Джеймс Кейн - Galatea

She was still in the clothes she had worn when we said good-by that morning — slacks, tan coat, and red things — and as she stood pulling off her gloves, her face began to screw up at the sound of water gurgling. About that time it gave a yurp, meaning the pipe was empty, coughed once or twice, and stopped. She said, pretty annoyed: “Well, that’s nice. The second I turn my back, Val, you let the water run out. I hope we don’t have a fire, and I hope, before he goes, Duke will pump a few gallons up. I remind you this property’s mine.”

She went to the kitchen and he let her. While she was closing the spigot, he jerked the front door open and had a flash at her car, maybe to look for Bill. When she came back he was walking up and down, about the same as before. But she studied him sharper now, especially his jaw, which was getting red where I’d clipped him. She said: “Val, what have you done to your face?”

“Duke did it. He hit me.”

“...What for?”

“Trying to get the gun.”

He took it out then and stood with it half raised, so it all but pointed at her, and also covered me. She said: “Well. You can’t really blame Duke. Not much, at least. For not liking — a gun.”

“It’s his gun. It’s the same old gun.”

“And you’re the same old Val, I see.”

That did it, if it really needed any doing. He gave one of his yells and said he knew everything, everything , about what had been going on, but she yelled still louder. She said: “You hang on, don’t you? Like a leech, Val. After all your promises. About letting Duke go his way. About getting his paper for him — that shameful thing you extorted from Danny Daniel, that I’ve only today heard the details of, down there in Waldorf. You were going to act human, just once, but you can’t do it, can you? You can’t let go, you’re like a... a—”

“Say it, why don’t you? Bedbug!”

“They don’t let go, ever .”

That led to more yells, from him and also from her, because don’t get the idea the Hollis blood had hold of her, to make her act like a lady. She sounded like a hundred per cent trollop, and when I got in it, mumbling at her take it easy, that just made it worse, and then the three of us yelled. Then we cut, to get some breath. Then he took it: “Holly, there’s just one thing. Before we wind this up. You’re going to tell me the truth. I know what it is, but you’ll own it, if I have to shoot you to make you. If I have to half kill you right here, and then stand by while you say good-by to this rat. Dying, you’ll tell the truth, and then at last I’ll hear you.”

“You sure you do know the truth?”

“You bet I do, Holly.”

“You sure you want me to tell it?”

“I’ll make you tell it.”

“It may be worse than you think.”

“It couldn’t be, no.”

“Well see.”

She went over it step by step, from that first day in spring, when I saved her from the tree. She pushed the knife in his heart very slow, twisting it every inch. She said: “Those cuts weren’t from barbwire, as I felt compelled to say. They were from that tree you made Duke get out, and from that day I’ve been sealed to him.”

She played the whole record back, the party, the ankles, the diet, and the church, while he wilted into the chair by the telephone. She told how she called Lippert up, and the exact reason, which of course corresponded with what Lippert had just told him. She even told of the tank, the idea she’d had about it, and the exact reason for that.

She stopped, smiling at him, as he let out little moans, her eyelashes looking like hornets as she squinched them close together. Then: “That brings me to this morning, Val. This morning here in this room, after you went off to town, and I came in to get some things. To change my clothes and pack. And I was bound, Val, I must have one thing. I owed Duke what I was, my good-looking figure and all, and I was set he must see me. You asked for the truth, Val, and I’m telling it, all as it was. You know it’s the truth so far. Do you want to hear the rest?”

That broke him, as he had broken me.

He screamed: “No, no!”

He jumped to stop her, and as he jumped I did. I let go with a left, but she was pulling away from him, and her elbow touched my fist. I landed, but not on the button. It was on the side of his neck, and he was able to fire the gun. She screamed as it barked like a cannon, there in the closed room, lost her balance, and fell, though her being in motion was probably what saved her life. I helped her up, but dared not swing again, as I couldn’t forget it was her he had shot at, not me.

For the second time I had missed.

He circled, to get her in line of fire, between him and me, and cut out his bughouse shrieks. He fanned his face, to get the smoke out of his eyes, told me take hold of her arms and back up beside the door that led to the patio. That left her still in line of fire, but I tapped her elbow quick, to keep her from blowing her top, as once he’d fired, he could do it again, any time. I guided her as he said, and when I bumped the wall, he stepped over, opened the door, and said get on out. I guided her down the step, and in front of the kitchen he told me stop. He slammed the door behind him and began backing us fast, out to the water tank. He told me let her go and get on up the ladder, which I did. It was too dark to see the rungs, and I had to do it by feel, but I climbed, and fast.

And then I thought: “If it’s too dark to see, it’s too dark to shoot, at least any distance up in the air.” I stopped and said: “O.K., Mr. Val, here I am. Quarter-way up, maybe. But I don’t go one inch further until you turn her loose. When I see her leave, when her car goes down the drive, O.K., you say it and I’ll have to do it. Until then I balk.”

“Shut up, jailbird.”

To her I said: “Holly, you do what I said. I love you, and don’t love dying, not even a little bit. But it’s important that somebody be left to hang this crazy fool.”

She didn’t answer me, and for some seconds I hung there, looking up at the night, trying to make myself realize it would be my last one on earth. Then I heard him whispering, and yelled at him to quit it, to come on, get it over with. I heard her gasp, and it seemed to me she was crying. I heard him growl: “You want to save him or not?” Then something touched the ladder, and I peered down, trying to see what it was. I caught a glint of red, as by now my eyes were getting used to the dark. I realized it was her hairribbon, and that she was under me, climbing up. I leaned out and saw him, under her, punching her with the gun.

I cussed at him, but to give her room, had to go up a rung. He kept punching, she kept climbing, he kept following, not letting her stop at all. I took another rung, another, and another. Then I was at the top, my chin over the housing, the little circular roof that ran around the top. He said: “Duke, open the vent.”

It worked like a wedge of pie, and I opened it so it banged and he could hear it. I caught the rim of the tank, pulled myself up a few inches, and put one foot on the catwalk, to get it out of her face. He punched and she came still further up, so her head touched my knee.

I cussed, but he said shut up and listen to what he said. I asked him: “Haven’t you said enough?”

“It’s about Sickles, Duke.”

“Who?”

“That guy. You asked about the angles.”

“We’ll skip him. If you don’t mind.”

“No, no, it’s important. I was telling Holly, down there on the ground, about that point Lippert reminded me of. Sickles killed the lover, and the world cheered his name. He took back the wife, and the world spit in his face. I won’t make that mistake. Because — I might be weak. I... might take her back... Holly, did you hear what I said?”