John Gardner - The Sunlight Dialogues

They started out. The crypt door closed, again by itself, behind them.

1

who would gladly have spared him all this if I could (God knows, no lie) and was innocent once, full of mystery, magic, made cherryboughs bend (so it seemed to me once) in my father’s orchard when I stood squinting up with my milky-white eyes at where light bent the branches down lacy, sweetsmelling, and cherries fell ripe to my outstretched hand; yes, not a dream I think, perfectly real; and my father and mother stood back from me, watching and I think were smiling, too far in the wash of bright green for

No, a dream.

What right have I to set myself up as his keeper?

But he had no right.

She wipes away blindwoman tears, puts her sewing away in the woven basket, the ancient ruse of her long wait, house empty, barren of children lovers tradesmen friends, her husband still gone, vanished from the world like a sailor, no one knows where. She turns her virginal back to the room, gropes for the doorknob, opens the door, steps out. She walks quickly, fingers trembling, knowing she is perhaps wrong, turning on him, a false wife, but can no longer chance doing nothing, she may even now be too late. She moves down LaCrosse, head stiffly erect, drawn back a little, sharp elbows out like drawn-in wings. She comes to Lyon Street, turns hesitantly left. Miss Buckland calls for her cat. Birds warbling.

A momentous decision, she understands, though she does not know what hangs on it, has no way of guessing that time has stopped, hangs ready to reverse as old Hubble’s bubble prepares to collapse, a new stroke of the giant heart; or at any rate that human hearts, caught and locked in their wide thrombosis, hardening, dark with indecision, will tremble to the prick of her wellmeant revolt and life will move again, rush down its channels, roaring.

At the police station she asks to speak to Miller.

2

She found him, at last, in her husband’s office. “Hello,” she said. She stood listening, heart beating fiercely. It was already growing hot. The fan was on, but the air did not stir. As far as she could tell he was the only one there.

“Mrs. Clumly,” he said guiltily, as though she’d caught him at something.

She stood irresolute, mind racing. If it were merely that, another woman … At last she said, “Could I speak with you a moment — alone?” She waited.

“Why sure,” he said then, heartily. “Figlow, you’ll excuse us?”

It made her jump a foot. She was slipping. The man who’d been standing as quiet as a statue now crossed without a word and went past her. He smelled of stale cigarettes and sweat. The footsteps stopped a little behind her and she heard the door close. Then he went on. She heard the other door closing now. Then Miller said, “What can I do for you, Esther? ” It was all starting out wrong somehow. For the hundredth time she was unsure of herself, afraid her butting in would only mean embarrassment and trouble. She took a deep breath and closed her hand more tightly on the handles of the sewing bag. “Sit down, Mrs. Clumly,” Miller said, growing formal. He touched her arm — she had not realized he was standing so close — and guided her toward the chair.

“Thank you.”

They waited.

Miller said, “Long time no see, Mrs. Clumly.”

She laughed nervously. “That’s what you said the other night.”

He too laughed. “So I did.”

They waited again and eventually both spoke at the same time, apologized, waited. Esther balled up her hanky between her two hands to dry the perspiration. “Mr. Miller — that is, Officer — I had a visitor early this morning.”

“I see,” Miller said.

“Perhaps I should explain.” She paused, thinking where to begin. “Fred and I have been husband and wife,” she began carefully, “for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“We — understand each other, about many things.” She corrected the impression quickly. “We understand each other, but of course my husband doesn’t always tell me everything, naturally, being in the line of work he happens to be in. He doesn’t like to worry me needlessly, you know.”

“No, naturally.”

“I’m sure it’s the same with you.”

“Of course.”

She rolled the hanky more rapidly between her palms. “I have always been very grateful to Fred … to my husband. Because of course it’s difficult, you know … with my handicap. That is—”

“Yes of course,” he said. “Either way, that is, handicapped or not, as you say, a husband that’s a cop can be a problem.” He laughed.

“Yes.” She thought about it. “That’s true. But I meant, really, it’s not easy for him either, you know. He’s always been very patient and he never criticizes. I almost — forget myself.” She let the words hang in the air a moment, reverberating oddly in the room; then: “I’ve felt I could never deserve, that is, repay … I think you see what I mean.”

“Come now,” he said, “that’s a heck of a thing!”

“Yes. Well, in any case, I hear certain things — that is, certain rumors have come to my attention — and this morning a visitor …” She bit her lips and leaned forward. “Officer, I have reason to believe there is a plot against my husband. I’m going against his wishes in telling you, no doubt. But I must think of myself, too, mustn’t I? Don’t I have a right?”

She waited. Miller said nothing.

“I trust my husband implicitly, Officer Miller,” she said softly. “But I’m not sure he’s always as cautious as he might be. I’m not sure he’s aware of — the dangers. And at times I’ve felt he has a tendency to, well, go off on his own, as you might say — to do things without telling other people, so that if something were to happen, if he were to be, say—” She hesitated only for an instant, then plunged. “If he were to be shot in an alley, no one would know he was missing. That’s why I’ve come.”

“Now now now,” Miller said. “That’s ridiculous, Mrs. Clumly.”

“He’s been gone since last night,” she said in a rush. “When I called here this morning, no one had seen him. I realize he’s not away with some woman, of course.” She hurried on. “But that means …”

He laughed lightly and yet kindly, the way men are forever laughing at the fears of women. “He’s with Kozlowski,” he said. “He was just on the radio.” She felt a violent sense of relief, then uncertainty. Miller did not seem to her as confident as he wished her to believe he was, and she knew, suddenly, that she’d done the right thing in coming.

“Officer Miller,” she said, “doesn’t it strike you as odd that a maniac such as this Sunlight Man should be able to elude you all for so long, and stores be robbed and people murdered and none of you able to stop it— you, I mean, people of proven ability? Doesn’t it seem that there might be more than meets the eye? Officer Miller, suppose there were a plot — suppose people of influence were involved in these …”

She waited, hanging in space, but he only cleared his throat. He too was worried, she saw. She closed the hanky in her right hand and came out with it. “Officer — Officer Miller — I believe the Mayor knows something about all this.” Tears came, and she struggled against them. “I believe he’s behind it,” she said fiercely. “I have reason to think so. Anyway, I have reason to think my husband has been secretly investigating some mysterious goings-on at the Mayor’s house, some kind of political I-don’t-know-what, not Communists, perhaps, but something. And Will Hodge is in on it. That’s who came to visit, and he asked a lot of questions that sounded very suspicious, it seemed to me — he came when Fred was away, you know, and he knew Fred was away, and in fact it wasn’t the first time, either, because when he drove away afterward I realized I’d heard that car before, prowling around, sometimes in the middle of the night, you know. What kind of people prowl around in the middle of the night, I ask you?”