The Wounded and the Slain Read online

  “All right,” she said.

  “I want it in pound notes.”

  “All right.” She sounded very tired.

  “Can you handle it now?”

  “I imagine so,” she said. “My husband and I have a joint bank account. I’ll go to the desk and make out a check. It’ll take a little time while they clear it with New York.”

  “I’ll wait,” Joyner said.

  Cora got up from the table. She was trying to keep her shoulders straight as she walked across the dining room toward the lobby. Bevan had his head raised and he was watching her and thinking, Now there’s a pretty number. She looks so dainty and delicate in slacks. Really charming in a quietly elegant sort of way. Not many of them can wear slacks like that. She wears them so gracefully. And look at her pale-gold hair. Yes, that’s quite a number and I wouldn’t mind having a date with that. Maybe I can make a date with her to go sailing. It’s such a nice day for sailing.

  Chapter Seven

  Then later she came back to the table where Joyner was smoking a cigarette and Bevan was drinking a gin-and-tonic. She handed Joyner a thick envelope. She murmured, “Please don’t count it here,” and he smiled and said, “Of course not.” Then he got up and walked out of the dining room. In a few minutes he came back and said to her, “It’s all there.” He saw the way she was looking at him and he said, “You needn’t worry, Mrs. Bevan. I won’t be coming here again.” She didn’t say anything. Joyner said, “Goodbye, Mrs. Bevan.” She was watching Bevan as he worked on the gin-and-tonic and she had her hand pressed to her mouth. Bevan looked up and grinned at her, then grinned at Joyner, and then he went back to the gin-and-tonic. Joyner shook his head slowly and walked away.

  Some moments passed and then Cora said, “I don’t feel well. I’m going up to the room.”

  “Oh, you feel all right,” Bevan said. “Stay here.”

  “I have a headache. And I’m tired. I’m terribly tired and I want to go up to the room.”

  “You don’t want to go sailing?”

  “No, I don’t want to go sailing,” she said. She watched him while he sipped from the glass. “You know what I really want to do?” She spoke very quietly. “I want to throw up.”

  “Oh, don’t say that. It isn’t that bad.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He didn’t reply. He took a long gulp from the glass. It was a very tall glass and now he had it almost empty.

  She said, “You realize how much we gave him? We gave him fifteen hundred dollars.”

  He shrugged. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were focused on the glass, measuring the amount of liquor that remained.

  “Fifteen hundred dollars,” she said. “And you don’t care. You’re not the least bit bothered. If we gave him every cent we had it still wouldn’t bother you.”

  Bevan shrugged again.

  And she said, “I’m wondering if you’ve reached the point where nothing can bother you.” Then he looked at her.

  She was breathing in hard through her teeth. It made a slight whistling noise. She said, “We couldn’t afford that fifteen hundred dollars. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, let’s forget it.”

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Not this time.”

  “You said you were going up to the room. Why don’t you go?”

  “First I’ll say what’s on my mind. Unless you prefer that I hold it back. The way I’m always holding it back. Biting on it. Choking on it.”

  “Then let it out, for Christ’s sake. What is it?”

  “I want you to do something. You’re falling apart and you’ll just have to do something.”

  “Like what? Take pills? Shots in the arm?”

  “Just get a grip on yourself, that’s all.” “That’s all,” he echoed, mimicking her. “As if it’s a routine matter. On the order of getting a haircut.” “You can do it.”

  “Oh, sure, I can do anything. I can outdance Gene Kelly and outbox Gavilan and outgolf Ben Hogan. Just give me time to prove it. Give me a little time.”

  “To do what? To ruin yourself completely? To ruin me?”

  He looked at the glass of gin-and-tonic. He said to the glass, “You hear that? You hear what the lady

  says?”

  “Look at me.” She was talking through her teeth, straining to keep her voice low. “I’m talking to you. Can’t you give me a sensible answer?”

