Puttering About in a Small Land

by Philip K. Dick

  I love you, she said. I’ve got you. Out in the world the people grow old. She felt them age; she heard them creak; she heard their bones snap. In the different houses dust filled the bowls and covered the floors. The dog did not recognize him; he had been gone too long. Nobody knew him. He had left the world.

  She felt his arms go about her waist, so that he had lifted her middle with his hands. She felt herself bend. Lifted up, higher and higher. She put her hand over her eyes to shield herself. And then she wanted him to kiss her. At the same time, she said. She waited, letting him find his way into her. You are going to cover me up, she said. With yourself. She caught hold of his face and turned it toward hers, so that she could look at him; she brought her face so close to his that perspiration fell from his cheeks onto hers. She made him open his mouth; she put her open mouth near his, her teeth to his, holding him there as he moved inside her, and then she pressed her mouth to his mouth as she felt it happen again inside her, for the third time. Did you ever do it so many times before? With her? She kept his mouth against hers. You are inside me and I am inside you, she said, putting her tongue into his mouth, as far as it would go. I am as far into you as I can be: we are exchanged. And which am I? Maybe I’m the one who must go back to her, all worn-out and empty. No, I’m the one who will never wear out. I am here forever, lying here on the ground, holding you down where I can reach you and get at you and inside you.

  18

  At ten o’clock a knock at the door startled Virginia. Putting down her book of short stories she went to the window and peeped out at the front porch. The porch light was on—she had switched it on for Roger—and on the porch stood two men; one was Chic Bonner in a business suit, and with him was an older man, tall, lean, with large ears. The older man wore a suit and overcoat and he smoked a cigar as they waited.

  Opening the front door, Virginia said, “Hello Chic.”

  With an apologetic air, Chic said, “I’m sorry to barge in on you people, Virginia. Roger didn’t call me, and I thought maybe I’d take a chance and drop by with Mr. Gillick here, so Roger could meet him. Earl, this is Mrs. Lindahl, the wife of the man I’ve been telling you about.”

  “I’m glad to meet you,” she said. She shook hands with him. He unobtrusively pushed aside his overcoat, and she saw on his lapel a hearing aid. “Would you like to come in?” she said.

  “Thanks,” Gillick said. He and Chic entered. Gillick had a hearty largeness, something like that of Chic. Glancing around, he said, “Very attractive place you have here, Mrs. Lindahl.” He winked at her. “And I’m a builder, so I should know.”

  “Earl is a contractor,” Chic said. “He’s an old friend. He built the new building the bakery’s in.” Both he and Mr. Gillick had a dithering quality about them. She realized that they were expecting Roger to appear from the other room.

  “Roger isn’t here,” she said.

  Chic’s face fell.

  “He’s at the home of a prospect,” she said.

  “I see,” Chic said. “Well, it’s my own fault for not calling. I son of hoped maybe he’d be in the mood to look over my sketches tonight.” He and Gillick exchanged disappointed glances. Neither of them seemed to know what to do. They shuffled their feet, glanced at each other again.

  “Sit down,” she said. “Let me take your coats.”

  “Can’t stay long,” Gillick said. But he let her take his big overcoat; it smelled of cigars.

  After she had hung their coats up, she said, “This customer is only home in the evenings.” She added a few details to her small story. “Roger took out a table-model R.C.A. last week for them to try. Tonight they’re making up their mind.”

  So you’re not home, Chic, she thought. You’re out somewhere.

  “Chic,” she said, as she seated herself on the arm of the couch, “what are you doing running around at this late hour?”

  Gillick answered, “Charles and I attended a meeting of—” His eyes twinkled. “The Los Angeles Hardwaremen’s Ethical Practices Association. We wanted to see how they made out with the Justice Department.”

  “They’re protesting an off-beat operation,” Chic said. “One of the big chain department stores—Kerman’s—is putting in a sideline, aluminum cookware. The hardware people have been trying to boycott their jobbers through their association, but it may get the ax for—what is it?—restraint of competition or some such.”

