stiff mustache stepped toward me. "Oh, I say," he said mushily. "That was a rotten rotten thing to do!" thing to do!"

He was British, and sounded as if he were gargling Schweppes Quinine Water. "That's not quite the way to treat our host, what?" he said cheerfully.

"What?"

"Yes, what. What indeed."

"Oh, shut up. I mean, what? He's the host?"

"Yes, host, old man. Well, toodleoo." He wandered off, down the shrub-lined pathway toward all the noise and commotion.

I looked at the guy on the ground. This might ruin the party for me, but I wasn't sorry I'd clobbered him. A big ruby ring on his finger had left a lump on my chin larger than the ruby. Somebody behind me said, "Well, well."

I turned. A gal had just stepped out of the same door I'd come through a few seconds ago. I recognized her. It was the blonde who'd been looking for Johnny. Saying she wore clothes would be, perhaps, an overstatement, since she was bare-foot and wore a red and black and green sarong that hugged her waist and hips the way I'd have liked to. The blonde hair was shoulder-length, her eyes were huge and brown, and she looked very good to me. Again.

She walked toward me smiling. She took hold of my arm, nodded at the guy on the ground and said, "Did you do that?"

"Yeah."

"He had it coming to him."

"You don't know the half of it."

"You don't know the half of it." don't know the half of it."

This had gone far enough. I turned her around, held both her arms gently and marched her back into the house. "Lady," I said, "since I rang the bell here things have occurred with revolting rapidity. What's going on here?"

It took her only about a minute to bring sanity into what had seemed madness. This was just one of the rather wild parties that L. Franklin Brevoort-now unconscious-held every weekend here at his Malibu home. He'd been tossing the parties for about a year, and this was a big one-authentic Hawaiian luau, complete with whole roast pig, poi, dancing girls, Hawaiian music.

She interrupted me, "I can't stand him, though. Who can? Oh, you can't blame L. Franklin-everybody calls him L. Franklin-considering that old mace he's got for a wife."

"That old what?"

"Mace. A kind of battle-ax. That's what everybody calls her. She's pretty gruesome. Anyway, L. Franklin's about the loneliest man in Malibu-"

"Ha. You forget, I I am in Malibu. And you forget, too, that I saw you in that doorway-" am in Malibu. And you forget, too, that I saw you in that doorway-"

"Anyway, when the bell rang I figured that was a good excuse to get away from L. Franklin. And I did did think it was Johnny. My, I was surprised. Wonder where Johnny is?" think it was Johnny. My, I was surprised. Wonder where Johnny is?"

She went on to tell me that you had to be very careful not to let L. Franklin get you alone, because he was a regular old rip. "I'm surprised somebody hasn't shot him," she said, "the way he's always going around reaching for everybody's women. He's sure a rip. Boy, was he mad when the bell rang and I took off."

"I know. He came outside and knocked me down."

She laughed. "Well, I'm going back to the party. You coming?"

I thought about it while she walked to the door. This seemed like a dandy party, and I hadn't even seen Dolly yet, but I wasn't sure I'd be welcome here after what had happened. Then Elaine turned and said, "You're kind of nice, you know? I like you a lot already. Guess I surprised you when I opened the door."

"Frankly, you hit me harder than L. Franklin did."

She laughed. "I looked pretty good, huh?"

"Well ... why, yes."

Elaine grinned. "I'll save you a dance," she said, turned and left the house.

Well, if everybody here was crazy, this was no time for me to be sane. I was staying at this here party. If L. Franklin didn't like it, I'd sock him again. I started after Elaine. Outside, somebody was pouring water on L. Franklin. Among other things Elaine had told me that the crux of the party was closer to the beach, about twenty or thirty yards back of the house. She was out of sight, so I headed toward the ocean, following the path. All you had to do was follow the noise. Mixed in with the whooping was music, Hawaiian music. In a minute I came out into a big clearing filled with plenty of movement.

