Evan Hunter - Nobody Knew They Were There

“It’s a habit. Even in court. I’m always lecturing juries. Bad mistake.”

“Ahh, at last he admits it,” she says, and sighs.

“But I still don’t want to hear about Seth.”

“I didn’t plan to tell you about Seth. I wanted to tell you why I went to Seth’s. That’s an entirely different thing.”

“It sounds the same to me.”

“Well, it isn’t. I went to Seth’s because, first of all, I felt awful about having double-crossed you. I wanted to call you to apologize, but I realized that was the wrong thing to do.”

“Naturally. The right thing to do was to go to bed with Seth.”

“No. But I couldn’t call you, could I?”

“Why not?”

“Because then you’d have thought the only time I went to bed with you was after I’d done something horrible to you. Like arranging for Ralph to listen in on your phone calls Saturday, and then asking Seth to invite you to the party, and then feeling terrible because of what I’d done, and sorry for you, and all that, and telling you to come over to my place afterward. Like that, Arthur — Sam. Would you mind terribly if I continued calling you Arthur?”

“Why can’t you call me Sam?”

“Suppose I suddenly told you my name was Alice? Could you call me Alice?”

“I guess so.”

“I'll bet you couldn’t. Anyway, that’s not important. Do you see what I mean about not being able to phone you?”

“Yes. But I don’t see why you phoned Seth instead.”

“Arthur. why did you pick up that leaf at Seth’s party? I thought that was terribly sad and touching, the way you picked up that leaf and put it in your pocket.”

“That’s exactly why I picked it up. I was being dramatic. The way you were.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Sara, you are the phoniest human being on the face of the earth.”

“I'm sorry, but I don’t agree with you. When I picked up the leaf, it was a beautiful tender thing. Because I happen to love leafs. But you only did it for effect, when I thought you were honestly responding to…”

“Sara,” I say, warningly.

“I’m sorry, but it was beautiful. To me, it was beautiful.”

“To me, you are beautiful.”

“Yes, well I am beautiful,” she says.

“No, you’re not really.”

“I’m not? What do you mean I’m not?”

“You’re simply not”

“That’s great, you know? You’re either lecturing me, or yelling at me, or putting me down. Some people think I’m quite beautiful A lot of people, in fact”

“So do I. That has nothing to do with it You’re not beautiful.”

“Here we go with his goddamn riddles,” Sara says, and rolls her eyes.

“You were telling me why you called Seth instead.”

“Because he thinks I’m beautiful.”

“That’s probably true. But it isn’t why you called him.”

“I called him to punish myself.”

“How?”

“Because he’s only a friend, and I had no desire at all to go to bed with him or anything, so I thought I would. Instead of calling you and going to bed with you.”

“Why did you have to go to bed with anyone?”

“I didn’t have to go to bed with anyone, Arthur. I had to go to bed with you. Which is why I left Seth’s at God knows what hour of the morning and walked all the way to the hotel without a coat To be with you.”

“So here we are.”

“Yes, isn’t that nice?” Sara says, and reaches across the table to cover my hand with her own. “I think I’m growing fond of you, Arthur.”

“Well, that’s…”

“Hurry, she says, “finish your coffee. We have a million things to do.”

We go first to Seth’s place. He comes to the door in his pajamas, surprised to see us. Sara says she wants her coat and her contacts. Seth keeps watching me in guilty embarrassment. Sara puts in her lenses and then blinks and looks around as though discovering a universe. I help her on with her coat, we politely decline Seth’s offer of coffee, and then we leave.

At the bicycle rental shop, quite by accident (or is it?), we run into Epstein. The money man looks different without his houndstooth jacket and gray flannel slacks. He is wearing blue corduroy trousers and a red and white reindeer sweater, the type that went out of vogue in the late forties. His accessories are a navy blue muffler, a watch cap in a lighter shade of blue, and brown fleece-lined gloves.

“Hello,” he says, “what a surprise! Plan to do a little cycling?”

“It’s a beautiful day for a little cycling,” Sara says.

“Which way are you going?”

“I thought out past the arboretum,” Sara says.

“I would have thought you’d head for the Gap,” Epstein says, and winks at me, with the shop attendant standing not two inches from my elbow. I remind myself that this man worked with Army Intelligence during World War n, that he was possibly responsible for saving the lives of God knew how many Americans lost behind German lines. But putting Intelligence aside (and he seems to have done just that), I find his lack of discretion overwhelming. I suddenly feel that I am in enormous danger, that I have entrusted my safety to a band of amateurs who have had the gall, into the bargain, to inform me that I am the amateur. Look, he worked with Das Fräulein, I tell myself. He knew what he was doing then, he cannot have forgotten it all. Then why does he need me? I ask And I recognize that this is what troubles me most of all. Why do these men, former Colonel Cornelius Augustus Raines and former Major Morris Emmanuel Epstein, both trained in the art of destruction and deception, need me to blow up their goddamn bridge? Good question, Eisler. Ask Hester next time you see her. She seems to have all the answers lately.

“Mind if I ride a ways with you?” Epstein asks.

“Not at all,” Sara replies.

I am adjusting the bicycle clip to my trousers leg when she answers, and I look up at her sharply. She smiles and shrugs. We ride away from the shop three abreast, Sara in the middle, Epstein and I on either side of her. The air is sharp and cold. We pedal over hard snow-packed streets, past the arboretum and onto a back road banked high with snow at the curbs. Everything is white. Even the sky is white, heavy with the promise of more snow. The town is surrounded by mountains, and every road leading out of it eventually becomes steeper. Epstein is beginning to huff and puff a bit I suddenly know what they need from me. They need my youth. The notion is darkly humorous. They need from me the very thing I need from Sara. As if to confirm this, Epstein breathlessly says, “Bicycles are an anachronism. A man of my age and temperament should not be forced to endure them.”

“Then why do you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Hester suggested that I talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you simply telephone?”

“Your telephone is bugged,” Epstein says. “That’s how I knew where to find you. Miss Horne’s call to the rental shop was monitored.”

“I thought Hester agreed to have that stopped.”

“Did she?” Epstein shrugs. “Hester changes her mind quite frequently. Your phone is still monitored, believe me.” He shrugs again. “It’s all so very complicated today, isn’t it? Do you know what I believe, Mr. Eisler? I believe we have not yet caught up with the science-fiction age that is already upon us. We are, in a very real sense, as primitive as the cave man. Within our own confounding environment, we are as ignorant as he was. Certainly, the mysteries surrounding us are more impenetrable than any he might have encountered. But in much the same way that he accepted fire, we have accepted telephone taps and journeys to the moon — neither of us truly understanding.” Epstein sighs and says, “It all goes by too quickly, Mr. Eisler. The people living in any given age are rarely its beneficiaries. They merely endure it The way I am enduring this damned bicycle.”