“No!” Matt howls across the groans and mutters of his companions. “No, I won’t you crazy summabitch. No, listen Anselmo, you call your boss. I gotta right you should call your boss!”
“Absolutely,” Ellis concurs. “Pasteur treatment is no use if you’re bitten on the head, and rabies is one of the worst ways to die there is.”
“Go home now, then,” I retort. “Or if you have bad luck—though really, the odds are much in your favor—if you are unlucky, you may have the tablets I always carry against that kind of need.”
“My religion forbids. Call Mr. Haverner, Anselmo.” Meanwhile Larry and Orestes, by threats as much as anything else, have somewhat calmed Matt. Anselmo speaks rapid-fire Spanish into the set. I hear the dry response: “Es satisfactorio.” What gloating is Haverner’s? Or does he, in horrible pathos, mourn that he is too old to climb among us?
Matt rages anew and tries to attack me. He is stopped by Anselmo, who decks him in about three motions which are hard to see through the murk growing beneath the mighty tree. He sobs where he lies. Well, well, he managed when solid rock was beneath him, but my guess is he has an acrophobia which could not endure swaying in the wind a hundred feet up.
Me, I can’t wait. “Come if you dare,” I say, and swarm aloft.
One by one they follow, with more or less alacrity, more or less skill; they rise, hauled on the hook of Haverner’s million.
Except Matt. He tries, can’t do it, worms his way back to earth and ululates vileness.
I pay him no heed. His noise is soon lost in the immense voice of the leaves. Picking my way, branch by whipping branch, muscles alive as once they lived beneath Tommy’s fair smooth skin, I see sky overhead through the green darkness that encloses me. I see the first of the evening bats. Golden, the last sunlight shines through his wings.
INTERVAL FIVE
Everyone slept late the following day, except Byron. He, who had avoided a turbulent supper table, set his alarm clock in order that a couple of Tanoan youths might take him fishing as arranged earlier. Their boat cast off at dawn. Calm had descended upon the Island, cloudless clarity, dazzling brightness, slow rise of temperature and humidity.
Larry got breakfast about ten and established himself, his pipe, and a copy of Eothen he had found, in a deck chair at the tree-shaded east end of the patio. Flowerbeds blazed to his left. The lawn rolled solid green until it ended in the complex hues and shapes of wild brush. Far downward, glimpsed between several feathery-topped coyal palms, lay a white gleam of sea.
He was chuckling somewhat wistfully over Kinglake’s reminiscences when a slither of sandals, the blotting out of sun flecks on flagstones, caught his attention. Glancing up, he saw Julia. His look remained. She was in her bikini, had obviously been in the lagoon. Drops still gleamed on bosom, flanks, thighs. “Hi,” she said. “Lazy bird. You should’ve come with me.”
“I would’ve, if I’d known,” He half rose. She waved him back and drew another chair alongside his on the right. “But after yesterday,” he said, “frankly, I figure I rate some loafing.”
“Oh, I intend to do likewise.” She lowered herself. “Refreshment first, however.”
“Haven’t you eaten? I’ll holler for service.”
“No, I’m not hungry yet, thanks. A cup of coffee was ample. I’ll have brunch.” She removed her bathing cap (unlike Gayle, she kept her armpits smooth) and shook down the dark-ruddy hair. “It’s taking me a while to get my appetite back—the swim helped me more than any food—after yesterday.”
“That was rough, for sure.” Larry held eyes on her, drew breath, and blurted, “You’ve changed your opinion of him, then?”
She nodded. “Yes. He seemed, he was on the surface, pleasant, cultured, amusing. But what he put us to, well, I doubt his sanity. I honestly do.”
He shrugged. “We survived. Two dropped out, but they weren’t otherwise hurt. The game’s getting stiff.”
“You wouldn’t have let it go that far. You didn’t.”
“I aim to hang on, Julia.”
“Of course. Me too. But we … Let’s say I hope to play my turn your way.” She reached for the book on his lap. “What’re you reading?” When she raised it, her knuckles brushed his legs, which were in shorts. “Oh, yes.”
