Джеймс Кейн - The Enchanted Isle

“Rick, you listen to me! You give yourself up, do you hear? Or someone’s going to get you in a way you don’t expect!”

Those were the last words I said to him, and I hope he remembered them when he died that night on our lawn.

He hung up on me, and, of course, I told Mr. O’Brien. He went into action fast, calling the Hyattsville police, not waiting to go out to the car and use his radio phone but doing it right there in the theater, to tip them that Rick was home. So they closed in in a couple of minutes, but Rick gave them the slip. And how he gave them the slip, it turned out later, was to put his mother’s dress on, run a ribbon through his hair, and walk out of the house, right in front of their eyes. He was wearing shorts, and with the dress down to his knees they didn’t show at all. So with that long hair of his and the sissy walk that he had, no one suspicioned him. That sissy walk, if you ask me, was part of the trouble with him. And all that took plenty of time, what with Mr. O’Brien standing by, there in the theater lobby, after giving the number in of the pay station there for the callback he asked them for. It was going on eight when he finally got word that they didn’t have Rick, so at last we could go to the car and think about dinner. So I suggested the Bladensburg place and we went there, and I found out about an officer, that he doesn’t stint himself when it’s at somebody else’s expense. He had shrimp salad to start, then steak, baked potato, salad, and pie a la mode to wind up. So I had the same, and the check was $15.75. I left a $4.25 tip, and we went out and got in the car.

We crossed the bridge and drove past the house. At the corner a flashlight came on and waved, and Mr. O’Brien stopped. An officer, one in uniform, stepped to the window and whispered a while. Then Mr. O’Brien drove on, first taking a right to turn the corner. “I’m circling the block,” he said. “They want me to park out front, so if we’re needed we’ll be on call.”

“If I’m needed, you mean?”

“Something like that, I would say.”

“Why don’t you rig up a bullhorn? Set it up so I can talk into it? If Rick’s here he’ll know where I am, that he hasn’t a chance to get me and will perhaps listen to me.

“It’s an idea, at that. I’ll call it in.”

He took three more rights, then pulled in to the curb a few steps down from the house. It was dark, with the front light not yet on, as, of course, it had been broad daylight when Mother and Steve went out. He commenced talking into his radio phone, unhooking the receiver from the dashboard and pressing buttons and stuff. Then he hung his receiver up, or mike, or whatever it’s called, and said, “They’re sending the bullhorn over, be here in a couple of minutes. Now, what are you going to say?”

“Well, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought.”

“I want to hear it.”

“You mean now?”

“That’s it.”

“Can’t I just start to talk and act natural?”

“And louse it? No.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Pretend I’m him. Talk to me.”

So I commenced with the pretending, getting off stuff like, “Rick, this is Mandy. Rick, are you there, do you hear me? Rick, they have the money, they found the car, and there’s no use you holding out. Rick, they’re going to get you, so why not give yourself up now?” Stuff like that, but then Mr. O’Brien cut in, “What are you scared of? What’s bugging you?”

“Who says I’m scared of anything?”

“Well, your mouth’s trembling.”

“My mouth always trembles when I have to say something by heart. And who says I should learn it by heart? Listen, Mr. O’Brien, suppose you attend to the copping, while I do the talking my own self, and in my own way; you don’t mind? I’ll make it plain, don’t worry.”

“Then, OK.”

There may have been more, I don’t know. We jawed at each other quite some little time. But during while it went on, a car passed up the street, stopped up near the corner, and backed into the curb. Then it pulled ahead, and backed up again, to park. As the lights went out, a man and a woman got out and started walking toward us. They had come some little ways before I realized they were Mother and Steve. They started toward the house but then stopped and turned back, as though hearing somebody speak. Steve stepped to the curb, where a car was parked, and I heard him say, “OK.” Then the two of them started back, to the car, not to the house. She took Steve’s arm real friendly, and it crossed my mind how pretty she looked from behind, just walking along. It crossed my mind to wonder if I was as pretty as that, as she sometimes said I was. Then I was screaming all of a sudden, without even knowing why. And then I did know why — it was to warn her, but I was too late. A shadow had moved out from the cedar tree, the one on the left-hand side of the walk. Then it moved fast, as though to cut her off. Then it darted, and I heard Rick speak my name. By that time she had stopped, and Steve had stepped in between. Then fire cut the night, from the shadow, and Steve went down. Then fire cut the night again, and Mother went down. Then fire cut the night from all sides, and Rick went down.

Then I was running up the sidewalk, not knowing how I got there, or how I’d got out of the car. Hands reached out to grab me, but I shook loose and went running on. Then, by the flashlights the police were holding, there was my darling mother, dead. And there was Steve, his drawn gun still in his hand. And there was Rick, still in his mother’s dress, the red ribbon still in his hair.

Then i was on the sidewalk beside Mother, sitting there holding her hand, while the officers went around making notes and taking flashlight pictures. Then a guy was there, asking who called for a bullhorn. “I did,” said Mr. O’Brien, appearing from somewhere, “but it won’t be needed now. Take it back.” I began kissing Mother’s hand, and then began kissing her, on the mouth, I mean, but it was so cold I was terrified and started to wail. I wailed louder and louder and louder, like some kind of a banshee, and heard Mr. O’Brien say, “This girl is in pretty bad shape, and I’m taking her to Prince George’s General.” But I kept right on wailing while he stretched me out on my back and tried to get me quiet. Not that he did, at all. Then an ambulance was there, and two guys lifted me onto a stretcher and tucked a blanket around me. Then I was inside the ambulance, and then in some kind of a room with women and kids and guys with bandaged heads — the accident ward, I guess. But Mr. O’Brien was there and got action on me pretty quick. An intern bent over me, where I was still on the stretcher, and then had me carried away by orderlies in green smocks.

Then I was in bed, in a room, with my clothes all taken off, and he was jabbing me in the backside with a needle. Then he said to Mr. O’Brien, “That ought to do it for a while.”

Next thing I knew, I was lying under a sheet, with a hospital gown on that barely came to my waist, and I was sobbing into my hands, which I was holding over my eyes. And I heard some woman say, “That girl in the other bed is driving me insane. All she does is whoop and holler and bawl. I can’t read, I can’t sew, I can’t sleep, I can’t think!” Then another woman said, “It’s OK, I’ve arranged to move you out, into another room. Now!” When I looked a nurse was there, helping a woman get up from the other bed, put her kimono on, and leave. I was alone for a minute, but the crying kept right on. Then another nurse came in, carrying a bottle, and she threw back the sheet and took off my hospital gown, so I was naked. She said, “Now you have the room to yourself, and I’m going to give you a massage — that ought to quiet you down. But if it doesn’t, if you still can’t get control, then I have to slap you. Do you hear?”