by Jack Finney
You'll laugh at me. Her face flushing, she glanced at him, then away.
No, I won't. I'll try not to, anyway. Now, what is it?
Surrendering to necessity, she sat back in her chair, her eyes meeting his fully now, a corner of her mouth quirking in self-annoyance. Well. I had a dream last night. I don't know why. We were at a party or something. Anyway, there were lots of people. And — Oh, this is just too silly, Hank!
That's all right. Dreams usually are. We were at a party. Then what?
Well, you kept talking to other people, to everyone but me. I was sitting in a big upholstered chair, I remember. Again, though Hank knew she was unconscious of it, a look of cold annoyance returned to her face. You were standing right in front of me, not a yard away, and you knew very well I was looking at you. But you wouldn't look at me. Her words were tinged with irritation. You kept talking to those other people. To every woman who came along! And being, oh so gay and witty and charming —
Real good-looking women, I hope?
You're laughing at me!
No, I'm not! He shook his head rapidly, brows lifting high, sucking his cheeks in, to keep the laughter from his face.
You are so. I can tell.
Well — he did laugh then, his shoulders shaking — I can't help it, baby! Talking through his laughter, he said, A dream! I slighted you in a dream last night, so this morning —
All right, she said, her voice ominous. I know it's silly. I told you that. But you insisted I tell you.
Sure, he said quickly, his face rigidly serious. I know; I made you tell me; it's okay. He began eating.
Hilda sat unmoving, watching his face. Then, her voice defensive, almost accusing, she said, You know how it is with a dream sometimes, how the feeling of whatever emotion it was stays with you long after you wake up.
Of course! he said quickly. A nightmare, for example. That feeling of doom and dread can stay with you all day. Though in this case — in spite of himself, he began to grin — I can't help hoping it won't take that long. How do you feel now, by the way? Am I forgiven?
To his astonishment, she did not answer immediately. Her eyes moved past his to stare over his shoulder at the wall, as if she were testing her feelings.
Then he saw a corner of her mouth quirk in irritation, and he said, his voice incredulous, Don't tell me you're still mad? Because of something I did in a dream?
Well, it's so real! She glared at him. I can still see you, just as plain! Standing there with that — phony, sophisticated smirk on your face. Utterly ignoring me. Charming some empty-headed little snip.
We'll take her vote away. Ike's entirely right.
Her voice dangerously quiet, she said, You're only making things worse, you know.
His face flushed in sudden anger, and he said, Then let me hasten to apologize. Which brings me, by an obvious train of thought, to the big question. Just what am I supposed to do about my caddish behavior in your dream? Will an abject apology while I'm awake take care of it? Or do I have to wait and hope your dream will resume? In which case, with your cooperation, I'll insult the dream floozy, drop to my knees, and kiss your arm from wrist to elbow. Meanwhile, however —
Meanwhile, she said angrily, you might be giving some thought to why l had a dream like that. Instead of finding it so hilarious.
Why you had it? He laid down his fork and stared at her. How do I know why you had some fool dream?
Her eyes flashing, Hilda glared a him, lips parted, ready to retort the instant he finished speaking.
Several minutes later, Hank Jessup lay on the davenport in the living room holding the Sunday sports section propped up on his chest. He stared at it, even read it occasionally; but from down the hall, behind the closed door of their bedroom, he could hear the murmur of his wife's voice, and the printed words he read conveyed nothing to his brain. Hilda was talking on the phone he was certain, to Becky Mehan next door, her best friend. And while he could not make out Hilda's words, he could hear, in the faint murmur of her voice, a steady note of indignation, and now he sat up and flung his newspaper to the end of the davenport. Then he lay back again, clasping his hands on his chest, glaring at the ceiling, and slowly shaking his head. Boy! he muttered. Boy, oh, boy!
In the front bedroom of the nearly identical little suburban house next door, Becky Mehan presently replaced the telephone and walked toward the living room. She was a tall girl with light-brown hair, a very fair, flawless complexion, and long, tanned, good-looking legs; she was dressed in natural linen shorts and a sleeveless chartreuse blouse. Reaching the living room, she saw her husband, Al, stretched out or an aluminum-and-canvas lounge chair in the little patio just outside the open glass doors. His hands clasped on his chest, he lay on his back, eyes closed, face to the sun.
