Spotted Cats

by William G. Tapply

  He turned his head and stared at me. ‘See,’ he said, ‘it isn’t really guilt over Walter McIntyre. That would be simple. And it wasn’t death. I didn’t fear death itself. But it was death in that tall grass. When I was in the hospital I dreamed about it. I still do. Weird, terrifying dreams. In the hospital I think I would’ve welcomed a peaceful death, numbed by drugs and fever and pain. I hallucinated on images of all the animals I’d ever killed coming after me, goring me and trampling me and ripping at me with their teeth and tusks and claws. It was them that I feared, not death itself. So I knew. I couldn’t go back. A lot of hunters get hurt. They go back. I knew I couldn’t. That’s what’s so hard to live with.’

  Jeff closed his eyes.

  ‘Is that why you wanted me to come?’ I said. ‘To share this with me?’

  He turned his head slowly and opened one eye. He gave me a quick, ironic smile, then closed his eye. ‘Ignore me,’ he mumbled.

  Jeff’s body healed as much as it was going to after he killed his last African leopard. The razor claws of that gutshot leopard had permanently reduced the big muscles of his left thigh to strings, but with the support of a crutch he was able to dodder around the bungalow. He had lost one testicle. His shoulder and his face healed. His soul never did.

  He lived on the royalties from the books he had written about Africa and the films he had made. It was a living for him. Barely. But then, Jeff Newton himself was barely living.

  On my rare trips to Orleans to visit him, I tried to persuade him to go out on to the pond with me in his canoe, or take a stroll through the wooded gardens inside the fence, or climb into my car for a drive to the ocean.

  ‘Another time, maybe,’ was his standard reply.

  Once I suggested he write another book.

  ‘Can’t even begin to think of it,’ he said.

  He read a little, watched some television. According to Lily, he mostly lay around with his eyes closed listening to Mozart tapes, and on especially nice days he let her persuade him to sit out on the patio to look at the flowers she was cultivating in the terraced rock gardens and watch the hummingbirds and sniff the salty breezes. He received company infrequently and unenthusiastically.

  He still slept away more than half of each day. He continued to require medication for the residual infections and chronic pain. A local doctor visited him weekly.

  At first, Lily had cooked elaborate meals for him. But Jeff showed no enthusiasm for her efforts and only picked at them, so after a while she gave it up. She fed him canned soup and sandwiches. He grew thinner and softer and more wrinkled.

  Life, it seemed, was a condition to be endured until something better came along.

  Now we were sipping martinis at the end of this Friday in July.

  After a while, I said, ‘Did you want to talk business?’

  He opened his eyes. ‘Why the hell else would I ask you to come down here?’

  I smiled.

  ‘I want to rethink my will.’

  ‘Not much to think about, Jeff. You haven’t got a helluva lot to leave behind.’

  ‘I got this place. I got the movies and books. I got the jaguars.’

  I shrugged. The place was mortgaged, the movies and books weren’t worth much, and I had long ago persuaded him to will the jaguars to the Museum of Fine Arts, knowing that they’d return them to the Mexican government.

  ‘I want to take care of things,’ he said. ‘Set things right.’

  ‘How?’ Jeff had a simple will. Jeff’s wife divorced him when he took off for Africa. Everything except the jaguars was going to his kids fifty-fifty.

  He closed his eyes again. ‘We’ll discuss it later.’

  A few minutes later Lily came out on to the patio. She carried a glass, which she filled from the martini pitcher. She pulled a chair close to mine. Jeff opened his eyes, glanced at her, and closed them again.

  She had brushed back her hair and tied it into a ponytail with a yellow ribbon. She had done something to her eyes. She wore a white sleeveless blouse, knotted at her stomach, over her bikini top.

  ‘How’s fresh lobster salad sound?’ she said.

  ‘Terrific,’ I said.

  Jeff mumbled, ‘Mmm.’

  Lily stuck out her tongue at him. ‘You can have a peanut butter sandwich, you old shit.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘It’s Friday, don’t forget. Dr Sauerman’ll be here after supper. Think you can stay awake that long?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  She looked at me. ‘Brilliant conversationalist.’ She took a big gulp of her drink. ‘Come on, Brady. See what I’ve done with the gardens.’

