Pin

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Maybe,” she said from the top of the stairs, “maybe they know something already … an accident, maybe, or something …”

  “We’ll see.” I picked up the receiver and dialed the operator, asking her to connect me with the police. After a brief moment, I heard a tired, very bored voice.

  “Yes, this is the police,” he said. Ursula stood in the living-room doorway, holding on to the wall.

  “My sister had a date with her boyfriend tonight,” I began. “He never showed and he never called. She’s very worried about him and we figured we had better call.”

  The policeman sounded annoyed at times. His questions were very matter-of-fact in tone. I told Ursula he sounded like an answering service. I gave him a description of Stan (I emphasized his attractive physical qualities only because Ursula was standing right nearby), told him where he lived, his aunt’s name, and for some reason, threw in the information about his mother’s death.

  “Was that a ‘70 or ’71 Chevelle, Ursula?” I asked. I knew her ignorance of cars.

  “I don’t know.” She bit her lower lip.

  “I think it’s a ’71,” I said. It was a ’70, but I figured telling him it was a ‘71 might delay the finding of the car even more.

  “Ask him if there have been any accidents,” Ursula prompted.

  “Have there been any accidents involving cars or persons that fit that description?” He told me no and I shook my head at Ursula. She took a deep breath of relief. The policeman promised to get back to us and I finally hung up. “There’s nothing more we can do now,” I said, “except get some sleep.” I didn’t wait for her to say anything further. I walked past her and back upstairs to my room.

  I expected that she would come into my room at this point. Ursula could never stand being alone when she was very afraid or very unhappy. Her dependence upon me at times like that has always filled me with pride. I suppose it has also aged me beyond my years. It has made me more of a father figure in some ways. I have always tried to provide for Ursula’s needs; and I must say that up until her involvement with Stan, she was always very appreciative about it and eager to do what she could for me. When two people have such a good relationship, you really can’t blame one of them for reacting violently when the relationship is threatened. Those were Pin’s exact thoughts on the subject and those thoughts had a most profound influence on me.

  I wasn’t surprised to turn over and find Ursula standing beside my bed. She didn’t speak. She just looked at me and then began to pace back and forth. I folded my arms behind my head and lay there watching her. There was something pathetic and yet humorous about it. I suppose I had a dumb smile on my face because when she turned around and looked at me, she seemed confused.

  “Leon,” she said, “I feel very frightened. I keep thinking the phone’s going to ring and it’s going to be the police to tell us of a terrible accident. It’s going to be just like the phone call we got about mother and the doctor.”

  “You’re talking yourself into something, Ursula.”

  “I can’t help it. I can’t think of anything else.”

  “You ought to try to get some sleep.”

  “I could never do it. I’m even afraid to close my eyes. All I’ll see is Stan’s body mangled in an auto wreck.”

  “What a gruesome imagination.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Stop saying you can’t help it, damnit.” I sat up.

  “I’m sorry.” She stopped pacing and sat at the edge of my bed. She was staring across the room at some of Pin’s things I had brought up. “Leon?”

  “What?”

  “Why would you want to crowd Pin in here with you when he has a room all to himself?”

  “We’ve been through this before.”

  “I know,” she said in her most ingratiating tone of voice, “but what I’m saying is true, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t mind sharing my room. I don’t need all this space.”

  “But just think of the effort—bringing him up, taking him down, bringing him up …”

  “I don’t mind the effort,” I said and rubbed my lower legs. My body began taking on that creeping numbness again. It traveled up my legs, reaching my hips quickly. I had the craziest feeling, just as though I had stepped into ice water and I was going down deeper and deeper. I must have looked frightened too, because Ursula’s expression changed immediately.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just my legs fell asleep. It’s nothing,” I said, lying back.

  “Maybe you should see a doctor, Leon. You’ve had that problem before.”

  “I’m just very tired, that’s all. It’s all right,” I added sharply. “Let’s go to sleep.”

  “OK,” she said. She sounded very small and frightened. I really felt sorry for snapping at her. I took her hand and held it for an instant. She smiled, leaned down, and kissed me on the forehead. Then I turned toward the wall and rushed at sleep, desperate for the sanctuary within it.

  Chapter 17

  I AWOKE VERY SLOWLY THE NEXT MORNING AND HAD A great sense of confusion. My sleep had been an extraordinarily deep one, and coming out of it was more gradual than usual. After a moment or two, I remembered that Ursula had spent the night with me, but when I turned over, she was gone. I listened for her for a while because it was very silent in the house. That surprised me. I sat up, wiping my eyes and rubbing my cheeks to bring some sensation of life to my face. Then I looked out the window and clapped my hands in joy. It was snowing. It was a light snow, with tiny, tiny flakes, the kind of a snow that goes on for quite a while. Things couldn’t have worked out better. I was eager to get up and get started. I listened for Ursula again, heard nothing, and then got up and quickly slipped on my pants. Her clothes from the day before were still lying on the chair in the corner. I went to the bathroom and washed in warm water. The thought of cold water on my face made me uneasy for some reason that morning.