About fifty people were flitting in and out among the trees and shrubs, many of them dancing. Four brown-skinned guys in sarongs were playing on stringed things and drums, and the place was a ma.s.s of color. A fifth brown-skinned guy was swinging a wicked-looking sword around and jumping over it while the other men played pulsating Hawaiian music that sounded as if it had a little mambo in it.

This place of Brevoort's was practically a jungle, with all kinds of trees, including palms and eucalyptus, a dozen different kinds of shrubs and tropical plants surrounding the clearing. There were bananas, philodendron, elephant ears, more hibiscus and lilies and orchids, and plenty of ferns. There were a lot of potted plants standing around, and practically all of the guests were potted, too. Almost everybody here was wearing trunks or swimsuits, most of the gals in bikinis or similarly abbreviated jobs, and a man simply couldn't have asked for a more interesting get-together.

On my right was a zoo-pound block of ice, its middle hollowed out and filled with a red punch, two white gardenias and a purple orchid floated on the liquor's surface. Several halves of coconut sh.e.l.ls rested on the ice and as I watched a redheaded tomato filled one of the coconut cups, drank the punch, and then let out a yip, shaking her head. It was Betty, the redheaded tomato I'd met in front of the house.

I walked up beside her, had a cup of the punch and almost let out a yip myself. It was so strong they probably had to change the flowers every fifteen minutes. Then I said, "Hi."

She didn't say anything, just smiled and wrapped her arms around me and we started dancing. Then she stopped. "You scratch," she said, looking up at me. "Haven't you got a suit?"

"Sure. In the car."

"Get it. And hurry. We'll have a dance, and a swim. I'm Betty."

I went flying off down the path, changed in the car, and was back in two minutes. Betty, I was pleased to see, was waiting for me. We had a couple dances, and it was really much better without scratching. Then she said, "Come on," and ran toward the beach. I followed her down the path and caught up with her at the sand's edge.

On our right flames leaped from a pit dug in the sand. "What's the bonfire for?" I asked Betty.

"That's where they'll cook the pig pretty quick," she said. "Big luau. Really doing it right, huh? The pig's for the big dinner later-along with poi and raw fish and I don't know what all. Come on." She raced into the water.

When we got back to the clearing, the music and dancing was getting even wilder. It was almost dark, and somebody grabbed Betty and whirled her away. I didn't try to stop her; there were dozens more around, including the blonde Elaine, who was dancing at the moment. This was marvelous. Nothing was going to get me to leave this this party. I went over to the punch bowl and had another drink as a woman older than most here, a gal about forty, came up beside me and dipped half a coconut into the punch, gulped the drink down, and then had another immediately after it. I shuddered. She weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds, was maybe five-eight, and had a flat, rather unpleasant face. party. I went over to the punch bowl and had another drink as a woman older than most here, a gal about forty, came up beside me and dipped half a coconut into the punch, gulped the drink down, and then had another immediately after it. I shuddered. She weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds, was maybe five-eight, and had a flat, rather unpleasant face.

She looked at me and said, "Dance with me. I'm Mrs. Brevoort. I'm the hostess, so you have to dance with me."

She was soused to the eardrums. I said, "Sure," and latched onto her. We took about four steps and she stopped. "I don't want to dance," she said. "Go wiggle with those naked women."

I swung around eagerly, looking for the naked women, then realized she'd referred to the gals in bikinis. Mrs. Brevoort was dressed in skirt and blouse, and I guessed she'd been trying to have a good time, but not succeeding. It suddenly occurred to me, as I looked at all those lovely, startlingly shaped dolls gyrating near us, that this might well be the first dance Mrs. Brevoort had had-and she'd asked me for it.

I started to make small talk, so small it was almost invisible, but she waved her hand at me and said, "Go away. Go wiggle wi' nake' w'mn." Her eyes were getting gla.s.sy. Those two fast punches must have been suddenly catching up with her. I left her at the hollowed-out cake of ice.