“Found it in the library here,” he said. “Fun.”
“The whole way through, Larry. I expect a sailor like you will get a real kick out of, oh, what happened in the storm off Cyprus. Have you come to that part?”
“No, I’m uh, still in Servia. Serbia? No, they—”
“Ah, yes. That wonderful line—let me see—” She leafed through the pages. “Here. ‘Endless and endless now on either side the tall oaks closed in their ranks, and stood gloomily lowering over us, as grim as an army of giants with a thousand years’ pay in arrear.’ ” They laughed together.
She returned the book, caught his hand, and said, “Larry, you’re my kind of people. Or better. You know, I never have thanked you properly for what you did—or didn’t do—that day when you watched me in the surf.”
“Aw-w-w,” he began, and shifted to: “Well, a lady in distress. In a need worse’n mine, I must agree.”
She sighed. “It’s a gruesome situation, isn’t it? Those who ought to be friends, ought to help each other, forced to fight and connive and even make danger of death.”
He laid down his pipe and leaned nearer her till the scent of her locks reached him through all honeysuckle odors. “Right. Damn it, I am glad my turn’s past and nobody hurt. Your shoulder is okay now, isn’t it?”
“Oh, a scratch, just a scratch, Larry. The bruise you see is incidental. I bruise easy but I heal quick, to make a startlingly original remark.”
“Good. I’m glad.” His free hand stroked hers.
“Not everybody has to be corrupted, do they?” she asked. “Need is not the same as greed.”
He fell quiet and alert.
“We … some of us … might settle for less than the entire prize,” Julia said. “If we don’t have to have the full amount, why compromise our honor?”
“M-m-m. Yeah, why?”
Julia disengaged herself from him with utmost gentleness, lay back, looked for a time across land and sea, and finally murmured, “Such a gorgeous world. Such fantastic beauty. So much to do out there, know, discover, love.”
“M-hm.”
“That’s all I want. To keep my Kilby in this world.” She turned back toward him. “And you, am I right, you want to live in the whole world yourself, fully, a free man.”
He nodded.
“I’d like to hear more about your plans,” Julia said. “What few hints I’ve gotten sound fabulous.” She straightened. “Tell you what,” she continued eagerly, “let’s dress for a walk, have ’em pack us a lunch, and—if you don’t find the associations too bad—I know a real little paradise above the Iron Cliffs.”
Orestes chose to read on the veranda.
Ellis and Matt exchanged a few words in a corner. Subsequently, at different times, they announced they wanted a stroll and left in different directions. They returned likewise, a couple of hours later.
Gayle woke in the early afternoon, came downstairs, inquired about Larry, fled in tears when a servant informed her that Mr. Rance and Mrs. Petrie had long since departed.
Byron arrived in high spirits. He had caught a tarpon. Rather than sit in the living room after his shower, he took a gin and tonic through the north door and found Orestes absorbed in his book.
“Buenas tardes,” he greeted.
Orestes smiled. “You wish to join me,” he answered. “Do.”
Byron sat down beside him. “Care for a drink?”
“No, thank you, I will wait until evening.”
Byron studied the smooth swart countenance. It gave him nothing in return but that faint, changeless good humor it had carried this whole day. “I hope,” Byron said, “you aren’t too furious with me.”
“No. You took the same risks. It is tr
ue I am happy there were no casualties and that I, in particular, was not eliminated.”
“What a strange feeling,” Byron mused. “Having that experience—not the action per se, that wasn’t so special, but the people, my influence on their lives—having that behind me.”
“Did you look forward to your turn?”
“As a sportsman. Believe me, not because I wanted, ever wanted power over anybody else. In fact, that’s the strangeness, that I have had the power, that I have changed lives.”
“We each do that, simply by existing, no?” Orestes lit a Santa Anan cigarette. Sulfurous yellow drifted on the simmering air. “It is the fallacy in Buddhism that one can escape responsibility by staying passive. The question is, do we influence for good or evil?”
Byron frowned. “No doubt you’d rate me under evil.”