  When I finished dressing and went downstairs, I found Ursula sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the clock on the wall. She had a cup of coffee before her but apparently had prepared nothing else. I stood there in the doorway, looking at her for a moment without speaking. She was dressed for work and her hair was combed back tightly and pinned behind her head. She was so still and neat looking that I was reminded of a manikin in a department store window. Apparently she had gotten up very early because it was only seven-thirty now.

  “Is that all you’re having for breakfast?” I asked, moving to get myself a cup of coffee too.

  “I’ve been sitting here since seven staring at the clock. I haven’t the nerve to call his aunt.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that. The poor old lady’s probably fast asleep at this hour.”

  “I’m not afraid of waking her. I’m afraid of what she’ll tell me. I don’t want to hear her say that Stan’s not there and hasn’t been all night, or Stan’s been in an accident,” she said. She spoke in a dry monotone, stiff-necked, staring ahead. I felt she was really in a bad way.

  “If he had returned, don’t you think he would have called?”

  “Yes, but I still have to call her.”

  “So call her.” I took out some eggs and set up the poacher. “Want some eggs?”

  “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “OK,” I sang out and began making myself some breakfast. I got a tough day’s work ahead of me, I thought, better have a good meal. Ursula got up and approached the phone. She stared down at it dramatically. I had to look away. I listened to her dial, slowly, carefully. I could hear the phone ringing and ringing. She had the receiver a little away from her ear. Then I heard Stan’s aunt.

  “Good morning,” Ursula said. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” That was all she said. Stan’s aunt did the rest of the talking. Ursula listened and listened. Finally she said, “Thank you. Yes, I’ll keep in touch.”

  I turned and looked at her quickly and then went back to the poacher. She went back to the table and sat d
own.

  “OK,” I said. “So what did she say?”

  “What I expected. She called the police too. She called early this morning. There’s been no trace of him. Leon, what do you suppose could possibly have happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. Maybe he just got tired of the whole scene—you, me, his aunt, his wooden leg—and split. Maybe this is an aftereffect of his war experience. I don’t know. How should I know?”

  “Well,” she said, getting up reluctantly, “I guess I’ll go to work and try to keep busy in the library. It might help me to keep some sanity today. If you should hear …”

  “Don’t even say it. The moment I heard, I would call you.” She started out. “Ursula,” I called as I set my eggs on the table, “you’re going to have to face the possibility that he just pulled out.”

  “Maybe,” she said. I was encouraged. At least she was finally admitting to the possibility. “I’ll call at lunchtime anyway,” she added and left.

  I had a great appetite. When I looked out the window, I saw that the snow had gotten harder and bigger. Things looked perfect. After I cleared the table, I went to Pin’s door and unlocked it slowly. There he was, sitting vigil over Stan’s lifeless body. The room was dark because the shades on the windows were drawn and the gray, overcast, snowy sky sent little light through them. Pin didn’t even notice my entrance because he was so involved with Stan. I cleared my throat.

  “Everything all right?” I asked.

  “Perfect.”

  “You don’t know how right you are. If you could just peek out that window there, you’d see a made-to-order snow.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  “I’ll go get the sack. The earlier I do this, the better. More snow to cover my tracks.”

  “Right. You look sharp this morning. How’s Ursula taking it?”

  “As expected. She’ll snap out of it with time. Already I’ve gotten her to admit to the possibility of his having run off.”

  “That’s wonderful. OK, go to it,” he said, and I went out to the garage to get the sack and pick. It wasn’t too difficult to get Stan into the sack. All I had to do was slip it over his legs and then stand him up for a moment. His body dropped down like a cast-iron weight. I didn’t look at him much because his face was so ghastly to me. But when I lifted him, I had the feeling I was lifting a thing instead of a man. For a moment I felt nauseated and dizzy. I had to set the sack down and turn away. Pin didn’t say anything. He knew what I was going through. After a few deep breaths, I was myself again.

  “I’ll take him out the back door.”

  “Of course. He’s heavy. It’ll be rough going. The pond’s quite a distance.”

  “I know. Once I get through the open backyard, I’ll drag him some.”

  “When you return, we’ll have a drink together and celebrate.”

  “Right. Here I go,” I said. I knelt down and grasped the sack around the middle. He was very heavy. With great strain, I lifted him onto my shoulder and straightened up. Then I reached out and took the pick. It was difficult to navigate myself through the door and past all the living-room furniture as I went through the house to get to the back door. A few times I banged into things, and once I nearly lost balance and fell over with him. By the time I had gotten out the back door, I was already puffing madly.

  “Christ,” I muttered to myself, “how the hell am I going to make it? I’ve got to make it,” I answered. The snow was very heavy now and there was a strong wind that carried the flakes right into my face. My feet sunk about three inches into the hard crust that was there before, making each step a great effort.

  The woods were about twenty-five yards behind the house. I had to stop and rest about midway. That was a mistake, though, because it took an even greater effort to lift him back up and over my shoulder once I started again. Also, the sack made a large impression in the snow. I had completely overlooked the fact that it would, and I chastised myself for being so careless. I didn’t tell Pin about that when I returned because I was totally ashamed of my own stupidity. As I stood there catching my breath, I stared at the old set of swings that had long since rusted. Ursula and I had spent little time on them. They’re the kind of playground toy you enjoy more with friends around, and since we had so few friends, we hardly used them.