  “Frankly, no.” He lifted the glass and held it to his mouth until it was empty. He set it down very carefully and studied it for a long moment, then said, “It needs refilling, that’s what it needs.”

  Cora stood up. She started to say something and couldn’t get it out. She turned away from the table and hurried out of the dining room. There was something frenzied in the way she hurried, and he got up and started to follow her. Then he changed his mind about that and went back to the table. He beckoned to a passing waiter and ordered a refill on the gin-and-tonic.

  An hour later he was still sitting there, drinking slowly and methodically and not thinking about anything in particular. The tables were empty now. The waiters had cleared off all the dishes and were busy wiping the bread crumbs off the chairs and sweeping the floor. Several times they bypassed Bevan’s table, their eyes giving him a polite hint that he was in their way and he ought to do his drinking in the bar. Finally the headwaiter came over and made it a courteous request. Bevan lifted himself from the chair and went out of the dining room. He crossed the lobby and entered the bar. All the stools were occupied, and he looked around for a table. There were several empty tables, and he was moving toward the nearest one when he saw them at a small table for two near the far wall.

  They didn’t see him. They faced each other across tall frosted glasses of something green-orange, something that looked like a fruit drink. They hadn’t touched the drinks and they were concentrating on each other. Cora was saying something and the man was nodding seriously. Then the man said something and Cora nodded. Then they both smiled.

  Bevan smiled also. Episode Two, he said without sound. Continued from yesterday. He aimed the smile at the man’s slightly flattened nose and carrot-colored hair. At a nearby table some people were getting up and he edged his way in. He sat down and quickly picked up the large drink menu, keeping it in front of his face. He heard Cora saying, “—that’s very kind of you, Mr. Atkinson.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” the man said. “It was a statement of fact. You’re an exceptionally pretty girl.”

  “Girl? That was a long time ago. I’ve been married nine years.”

  “Really? It doesn’t show. Or maybe—”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Your eyes. It shows in your eyes.” “Even when I’m smiling?”

  “Yes,” the man said. “Even when you’re smiling. It’s such a weary smile, it tells me so much about you.” “You do this often, Mr. Atkinson?” “Do what?”

  “Read stories in people’s eyes.”

  “No,” the man said. “I’ve never done it before. I’ve never been sufficiently interested. That is, until now.”

  “But the point is, I’m married.”

  “That isn’t the point at all. There’s only one issue involved here, and I’m quite sure you know what it is.”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  “It needed saying. There are many things that need saying.”

  Then it was quiet at the table for two. Bevan kept the drink menu in front of his face. He was thinking, She’s really attracted to him. Or maybe it’s just that she needs something to lean on and he happens to be around. You prefer to believe that? I think you better keep tuned to this program. It’ll let you know the score one way or another. I wish I could see her face right now. She’s sitting there so quietly; I don’t like that quiet.

  The man was saying, “You can’t deny it, Cora.”

  “It’s Mrs. Bevan.”

  “No, it’s Cora. I insist it’s Cora.”

  “That is
n’t quite proper.”

  “I knew you’d say that. You make a big thing of proper behavior, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. I think restraint is rather important.” “In its place,” the man said. “But this isn’t the place. This isn’t the time.” “I’d better go.”

  “You know you won’t go,” the man said. “You know you want to sit here and talk to me.” “Not about that.”

  “We’ve got to talk about that,” the man said. “There’s really nothing else for us to talk about.”

  Again it was quiet. And then Bevan heard her saying, “You’re really serious about this.”

  “It’s more than that. I’m determined.”

  “That sounds almost aggressive.”

  “I don’t care how it sounds. If I thought there were nothing happening here, I wouldn’t attempt to carry it further. And certainly I wouldn’t be expressing my feelings. But there’s something happening and you know it, we both know it.”