As Becky stepped into the patio, he opened one eye. Who phoned?
Hilda. She picked up one of the papers lying on his lap. You through with the magazine section?
Yep. He closed his eye. What's new with the Jessups?
Oh, nothing much. Becky sat down in an aluminum chair, just out of the sun in the shade of the house. She glanced at the first page of the magazine section, then lowered it to her lap Except that Hilda's mad at Hank.
Oh? Al didn't open his eyes What'd he do?
Well, it sounds silly — and in a way, it is. Hilda's the first to admit that. But she does think Hank might show a little more understanding. And I think she's entirely right.
Her husband, opening one eye again turned to look at her. He was a broad chunky man, twenty-six years old, with short dark hair. He was wearing a sports shirt and slacks and was barefoot; his slippers were on the patio floor under his chair. No doubt, he said. What exactly did Hank do?
He didn't do anything. That's not the point. It's simply that he fails, or at least refuses, to understand. Hank's not stupid, you know.
I know. Both eyes were open now. And neither am I. Or so I always thought. But I'm beginning to wonder. You may not believe this, but I am so mentally sluggish this morning that I'm having the greatest difficulty following you. In fact, you long-legged goody, I don't dig you at all. Precisely what happened at the Jessups'?
Well, Hilda had a dream last night. She knows it's silly, but you know how a dream can stay with you next day? So you can't get it out of your mind? The way you felt in the dream, I mean.
Yeah, I guess so.
In this dream, Hank treated her just terribly — deliberately humiliated her, and before a lot of strangers. It wasn't accidental, either. Hilda says he knew what he was doing and did it on purpose.
Al burst into laughter, a single bark of sound, and raised himself on his elbows to look at his wife in delighted amazement. And that's what she's mad about? Because Hank was mean to her in a dream?
Of course not! Becky frowned at him. You didn't let me finish. She was mad, of course, or at least a little annoyed, when she first got up. You know how the feeling in a dream can persist. At least you said you did. But she knew, just as well as you do, Hank hadn't really done anything. But he simply wouldn't understand. and wouldn't even try to, that there had to be some basis for the dream, don't you see? Some reason for it. Hilda says he just put on that exasperating attitude of male obtuseness that's supposed to pass for great common sense at work, or something. I can just see him. You do it, too. That look of — You've got it right now! She glared at him.
Yeah — still raised on his elbows, Al nodded slowly and vigorously — I sure have. But believe me, cutie, it isn't put on. I do not understand or even begin to understand — his voice was rising — precisely what it was that Hank was supposed to understand!
In deliberate contrast to his, her voice was quiet and restrained. Well, if you'll stop shouting, I'll try to explain. In very simple, easy-to-understand language.
That'll be a change. He lay back in his chair.
For a moment, her lips compressed, Becky was silent. Then she said quietly, Dreams don't just happen for no reason at all, you know
. That's a well-established scientific fact. So there must have been some reason for Hilda's dream, some hidden resentment. And when she wanted to figure out what it was, naturally, to get to the root of this feeling, Hank just laughed — wouldn't help her at all.
Again her husband raised up on his elbows to look at her in stunned astonishment. Now, let me get this straight, he said slowly. You mean Hank was supposed to rack his brains trying to figure out something he'd done — some past crime neither of them even remembered — to justify a feeling Hilda had in her dream? So that instead of being mad at him for an idiotic reason like a dream, she'd have a real reason? Which Hank had knocked himself out to supply? Is that it? Is that what Hank's unreasonableness consisted of?
Coldly Becky said, Of course it's always possible to describe anything in a way that makes it sound utterly ridiculous.