  She took my hand and led me down the path that zigzagged among the terraces on the hillside behind the house. She had planted them with exotic Japanese irises and gladioli. The irises had finished blooming, but the glads spread great washes of colour against all the greenery, oranges and pinks, reds and whites, and Lily told me the names of all of them. Over the years, she had set out azaleas and rhododendrons and lilacs, ground covers of myrtle and pachysandra, wildflowers and herbs, and here and there, where a column of sunshine angled between the trees, a cluster of annuals made a brilliant splash. There were three or four acres in all, amidst a forest of gnarled pine and pin oak and Volkswagen-sized boulders, all enclosed by the ten-foot chain link fence where the patrols of Tondo and Ngwenya had worn paths.

  At the foot of the hill a little rock-paved pool caught a trickle from a hidden spring. It tinkled and gurgled over a miniature waterfall. A jumble of boulders made natural seats beside it, and Lily and I sat down. A screen of giant rhododendrons and tall pines shaded the place. It smelled cool and moist.

  ‘The whole place was supposed to be a sort of benign jungle,’ said Lily. ‘A place for the professional hunter to come, acclimate himself, watch the little animals and birds. When he was still hunting, it was a place to meditate, and he used to wander around a lot. After he came back for good, I thought it would be a place where he could heal.’ She placed her hands beside her to brace herself on the rock where she sat. She arched her back. ‘It hasn’t worked,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t come down here anymore. Says the hill is too much for him. Which is total bullshit. He can get around fine. Oh, he likes to hobble on his crutch and piss and moan, but I’ve seen him when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s got a limp is all. Sometimes he plays with the dogs, and he forgets himself, I guess, and he bounds around like a kid.’

  I lit a cigarette. ‘What about you?’

  She smiled. ‘Me? What about me?’

  ‘What’s in it for you?’

  She shifted on the rock so that she was sitting cross-legged facing me. She propped her elbows on her knees, rested her chin on her folded hands, and frowned. ‘Once upon a time there was this young woman whose man dumped her. He told her it wasn’t working. That was his only explanation. It wasn’t satisfactory. She’—Lily peered up at me—‘I, that is—I didn’t understand. I was unprepared.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ve been through something like that,’ I said.

  Lily smiled and shrugged. ‘I guess lots of people have. It’s new to everyone, though, when it happens. Anyway, the young woman was shattered. She moped around for a year. She thought she’d blown her only chance at happiness. With no hope or enthusiasm for it, but because she was broke and didn’t know what else to do, she took a job keeping house for a fascinating, colourful man, an older man who had, coincidentally, abandoned his wife. She must’ve been as baffled as me. Now this young woman had no particular skills, if you exclude certain man-catching tricks that came pretty naturally and didn’t seem to work for very long. But the pay was good, considering the work was pretty menial, and the demands were few. The man was around only enough to continue to seem fascinating and colourful. The woman’s tricks worked because about the time they might begin to wear thin the man was off to another exotic jungle. Mostly, she was alone, which was OK by her. She kept the house clean, dusted the glass cases where the pretty jaguars liv
ed, took care of the stupid dogs, and planted elaborate gardens. She waited for the hunter to come home to admire everything she had done. And when he did she loved him. She didn’t assume he loved her. It wasn’t part of the bargain, and it wasn’t necessary. She always knew he’d leave, and she knew he’d always come back to her, and that was enough.’

  ‘You’ve been with him a long time,’ I said.

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I was young when I came here. Now I’m not young anymore. It doesn’t bother me. I have no regrets. Oh, I assumed when Jeff got old he’d retire from his hunting and then we’d be together, and it would be glamorous. Well, it’s all happened. It just didn’t turn out very glamorous, did it?’

  ‘You could quit.’

  ‘And what would happen to him?’

  ‘He could hire someone else.’

  ‘Know something? I don’t think he would. I think he’d just lie around until he died.’

  ‘Or maybe he’d gather himself together and start to live.’