  “Mr. Atkinson—”

  “We knew it yesterday, at the swimming pool, when we talked about this and that, just making conversation. It was books and the theatre and travel and so forth. All very quiet and calm on the surface. But the undercurrent—”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “Why not? Are you afraid to hear it?”

  She didn’t reply

  The man said, “At one time I served in the Navy. I was an officer in command of a patrol boat. For three years it carried me through various campaigns in the Pacific. It was a fine boat and it taught me quite a few lessons. There’s one in particular I’ve never forgotten. It goes something like this: When you know precisely what you want to do, go ahead and do it.”

  “That’s a bold philosophy, Mr. Atkinson.”

  “It’s bold because it’s based on truth,” the man said. Then his voice was a lunge of sound: “I want to take you away from him.”

  He means it, Bevan thought. He isn’t playing around, he really means it.

  Cora was saying, “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s all happening so quickly. There’s been no indication—”

  “It was indicated quite clearly when we first met. I saw you and you saw me and that was it.”

  “Aren’t you taking a lot for granted?”

  “Not at all. It happens to be a fact. An irrevocable fact.”

  “Please,” she said. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

  “There’s no other way I can look at you.”

  “No….” Her voice faltered and fell away. “We mustn’t. Oh, I can’t manage this.” She sounded as though she were talking aloud to herself. “It’s too much for me. At any other time I’d know what to think, what to say. But not now.”

  “Would you mind straightening me out on that?”

  “Don’t ask me to explain it.”

  They were quiet for some moments, and then the man said, “Maybe it doesn’t need explaining. Maybe I know.”

  Sure he knows, Bevan thought. Anyone would know. Anyone with eyes. They take one look at Mr. and Mrs.

  Bevan and they know what kind of marriage it is. Or at least they see part of the story. Now he’s seeing her face and getting the rest of the story. Or no, not entirely. Just her side of it. So what are you supposed to do? Jump up on a platform and state your side of it? They’d roll in the aisles, brother. They’d sign you up for the Colgate Comedy Hour.

  He heard the man saying, “I saw you when you came walking out of the dining room. You left him there sitting at the table. There was a greenish look on your face when you stepped into the elevator. I think I know why you went up to your room. You were sick to your stomach, weren’t you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  The man said, “Why does he drink so much?” “He can’t help it.”

  “You mean he won’t make the effort. Isn’t that what you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know what’s the matter with him.”

  “I do,” the man said.

  “Oh, please,” she said. “You’ve met him only once. You’re scarcely acquainted with him.”

  “That makes me all the more perceptive.” The man paused to let it hang there for a moment. And then, “He’s suffering from a condition known as lack of backbone.”

  Bevan winced slightly. He didn’t realize he’d winced. “It’s a pity,” the man said. “Not for him. For you.” “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Yes, there is,” the man said. “Most certainly there’s something you can do about it.”

  She was quiet. And Bevan thought, He’s getting it across to her, he’s really selling it to her. Well, he caught her at the right time.

  He heard the man saying, “I think at this point I’d better give you some statistics. I’m thirty-nine years old. I’ve been divorced for three years. She gets four hundred dollars a month alimony. Or rather, charity. The court didn’t order it. I give her the money because I feel sorry for her. She’s really in a bad way. She’s pathologically incapable of remaining faithful to any one man. When I caught her, I broke her jaw. I’ve always felt bad about that.”

  There was a pause. And then she said, “You have children?”

  “Three boys. Ages eight and nine and twelve. They’re in military school. Of course they’re in my custody. I make a point of seeing them at least once a month. They’re fine boys, and they make excellent grades in school. I wish I could see them more often, but my work requires a lot of traveling.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a mining engineer. Mostly copper. There’s a big demand for copper and they pay me rather nicely.”

  “I’m not interested in your income, Mr. Atkinson.”

  “I know you’re not. If I thought you were, I wouldn’t be telling you. It amounts to around forty thousand a year.”