Al ignored this. Heaving himself up and swinging his feet to the ground, he sat forward to stare at his wife. And when he wouldn't do that, when he refused, in his exasperating male obtuseness, to supply Hilda with a new reason for being mad at him, she got mad at him about that! He glared triumphantly at Becky. Why, the man should be horsewhipped! he said, and began to laugh. Where is he? Let me at him! he shouted, jumping to his feet. He paced the lawn, shaking his fist. I'll punch him in the nose! he yelled happily. That poor pathetic girl — he turned toward Becky, shaking his head in mock pity — lying in bed in the dead of night, her face flushed in embarrassment as her husband wantonly humiliates her in public. While callous, obtuse old Hank lies there sound asleep, pretending to be innocent!
Becky rose with graceful dignity, her face set. I'll be in the bedroom, she said coldly. I have some things to do.
Now, wait a second. Al walked toward her, but she raised her hand, waving him away.
Just stay where you are, she said. You seem to be enjoying yourself perfectly well alone. Her lips compressed, her nostrils flared, and she walked into the house.
For a moment Al stared after her. Then he went to his lounge chair and flung himself angrily onto it. Boy, he said, shaking his head. Boy, oh, boy!
Some five minutes earlier, as Hilda Jessup finished talking to Becky Mehan on the phone, her face was set, her eyes snapping. But as she was in the very act of replacing the phone on the little bedside table, her facial muscles began to relax. For a moment she sat wondering what to do now, and though she did not know it, her eyes were softening, her expression was resuming its habitual serenity. She could, she told herself, straighten up her jewelry box, which needed it badly. But she didn't want to. What she wanted, she realized suddenly, was to see Hank, and then she realized that her irritation was completely gone, utterly dissipated in her talk with Becky. More than that, in the hour or so she had been up, all vividness and reality had drained from the memory of her dream. With the emotion gone from it, the absurdity of what had happened at breakfast was plain to her. It was ridiculous now, downright funny, and she stood up, smiling, opened the bedroom door, and walked down the hall to her husband.
Several minutes later, Hank — his face placid and contented — strolled to the sliding glass doors of the living room, opened them, and looked into the little sun-filled patio. He could hear the Sunday sounds of Hilda in the kitchen; he heard her humming, briskly and energetically, then heard the oven door opened and banged shut, the faint, grating sound of the blue enamel roaster set down on the plastic-top counter, and the refrigerator door opened. Hank yawned, stretched, then wandered to the fence to see if Al Mehan was out. Al was there, lying on a lounge chair, and Hank said, Hi.
Oh, hi, Al said. He got up and strolled to the fence. I ought to poke you in the nose, he said.
Hank nodded. You may well be right, but why?
Well, I don't mind you and Hilda having your domestic arguments — he smiled — but I wish you wouldn't export them. You're the only people I know with contagious quarrels. Hank was frowning wonderingly, till Al said, Hilda phones Beck, pounds her ear about your big battle this morning, and Beck comes out all indignant about you. So I made a mistake. I laughed. And I stuck up for you.
And now Becky's mad at you? Hank was grinning.
Holed up in the bedroom. Won't talk to me. Hank burst into laughter, and Al said, Yeah, it's funny, all right. But not as riotous as all that.
No — still laughing, Hank shook his head — you don't understand. We're all made up, Hilda and I. That's what I'm laughing at. We're made up, everything's fine, while you and Becky aren't speaking — he began to laugh again — because of our quarrel!
Al watched him for a moment, his mouth quirking wryly. Enjoy yourself, he said then. Have a wonderful Sunday, you and Hilda. He nodded over his shoulder toward his own house. While I try to figure out just how to apologize — for your behavior, I guess, in Hilda's dream! He started toward his house.
Wait a second! Al turned back, and Hank, his face serious, said, Look, that's too bad. And I'm sorry about it.
Oh, it's not your fault. Al shrugged. Women just don't use common sense, that's all.
You can say that four or five times. But I feel guilty about it, anyway. Why don't you two come over for dinner this afternoon? Hilda's got a roast. We'll turn this all into a big laugh. You got any plans?
No, Al said. But right now I could suggest a de-luxe tour of Europe, and Becky would turn it down cold before I could even finish. For a moment he stood frowning in thought. But maybe if Hilda phoned —
Right! Hank nodded eagerly. I'll have her call right away. He turned toward his house.