It was dark now, and the glow from the fire down on the beach was warm and red; a few j.a.panese lanterns had been lighted here in the clearing, and a half dozen Hawaiian torches were lighted. I wondered where L. Franklin, the host, was. But then I forgot about him; I was having too much fun to wonder about the host or hostess-it was a typical party. I never did see Dolly.

A couple hours, maybe more, pa.s.sed in a kind of delightfully Hawaiian delirium. And it seemed that the music got more sensual, the dances wilder, the women lovelier. From somewhere came three gals in hula skirts and the music took on a headier beat and the three gals started shaking like maracas. Right in front of me I saw a beautiful blonde gal doing a hula, especially for me it appeared, and it was my my blonde; it was Elaine. blonde; it was Elaine.

"Well, h.e.l.lo," I said.

She kept doing her unique hula, unique because it must have been the kind popular before the missionaries came, and she said, "Like?"

"Lovely, lovely." The three gals in hula skirts were stirring up a storm, and somebody yelled that we were all to join in when the spirit moved us. One guy grabbed a little doll and they leaped into the middle of the clearing with the other three gals and started improvising. The music got wilder, more frantic and pulse-stirring. Another guy and gal started jumping around, and soon this seemed less like Malibu than a strip of Hawaiian beach of a hundred years ago.

More guys and gals got up and leaped around, and it seemed there were more bouncing, quivering, jiggling and jangling bodies than I'd ever before seen quivering practically in unison. There were squeals and yips and howls among the hulas, and with half the people here already gyrating-the spirit moved me.

I let out a whoop with a lot of vowels in it so it would sound Hawaiian, and I jumped into the middle of the people letting out oofs oofs and and uuffs uuffs and and huuhs huuhs and similar Hawaiian-like sounds, while shaking all over like a plucked banjo string. Elaine came toward me at what seemed a hundred miles an hour, but making little forward progress. The drums kept thudding, throbbing, and suddenly there was n.o.body at all standing on the sidelines. The last guy, a tall Texan I'd met earlier, let out a "Yahoo" and came twirling around the edge of the crowd hanging onto the hand of a black-haired tomato who was throwing everything at him but the palm trees, while he continued to let out yips like he was calling all the little dogies in Texas. Elaine sort of rammed herself up against me so close that she might have grown there, and in a few moments we were on the edge of the crowd, next to the path leading to the beach. and similar Hawaiian-like sounds, while shaking all over like a plucked banjo string. Elaine came toward me at what seemed a hundred miles an hour, but making little forward progress. The drums kept thudding, throbbing, and suddenly there was n.o.body at all standing on the sidelines. The last guy, a tall Texan I'd met earlier, let out a "Yahoo" and came twirling around the edge of the crowd hanging onto the hand of a black-haired tomato who was throwing everything at him but the palm trees, while he continued to let out yips like he was calling all the little dogies in Texas. Elaine sort of rammed herself up against me so close that she might have grown there, and in a few moments we were on the edge of the crowd, next to the path leading to the beach.

She spun around and raced down the path away from me. I ran after her.

At the sand's edge she stumbled and I almost caught her, but she regained her balance and ran toward the booming breakers. I followed her past the pit where huge hot coals now glowed, and I saw something from the corner of my eyes that jarred me oddly, but I kept on running. I ran clear past the pit where the pig was now being roasted for the luau dinner later, then I slowed and stopped.

I went back and looked down into the pit dug in the sand, heat bouncing against my face. It did look like a pig at first, not much like a man. It was a man, though. I heard Elaine laughing.

I got down on my hands and knees, moved as close as I could. The guy was face down, but even face up he'd have been unrecognizable, so horribly was he burned. Still sticking out of his throat was the sharp metal spit that would have been used for holding the pig. One arm was outflung, the hand in a somewhat more protected spot than the rest of him, and I could see the big ruby ring on his finger. Mine host.

"Come on! What's the matter with you?" It was Elaine calling me. I could barely see the dim white blur of her body outlined against the darkness of the sea. Behind her a comber broke and frothed in toward us. I stood up and walked toward Elaine.

