Уильям Макгиверн - Odds Against Tomorrow

“And I was blindfolded,” Carol said. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Yes, of course,” Kelly said, looking at his notes. “But you both mentioned that there was an odor of food in the house. Something that reminded you of sauerkraut. You used the word ‘reminded’ each time we’ve come to this point. You mean it wasn’t sauerkraut — but something similar? Could you pin it down exactly, do you think?”

The doctor was frowning. “It seemed like sauerkraut. Didn’t it, Carol?”

“I don’t know. I said sauerkraut because you did, I guess. But it wasn’t like food at all—” She was frowning faintly, not looking at any of them, and Kelly sensed that her thoughts were searching for a memory buried deep in her mind.

“What was it, Carol?” he said gently. “It wasn’t food, was it?”

“No, it was more like — well, the chemistry lab at school. It was something sharp and unpleasant.”

“I think you’re right,” the doctor said slowly.

“Was it some kind of acid?” the sheriff said.

“No — I’m trying to remember.”

They were silent for a moment, and Kelly held his breath. “Daddy, wasn’t it like a mustard plaster? That’s all I can think of.”

“A mustard plaster?”

“Maybe there was someone sick in the house,” Kelly said.

The doctor began to pace the floor, snapping his fingers rapidly. “Not mustard, not acid — wait a second.” He stared at the sheriff. “Balsam Peru — Do you remember that stuff?”

“Sure.”

“That’s what it was — Balsam Peru. How that helps I don’t know, but I’m certain of it. Balsam Peru!”

“What is it?” Kelly said.

“An old patent medicine, a cure-all like Doctor Pratt’s Salve or Mother Mercer’s Remedy.” Excitement had brought color into the doctor’s pale tired face. “You remember it, Sheriff. Years back there wasn’t a home in the county that didn’t have a jar on hand. They used it for burns, aches and pains, damned near anything. Carol mentioned a mustard plaster, and that jogged my mind toward medicine.”

“We may be able to trace that,” the sheriff said. “There’s not much call for it any more.”

“We’ll check the doctors and the drugstores,” Kelly said, standing and looking at his watch. “Doc, can I use your phone?”

“Yes, of course. It’s in the hall.”

Kelly hesitated, looking down at the little girl’s unhappy eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said, and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Believe me, you’ve done him a favor. You’ll understand that someday.”

“I wish I did now,” she said, slowly.

The doctor pressed her shoulder as Kelly went into the hall and scooped up the phone.

At three-thirty Earl turned away from the window and pulled his overcoat about his shoulders. The weather was starting to work for them; clouds had come up an hour or so ago and rain was falling on the black earth and beading the windows with soft, gray moisture. Darkness was settling fast. The night would be cold and windy, with the rain lashing at everything. They could leave now, he thought, moving out under the cover of this murky weather.

“You better go up and get Sambo,” he said to Lorraine. Earl limped to the table and poured himself a short drink, using up the last of the bottle. He felt cold and empty, but very calm. “When we drop Sambo we’ll head away from the main highway. Go out the back way. I know the roads.” He drank the whisky and stood perfectly still as the warmth spread slowly through him.

“The sooner we start the better,” Lorraine said.

“Sure,” Earl said. “We’ve got to roll. Wind ’em up.” He looked at her with a little frown shading his eyes. “That’s the Army command for starting up truck convoys. Did you know that, Lory? Wind ’em up.”

“Do you feel all right?”

“I’m fine. We’ll dump Sambo and get rolling. Go get him.”

Lorraine turned and went into the kitchen. Earl heard her heels clattering on the back stairs. She crossed over his head, going down the hall to the room where Ingram was watching the road. Crazybone had gone up an hour or so ago to keep him company.

The old man lay with his eyes closed, his slow breathing sounding like the wind rustling a pile of dry papers.

Earl limped about pointlessly examining the junk on top of the mantel, studying the sturdy old beams and floor boards, pausing once to frown at the broken radio on the table. I’ll never see any of this again, he thought. Never see this room again in my life. Why should that bother him? he wondered. It was a cold, stinking dump. No man in his right mind would want to see it again. But leaving it reminded him of the other places he had left. He stood fingering the glass, while a dizzying succession of rooms and barracks and Army camps flashed through his mind. He was always the guy who had to leave, he thought. Everybody else stayed put, cozy and snug, while he hit the road. He never went back anywhere. There was no place on earth that called out to him, no stick or stone or blade of grass that belonged to him and nobody else.

Was it because he was dumb? Because he couldn’t feel what other people felt? The confident peace he had known after talking with Ingram had deserted him; he was uncertain again, worried and tense, afraid of the shadows in his mind.

Talking with Ingram he had licked this feeling. Or thought he had. Everybody was alone. Not just him, everybody. But what the hell did that mean? How did knowing that help you? he wondered.

The old man stirred and peered at him, pulling the blankets up about his scrawny throat. “You fixing to leave, eh? Think you’ll make it?”

“Sure,” Earl said. The old man sickened him; with his stench, with the fun he took from probing at them. “We’ll make it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“Taking the colored fellow with you?”

“That’s right.”

“All three of you, eh? Good-looking white girl, and a white man and a colored man. That’s a funny combination any way you look at it.”

“Well, stop looking at it then,” Earl said.

He heard Lorraine coming down the back stairs, and when she came quickly into the room, he knew something was wrong; her eyes were hard, and there was an anxious frown on her face. “He’s gone,” she said, staring at Earl. “You hear that! He’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

“Just that. He’s gone!” she cried.

“Well, that makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t you understand? For God’s sake, can’t you think?”

She looked close to hysteria; her face was gaunt and strained, as if her nerves were being stretched slowly and exquisitely to the breaking point. “God,” she said, “God.”

“Now, Lory,” he said soothingly. “Sambo will be picked up by the police. And he’ll know we’ve lied to him. So he’ll probably talk. But that was going to happen anyway. I don’t see why you’re so worried.”

“I’m sorry because you’re a fool.”

“This is no time to be riding me,” he said slowly. “Just knock it off.”

The old man tittered. “Shouldn’t be fussing at each other this way,” he said. “Look at me and Crazybone. Go weeks without a cross word.” He smiled slyly. “Go weeks without any words at all. That’s the best way.”

“Lory, let’s go. Nothing’s changed. We’re all right.”

“Are you ready?” she said wearily.

“Sure, I’m ready.”

“Have you got the car keys?”

“No, Sambo took—” Earl stopped short, dizzied and weakened by the sudden heavy stroke of his heart.

“Do you understand why I’m worried? Now, do you understand?” Lorraine cried furiously.