Hold it! Al called, and Hank looked back. Maybe you'd better tell Hilda not to mention our little quarrel. Becky's a bit touchy about anyone's knowing it if we have an argument.
Won't even mention it to her. Hank started toward his house. When it's all set, he called over his shoulder, come right over. Soon the sun will shine again.
Hilda Jessup finished dialing and raised the phone to her ear, a contented little smile on her lips. The ringing sound began, then stopped; the phone in the Mehans' bedroom had been picked up immediately.
Hello? said Becky's voice.
Hi, Beck. Hilda again. Listen, what're you two doing? You feel like having Sunday dinner with us? We're having a roast. And maybe we could eat outdoors.
Well — Becky hesitated, her voice puzzled. What about — you and Hank?
Oh — Hilda laughed — that's all over. Honestly, Becky, did you ever hear anything so idiotic in your life? You must have thought I was out of my mind.
Well, no. Certainly not. From the way you explained it, I thought —
Oh, well, thanks, Beck. You're very kind. But as Hank said at the time, no explanation could possibly make all that nonsense sound anything but idiotic to anyone with any sense at all. Can you imagine? She laughed happily. Getting mad at Hank over a dream is ridiculous enough. Then getting even madder because he wouldn't give me a reason for staying mad! Again she laughed merrily, then said, Of course, I was annoyed — irrationally, but still annoyed — because of the dream. That's the only excuse for me. But to Hank or anyone else, for that matter; even a child, for heaven's sake — it's absolutely moronic, of course.
Really? Becky said coldly. Well, I'm afraid I'm just moronic enough not to see it that way. In fact, if anything sounds moronic to me, it's Hank's wilful and — yes, downright stupid refusal to admit there must be a reason for any dream. As anyone with any sense at all knows! He may have talked you into thinking all logic and common sense are on his side, because he's feeling guilty, and —
Listen, Hilda said slowly, her eyes narrowing, any time you or anyone else thinks Hank is stupid, it only goes to show who really is stupid! Furthermore, any time I need you to run down my own husband, you'll be the last person —
Well! You were quick enough just a few minutes ago to come running me down — I mean, go running to me to come run down your husb— Oh, shut up and let me alone!
As Hilda walked into the living room, Hank looked up from the davenport, smiling. Well? he said
. They coming over?
They certainly are not. I wouldn't have that woman in my house!
Hank swung his feet to the floor and stared openmouthed at Hilda. She glared at nothing, her lips compressed, arms hugging her chest, right foot rapidly tapping the floor.
Well, what's the matter? he said slowly.
Matter? She swung around. I'll tell you what's the matter! And you wanted to ask them for dinner! She shook her head angrily. I phoned, she said, just as nice as could be, and asked them to dinner. And then, for no reason at all, out of a clear blue sky, she began tearing you down. Just ripping you to shreds! Honestly, I wonder if she's not losing her mind.
Well — for a moment he was at a loss for something to say — she is a little high-strung sometimes, he murmured vaguely. Doesn't always use good common sen—
But Hilda, with an indignant snort and tossing her head, was walking to the kitchen. Hank got up and went to the patio to look for Al.
Within a minute Al appeared, walking rapidly toward the fence. Well, he said as they met, you ever hear anything more idiotic in your life?
No, said Hank, but I expect to. New world's records are being set today.
Women! Al shook his head. No fooling, Becky's smart. A real bright girl. And so's Hilda. He flung out his hands. But there's no logic in them! Absolutely irrational.
I know. All's well with Hilda and me, but now she's mad at Becky. Becky's mad at you —
No, she isn't.
She's not? Hank's chin shot forward, and he stared at Al.
Of course not. Al grinned. You don't seem to follow things too well this morning, Hank. Typical male obtuseness, I guess. Beck comes prancing out of the bedroom furious at Hilda, but positively loving toward me. I'm aces now, chum.
How come? Explain it. That is, if you can.
Al shrugged. Don't you see? I'm the guy who saw through that idiotic woman — your wife, that is — from the start. Now nothing's too good for me. Too bad about the girls, though. His grin faded. They've been friends a long time.