“Not your intentions. And to speak the truth, I enjoyed your challenge. No, I think I like you, Byron Shaddock, and regret the waste of a potential in you which may be very great. Let us talk, if you wish. I am curious about your milieu, and you perhaps would be interested if I took you behind some of the clichés about mine.”
“Thanks. Yes. I would be.” Byron drank. The ice tinkled in his glass; the chains of the porch swing creaked. A servant padded by, immaculately white-clothed, dark-skinned and blue-eyed.
“And I could take you behind a cliché or three,” Byron offered.
“Let us not argue politics,” Orestes said. “Let us get acquainted as two men.”
“Okay.” Byron plunged. “How do you feel about your turn tomorrow?”
Orestes chortled deep in his throat. “That would be telling.” His mirth drew a disconcerted stare, and he proceeded quickly. “We might begin, if you want, by you describing what you have seen of my country.”
Larry and Julia returned when the sun touched the hills. They were dusty, sweaty, and merry. On the steps she released his hand. “I’ve got to beat everyone else to a bath,” she said. “If I stood around indoors, smelling myself, I’d keel over.”
“I wouldn’t,” he answered. “If I were smelling you, that is.”
She grinned at him. He stood where he was and looked till she was gone.
Gayle came around the hog plum tree. “Larry!” she exclaimed. Her voice was still scratchy from last night’s sobbing in his arms. The swollenness had not quite left her eyes nor the blotchiness her cheeks.
“Oh. Hello,” he said. “Feel better?”
She stopped before him and stared through the long shadows. “Why didn’t you call me when you got up, honey?”
“I figured you needed the sleep.”
She tugged at his sleeve. “Come onto the patio. Let’s sit and talk. I’ve missed you so, all day.”
He resisted. “I have to go wash.”
She forced a moue and a finger-wagging. “Oh; poof! I know you. What you want first is beer.”
He gave in and let her draw him around the house onto the flagstones. Light dwelt tawny on grass, among leaves; it seemed to fill the air, which had relaxed into warmth. A hummingbird was busy at a nearby jasmine bush; a mockingbird made sweetness against the remote yells of homebound parrots, the muted noise of surf.
“Sit.” She pushed him into a chair. “I’ll get your brew.”
She pattered off. He scowled, drew forth his pipe, stuffed and kindled it. She came back with remarkable promptitude, bearing two frosty Pilsner glasses on a tray. “The first’ll go down fast,” she said in uncertain gaiety, gave it to him, put its mate on the deck at his left and herself into the seat on the right which had been Julia’s. Her thighs squashed out from her shorts.
“Thanks,” he grunted.
One hand sought his arm. Being occupied, neither of his made response. “I’m sorry you didn’t call me,” she said. “Maybe I did need the sleep. But I need you worse, Larry.”
“I felt restless.” He looked into foam, gulped half the glassful, breathed deeply. “Aaah! That does go good.”
“Can’t take much beer along on a hike, can you? Where’d you go, … you and Julia?”
His head gestured. “To the Bight.”
She winced. “There? I’ll never be able to again.”
“I won’t ask you to.”
Silence followed until she stirred and said, “Okay. I was beaten. I’m out of the game officially. But that Byron—he’s got to be out of his gourd, don’t you think? It wasn’t just what he did, it was how. It’s awful knowing anybody can be like that. That’s how come I, well, I guess I panicked a little afterward.”
“I thought I soothed you.” Nothing else had happened between them last night in her room. His consolations, spoken and stroked, had been mechanical.
“But Larry.” She rolled onto her left hip so that her right hand also could seize him. “You don’t understand. When you came back and I learned what he’d made you do, that’s what threw me. I could’ve lost you.”
“By the time you learned, we were home safe,” he snapped. “But—”
“Look. Competition’s escalating. We knew it would. Please belay telling me over and over. I’m tired.”
“We’re partners, Larry.” She clutched.
He put the pipe between his teeth and pried her grasp loose. “Ouch,” he said. “Watch those fingernails.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I go back on the line. God knows what Orestes is planning.”