  The snow was getting down the back of my coat collar. I had to tighten the neck button, but that made it harder to breathe. I was struggling for breath with Stan’s body on my shoulder, so I unbuttoned it again and let the damn snow penetrate my clothing. The snow was falling so hard that I could barely see where I was going. Most of the time I walked with my eyes closed, taking big, ponderous steps. I used the pick to brace myself from time to time, and that also made an impression in the snow. I comforted myself by thinking that no one would ever figure out what all these impressions were anyway. Also, the way the snow was falling, it would all be nearly covered in a matter of hours.

  I was grateful when I finally reached the woods. The cover of trees made the blinding snow less annoying. I stopped again, lowering the sack to the ground, this time confident that the woods would serve well to hide the traces. I stood there for a few moments, trying to catch my breath and prepare myself for the distance I had yet to cover. Looking around the woods, I was reminded of times when I was young and I used to come into the forest to be alone and imagine my own little world. I could still hear Ursula calling me afternoons, trying to get me to come out and play with her. I would stand behind a tree and peer out at her straining to be heard. Her eyes closed and her face contorted under the great effort as she screamed my name over and over. Ursula always hated to play alone, no matter how many toys my parents bought her. She needed me to help her imagine and create.

  I thought I saw a curtain move in a window facing the back of the house. It was probably Pin checking to see how far I had gone. I knelt down again and struggled to get the sack over my shoulder. When I stood up, I almost toppled backward and had to cling to the side of a tree for balance. Then I began to plod through the forest, following a pathway I knew well. I had to rest again before I reached the pond. And when I started once more, I forgot to take the pick and had to drop the sack and go back for it. I bawled myself out for my own carelessness and stupidity. I spoke aloud. In fact, I was talking aloud most of the time. I held a whole conversation with Stan in the sack.

  “We’re almost there,” I told him. “You’ll like the old pond. Ursula and I spent many afternoons there. I caught a fish there once, with just a hook and string and a piece of bread. I threw the fish back in because Ursula felt sorry for it. That’s the way Ursula is, even today. She can’t stand to see the smallest creature hurt.

  “I want you to know,” I went on, “that I have nothing personal against you. Pin and I both believe that, under different circumstances, we might have liked you a lot; but you must understand, we’re doing this for Ursula, and you care for her too. Not as much as we do, I know.”

  Then I felt weak for having explained and justified my actions to a corpse, so I shut up for a while. I plodded on and on. The steps grew more and more difficult and at one point along the way, I actually feared I wouldn’t make it. I wondered if I would be able to just leave the sack in the forest and come back the next day and complete the job. But then I thought how much that would displease Pin, and there were the new footprints to consider.

  “You’ve got to do it,” I told myself. “You’ve got to and that’s that.”

  Finally I reached the pond. It was completely frozen over, of course. I set the sack down nearby and walked out on the ice. It was much thicker than I expected. Nevertheless, it would be much easier to break an opening in the ice than dig a grave in the frozen earth. It was the best way. I began to chop. It took a great deal of effort and I had to stop many times to rest. The snow was coming down like mad now. I couldn’t see much farther than the woods. After I broke through the section below me, I chipped away at it carefully. Gradually the openi
ng grew larger and larger. I measured the diameter with the pick until I felt it was big enough to take the sack. Then I went back to the shore and dragged the sack out on the ice. These last few steps seemed to be the most difficult, despite the fact that I was pulling it over the ice.

  When I got it to the hole, I felt along Stan’s body. I figured I’d have an easier time of it if I could straighten him out some when I lifted him. So I grasped him around the waist and stood him up that way. At that point the damnedest thing happened. The strings came loose at the top of the sack and his head popped right out of it. I was standing there looking right into his face. It was almost as if he had come back to life. All the while I treated him as more of a thing than a person, and now his head popped out to face me. I did a dumb thing then. I dropped him and he folded up, half in and half out of the sack. For a moment I grew very nauseous and dizzy. I had to go back to the land and sit on an old log to catch my breath. I looked out at him. A hand had come out and was resting on the ice, palm down. I made up my mind never to tell Pin about this part.

  Slowly I got up and moved back out to the hole. I stuffed his body back into the sack and tied it very tight. Pin told me to twist the pick into the rope so that the weight of the tool would help sink and keep down the sack. The pond was at least eight feet deep so that was no problem about anyone finding him in the springtime. The water was usually dirty anyway. A kind of black humus ran in with the fresh water and gave it an inky appearance, although I imagined the water was good enough to drink.

  “In a way I suppose I’m polluting,” I said, “but it has to be done.” I laughed and felt a little better. When the pick was secured, I lowered the sack into the opening. The water took to it immediately, making it a heavier and heavier weight. It sank slowly as I let it slip through my fingers. When I felt his head between my hands, I held it tightly for a moment and then I let go and the whole sack disappeared. I stood there looking down at the opening in the pond for a while and then I started back. I broke a branch and used it to cover over some of the footprints, just like I saw characters do in the movies.