Neighbors Page 7

  Keese pointed his lantern beam into the hollow. Before the light got far it was absorbed by the darkness, as water by dry sand. He turned it towards his face and saw the light was jaundiced: the battery was petering out as he watched. He struck it sharply, either to stimulate or to punish it, and he was all but blinded by the sudden radiance. He dropped the lantern.

  "Sorry!" It tumbled down the path. "Damn!" He pursued it, but soon he no longer had a guide: the light went out. Suddenly he was impelled from behind. In his involuntary haste he hooked his foot in an arch of root which fate had cunningly thrown across the path to impede fat men who desperately went after dropped lanterns: the remainder of this arrangement comprised clusters of sharp stones at just the places where such a man, falling, would deploy his hand to catch himself.

  He had been pushed. That Harry should do such a thing in a dark night and upon a descending dirt path seemed criminal: there was nothing funny about it. He found the lantern and pressed the switch. The light came on, perhaps even a bit stronger than before its tumble. He turned and played the light on Harry, but was careful to keep it from the man's eyes: pretty decent in view of what had happened.

  "That was a rotten thing to do," he said. "I could have been killed in the dark."

  "Better be more careful from now on," brazenly said Harry. The bush of hair which clogged the vee of his knitted shirt was offensive to Keese.

  "Push me again," said Keese, "and you'll be sorry."

  "Huh?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "Search me!" Harry almost wailed. He was truly shameless.

  "I'll show you, then," Keese said, and bulky as he was he found enough room on the beaten part of the path to stand aside. He then gestured, with sweeping hand, for Harry to precede him and gave him plenty of light. When Harry gullibly obeyed, Keese struck him in the small of the back. The larger man lost control of his stride and went hurtling down the path. Suddenly, horribly, he vanished from view, as if a precipice had opened before him and he had gone helplessly over its edge. A brief and terrible cry was heard, which faded away below Keese's feet, and then the utter silence of vegetable nature on a windless night.

  As if destroying Harry's car had not been enough, he had now killed the man! It was new in Keese's experience (of almost fifty years) for things to get so completely out-of-hand. His instinct was to turn and escape, hasten to the city, buy a ticket to some remote part of the world, and hide out there forever, living by the proceeds of some depraved trade in flesh or drugs. He hoped to diminish his horror by conceiving such a fantasy of romantic farce. What he did in practice, however, was to trudge carefully down the path, which did become progressively more steep, but when he reached the point at which Harry had apparently fallen he saw no precipice whatever. In fact, just here the hill gave way to level bottom land. He was all the way down, as surely was the unhurt Harry, who however could not be seen.

  "Harry! Better stay close to the light," Keese cried. He was pleased to have done nothing to betray his initial belief that he had killed his neighbor.

  He heard no response to this advice. He took a few paces, sank into a soft surface, and felt his shoes fill with water: after the recent rains this place was a marsh. He played his light about. Harry's automobile could not have gone far then, surely not as far as the creek, rolling in this resistant medium. It was probably embedded to the axles somewhere close by: some job for even a wrecker to pull it out of this glue. Keese's shoes made great sucking sounds as he plodded about. He was already soaked. He might as well do what he had come for—but that had been to prove to Harry that his car was down here, and where was Harry?

  That question was answered by a savage blow to Keese's nape, the rabbit punch of legend but rarely of actual experience, at least not when it was delivered with force, as now. For an instant Keese felt as though he had been beheaded, and then he fell prone into the swamp. His nose and mouth were in slime: the blow had surely paralyzed him; he would drown miserably.

  He found, when he tried to get up, that the prognosis was inaccurate. He was not paralyzed, but someone's large foot was planted in the middle of his back. Owing to this impediment he could not rise. He could, by lifting his chin, raise his nostrils high enough above the mire to breathe, but it was painful, owing to his sore back-of-neck. He now greatly regretted not having killed Harry. It was clear that Harry was not beyond killing him. Obviously the man was mad, to take this sort of reprisal. He must appeal to him with some materialistic argument.

  "Don't you want to look for your car?" he asked, with great difficulty.

  In answer Harry leaned down, put his hand against the back of Keese's head, and pushed his face into the slime. But when Keese was once again certain he was a goner Harry took away both hand and foot, and next, surprising as always, he helped Keese get up.

  The lantern was in the mire, but Harry seemed to have adequate night vision. To Keese he was a tall murky image, and Keese hated him so much in that indistinct form that he could not imagine seeing him in the light without assaulting him murderously. But having felt the ruthless strength of his foot and his hand, he feared him as well, and he determined to attack him only when Harry was off guard.

  Meanwhile Keese had a facade of muck. Luckily he was wearing old corduroys and a sports shirt. Popping the clothes in the washer and himself in the shower would be simple enough, and neither had sustained permanent damage from the abuse. He tried to make the best of the situation, because he feared what he might do if he were forced to see the worst before he had the proper opportunity to pay Harry back.