  Very nice, Bevan thought. That’s a fair working wage. And it’s a cinch he doesn’t throw it away. The tone of his voice tells me that. The tone of his voice tells me many things. It’s a deep thick baritone and it goes along with that slightly flattened nose. So instead of night clubs it’s early to bed and instead of the race track it’s fishing and hunting. And books, too. Probably Steinbeck and Melville, maybe some of Walter Scott, although I’d say he’s a little too sophisticated for Scott. But not pseudo-sophisticated. Not with the embroidery that always lets you know there’s nothing underneath. This one has plenty underneath.

  Hey, what are you doing? You rooting for him? No, I think what it adds up to, you’re rooting for her. That’s why you’re sizing him up. You want to be sure she’ll have something worthwhile. So I hope you fill the bill, Mr. Atkinson. I hope you’ll be nice to her and make her happy. She’s a good girl and she merits some happiness, considering the fact she’s had so little of it.

  What I think this calls for is another gin-and-tonic. Or it might be a good idea to fill the swimming pool with gin and dive in. But gin doesn’t quite fit this mood. What would you say would fit this mood? The diving part of it is fine. Let’s make it a high dive, say a few hundred feet up with rocks at the bottom, a collection of nice sharp rocks. Only thing is, that kind of stunt takes nerve. And as the man says, you haven’t got it, brother. As he says, the condition is known as a lack of backbone. Let’s call for a show of hands on that one. The ayes have it.

  He heard a scraping of chairs at the table for two. Then he heard the footsteps going away from the table. He lowered the drink menu and saw them walking out together. As they moved through the doorway leading from the bar to the lobby, Cora’s face was in profile. The man was talking to her and she was deeply engrossed in what he was saying. Her lips were slightly parted and her expression was passive and somewhat dreamy, almost childlike. Then her shoulders drooped just a little, very little, and yet it seemed more emphatic than that. It was like a gesture of surrender.

  Am I giving in? she asked herself. Am I really giving in and saying yes to this man? I don’t know. I’m not sure of anything right now. I’m not even
sure of where we are, or where he’s taking me. Where is he taking me?

  They were walking, across the lobby. He guided her to the side door leading out toward the swimming pool area. Then they were out there and she blinked tightly in the hot yellow flashing of the Caribbean sunlight. The swimming pool area was crowded and she heard him saying, “Let’s get away from this mob. Let’s walk in the garden.” Without sound she said, Garden? What garden? And he said, “They have a wonderful garden here. The flowers are really something to see.”

  But I don’t want to see, she thought. I don’t want the garden. I want to stay away from the garden. She tried to say it aloud but it was as though she had no voice. All she could do was walk along at his side,

  moving toward a velvety lawn and then across the lawn and onto a pebbly path that rimmed the circular arrangement of shrubs and flowers. It was a large garden and a section of it was sunken, a flight of stone steps going down through the middle of a varicolored slope that glittered like a collection of precious gems. This section was the rock garden. The rocks were silver-green and silver-pink and amber-yellow, and the flowers were purple and dark blue and very bright blue and bright orange. Some of the larger rocks were sprigged with laurel.

  “—gives this place its name,” he was saying. “You see there? The laurel on the rocks?” For a moment he stepped away from her to have a closer look. He said, “It’s bay laurel. Comes from southern Europe.”

  But she didn’t hear. At that instant she’d lost her balance on the steps, and as she started to fall he pivoted quickly and grabbed her. His thick fingers encircled her arms, and as he pulled her upright she sagged against him. Then she straightened and he released her and they looked at each other. She felt the pressure of his eyes burning into her face. It was like liquid fire going into her. It boiled in her brain and in her blood and she thought, I’m getting dizzy, I’m getting so dizzy….

  But it can’t be that, she said to herself. It’s the sun, it’s such a terribly hot sun. I ought to have a parasol. Yes, it would be all right if I had a parasol, because it’s only the sun. But stop it, please. Stop looking at me like that.