Five minutes later we were both in the house; I hadn't told Elaine a thing and she was a little angry with me. She pointed out the phone and I told her to wait in the next room, then phoned local Homicide. After that I found Elaine. "Where's the kitchen?" I asked her.

"The what? Don't tell me you brought me here because you're hungry!" hungry!"

I shuddered. "No, but I've got to sober up. I'll explain all of this later." She led me to the kitchen where I drank half a quart of milk while water boiled for some instant coffee. Elaine stared at me as if I were crazy while I found meat in the icebox, some roast beef, and made a thick, sloppy sandwich with an inch of meat between two slices of french bread. I gulped coffee, grabbed a frying pan and big spoon, then took Elaine's arm and led her back to the clearing where people were still squealing and dancing. "Are you crazy?" Elaine asked me in exasperation.

"Maybe. Hold the frying pan for me, will you?" She shook her head, grabbed the pan. I hit it vigorously with the spoon and yelled, "Chow time, everybody. Chow's on." Not many people paid attention to me; I hadn't expected many to. I walked around the clearing, munching on my sloppy sandwich and saying "Chow, anybody?" to everybody. It didn't happen till I was almost at the punch bowl. Mrs. Brevoort's unpleasant face loomed beside me.

I said, "Hi. Wanna dance?" I blinked drunkenly at her, and nibbled at the beef. She eyed the sandwich, fascinated.

I said, "I'm sorry, but I got so starved I couldn't wait for everybody else. Hope you don't mind, but I carved a little meat off that pig down there in the pit."

"You ... what?" she said, and her face was already starting to get green.

I said, "I was hungry. There's plenty more, though. You hungry, Mrs. Brevoort?"

Her mouth dropped open, her lips twitched, and her eyes rolled up in her head. Then she fainted. People around us kept dancing and going, "Uuh!" and making Hawaiian chants.

Half an hour later the police had come and gone. I'd told them on the phone to arrive without sirens, and in the meantime to check on me with the Los Angeles and Hollywood police. As a result, they handled everything quietly and took Mrs. Brevoort away with almost no commotion at all-and let me stay. She spilled everything in the first five minutes: that she knew her husband had just married her for her money and that it was her her money he used for these weekly parties at which he ignored her, and everybody else ignored her, and she'd caught him on the beach tonight with a babe, waited until the girl went back alone to the clearing, then swatted L. Franklin over the head with the spit and stuck it through his throat. She'd dragged him ten feet through the sand and rolled him in onto the coals. money he used for these weekly parties at which he ignored her, and everybody else ignored her, and she'd caught him on the beach tonight with a babe, waited until the girl went back alone to the clearing, then swatted L. Franklin over the head with the spit and stuck it through his throat. She'd dragged him ten feet through the sand and rolled him in onto the coals.

Elaine said to me, "I still don't know why she fainted when you stuck that ghastly sandwich in her face."

"She thought I was eating her hubby. She'd tossed him into the pig pit."

"I don't get it. Why into the pit?"

"She was all excited. People get excited when they kill people. She thought she could hide him there until she figured out what to do. And she wasn't acting very logically anyway, it was a crime of pa.s.sion. She hated parties."

We were standing beside the melting punch bowl. Both of us had a small drink. A lot of people were still dancing-not around the pit, though. Right after Mrs. Brevoort had fainted I'd sent Elaine scooting down to the beach to make sure n.o.body did did reach the pit; n.o.body had. I said, "I didn't have the faintest idea who, of these fifty people, might have run the buzzard through. Only the person who'd killed him, though, would have known what was cooking. Well, at least it was better than having the cops haul everybody down to the station-I was d.a.m.ned if anybody was going to break up this fine party." reach the pit; n.o.body had. I said, "I didn't have the faintest idea who, of these fifty people, might have run the buzzard through. Only the person who'd killed him, though, would have known what was cooking. Well, at least it was better than having the cops haul everybody down to the station-I was d.a.m.ned if anybody was going to break up this fine party."

Elaine said, "I still don't get it all. You mean both the host and hostess are gone?"

