Selena’s voice, low and cautious, sounded through the extreme quiet of the room.
“Gordy. Gordy, baby.”
I lay still, I did not answer.
“Gordy, are you awake?”
I could feel the pulses in my temples throbbing against the bandages.
“Gordy.”
I heard her bedclothes being softly pulled back. I heard the faint scuffle of her feet pushing into slippers, then her tiptoeing footsteps. For a moment she came into the range of my vision, slender, graceful, her hair gleaming. She was bending over my bed, staring down at me. There was something purposeful, calculating about her. It was a bitter sensation being half in love with an enemy.
After a long moment she turned and moved away from the bed. I heard the door open and close carefully behind her.
I couldn’t follow her to find out where she was going. It was that one little fact which brought home to me my extreme helplessness. I was more than a victim, I was an immobilized victim with a broken leg and arm, a victim without a sporting chance to escape.
I was a victim with a broken mind too. As I took stock of my predicament, that fact loomed above all the others. I knew I was not Gordy Friend, but I had not the faintest idea of who I was. I struggled to make something of the few, feeble hints that drifted in my mind like dead flies in a jar of water. The irises, a sailor, propellers, Peter, the dog... Peter… For a second, I seemed on the brink of something. Then it was over. I felt dizzy from the effort of concentration. There was no help from memory. I had nothing to help me except my own wits.
I was really on my own.
Not quite on my own. For I realized that I had two potential allies. The old woman knew I was not Gordy Friend and was ready to admit it. If somehow I could contact the old woman,
I might at least find out who I was. It would be difficult, of course, because the Friends were obviously keeping her from me. But there was someone to whom I did have access—Netti with the red-veined gums. I would have to move warily. If I let the Friends know that my suspicions were anything more than an invalid’s hazy vagaries, I would have played and lost my only trump card. But perhaps, carefully, through Netti…
My mind, so recently free from the influence of sedatives, was easily tired. I felt spent, incapable of coping with the situation any more. Netti’s white maid’s cap started to spin around in my mind like a pin-wheel.
I was asleep before Selena came back.
I awakened, as I had awakened the morning before, with warm sunlight splashing across my face. I opened my eyes. The gay luxury of the room betrayed me. Selena was lying asleep in the next bed. I could just see the curve of her cheek on the pillow behind the shimmering fair hair. She was as warm and desirable in the sunlight as she had been cool and insidious in the moonlight. I wanted her to be my real wife, I wanted to pretend everything was all right.
For a moment, because I wanted it to so much, the elaborate edifice of logic that I had built up in the night seemed a morbid fantasy. It was true that Selena had lied about the old woman. But, even if Selena was trying to prove she didn’t exist, why should I take the old woman’s word that I was not Gordy Friend? Perhaps she was crazy and Selena was keeping her existence from me out of consideration for an invalid. Or perhaps her old eyes were dim and in the moonlight she had made an honest mistake. The bandages alone might easily have confused her.
How pleasant it would be to forget my doubts and relax. How pleasant to be Gordon Renton Friend the Third.
The faint odor of lavender drifted up from my pajama pocket. Its effect was tonic as a cold shower. Selena had lied. Until I could explain that away, I had to be on my guard. I would have to start to plan too. There was no time to lose. For all I knew, time might be a crucial factor in this battle of wits against the Friends.
The door opened. I was hoping it would be Netti with my breakfast. But it was Marny. She was wearing Chinese pajamas and her feet were bare. Her glossy black hair was tousled from sleep. She strolled to the bed and sat down cross-legged at the foot by my cast.
“ ’lo, Gordy. Anything good in the Amnesiac’s Gazette this morning?”
She grinned, watching me from insolvent brown eyes. She was so young that she was attractive even though she was obviously straight from bed and had made no attempt to fix herself up. In spite of what I now knew, it seemed almost impossible to suspect the disarming candor of her gaze.
She glanced scornfully at Selena. “Selena. She sleeps like a cow.”
