James Salter - Dusk and Other Stories

“Absolutely,” Ned said.

When the weather became warmer Truus could be seen in the village in one shop or another or walking along the street with Christopher in tow. She was somewhat drab. She had met another girl by then, a French girl, also an au pair , with whom she went to the movies. Beneath the trees with their new leaves the expensive cars glided along, more of them every week. Truus began taking Christopher to the beach. Gloria watched them go off. She was often still in her bathrobe. She waved and drank coffee. She was very lucky. All her friends told her and she knew it herself: Truus was a prize. She had made herself part of the family.

“Truus knows where to get pet mices,” Christopher said.

“To get what?”

“Little mices.”

“Mice,” Gloria said.

He was watching her apply makeup, which fascinated him. Face nearly touching the mirror, intent, she stroked her long lashes upward. She had a great mass of blonde hair, a mole on her upper lip with a few untouched hairs growing from it, a small blemish on her forehead, but otherwise a beautiful face. Her first entrance was always stunning. Later you might notice the thin legs, aristocratic legs she called them, her mother had them, too. As the evening wore on her perfection diminished. The gloss disappeared from her lips, she misplaced earrings. The highway patrol all knew her. A few weeks before she had driven into a ditch on the way home from a party and walked down Georgica Road at three in the morning, breaking two panes of glass to get in the kitchen door.

“Her friend knows where to get them,” Christopher said.

“Which friend?”

“Oh, just a friend,” Truus said.

“We met him.”

Gloria’s eyes shifted from their own reflection to rest for a moment on that of Truus who was watching no less absorbed.

“Can I have some mices?” Christopher pleaded.

“Hmm?”

“Please.”

“No, darling.”

“Please!”

“No, we have enough of our own as it is.”

“Where?”

“All over the house.”

“Please!”

“No. Now stop it.” To Truus she remarked casually, “Is it a boyfriend?”

“It’s no one,” Truus said. “Just someone I met.”

“Well, just remember you have to watch yourself. You never know who you’re meeting, you have to be careful.” She drew back slightly and examined her eyes, large and black-rimmed. “Just thank God you’re not in Italy,” she said.

“Italy?”

“You can’t even walk out on the street there. You can’t even buy a pair of shoes, they’re all over you, touching and pawing.”

It happened outside Dean and DeLuca’s when Christopher insisted on carrying the bag and just past the door had dropped it.

“Oh, look at that,” Truus said in irritation. “I told you not to drop it.”

“I didn’t drop it. It slipped.”

“Don’t touch it,” she warned. “There’s broken glass.”

Christopher stared at the ground. He had a sturdy body, bobbed hair, and a cleft in his chin like his banished father’s. People were walking past them. Truus was annoyed. It was hot, the store was crowded, she would have to go back inside.

“Looks like you had a little accident,” a voice said. “Here, what’d you break? That’s all right, they’ll exchange it. I know the cashier.”

When he came out again a few moments later he said to Christopher, “Think you can hold it this time?”

Christopher was silent.

“What’s your name?”

“Well, tell him,” Truus said. Then after a moment, “His name is Christopher.”

“Too bad you weren’t with me this morning, Christopher. I went to a place where they had a lot of tame mice. Ever seen any?”

“Where?” Christopher said.

“They sit right in your hand.”

“Where is it?”

“You can’t have a mouse,” Truus said.

“Yes, I can.” He continued to repeat it as they walked along. “I can have anything I want,” he said.

“Be quiet.” They were talking above his head. Near the corner they stopped for a while. Christopher was silent as they went on talking. He felt his hair being tugged but did not look up.

“Say good-bye, Christopher.”

He said nothing. He refused to lift his head.

In midafternoon the sun was like a furnace. Everything was dark against it, the horizon lost in haze. Far down the beach in front of one of the prominent houses a large flag was waving. With Christopher following her, Truus trudged through the sand. Finally she saw what she had been looking for. Up in the dunes a figure was sitting.

“Where are we going?” Christopher asked.

“Just up here.”

Christopher soon saw where they were headed.

“I have mices,” was the first thing he said.

“Is that right?”

“Do you want to know their names?” In fact they were two desperate gerbils in a tank of wood shavings. “Catman and Batty,” he said.

“Catman?”

“He’s the big one.” Truus was spreading a towel, he noticed. “Do we have to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked. He wanted to go down near the water. Finally Truus agreed.

“But only if you stay where I can see you,” she said.

The shovel fell out of his bucket as he ran off. She had to call him to make him come back. He went off again and she pretended to watch him.

“I’m really glad you came. You know, I don’t know your name. I know his, but I don’t know yours.”

“Truus.”

“I’ve never heard that name before. What is it, French?”

“It’s Dutch.”

“Oh, yeah?”

His name was Robbie Werner, “not half as nice,” he said. He had an easy smile and pale blue eyes. There was something spoiled about him, like a student who has been expelled and is undisturbed by it. The sun was roaring down and striking Truus’ shoulders beneath her shirt. She was wearing a blue, one-piece bathing suit underneath. She was aware of being too heavy, of the heat, and of the thick, masculine legs stretched out near her.

“Do you live here?” she said.

“I’m just here on vacation.”

“From where?”

“Try and guess.”

“I don’t know,” she said. She wasn’t good at that kind of thing.

“Saudi Arabia,” he said. “It’s about three times this hot.”

He worked there, he explained. He had an apartment of his own and a free telephone. At first she did not believe him. She glanced at him as he talked and realized he was telling the truth. He got two months of vacation a year, he said, usually in Europe. She imagined it as sleeping in hotels and getting up late and going out to lunch. She did not want him to stop talking. She could not think of anything to say.

“How about you?” he said. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m just taking care of Christopher.”

“Where’s his mother?”

“She lives here. She’s divorced,” Truus said.

“It’s terrible the way people get divorced,” he said.

“I agree with you.”

“I mean, why get married?” he said. “Are your parents still married?”

“Yes,” she said, although they did not seem to be a good example. They had been married for nearly twenty-five years. They were worn out from marriage, her mother especially.

Suddenly Robbie raised himself slightly. “Uh-oh,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Your kid. I don’t see him.”

Truus jumped up quickly, looked around, and began to run toward the water. There was a kind of shelf the tide had made which hid the ocean’s edge. As she ran she finally saw, beyond it, the little blond head. She was calling his name.

“I told you to stay up where I could see you,” she cried, out of breath, when she reached him. “I had to run all the way. Do you know how much you frightened me?”