"Yeah. They took L. Franklin away, too. So there's n.o.body to call off the party. You know, this thing may last for weeks."

"How long will you last?"

I grinned at her. She laughed softly, whirled and ran toward the beach. I waited about one second, and then turned.

I ran after her.

l.u.s.t SONG by STUART FRIEDMAN

Cha cha cha-tiyata ... cha-tiyata ... cha-ta- cha-ta-cha," her chirpy voice sang. The melodious sound penetrated the closed windows. "Cha cha her chirpy voice sang. The melodious sound penetrated the closed windows. "Cha cha cha- cha-tiyata ... cha-ta-cha."

In the dim old bedroom, Barton stood listening behind lowered blinds. Tall and gray in workshirt and overalls, his sinewy old body was bent forward and motionless like a taut bow and his mouth was open slightly like a crater in the dry crust of the seamy skin of his face. His big, knuckly hands were clenched and still as weights. "Cha cha cha- cha-tiyata ... cha-ta-cha." He straightened up, moistened his lips, drew a long breath and shook his head. His hands opened. He turned and started for the door, but some counter-will in him made him veer to the bureau. He opened a drawer and took out the binoculars. He straightened up, moistened his lips, drew a long breath and shook his head. His hands opened. He turned and started for the door, but some counter-will in him made him veer to the bureau. He opened a drawer and took out the binoculars.

He went to the window, inched it up and raised the blind two inches from the sill, squinting briefly against the glare stripe of sunlight. He went to the chair at the end of the room, where light wouldn't catch on the lenses, and put the binoculars to his eyes, his heart beginning to thump against his ribs. Cha cha cha- cha-tiyata ... cha-ta-cha, he whispered as the sound of her came again, louder, richer through the opening. His thick fingers became tremulous on the delicate adjustment wheel as he found her and brought her into focus, her red hair in the wind glowing like embers in a forge. he whispered as the sound of her came again, louder, richer through the opening. His thick fingers became tremulous on the delicate adjustment wheel as he found her and brought her into focus, her red hair in the wind glowing like embers in a forge.

Deena May, his hired hand's wife ... the "child bride" as Barton thought of her ... was hanging clothes in her yard and dancing to her own foolish, delicious music. She wore a loose, carelessly b.u.t.toned, pink house dress ... and probably nothing else ... and she came toward him from the clothes basket to the line, lifting her knees in quick, prancy steps. She was a pretty little thing, as lively and mindless as a bird, with a tiny waist and dainty legs. She wasn't fully fleshed out yet and her lines were clean as stems and from the front or back or side views, the roundings of her femaleness showed clearly when the wind pressed the thin dress to her flesh.

She moved back to the clothes basket, not in a straight line, but in a prancing, dancing half circle to the beat of the "Cha cha cha- cha-tiyata ... cha-ta-cha ... " On the "tiyata" part her thin voice rose high as a cat's, then swiftly dipped with an oddly stroking sound that was nakedly voluptuous in quality. She accompanied the sound with a tantalizing motion: a fluid roll, tilt and swish of her hips. She came back to the line with another garment ... a pair of her husband's underwear shorts ... and as she pinned them up her knees flashed higher than ever, showing the smooth pale nakedness of her inner thighs. Pain stabbed at Barton's eyeb.a.l.l.s and he shut his eyes, resting the binoculars on his knees. Warm, warm her young body would be, warm as new milk ... or cool in the fresh breeze, cool as silk. Warm, cool, whichever, whatever, it didn't matter. ... " On the "tiyata" part her thin voice rose high as a cat's, then swiftly dipped with an oddly stroking sound that was nakedly voluptuous in quality. She accompanied the sound with a tantalizing motion: a fluid roll, tilt and swish of her hips. She came back to the line with another garment ... a pair of her husband's underwear shorts ... and as she pinned them up her knees flashed higher than ever, showing the smooth pale nakedness of her inner thighs. Pain stabbed at Barton's eyeb.a.l.l.s and he shut his eyes, resting the binoculars on his knees. Warm, warm her young body would be, warm as new milk ... or cool in the fresh breeze, cool as silk. Warm, cool, whichever, whatever, it didn't matter.

