Маргарет Миллар - The Listening Walls

Both the dog and the object of his chase were covered by darkness. Rupert didn’t call out to either of them. He simply began following the sound of the dog’s now frantic barking, walking silently among the vast trees, the noise of his footsteps muffled by layers of dense, damp redwood needles. He didn’t hurry, he needed time for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and he knew the dog wouldn’t stop chasing her as long as she kept running. If he had had a free choice, he would have whistled the dog to heel, put him in the car, and driven on, leaving her to wander in the woods by herself until she dropped of exhaustion. But he had no choice. She was his hope as well as his despair.

She had reached the creek and was about to cross when he caught up with her. The dog was running up and down in front of her, just out of reach of the kicks she was aiming at his head. His tail was wagging and his barking sounded more mischievous than angry, as if he thought this was a new game she was playing, throwing her foot at him instead of a tennis ball.

As Rupert approached, she began to scream strange curses at him: he was a pig, his mother was a sow, his father had horns, the little dog belonged to the devil.

He grabbed her by the wrists. “Shut up.”

“No! Leave me alone!”

A light went on in one of the cabins and the silhouette of a man’s head appeared at the open window. The head was cocked, listening.

Rupert said, “Someone’s watching.”

“I don’t care!”

“You will.”

“No!”

She struggled in his grasp. He could barely hold her; in her fury she was as strong as a man.

“If you don’t behave,” he said quietly, “I’ll have to kill you. The water’s deep enough. I’ll hold your head under. You can scream all you like, then. It will just help things along.”

He knew she was afraid of the water, she hated the very sight of the sea, and even the sound of water running in the shower made her nervous.

She had gone limp in his arms, as if she had already drowned of fright.

“You’re going to kill me anyway,” she said in a ragged whisper.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I can see it in your eyes.”

“Stop this nonsense.”

“I can feel it in your touch. You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Yes, I am. The words were in his mouth ready to be spoken. Yes, I’m going to kill you. But not with my bare hands, and not now. The day after tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after that. There are things to be settled before you die.

The beam of a flashlight flickered among the trees and a man’s voice called out, “Hello out there! Hey! Ahoy!”

Rupert tightened his grip on her wrist. “You’re to say nothing. I’ll do the talking, understand?”

“Yes.”

“And don’t get any ideas about asking for help. I’m your help, I hope you have sense enough to realize that.”

The man from the coffee shop appeared, his white apron luffing in the wind. The beam of his flashlight caught Rupert in the face like a slap.

“Say, what’s going on here?”

“Sorry for the disturbance,” Rupert said. “My dog jumped out of the car, and my wife and I were trying to catch him.”

“Oh, is that all?” He seemed vaguely disappointed. “For a minute there I thought someone was being murdered.”

Rupert laughed. It sounded genuine. “I imagine murders take place more quietly and quickly.” He didn’t have to imagine; O’Donnell had died almost instantly, and without a word or cry of pain. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”

“Oh, that’s all right. We don’t get much excitement around here. I like a bit of it now and then. Keeps a person young.”

“I never thought of it in that way.” Rupert picked up the dog with one hand, keeping the other on his companion’s wrist. There was less resistance from her than from the dog, who hated to be carried. “Well, I guess we’ll be on our way. Come along, my dear. I think we’ve caused enough commotion for one night.”

The man led the way back to the parking lot, shining his flashlight on the ground. “The wind’s shifting.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Rupert said.

“Not many people do. But with me, it’s my business to check the wind. From the way it feels now, the fog’ll be rolling in pretty soon. Fog, that’s our problem in these parts. When the fog comes in I might as well shut up shop and go to bed. You heading for L.A.?”

“Yes.”

“If I was you, I’d cut inland as soon as I could. You can’t fight fog. The best you can do is run away from it.”

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll bear it in mind.” Rupert thought, there are lots of things beside fog that you can’t fight, that you have to run away from. “Good night. Perhaps we’ll be seeing you again.”

“I’ll be here. Got all my money tied up in the place, can’t afford to go away.” He laughed sourly, as if he’d played a bad joke on himself. “Well, good night, folks.”

When he had gone, Rupert said, “Get in the car.”

“I don’t want...”

“And hurry up. You’ve already delayed us half an hour with your histrionics. Do you realize how far news can travel in half an hour?”

“The police will be looking for you, not me.”

“Whichever one of us they’re looking for, if they find us they’ll find us both together. Understand that? Together. Till death do us part.”

Señor Escamillo yanked open the door of the broom closet and found Consuela with one ear pressed against her listening wall.

“Aha!” he cried, pointing a fat little forefinger at her. “So, Consuela Gonzales is up to her old tricks again.”

“No, señor. I swear on my mother’s body...”

“You could swear on your father’s horns and I do not believe you. If I were not so desperate for experienced help I would never have begged you to come back.” He thought briefly of the real reason he’d asked her to come back; perhaps he’d been a fool to lend his services to such a wild, American scheme. He consulted his big, gold pocket watch, which didn’t keep good time but served as a useful prop to hold his staff in line. “It is now seven o’clock. Why are you not placing fresh towels in the rooms and turning down the beds?”

“I have already attended to most of the rooms.”

“And why not all of them, pray? Are the towels so heavy, such a burden, that you must stop to rest every five minutes?”

“No, señor.”

“I wait for the explanation,” Escamillo said, with cold dignity.

Consuela looked down at her feet, wide and flat in their straw espadrilles. Clothes, she thought, it’s clothes that make the difference. Here I am dressed like a peasant, so he treats me like a peasant. If I had on my high heels and my black dress and my necklaces, he would be polite and call me senorita, he wouldn’t dare to say my father had horns.

“I wait, Consuela Gonzales.”

“I have attended to all the rooms except 404. I was prepared to do that one too, but when I stopped at the door I heard noises from inside.”

“Noises? How so?”

“People were arguing. I thought it would be wiser if I didn’t disturb them, if I waited until they went out for the evening.”

“People were arguing in 404?”

“Yes. Americans. Two American ladies.”

“You swear it on your mother’s body?”

“I do, señor.”

“Oh, what a liar you are, Consuela Gonzales.” Escamillo put his hand over his heart to show how much the situation pained him. “Or else you have lost your judgment.”

“I heard them, I tell you.”

“You tell me, yes. Now I tell you. The suite 404 is empty. It has been empty for nearly a week.”