  She cocked her head and looked at me. ‘You think I’m holding him back?’

  ‘I think,’ I said slowly, ‘he may be playing the invalid role to the hilt, and that he needs an audience for it.’

  ‘And without me for an audience he’d do better?’

  ‘He couldn’t do worse, could he?’

  Lily’s eyes brimmed. ‘Aw, shit,’ she said.

  I reached to her and touched her arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, you did. I’ve thought of that. You’re probably right. I try to see myself as some kind of Florence Nightingale, sacrificing myself for the sake of this broken and twisted old man. But I’m really doing it for me, aren’t I?’

  I shrugged. ‘What do I know about it?’

  She took my hand and squeezed it quickly. ‘Nothing.’ She tried to smile. ‘Can I tell you something?’

  ‘If you want to. And if you’re prepared to put up with a tactless reply, which I seem to be especially good at.’

  She nodded. ‘You are. Good at tactlessness, I mean.’ She let go of my hand and stared off into the woods. ‘We were lovers, of course. I assume everybody knew that. We were probably never exactly in love. But we loved each other, in our ways. And it was good, Brady. It was good enough for me, at least. The boundaries were clear, and that may be as good as it ever gets for anybody.’

  ‘No argument there.’

  ‘Since he came back—since his, the whatchacallit—the accident—he can’t, or he won’t, he doesn’t want to…’

  I nodded.

  ‘He’s like a baby,’ she said softly. ‘Once in a while, usually when he has his bad dreams, he wants to be held, rocked, cuddled. Mostly, though, he’s cruel to me. This man was a powerful lover. Tender, strong. Sometimes almost brutal, but…’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Oh, he was something. Now?’ She shook her head quickly. ‘I shouldn’t be talking about it.’ She stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s go back.’

  I held out my hands to her and she took them and I helped her climb down from the rock. She kept hold of one of my hands as we followed the pathway back to the bungalow.

  Jeff hadn’t moved from the chaise. He appeared to be asleep. The martini pitcher looked emptier than it had when we left. I sat beside him while Lily continued into the house. I lit a cigarette and stared up into the darkening sky.

  ‘You and her gettin’ it on in the woods?’ Jeff said after a few minutes.

  ‘For Christ sake,’ I said.

  ‘She’s a helluva lay. Shame for something nice like that to go to waste.’

  ‘You’re drunk. Shut up.’

  ‘Can’t service her properly anymore. Half a man. Half my quota of testicles.’

  ‘A matter of looking at your scrotum as half full or half empty, I guess,’ I said.

  ‘Funny.’

  I shrugged.

  He stared off towards the ocean. ‘She finds me repulsive,’ he said.

  ‘You ever consider the possibility that the only one who finds you repulsive is you?’

  He glanced sideways at me. ‘Thank you, Dr Freud.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘She throws a good fuck, though, I’ll tell you that.’

  ‘Don’t be an asshole, Jeff.’

  ‘Hey, I see how you two look at each other. So go ahead. Climb between those sweet thighs. You two deserve each other.’

  I sighed. ‘Grow up, Jeff. It’s time you grew up. Your hunting days are over.’

  ‘I am some kind of asshole, ain’t I?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  Lily came out and stood beside us. ‘Chow time,’ she said brightly. ‘Hobble on in here, men.’

  ‘Help me up, Brady,’ said Jeff.

  I held my hands to him and he heaved himself into a sitting position on the chaise. He disentangled his legs from the blanket and swivelled them over the side. Lily handed him his crutch and he used it to brace himself so he could stand. Then without looking at us he stumped into the house.

  Lily and I watched him go. She touched my arm. ‘What were you two talking about?’

  ‘The fact that he’s an asshole,’ I said.

  Bug chunks of lobster claw and tail and bits of onion and celery, mixed in a homemade mayonnaise lightly spiced with dill, mounded on leaves of Bibb lettuce, with slices of early local tomatoes and cucumbers and hot rolls on the side. Lily had decanted a Riesling for the occasion. She declared it ‘piquant’ and I countered with ‘foxy’. ‘Gnomical,’ she said. ‘Canny,’ I retorted.

