Evan Hunter - Nobody Knew They Were There

I am a lawyer, I am a good lawyer. Read the law then, find the law, use the law, change it by law. By law. I have protested to Raines that I am dedicated, and he has countered by suggesting I am obsessed instead, and I wonder now whether my grief has not robbed me of the power to think rationally. I ask myself if I would have contemplated this same action two years ago, a year ago, even six months ago, before Adam’s death. I admit to myself that I would never have considered it Adam’s death then is the motivating force, and if avenging his death means that I must become an assassin, then fine, that’s exactly what I will become. I desire neither revolution nor civil war. Sara has asked Why shouldn't there be another way? and perhaps there is, perhaps there still exists a slender chance that the nation’s lockstep may be broken, the air cleaned at last — but doing that by law will not avenge the senseless murder of my son Adam. I cannot allow his assassin to escape. I am dedicated, yes, I did not lie to Raines. But I am not dedicated to his cause, only to my own. If that makes me obsessed, then that is what I am, and there is no help for it

No, Sara, there is no other way. Not for me.

I am shaking my head. I have been silent with my thoughts, and Sara watches me, puzzled, and says, “Yes?”

“Nothing.” I suddenly yawn. “Forgive me,” I say. “I’m not used to such hours.”

“Why don’t you go to bed?” she suggests.

“May I? Would you mind?”

“No. But I do have to study. At least for an hour. I really do, Arthur.”

“All right.”

I get off the sofa and move toward the bedroom. It is an eight by ten rectangle, with a window on the wall facing the living-room door, and another window on the wall opposite the kitchen door. A bed is on my left, its head directly below the window there. Another bed is on my right, bisected by the second window. There are two small dressers in the room. An open suitcase brimming with clothes is on the bed to my right.

“Which bed?” I ask her.

“The one on the left is mine,” she says.

“Where do I sleep?”

She is silent for a moment. She comes into the room then, walks immediately to her bed, and draws back the spread. She opens the window a trifle, and then goes to the bed with the suitcase on it “You can use Gwen’s pillow,” she says. “I’ll get you a fresh pillowcase.”

In the room alone, I study the dresser top near her bed. It is cluttered with girl things — bobby pins and lipsticks, hair ribbons, an open jar of cold cream, a plastic container of hand lotion, an eyebrow pencil. A crumpled package of cigarettes is in the ash tray. Two first-year law texts are stacked near the lamp — Fuller and Braucher’s Basic Contract Law , and Gregory and Kalven’s Cases and Materials on Torts. The lamp has a tiny shade printed with daisies. A small oval mirror in a white frame is behind the lamp, tilted against the wall. Sara comes back and changes the pillowcase, and then puts it alongside hers on the narrow bed.

“I usually pull the shade down all the way,” she says. “Otherwise the air coming in is too much.” She lowers the shade. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll come to you,” she says, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. A moment later, she lowers the volume on the record player. I undress silently, folding my clothes and putting them on the bed with the suitcase, Gwen’s bed.

I am asleep when Sara comes into the room. Her footfalls on the creaking floor of the old building awaken me. I sit up, startled, disoriented for a moment She is standing in the doorway. She is wearing a short cotton nightgown and carrying the candle in its red holder. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost four o’clock.”

“Come to bed.”

“Yes,” she says. She carries the candle to the dresser and blows it out The room is black. “Move over,” she says, and gets into bed beside me, immediately moving into my arms.

“Do you want something to wear?” she asks.

“No. Take this off.”

“I’m cold.”

“I’ll make you warm.”

“I know you will.”

“So take it off.”

“Okay,” she says, and sits up. She pulls the nightgown over her head. “Brrrr,” she says, and tosses the nightgown onto the floor and immediately burrows in under the covers. I hold her close. Her hands are resting lightly on my chest, as though in prayer. Her head is cradled on my shoulder. She feels weightless. “Is the window too much?” she asks.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Arthur?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’m very tired”

“So am I.”

“Do we have to make love?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just that I'm so tired.”

“Would you say you were tired if I asked you to go to the movies?”

Sara giggles, and kisses me on the neck. “Why are you so different tonight?” she asks.

“Why is this night different from all other nights?” I say.

“What’s that?”

“It’s Jewish.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s part of the Passover ceremony.”

“Are you very Jewish?” she asks.

“Not very.”

“Good.”

“What are you, Sara?”

“Nothing. Catholic, I guess. A long time ago. Not any more. I don’t believe in all that religious crap, do you?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

“Why do you think I’m different tonight?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “You were so phony the first time. Jesus, you were really phony, Arthur, do you know that? I mean really really phony. It was like the big seduction scene. I thought, God, he must do this every night of the week. You were so glib . I kept thinking you were as glib as the man you came here to kill. How could you be so glib, Arthur?”

“I wanted you, Sara.”

“I’m not sure you did. I think you wanted some body, yes, but not necessarily me. I’m a very special person, Arthur.”

“I know you are.”

“You didn’t behave that way. To you, I was just the big seduction scene. Do you do this all the time?”

“Hardly ever.”

“Wow, it sure seemed as if you did it all the time. You know, unbuttoning the blouse, and slipping off the bra, and kissing the breasts and all that. And all that dirty talk when we were making love.” She sits up suddenly and looks into my face. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can see her clearly now. “Why did you do that, Arthur? Say all those dirty things?”

“To excite you.”

“They didn’t. Or maybe they did.” She shrugs and settles down beside me again, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Anyway, I figured you were just a phony. When I left in the morning, I’d already decided never to see you again. I almost didn’t come to pick you up for the bridge.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“About the bridge? I knew you needed…”

“No. About seeing me again.”

“I haven’t yet,” she says. “I still don’t know what this is all about, do you? Do you really know what this is all about?”

“No, Sara. I’m not entirely sure.”

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Do you love your wife?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you doing in bed with me?”

“Holding you.”

“Arthur, don’t get glib again. Please. If you get glib again, I’ll go sleep in the bathroom. You’re either being glib, or lecturing me, or yelling at me. I don’t know which I like least.”

“I never lecture you.”