Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

But there was the delicious possibility that it really could stir Linda’s emotions. Would he accept her on such terms? He tried to imagine those eyes smoldering with passion for him, those lips pressed against his.

Would it be so terrible if he could arrange a fix?

He played and replayed his conversation with her, inserting variations and clever phrases. Employing a casual, self-assured smile. She returns the smile and takes his hand. I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you, Arnold. She is so close he can hear her heartbeat.

He nods. And I, for you.

She is only a gazelle.

He needed to prepare himself for what he hoped was coming. And that meant a trip to Grand Forks.

He arranged to bring Janet and Dean into the Lock ‘n’ Bolt for a day and, on a Thursday morning, headed south on I-29.

The interstate highway between the border and Grand Forks is a long, straight, unremarkable run of eighty miles. The countryside is flat and featureless, broken only by the small city of Drayton, with its smokestack, at the halfway mark. The road was filled with puddles, and the gray sky literally sagged into the prairie.

Arnold arrived at about eleven, treated himself to a big lunch at the Village Inn, and headed for the mall. He was an impatient shopper, and by two o’clock had bought two pairs of jeans, a few sport shirts, and a pair of shoes. And a suede jacket. The jacket was tan, perhaps a trifle conservative for Arnold’s taste, but the saleslady admired it, and it did seem to possess a stylish flare. It cost three hundred dollars.

He splashed back into Fort Moxie in the late afternoon and impulsively turned north on Fifth Street, passed Floyd’s, and drove slowly to the library. The rain had turned to a light drizzle.

Lights were on in the Greek temple. A couple of kids stood talking in the colonnade. The bench that Linda favored seemed to have attracted a yellow nimbus. But of course it was empty.

He spent the weekend reading Our Mutual Friend . He read over meals, read through long afternoons, read deep into the night. All other projects went on hold. He wasn’t doing it simply for her, he told himself, but because it was a classic, a book everyone should read.

He assumed she would not go to the park over the weekend, but the point was rendered moot by the weather, which remained cold and dreary. He found out her last name at Clint’s, simply by asking friends that he’d heard so many good things about the new fourth grade teacher. Eventually Cal Evers, who had a kid in her class, gave him a last name: Tollman. Linda Tollman. “Jeff loves her,” he said.

It had gotten late enough in the season that there might be no more pleasant days. If that happened, he would have no choice but to call her. Fortunately she was in the phone book. But he knew that would never work.

In the late afternoons, he trekked through the dismal weather up to the wind screen, and huddled cold and wet beneath an elm that provided purely symbolic shelter, where he and the Traveler talked.

Arnold grumbled about his task, but the Traveler refused to entertain his objections. It spoke instead about the sculpting of some particularly interesting peaks in the Canadian Rockies. And about the clash of air currents near some coastal areas. (The thing was unclear which coastal areas. Somewhere in the west.) And it commented unfavorably on the planet’s deteriorating atmosphere.

“Unbalanced. I would say there are too many people.”

“I assume,” said Arnold, “that it’s a phase most cultures pass through.”

“Think of it more as an intelligence test. Most species have a good record of taking care of their worlds. Degradation is common among Simian-types, though.”

They talked about nuclear weapons: “Very few species have seen any point in building them.”

And about organized religions. “They provide consolation to beings who find themselves living in an unfriendly universe.”

And, ultimately, about Linda Tollman. “Arnold, do it for me.”

“I can’t believe you really care. You’re just insisting on this to embarrass me.”

“No. I would think you know me better than that. Do you want the truth?”

“That would be a good idea.”

“I’ve already tried to speak with her. There’s an elm outside her apartment. But it isn’t flexible enough.”

“You can’t make yourself understood?”

“She thinks she has animals in the attic.”

“Why did you want to speak with her, Traveler?”

“Because she’s an exquisite creature. And highly intelligent. I wish only that she should know I exist. And that I admire her.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s what you should be doing.”

“I’m trying.”

“Good. I’m trying, too.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“May the better man win.”

“You’re not a man.”

“Consider for a moment the sheer joy I could provide a female of your species.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Use your imagination, Arnold. I’m not solid, but keep in mind I can be in a host of places at once.”

Late Sunday, when he was shivering in the damp cold and getting ready to go home, Arnold asked, suddenly, “When the time comes for you to leave, will you have any advance notice?”

“I’m not sure, Arnold.”

“Will there be a chance to say goodbye? Or will you just not be here one night?”

“I just don’t know. Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

The skies did not clear until Tuesday morning. The sun came out about noon, the streets dried up, and they got their first warm day in a week. At a little after four o’clock, Arnold, wearing his tan suede blazer, rolled into the library parking lot. It was his first visit in a couple of weeks. He didn’t want to be perceived as a stalker.

Her bench was empty.

A burst of wind rocked his car. When he got out, it pulled at his clothes and caught his hair. “You’re here, aren’t you?” Arnold said, looking from side to side, as if the Traveler might materialize. He kept his voice down. There were people in the lot, kids with books, an impatient-looking young man behind the steering wheel of a Ford pickup, a group of children throwing a ball around.

The wind moved against him in a seductive manner. “Hey,” he whispered. “Her. Not me.”

And wind responded. “She’s coming.”

Ripples raced across the grass.

Ten minutes later Linda arrived. She stood across the street, dressed in crisp green, with a gold jacket. She started to cross, walking with long, confident strides. A pickup approached. She paused, let it go through, and came on again.

Teenagers occupied most of the benches. Only one, down near the cavalryman statue, was empty. The wind rearranged her hair. Linda shook it back into place, walked to the bench, and sat down. She opened her briefcase, took out her book, which was The Old Curiosity Shop, and looked around. Looked around. For him, possibly?

But he wasn’t easily visible from her position. She started to read.

The park and the people coming and going with their hands filled with books, and the neat little frame houses lining Gunther Street, and the bottomless blue sky, all served as backdrop for her. The world centered on the bench and the green-eyed woman.