He pulled her to him again with the binoculars. She had a saucy round face with round blue eyes and a round dimple in her chin. Down in the mule country, where she came from, the dimple meant the devil was in her, Deena May said. Ignorant superst.i.tion. But Barton supposed it had been drilled into her child mind till she believed it. With her showing her flesh and singing and stepping high to the devil's beat, anyone could believe it.

He saw she kept turning her head to her shoulder and he was so enrapt with the brilliant image of her red hair, like a wanton brand of flame on her cheek, that he didn't realize she was looking back at the house. Then the screen door flew open and her husband Hugh charged out. Barton realized then that Hugh had been watching from inside and Deena May had been putting on the show to work him up. She whooped and shrieked and took off across the yard. He caught her by the hair in a dozen long-legged strides and dumped her. She kicked her bare legs in the air and rolled onto her knees and tackled his lanky legs and in a moment he was on the ground with her, scowling and mussing her up. She got away and he chased her out of sight around the front of the house. In awhile he came marching her in front of him, twisting her arm. She stopped every few steps and b.u.mped her bottom back against him, a look of high glee on her excited face. She boasted how she could get him excited any time, morning, noon and night, and could wear him down to a frazzle even if she was only fourteen and he thought he was a man because he was twenty-one. Hugh pushed her inside the house with a loud spank and the screen door whacked shut. Barton lowered the binoculars, his mouth clamped in a straight line.

Barton thought of Hugh with a bitter scorn. For all his big talk about being man enough to handle her, all she had to do was swish her tail to bring him down on all fours and use him up. He went to the bureau, dropped the binoculars in the bureau drawer and kneed it shut with an air of finality. That's all there was these days, animals yielding to their pleasures, no discipline, no pride in strength, only in weakness. Barton caught sight of himself in the bureau mirror, which was flaking and yellowed, decaying like everything else in this dying house. Light from the peephole opening of the window shone on one side of his face, leaving the other in shadow, and an uneven line ran down the center as if a jagged axe blade had tried to split his head-and struck granite, he told himself. He had lived his life on his hind legs, and nothing, nothing short of G.o.d could bring him low at the end ... no, not even the devil.

He left the bedroom and went along the hall, past the shut doors of the long-empty bedrooms, where the rugs and curtains and chairs and made-beds remained, unused, and giving off the silent musty breath of slow decay. He went down the gloomy central stairs and looked in at the big, gla.s.sed-in porch that had served as a play room and sewing room and second parlor, where the girls could entertain their beaux, and in the final years Melly, his wife, had made it her afternoon headquarters, for reading or sewing or just contenting herself looking out at the side lawn and her flowers and their fields. Often she would have her nap there after the midday meal and he'd come down from his own nap and they'd have coffee together before he went out to work. Sometimes he thought a belief in ghosts would be a help, so he could imagine her there smiling and asking if he'd had a good nap ... though he was inclined to wake grumpy and had usually been aggravated by the question. On an impulse he went over and started to raise the blinds; a little clean light in this room of Melly's might give the whole dreary house a better feel.

He glanced around to look at the furnishings when the first blind was up. Slowly, he lowered the blind again. The furnishings were shabby and graceless and heavy, nothing anybody would want today. It had been mighty pretty once. He shrugged. Better to leave it with the dead past.

He went to the kitchen and set coffee warming while he tidied up the mess from his dinner, his mouth down at the corners, a sourness in his stomach and at the base of his tongue. He took some baking soda and belched, looking with distaste at the leftovers in pans and skillet. He still ate the same old greasy food, and too much of it, just as if he still worked from "sun to sun." He drank his coffee standing up; then marched out like a man going to work, but he wasn't going to do anything but putter ... maybe fix up that board in the corn crib, or maybe mend harness. He shook his head; d.a.m.nfoolishness mending harness for a team of horses that never did anything but pasture and once in awhile some light hauling. The tractor did their work better and cheaper, and there wasn't really enough land left to require a tractor. He had sold off all but the sixty acres he and Melly had started out with. He'd saved his three boys and two girls the trouble of waiting for him to die by giving them their patrimony shortly after Melly pa.s.sed on. He had a few thousand and this place and he wouldn't have to crowd any of his grandchildren out of their rooms, which was probably luckier than an old man had right to be.