She stretched over me, picked up Selena’s cigarette case from the bedside table and lit a cigarette. She stayed half across me supporting herself with one hand.
“Well, Gordy, how did the night treat you?”
“Roughly.” It was a risk but I took it. “An old woman burst in on me. By the way, who is she? My grandmother?”
Selena was suddenly awake, so suddenly that I wondered if she had really been asleep. She sat up in bed, smiling at us dazzlingly.
“Hi, Marny. Morning, Gordy, baby. Still fiddling around with that old woman?”
She slid out of her bed and came to mine, sitting down on the spread across from Marny. Lazily she kissed me on the cheek. I wanted desperately not to be excited by her nearness.
“You didn’t really believe me last night, did you, baby?” She glanced at Marny. “Poor Gordy had a frightful dream about a hag with a stringy neck. He’s sure she really exists. Tell him we don’t have any old crones locked up in the attic.”
“Old crones?” Marny puffed smoke at me. “I’m sorry, Gordy. No crones.”
She spoke casually but I caught an almost imperceptible flicker of understanding in the glance she exchanged with Selena. With a sinking heart, I was sure then that she had been primed. That must have been one of the things Selena did last night when she slipped out of the room. It had been so important to keep me from knowing about the old woman that Selena had woken the others up and warned them.
Just as I couldn’t stop being excited by Selena, I couldn’t kid myself any longer, either. She was my enemy. They were all my enemies.
“What did she say to you?” Marny looked down at her knee, brushing idly at a piece of lint on the red silk. “The old hag in the dream, I mean?”
I wasn’t falling into that trap.
“Nothing,” I lied. “She just seemed to be there and then floated away. You know how it is with dreams.”
“So you realize she was a dream now?” asked Selena.
“Sure.”
“Darling.”
She leaned toward me, kissing me again. I was scared she would smell lavender and realize that I had in my pocket definite evidence that the old woman wasn’t a dream.
But she didn’t seem to notice anything. In fact, she seemed exhilarated as if she had scored a victory.
Knowing she would lie, I said: “And how did you sleep, Selena?”
“Me, baby? You know me. Five seconds after I said goodnight I was dead to the world.”
She pushed the hair up from the nape of her neck. “Oh, Marny, I had a divine idea last night. I made Gordy learn two verses of your father’s poem against drink. To help him remember.”
“Do any good?”
“No.”
“But it’s a super idea.” Marny’s enthusiasm was a shade too well-trained. “Absolutely super. Where’s the book? Let’s make him learn some more.”
She saw the book on the bedside table, grabbed it up and started to leaf through it. Crazy as it seemed, I started to feel that there was something important about that poem. They seemed unnecessarily eager for me to learn it.
To test them I said: “No more poem, Marny. I’m suffering enough as it is.”
“You’ve got to, Gordy.”
“Yes, baby,” Selena was snuggling against me. “Please, don’t be dismal. Even if it doesn’t help, it’s such fun.”
“First,” said Marny, “repeat the verses you already know.
“I’ve forgotten them,” I lied.
A
momentary but a very real alarm showed in Selena’s eyes. I knew then that I’d been right. My learning the poem was part of their plan. I considered carrying on with my pretended forgetfulness. Then I abandoned the idea, I still knew so little. It was dangerous to force an issue at this early date. I grumbled, made a few false starts and then recited the verses.
Their satisfaction was obvious. Marny read a third verse. When I learned that, they were positively purring.
All the time that I was playing this only dimly understood game with them, I was hoping that they would leave before Netti brought my breakfast tray. My plans were no more than half formed, but I knew that my way out of the trap could only come through Netti.
“ ‘Oh, haunt of the Lost and the Losing,
Vile Saloon of Squalorous Sin,
Satan sits there, the wine list perusing,
Luring lads to Damnation with gin.’ ”
Marny was reciting this fourth and even more lugubrious verse when the door opened. Mrs. Friend—I didn’t call her mother in my mind any more—came in. A faint chill settled on me as I saw that she was carrying my breakfast tray.
Gently chiding the girls off my bed, she set the tray down in front of me and kissed me.