  "I found my car," Harry said now. "It's about thirty feet to the right, and sunk halfway up the hubcaps."

  It could have been far worse.

  Harry added: "You really did a job on me."

  But Keese was not displeased to hear this, because it made some sense of Harry's most recent assault on him: revenge for wrecking the car. Not even being pressed face down in the swamp was the equivalent in damage. Could he expect more vengeance until Harry considered the debt to be paid in full?

  "It was certainly an accident," said he, "but what matters is only the result, I know that."

  "No," said Harry, "the motive is all that ever matters, Earl. Anything material can be replaced." Without warning he became sententious: "By golly, if we can't get along on this planet as it sails through cold space, then we deserve to lose it."

  Keese was not sure whether he should be taken in by this sentiment, which could be rank charlatanism. "I guess that's what we came for then," he said, with reference to the car. "We'd better go on back up and call the wrecker." He looked about for the lantern, but it had now either gone out or sunk so deeply into the mire that its beam could not be detected. They could anyway see well enough to get home.

  He stepped aside when they reached the bottom of the path, hoping Harry would go on ahead, but Harry stopped too.

  "Go on, Earl," said he. "I don't want to be tormented from behind."

  Which was exactly Keese's own fear! Well, perhaps having said that, Harry would himself refrain from offending. But this, of course, proved too much to expect, and at the steepest stretch of the ascent, when Keese was virtually on all fours, Harry (who had apparently had no difficulty in climbing) equipped himself with a slender stick and punished Keese's buttocks with it. This did serve to quicken Keese's climb, and when the butt of the stick came in for a dead-center goose in the final six feet, he scrambled up to the yard with dispatch. And turned there, thinking he would be admirably positioned to give Harry a savage shoe in the crotch as he came into range, but he discarded this plan after projecting Harry's subsequent fall: Keese most certainly did not want to descend to that swamp again.

  Therefore he allowed Harry to emerge without damage. He was thanked by Harry's saying, when he reached his side: "I think I'd better sue you, Earl."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I think I'll have to."

  Keese said: "I don't believe we have to bring the law into thi
s, do we? I admit I was at fault, and my insurance company will simply pay off."

  "But what kind of insurance would cover this?" asked Harry. "Certainly not the policy on your car: you were on foot. And hardly your homeowner's policy: you found the car in front of my house, and you willfully pushed it down the road past yours: your own property wasn't involved at all."

  Keese felt his blood turn against him, pounding in his ears and refusing to heat his limbs. "Look, Harry, can't we make some kind of arrangement here?"

  What he had to explain was a bit ticklish, and before he could begin, Harry spoke. "What sum did you have in mind? The car was in perfect shape."

  Keese laughed politely. "What I actually meant was—well, could we let your insurance cover it? Here's what I mean: say it was stolen and the thieves drove down the hill, lost control, and it went into the swamp?"

  "Fair enough," said Harry, "but then you'd have to identify yourself as the thief, wouldn't you? And would you really want to do that?"

  "No, no. The idea would be that the car thieves, young kids, ran away before they could be identified."

  Keese's eyes had now become sufficiently adjusted to the darkness so that he could see Harry's change of expression: a grimace of puzzlement.

  "You didn't mention these kids before. If they did it, then why did you take the blame? To make the neighborhood seem more respectable? But can't you see that I'd find out anyway soon enough?"

  Keese said: "No, please, Harry, wait a minute. The kids were hypothetical. I was the culprit. But I don't relish admitting that to the authorities."

  Harry's eyebrows rose. "You want me to lie, is that it? Also it would go on my insurance record, wouldn't it? You become none too popular with a company when you claim money from it, you know. The idea is for them to take money from you, not pay it back. They'll raise my premiums. And why should I do all of this? To protect you? And why should I protect you? Are you my dear friend?" He was working himself up. "Are you even a good neighbor? What have you done for me? You wrecked my car and ate my food and drank my wine. You made a pass at my wife. You've been sarcastic with me ever since I introduced myself, insulting, arrogant, and disagreeable."

  Keese could not believe he heard this. Of the many accusations, grand and petty, all detestably false, he chose the most outrageous: "Your wife! Did you—and she—not admit that the rape charge was a hoax of your own invention?"

  "You cheap crook," said Harry. "God almighty, what a man to move next door to: it's a sort of a nightmare."

  He was doing no more than echoing Keese's own sentiments. It was startling to Keese to hear that he himself inspired the same feeling in someone else, someone who had offended him from the first: had he returned the favor with Harry? But what, aside from the car, had he done that was so awful?

  Keese had all of his life behaved justly: he could easily enough envision himself as the Hon. Earl Keese, in black robes and on some bench beneath the blindfolded goddess. The image came in handy at such a time as this.