“I can help you, though! We agreed! I can help you from the sidelines! Just tell me what to do!”
“We talked about the possibility,” he said. “Nothing else.”
“We agreed! You swore—”
“I didn’t swear one mucking thing except that we’d see if we could maybe help each other, and make a fair split if things happened to work out that way.” The words rapped from him. His eyes glittered at her. “Well, how the devil can I tell what tomorrow will be like?”
She cowered in her seat. One arm lifted as he rose. “Larry, you can’t, you promised, you—”
“Pipe down. I let you off once, didn’t I? Maybe we can still work together somehow, but I’m finished carrying freeloaders, you savvy? And I’m tired. I’ve got to get rested. You leave me be tonight.”
He strode from her and the beer she had fetched him.
“Well, well,” Haverner murmured. “A full company at supper, eh? How delightful.”
He made no comment on the changed seating arrangements. Julia remained on his left, but she had entered early on Larry’s arm, he thus taking Byron’s former place. Gayle had beaten Ellis to his usual chair at the foot of the table. After an exchange of glances, the latter settled at Haverner’s right, Byron beyond him. Orestes and Matt were as before. They appeared the most self-possessed, the Santa Anan affable and unreadable, the Chicagoan sober and watchful. Byron’s ongoing exhilaration made the wineglass shake in his grasp; Ellis’s mouth occasionally twitched sideways; Julia and Larry kept joining looks, and their cheer of the day had yielded to a stiffness; Gayle, who had drunk a considerable amount in a corner by herself during cocktails, stared muzzily now at her plate, now at the prints hung on the north wall.
“I must confess, however, I found yesterday evening’s conversation more animated,” Haverner said.
“Damn Byron Shaddock,” the New Englander laughed in a high voice. “Damn everybody who won’t damn Byron Shaddock. Damn everybody who won’t sit up all night damning Byron Shaddock.”
Matt’s fingers closed around the silver of a knife.
“There was bitterness, for sure,” Ellis said.
“Me, I kept still,” Larry told Byron.
“And I …” Julia waited till he must look at her before she smiled and finished. “I was not ungrateful for being shown something of what to expect from you. And from the remaining players, of course. ”
“How about that, huh, Orestes?” Matt said. “C’mon, be a sport. What you got lined up?”
“Wait and see,” was the mild reply. “I pr
omise you this, it will be a quiet game.”
Gooseflesh stood forth on Julia’s bare shoulders. Gayle giggled.
Following the meal, the silence of which had been filled mainly by Larry’s and Byron’s carefully-not-overdone tales of past experiences in odd corners of life, she was first to leave. “Brandy and soda over ice,” she told the butler. “Easy on the soda. And the ice.” She cast herself into a corner armchair and groped on the end table for a cigarette.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Thayer.” Ellis had appeared. He detained the butler. “Could I suggest coffee instead?”
“What’s this?” Gayle flared. “Who do you think you are?”
“A middle-aged man who’s been through a wringer,” Ellis answered. To the butler: “Coffee for two.” Getting no spoken contradiction from her, the Islandman went off. Ellis took one of the chairs that had been used in her attempt, drew it close and said, “I’ve been hoping for a chance to let you know how sorry I am you didn’t make it.”
“You? Sorry?” Gayle threw back her head and stretched her lips. “That’s a laugh!”
“We disagree about a lot of things, true, but that doesn’t mean I can’t sympathize. Do you mind if I smoke a cigar?”
“No, I guess not.” Defiance: “But you mind what I smoke.”
“Do I?” Ellis raised his sparse brows. “Not necessarily. You young people jump to so many conclusions about my generation. Ever stop to think you could be wrong about some of us at least?”
“Well.” Gayle regarded him for a while. “Yeah, maybe I do want coffee.”
They chatted about neutral matters, places they had mutually visited, chances of the baseball teams, for a pair of cups each. It went more easily than might have been expected. Elsewhere in the room Byron and Matt had found a television program in common, a suspense movie. No others were present.
“Maybe we—you—better turn in soon,” Gayle said at length. “Orestes wants you here at seven, doesn’t he?”
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