He dawdled around in the barn, feeling that there wasn't any point in doing anything in particular. He went and stood in the barn door and looked out over the green expanse of growing corn and beyond it in the south field to the vast great yellow square of young wheat. It would grow and ripen and then be cut down and there'd be another winter and maybe another spring....

He spat! G.o.d d.a.m.n a self-pitying man. Whining at his his age, worse than a whelp. He heard the tractor start up and located it out in the field with Hugh on the seat, riding young and high and mighty. Then his gaze slid toward the little house, the one he and Melly had started out in. Deena May would be up and chippying around at her ch.o.r.es ... or maybe sprawled in the bed, sleeping and renewing that radiant, l.u.s.trous, sweet vital young body. The mere sight of that little house roused his belly to life. age, worse than a whelp. He heard the tractor start up and located it out in the field with Hugh on the seat, riding young and high and mighty. Then his gaze slid toward the little house, the one he and Melly had started out in. Deena May would be up and chippying around at her ch.o.r.es ... or maybe sprawled in the bed, sleeping and renewing that radiant, l.u.s.trous, sweet vital young body. The mere sight of that little house roused his belly to life.

He walked up the lane, toward the houses, toward the old barn, thinking of his Bible and the times of greatness when the old men were kings and Solomon lay cold on his bed and they brought to his bed the choicest virgins and ... The land swirled in the bright heat and Barton stopped and lighted a cigarette ... and there had been King David who had looked upon the flesh of Bathsheba ... the smoke dry-tickled his throat and he coughed violently ... and the great king had sent the young husband off to his death ... in the Bible, yes, in the good Book, and it had been recorded, the living truth ... wicked though it might be, it was the nature and the Fate of Man ... and when a man grew cold with age he could not help himself if he went to the life-saving fire ... it was his own life he saved, even if it came to King David's way ... Sc.r.a.ped down to the raw an animal had to choose to save his own life....

An animal, yes, an animal killed or was killed ... but not a man, not a human standing on his hind legs. NO! He didn't wipe out the pride of all his achievements at his life's end....

Barton turned into the old barn, got into his car and drove to town. Maybe there would be a few cronies around the grain elevator or the feed store. He parked on Main Street. He sat, debating. He didn't have many cronies left. And all they could do together would be to carp about the way things were and down in all their bellies was nothing but the cold fear of death and the fear of life and the aching, hopeless wish to be men again. He didn't want the smell of them. He went over to the bank and cashed a check and drove on into the city. He parked and roamed the bright, busy streets, looking sharply in at the women's shops, tempted and afraid to go in and buy some pretties for her. Panties and stockings and shoes and perfumes and dresses. He felt flushed and excited and he stopped at a travel agency window with its pictures of gay, carefree foreign places and girls in bathing suits and without exactly knowing what he was doing he got the car again and drove to the airport. He watched the great, shiny planes, landing and taking off; he mingled with the moving, lively crowds waiting to go or going and he longed to have Deena May there to see it and feel it and catch the fire and enthusiasm. He could take her and give her the sparkling brightness and the go go go that she craved. What did it come to, all his hard work and sober virtue? It came to dullness and death.

Hugh was at the milking when Barton got back and Barton, remembering all the hostile thoughts he had had toward the boy, took pains to praise him.

"Sorry to leave you with all the work. Had some business in town. But I'll grant that you're handling things fine, just fine."

Hugh took it with clear pleasure. And after some easy talk about farm matters he said: "I hope she never bothered you, woke you up from your nap. Did she?"