  “What’s that got to do with bread?” she said, feeling edgy and uninterested.

  “It’s a business decision involving free outlets,” Chic said, and he elaborated at length, as Gillick, beside him, nodded.

  You are not home, Virginia thought, and you have not been home all evening. You have probably been away from the house since dinner time.

  Gillick concluded, “That was one long session. They argued on and on. I was beginning to think it’d never break up.”

  “I’m sorry Roger isn’t here,” Virginia said.

  “Well,” Chic said, “maybe another time.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting your husband,” Gillick said. Both he and Chic seemed shy in her presence. Presently it occurred to her that she still had her leotards and T-shirt on. “I’ve heard so much about him,” Gillick said, puffing clouds from his cigar.

  “Are you interested in the store?” she asked Gillick.

  “Well, to this degree,” Gillick said. “Charles asked me if I’d give him my opinion on the building and the front. I told him I would.”

  “Have you seen the store?”

  “No,” Gillick said. “Not yet.”

  She said, “Chic, you have your station wagon, don’t you? Why don’t we drive down to the store so Mr. Gillick can look at it?”

  “That would be great,” Chic began, “although I hate to ask Gillick to get into this if your husband isn’t—”

  Thumping him on the knee, Gillick said, “I don’t care. Let’s take a look at it.” He arose and moved toward the door.

  “I’ll get your coats,” Virginia said. She went quickly into the bedroom and took their coats from the closet. Should I change? she asked herself. No. She put on a long coat that would cover her; grabbing up her purse she returned to the living room. “Here,” she said, presenting the two men with their coats.

  “We didn’t stay long,” Chic said, as she herded them out onto the porch. “You think if we waited a few minutes Roger might come back? I’m anxious for—”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “Sometimes he stays late on these home demonstrations. Where’s your car?”

  “Over there,” Chic said. Gillick strode on ahead, and Chic fell in beside Virginia. “Say, Virginia,” Chic said in a muted voice, “you know, I have a little problem. I hate to drive, if I can help it. Sometimes I have to drive. I drove down to the meeting, and I drove Earl over here… I lost my license last year, you know. It’ll be awhile before I can get it back, probably not this—”

  “I’ll drive the station wagon,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said. He gave her the key and held the door open for her to get inside behind the wheel. “I appreciate it,” he said. Both he and Gillick got in; she had started the engine by the time Chic slammed the door.

  Here’s where I find out, she said to herself. Maybe you are down in the basement unable to answer to the phone, and maybe you are not.

  The store, when they reached it, was dark. The street in front of it was empty. She saw no cars parked nearby.

  He’s not there, she said. It’s true.

  “Good location,” Gillick said.

  “That’s right,” Chic said.

  Parking the car in front of the store, she said, “Can you see well enough from here?”

  “We better get out,” Chic said. He and Gillick stepped out onto the pavement. “Store’s old,” he said. “Ought to have a facelifting.”

  “Too much wood,” Gillick said.

  “That’s what I told him,” Chic said. “That’s why I went to so much trouble to draw u
p designs.”

  Gillick peered up. “Can’t see much in the dark. Sign’s old, too. Bad style. Jeez, the windows are narrow.” He paced off the store’s width. “Much too narrow.” Placing his hand to the window he strained to see into the store. “Long, though. Basement?”

  “Yes, with a toilet and washbowl.”

  “I can’t make out the interior fixtures too good. What’s the overheads?”

  “Fluorescents,” Chic said.

  Seated in the car, Virginia listened to the two men as they walked about on the pavement. You weren’t here at all, she said to herself. Were you?

  “Counter is obsolete,” Gillick said. “Look at that old till. What a relic.”

  “I told him that,” Chic said.

  Gillick tried the knob. “Locked. Too bad we can’t go in.”

