Джеймс Чейз - You Never Know With Women

At night when I had snuffed out the candle I kept thinking of her as she had seemed to float into the room with her eyes closed, looking beautiful. And below me, as she lay in the darkness, I knew she was thinking about me; imagining me sneaking out there to knife the little punk who had his hands tied behind him. I guessed the image kept growing the more she thought about it until I must have seemed to her to be some kind of monster.

I was turning all this over in my mind and feeling pretty low as I made up the fire for the night. She had already gone into the inner room and I could hear her as she undressed. I locked the front door, turned out the light and gave her a few more minutes before going in there. She was already curled up in her bunk, her back turned to me as I came in. That’s the way it was now: she couldn’t bring herself to look at me.

“Good night,” I said and rolled into my bunk.

“Good night.”

“Going down all the time,” I thought. “All low spots now. Veda slipping away from me like water through my fingers. Max’s dead face. Gorman jeering at me. Material for nightmares.”

I didn’t know how long I slept but I woke suddenly. Since Max’s death I had slept badly and the slightest sound would bring me upright in bed. I woke now to hear someone moving in the room. It was dark: I couldn’t see anything. The stealthy sound sent my heart racing and a chill up my spine. I thought of Max as I slid out of the bunk and I began to shake. More movements, the sound of even breathing, close: too close. I pressed the button on the flashlight.

I don’t know how I missed her in the darkness. She was standing right by me. Her eyes were closed and her black hair framed her face that was peaceful in sleep, and she looked lovely. I moved away from her, my heart racing. She had a knife in her hand; the knife I had used to make clothes pegs for her when Max had surprised us. I watched her touch the blankets in my bunk. I saw her raise her hand and bury the knife to the hilt in the blankets and mattress where but a second or so before I had lain.

“You’ll be all right now, darling,” she said, and a little smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “You won’t have to worry any more.”

She climbed back into her bunk, drew up the blankets, and settled down. Her breathing was as undisturbed and as even as a child’s in its first sleep.

I left her there and went into the outer room. The fire was dying down and I put on another log, careful not to make a sound. Then I sat before the fire and tried to stop shivering.

I didn’t sleep any more that night.

When the sun came up behind the hills I went into the inner room to get my clothes. She had been up, for the blind was drawn and the window was wide open. I looked quickly to see if she was awake, and she was. She lay in the bunk, the blanket pushed back. They say love and hate are separated by the thickness of a hair. After what had happened last night my love for her had been badly shaken. I was scared of her, and that’s not far off hate. As I looked at her she turned her head. Her eyes were feverish.

“I didn’t hear you get up,” she said in a flat voice.

“I didn’t make much noise. I couldn’t sleep.”

She watched me as I picked up my clothes. I knew it wasn’t far off now. I could feel it. We were sparring for an opening.

“You stay where you are,” I went on. “It’s early yet. I’ll make some coffee.”

“Don’t be long. It’s time we had a talk, isn’t it?” She sounded as polite as a collector of alms, and as sincere.

There it was. I didn’t let her know I had come to the same conclusion.

“I’ll be back.”

While the water boiled I dressed, and took my time over a shave. My hand was unsteady; I was lucky not to cut myself. When I made the coffee, I poured two fingers of Scotch into a glass and drank it. I might have been drinking fruit salts.

She had combed her hair and put on a silk wrap and was curled up in the bunk by the time I returned. She didn’t look well: too fine-drawn and her colour was bad. There was a brooding expression in her eyes I didn’t like.

“The rain’s stopped,” I told her. “It’s going to be fine.” A brilliant remark considering the sun was shining through the open window, but I had to say something.

She took the mug of coffee and was careful not to look at me.

“Please sit down.”

It didn’t seem possible that a couple of days ago we had been lovers. Voices are funny things; they can tell you more than an expression on a face if you listen: And I was listening very attentively. There was no point in kidding myself any longer. This was it.

I sat away from her. The gap between us was about as great as the gap between our minds.

“Do you remember what you said when we were talking about Max?” she asked abruptly.

“I said a lot of things.”

“About making a difference.”

I sipped my coffee and frowned at the floor. So that was how she was going to handle it.

“I guess so. I made quite a speech. I said: “Suppose I kill him. You and I will know, even if no one else does. We have to live with each other, and knowing I killed him will make a difference. We might not think so at first, but it will.” That’s what I said.”

“So you’ve been thinking about it, too?”

“That’s right.”

“It has made a difference, hasn’t it?”

“I said it would. All right — it has.”

There was a pause. I could feel her uneasiness as I could feel the cold draught from the open window.

I had a dream last night. I dreamed I killed you.” No regret; just a statement of fact.

“Well, you didn’t,” I said, but I couldn’t look at her.

There was another pause.

“It’s time we left here,” she went on. “There doesn’t seem much point in us keeping together any longer — not now, I mean. It would be easier and safer for you to get away if you were alone.”

Well, it was nice of her to think of my safety, but I hadn’t expected this. If it was to happen I should be the one to break it up. I was getting tired of being brushed off by my women. It was getting to be too much of a habit.

“If that’s how you feel.” I finished my coffee and lit a cigarette. My hands were still unsteady.

“Don’t let’s pretend. It’s the way we both feel. You don’t seem to realize the sense you talked when you said it would make a difference.”

“I have prizes for talking sense. One day someone’s going to collect my bright remarks and put them in a book.”

“I guess I’ll get dressed.”

That was her way of saying there wasn’t anything more to discuss. There wasn’t.

“Right,” I said and went out of the room.

Standing before the fire, watching the flames without actually seeing them, I wondered what it would be like without her. This was a stage I usually reached with a woman, only I had thought it would be different with Veda. I didn’t expect it would come to this. I knew it would happen sooner or later with the blonde who had given me money, and the red-head who had dug her nails into my shoulders and the rest of them, but somehow — not Veda. I knew I was going to miss her. She had a place in my life and there’d be a gap when she had gone.

After a while she came in, carrying her bags. She was wearing her canary-coloured slacks and sweater in which I had first seen her. It seemed a long time ago. In spite of the drawn look and her colour, she was still lovely to look at.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “There’s no point in rushing into trouble. They’re still looking for us.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yes, I do. I’m going after Gorman. Until I’ve proved he killed Brett, I’m still in a jam. If the police pick you up, you might talk. That’s how it is.”