“Good morning, darling boy. I hope the girls aren’t worrying you.” She surveyed me with serene affection. “You look better, dear. More rested. Any memories yet?”
“No,” I said.
“We’ve been teaching him Father’s Ode to Aurora, though,” put in Marny. “He’s wonderful, Mimsey. He’s learned four verses.”
If this information was of any importance to her, Mrs. Friend was completely successful in concealing it. She smiled and started to straighten the things on the breakfast tray.
“How very clever of him. He can recite the poem to Mr. Moffat tomorrow. It would be a charming gesture.”
“Mr. Moffat?” I queried.
“A very old friend of your father’s, dear.”
“You know, darling,” said Selena. “The Aurora Clean Living League. I told you.”
“He’s coming tomorrow?” I asked.
Mrs. Friend sat down on the bed, patting at refractory wisps of hair. “It’s the anniversary of your father’s death, Gordy. Just exactly thirty days. Mr. Moffat is making a sort of ceremonial visit of respect. I’m afraid it’ll be on the dismal side, but the least we can do for your poor dear father is to show Mr. Moffat a decent courtesy.”
Both the girls were standing at her side. Mrs. Friend surveyed Marny’s tousled red pajamas and Selena’s white frothy negligée.
“My dears, don’t forget. Plain black tomorrow, mourning black. And no lipstick. I don’t want you denounced as harlots.”
She laughed her deep, amused laugh.
“And Gordy will recite your father’s poems. Yes, that would be delightful, most delightful.”
Selena twisted away, picked up the book of poems and opened it at random.
She chanted:
“ ‘Whether weary or woeful, Aurora
With her amber Olympian arms
Will charm and caress…’ ”
“Listen, isn’t that wonderful? He’s lusting after Aurora now.” She giggled suddenly. “And he can’t even spell. He spells whether W-H-E-T-H—instead of W-E-A-T-H. Really....”
“Really, indeed,” broke in Mrs. Friend with a sigh. “Sometimes I am gravely disturbed by your lack of education, Selena.”
Selena’s face fell. “You mean he spells it right?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Oh, God, I can never remember.” Selena moved to me, grinning. “Darling, do you mind having an illiterate wife?”
I was hardly listening because a plan had come—a small one. The vase of irises had meant something. The vase of irises had been removed when I was asleep. The spaniel, Peter, had meant something too. Where was Peter now?
I grinned at Mrs. Friend. “I’m kind of lonesome for my dog. How about sending him up?”
Mrs. Friend’s expression changed to one of gentle concern.
“Oh, dear, I was so hoping you wouldn’t ask about him.”
“What’s happened?”
“A fever, dear. In the night. The poor little mite, he was shivering like a leaf. And such a hot nose. I do hope it isn’t distemper.” Her steady glance moved from one to the other of the girls. “I had Jan take him in to the vet this morning.” She patted my hand and smiled. “But don’t you worry, dear. The vet’s wonderful. I’m sure he’ll be back with us right as rain in a day or two.”
She rose from the bed. She could even invest the undignified act of getting up with a stately beauty.
“Now, girls, let’s leave poor Gordy to his breakfast. Ours is being brought up to my room so you needn’t bother to dress.”
Ritualistically, one after the other, they gave me a Judas kiss. Mrs. Friend slipped her smooth heavy arms around the two girls’ waists. The three of them, lovingly embracing, moved out of the room.
Alone with my orange juice, coffee, scrambled eggs, and carefully cut squares of toast, I tried to piece together the scraps of information I had obtained. They were so eager to keep me from remembering my real identity that they had removed the irises and disposed of the dog the moment they seemed to provide me with a clue. They were lying to me about the old woman. They wanted me to learn the late Mr. Friend’s ludicrous poem. I was to recite it to Mr. Moffat. Mr. Moffat was arriving tomorrow. My father had died thirty days before—suddenly without warning.
I felt a dim but sinister pattern was there if I only could find it.