  “Maybe during the day,” Chic said. “If you happen to go by sometime—”

  To Virginia, Gillick said, “Mrs. Lindahl, do you have the key? Can we get in?”

  “Yes,” she said, opening the car door. “I’ll let you in.”

  She entered the store ahead of the two men. In the rear, the ghostly blue night light lit up the television sets and displays. The air was cold and the stale left-over smell hung everywhere, coming up from the ashtrays and from the trash box under the counter.

  If he were here, she thought, his key would be in the lock. He has that neurotic habit; he has always been afraid of being trapped in the store, so he makes sure the key never leaves the door if the door is locked.

  “Downstairs,” she said.

  “Yes,” Chic said. “Let’s have a look at that. So Gillick can see the foundations.”

  “I can’t see the foundations from inside,” Gillick said, as they descended. Virginia led them down the steps; she put on the basement light.

  The service department was empty.

  You bastard, she said to herself.

  “Okay?” she asked, her hand on the light switch.

  Gillick glanced at her. “Any time you want to leave, Mrs. Lindahl,” he said.

  “Maybe we should,” she said. “It’s so late.”

  “Yes,” Gillick said.

  Virginia said, “Do you like my husband’s store?”

  “Why sure,” Gillick said.

  “I helped buy it for him,” she said. “My mother and I.”

  “Is that so,” Chic said. “I didn’t realize that.” Both he and Gillick eyed her. “Then it’s in your name, is it?” Chic said.

  “No,” she said. “He holds the legal title. I let him have it made out that way.”

  Chic said, “That was certainly wonderful of you and Mrs. Watson.”

  “You know why I have on these leotards?” Virginia said. She pushed aside her coat and showed herself, how she was dressed, the way they had seen her in the beginning, when they had first come. “This is what I do my dance-work in,” she said. “I gave up my dance-work so he could have his store. Isn’t that a shame? Isn’t it too bad? I really made a mistake.”

  Gillick and Chic were silent.

  “You look very nice, Mrs. Lindahl,” Gillick said finally. He puffed on his cigar.

  “Let’s go,” Virginia said, snapping off the light. “Come on. Come on.” She started back upstairs; the two men followed. At the front door she stood waiting. “Let’s go,” she said again, as they passed by her, out onto the sidewalk. She locked the door and hurried to the station wagon. As soon as the two men were in, she backed out onto the street, shifted into a forward gear, and turned in the direction of her house.

  “Take it easy,” Chic said once, during the drive. Both men, failing to understand, were troubled and alarmed. “Slow down, Virginia.” The car had gone close to a parked truck as Virginia made a sharp right-hand turn.

  Not answering, she continued to drive as fast as possible. When she reached the house she stopped the car and hopped out.

  “Good night,” she said to Chic and Gillick; she tossed the car keys back, onto Chic’s lap. Clutching her purse, she ran up the path and onto the porch. A moment later she had entered the house, switched on the living room light, and had seated herself at the phone.

  She dialed Liz’s number. Time passed, and then, at last, the receiver at her ear clicked, and Liz’s voice said, “Hello?”

  “Is Roger there?” she said.

  “W-what?” Liz said.

  “Is Roger there?”

  “No,” Liz said.

  “Let me talk to him,” she said.

  “He’s not here,” Liz said. “Why should he be here? I haven’t seen him in a week.”

  Virginia said, “Let me talk to Chic.”

  “He’s taking a nap,” Liz said.

  “You’re a goddamn liar,” Virginia said. “And I know you are, because Chic is here; he’s outside the house in the station wagon. He and Gillick. They haven’t even left. Chic wasn’t home all evening. He was at a business meeting.”

  The phone clicked dead.

  She put the receiver back on the hook, then lifted it and dialed again. She let the phone ring on and on. Finally Liz answered.

  “What do you want?” Liz said.