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Jeff.

  He ate little. His fork vibrated in his hand and his lips quivered. Once or twice during the meal his eyelids drooped, but he caught himself with a jerk.

  ‘What time is that doctor supposed to come?’ he growled at Lily.

  ‘Nine-thirty, as always.’

  ‘Nine-thirty, as always.’ He mimicked her in a high-pitched, querulous voice. He shoved back his chair, fumbled for his crutch leaning on the wall beside him, and staggered to a standing position. ‘I’ll be in my bedroom. You two can play word games to your hearts’ content, or grapple around in each other’s crotches, for all I care.’

  After he left the room, Lily looked at me. Tears glittered in her eyes. ‘He’s not always like this,’ she said. She tried to smile. ‘Sometimes he gets kind of grouchy.’

  ‘You don’t need to tolerate it.’

  She shrugged. ‘I can. I suppose I will continue to.’

  I helped her clear the table. Then I went into the living-room and sat in the darkness looking out at the purple summer sky while she loaded the dishwasher.

  A few minutes later she came in and sat beside me. Her leg pressed against mine and her cheek rested against my shoulder. ‘Maybe we should,’ she said softly.

  ‘Should what?’

  ‘What he said.’ She chuckled quickly. ‘You know. Grapple around in each other’s crotches.’

  I kissed the top of her head. ‘No we shouldn’t.’

  ‘No discussion?’

  ‘No discussion.’

  She squirmed against me. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘What if I left him?’

  ‘That would be different.’

  ‘Would it really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does that mean…?’

  ‘That I find you attractive, yes.’

  I felt her take a deep breath and let it out. ‘That’s something, I guess.’

  We sat in silence. After a while, she said, ‘I’m not going to, though.’

  ‘Not going to what?’

  ‘Leave him.’

  ‘No, I suppose you’re not.’

  Sometime later I heard the clang of the bell. Lily stood up. ‘He’s here.’

  ‘The doctor?’

  ‘No one else comes here.’ She went towards the door.

  ‘Can’t he pronounce the dogs’ names?’

  ‘Oh, heavens, no. You
’re the only one.’

  She turned on some lights before she went outside. I heard her speak to the dogs, and a minute later she returned, leading a tall, stooped man wearing rimless glasses. He had a smooth round face and a smooth round head fringed on the sides with reddish-brown hair. He appeared to be not much older than thirty. He actually carried a black bag.

  I stood up and went to him.

  ‘Dr Sauerman, this is Brady Coyne, Jeff’s lawyer,’ said Lily.

  We shook hands. His grip was firm and he peered solemnly into my eyes. ‘Pleasure, sir,’ he said.

  ‘He seems eager to see you,’ I said.

  He nodded.

  ‘The highlight of his week,’ said Lily.

  ‘He is not a well man,’ said Sauerman.

  ‘So he insists,’ I said.

  The doctor frowned for an instant, then turned to Lily. ‘Well, I better go in.’

  Lily did not follow him. We stood in the middle of the living-room for a moment. ‘More wine?’ she said.

  ‘Bourbon, I think.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  She was back a minute later with two short glasses tinkling with ice. We took separate seats. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘That previous conversation. I know you’re his friend and a loyal person.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m his lawyer, that’s all.’

  ‘But a loyal person.’

  ‘Something like that, I suppose.’

  After a while the doctor came out. ‘Well, that’s that, then,’ he said.

  ‘How is he?’ I said.

  ‘Sleeping.’

  ‘No, I mean…’

  Sauerman shrugged. ‘Nothing changes. Physically, he’ll always have pain. And without his medication, any one of those dozen or so infections could crop up again. The antibiotics seem to keep them down, whatever they are. Otherwise, he’s fine.’

  ‘And mentally?’

  ‘What you see is what you get. That’s not my field. I take his temperature and BP, poke around at his body, listen to his heart and lungs, leave a week’s supply of medication. He’s an unhappy man. Doesn’t take a doctor to diagnose that.’ To Lily he said, ‘Let me out of here, please. I don’t like those dogs.’