I was recovering from the initial shock now and wild schemes started to form. A citizen in a jam calls the police. But how could I call the police, when I was in bed, unable to move without the assistance of the people who were my enemies. No. It would have to be something more practical than that.
As I toyed listlessly with my breakfast, I thought of Netti again. I couldn’t be entirely sure of Netti. She might be as much part of the plot as the others. I had nothing but a hunch and I would have to move cautiously. But Netti had known the old cook, the cook who had been working here when my father died, who had known Gordy Friend and who had hinted dark hints. Selena had said that all the fired servants had been paid by Mr. Friend to spy on them. That meant the fired servants would be against the Friends and potential allies for me. If only Netti knew where the old cook was now and somehow could get in touch with her…
I finished my breakfast and lay back in bed smoking a cigarette from Selena’s platinum case. It seemed a threadbare hope, that deliverance could come from an unknown, fired cook, but... with growing impatience I waited for the sound of footsteps outside which would herald Netti’s arrival to remove the tray.
Because it had to be Netti who would come for the tray.
After a while I heard footsteps outside. The door opened. My hopes were dashed. It was Jan.
The huge Dutchman wore the same navy swimming trunks and blue polo shirt that he had worn the day before. He looked even larger, if possible, and even more amiable. His unruly straw hair tumbled over his forehead. His lips stretched in a smile.
“Hi,” he said.
He gave me the works that morning, carrying me into the bathroom, sponging me all over with warm water and generally tidying me up. The almost loving tenderness with which he ministered to me seemed more ominous than it had the night before. The victim image was in my mind now. As he sprinkled lilac talcum powder over me and rubbed it gently into my skin, he seemed like some priest’s giant slave preparing the Chosen One for sacrifice.
At length I was back again in the smoothed bed with its meticulous hospital corners. He laughed and asked his questioning: “Jah?”
I shook my head. I could think of nothing I could ask Jan with safety.
He tossed back his hair and strode towards the door. He had almost reached it when he turned and, crossing to a side table, picked up the breakfast tray.
“No,” I called.
He turned his
head, watching me guardedly over his massive shoulder.
“No,” I said. “The tray. Leave the tray.”
His tanned forehead wrinkled with concentration. He looked at the tray and then at me. Suddenly a grin of understanding came. He brought the tray over to me and pointed down to an unfinished piece of toast.
“Jah?”
“That’s it,” I said.
He continued to stand by the bed. I realized he was planning to wait till I had eaten the toast and then to take the tray.
I shook my head again. “No,” I said. “Leave it. Scram.”
He looked sulky.
“Scram,” I said. I pointed at the door.
He followed the direction of my pointing finger. He seemed to get it then. With a vague shrug, he went out, shutting the door behind him.
It was my first victory. That tray gave me one more chance of Netti.
And my feeble stratagem worked. A few minutes later there was a tap on the door and Netti slipped into the room. Her white maid’s cap was slightly askew on the peroxide hair. In spite of the formal, frilly uniform there was a distinctly blowsy air to her plump figure. Over her left hand and forearm hung a napkin as if she were trying to caricature a headwaiter.
“Jan forgot your tray, Mr. Friend. They sent me up.”
She glanced over her shoulder and then moved conspiratorially to the bed. The gums stretched in an intimate, rather leering smile which, at that moment, was far more welcome to me than Selena’s most alluring blandishments.
Suddenly she whipped the napkin from her left hand, revealing a jigger of liquor clutched between thumb and first finger. She held it out to me.
“Gin,” she said. “Cook sent me to the liquor closet. Had a snort myself. Then you was the first I thought of.”
“Thank you, Netti.”
I took the jigger. She stood watching me with the satisfaction of a mother robin who had just presented her baby with a particularly juicy worm.
The Friends didn’t want me to drink. I was pretty sure of that. I was pretty sure too that even they could not be devious enough to have sent Netti up to tempt me to do something against their own interests. I felt I had Netti summed up then. She was a rummy and she thought I was. The bond between two rummies is a very real one—and exploitable.
Puzzle for Fiends Page 7