  “Don’t you ever come near my house again,” Virginia said. “You stay away from here. You’re nothing but a no-good little bit of a cracker; you hear me? You keep away from here. I don’t ever want to see you switching your tail around my house again.”

  On the other end of the phone, Liz began to say something, but she did not listen; she hung up. Leaping to her feet she walked away from the phone, to the window, and looked out. The station wagon had gone. The street was empty.

  Fifteen minutes passed. She remained at the window, with her coat still on. After a half hour had gone by, she saw the Oldsmobile turning onto the street. It parked in the driveway, the lights and motor were shut off, the door opened, and Roger stepped out. He locked up the car and then made his way up the front walk onto the porch. There he stopped. The front door was wide open; she had not shut it. For a moment he stood, and then he entered the house.

  As soon as she saw the expression on his face she knew he had been there when she called. He had that closed-up look. His face was pulled together in the tight, unyielding scowl that she remembered from the years back; his body was hunched and his hands were jammed into his pockets. At first he did not speak. He merely stood, glancing up at her now and then. His mouth worked, he started to say something; then he wiped his lips with his thumb and fingers, grunted, and returned to silence.

  Virginia said, “You were there.”

  “Where?” he muttered.

  “When I called. You were there with Liz. You hadn’t left.”

  “No I wasn’t,” he said. And then, gradually, he got on his face the sly, superior grin. You can’t prove a thing, the look said. He shuffled his Feet, glanced at her, and grinned. But he was afraid of her. The fear shone through the grin and lit it up.

  “Where were you, then?” she said.

  “At the store.” He rocked back on his heels.

  “I called the store.”

  He said, “I was downstairs. Working in the basement.”

  “All the time?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I had a lot to do.”

  “You’re just as big a liar as she is,” she said. “We drove down to the store.”

  “Who?” He stared at her.

  “Chic and I and Gillick.”

  Now he had nothing to say. He stroked his chin and gazed down at his feet. And he still grinned; the grin remained on his face, empty and witless. It maddened her.

  “You trash,” she said.

  He blinked.

  “I know all about it,” she said. “You better go down to the drugstore and get something to put on yourself, or you’ll probably get a disease.” As she said that, she believed it; but as soon as she had finished, she felt foolish. And, as he heard her, his look changed.

  He seemed to draw some kind of energy from what she had said. It made him stand better; he sto
pped plucking at his chin. The grin expired, and, instead, a look of solemnity took its place. He unfastened his coat and passed by her with it, carrying it to the closet. When he returned, he said, “What did you do, call her up?”

  “Yes,” she said. “As you know very well.” She felt weak.

  “Don’t call her up,” he said. “Leave her alone.”

  “Why?” she said.

  “Just do what I say.”

  She found herself beginning to cry.

  “That’s a big help,” he said, with irony.

  Going into the hall she stayed by herself awhile, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her coat.

  My own fault, she said to herself. For saying that. Why did I say that? Never again, she said. I’ll walk out before I say something like that again.

  She returned to the living room. Roger was sitting down, in the middle of the couch, regarding her carefully.

  “Have—you had dinner?” she said.

  “I stopped at a drugstore and had a hamburger.”

  She said, “On your way home?”

  “I stopped by a customer’s house,” he said. “I got the hamburger on the way here.” He put his hands behind his head, extending his arms on either side. “Why are you going around the house with your coat on?”

  Going to the closet, she hung up her coat.

  “I didn’t tell Chic,” she said.

  He said nothing.

  “If she doesn’t get panicky and tell him, there’s no way he would know.” She seated herself in the kitchen, in the dark. From where she was she could see down the hall and into the living room, the couch and her husband with his arms stuck out. “For a couple of minutes,” she said, “I almost told him. I drove back here as fast as I could so I wouldn’t tell him.”

  He did not stir.

  “What do you plan to do?” she said.

  “Like what? What do you mean?”

  “I mean with her.”

  “I don’t get you,” he said.