  "Let's both calm down, Harry. We are neighbors and I hope we can be friends. I beg your forgiveness for all the things I've done that have offended you. Foremost among them is of course ruining your car. I don't admit to any of the others. I haven't meant to be sarcastic, however it's seemed, believe me. And maybe it's a bit crude to mention it, but you did take thirty-two dollars from me for the food and drink, if you remember. The thing about your wife is absolutely untrue, and I don't mind saying that it is an infamous charge to make even in jest."

  Harry spread his legs and put his hands on his hips. "Do you deny entering the bedroom when she was lying on the bed, naked under a towel?"

  "But it was my own bedroom," cried Keese, "and I didn't know she was there. She helped herself to a shower without my knowledge, simply went upstairs in our house without asking anybody!"

  "You're cool, I'll say that," Harry stated. "O.K., you've got your story, she's got hers."

  "Oh, shit," Keese shouted, forsaking all hope of being judicious, "what's the use of trying to be rational with you? The both of you should be put in a cage!"

  "Now you're showing your true colors," said Harry in a jeering tone. "The truth is that you think you're better than us. You don't think we belong in this neighborhood. Admit it."

  The accusation took Keese totally by surprise. He had no sense of what Harry's implication could be, and he told him so.

  "Come on." Harry sneered knowingly. "What a hypocrite you are. I hate that trait more than outright bigotry."

  "I'm not going to let you get away with this, Harry," Keese said. "First, I'm not a bigot of any sort, but moreover I haven't any idea of what, if I were one, there would be about you that's objectionable."

  "For your information," Harry said defiantly, "Ramona's not one of them. So you can stop worrying."

  Keese emitted a laughing sigh. "God, how wrong can a man be!"

  "At least you have the decency to admit it," said Harry.

  "Not me," Keese cried. "You. It never occurred to me to consider what she was or was not. I had absolutely no reason to think of the subject, in fact."

  "Relax, Earl. Your worst fears haven't been confirmed."

  They were still outdoors in the night, everything as before, Harry's car in the swamp, Keese covered with muck, his shoes oozing.

  He made a weary effort. "Harry," he said, "I don't care what Ramona's extraction is, I assure you."

  Harry persisted. "As long as she's your kind, eh?" But when Keese walked away in disgust Harry followed him with what was apparently intended as placation. "Look, I don't blame you. I'm not criticizing. It makes perfect sense to me."

  Keese made no response. Which turned out to be the right way to deal with Harry, but by this point Keese would have preferred to have nothing further to do with him—which might have been possible had he not done that stupid thing with the car! It was essential that he never again contemplate taking revenge on Harry: this was a fervent promise to himself.

  "Hell," said Harry to his back, "I didn't really think you were prejudiced, Earl. I realized you were just being sarcastic as usual, and that always gets my back up."

  Keese could remember not one instance in which he had been sarcastic, and it annoyed him to be so characterized again, but he had himself under firm government now, as he squished across the lawn, and he made no reply.

  "You're right about that thirty-two dollars," Harry said, pleading. "You don't owe me anything for the spaghetti and wine."

  Good of him to admit that, but obviously he wasn't so desperate now that he would return it! Oh, he was a beauty, that Harry. Keese had now reached the back door. But he shouldn't go as he was, dripping with filth, into the kitchen. He continued, therefore, to the outside door to the basement, went down the concrete steps, and let himself in. It was with the greatest relief that he saw he had shaken off Harry, who had presumably entered the kitchen.

  Keese felt somewhat better, having everything he needed down there. There was a metal stall shower in a corner, and a full outfit of work clothes—pants, shirts, and shabby sneakers—hanging from a nail, the sneakers by their tied laces. This ensemble was flecked with green paint, but signifying honest labor as it did, was not shameful. When the light was on he saw that what had soaked him was principally water and not the slime he had assumed it to be: here and there were strands of brown weed.

  He stripped and took a successful shower (the downstairs facility could not always be counted on: the proper mix of hot and cold was often difficult to compound). He took the final burst of water onto his face and then stepped blindly from the doorless enclosure onto the square of carpeting on the concrete floor outside. He seized the towel from the hook on the outer surface of the stall and, having dried his head first, stretched its terry-cloth length across his back.

  "Is that what naturally happens to a man?"

  It was Ramona, whom he had not heard arrive, owing to the sound of the shower. She was looking at his body, and her upper lip was risi
ng towards her nostrils.

  CHAPTER 5

  THERE had been a time, when he was younger, that in such a situation Keese would have clasped his hands across his groin. Why? How could his privates be shameful if he had been born with them willy-nilly?

  "Of course," said Ramona, "we're all in this together."

  For a moment Keese believed she was admitting to her involvement in some mass conspiracy against him, but the statement which followed disclosed that its predecessor had been merely more of the show-biz kind of humanism to which Harry had given voice: "I mean, it happens to us all. We're all mortal, aren't we?" She stuck a fingertip into the corner of her cheek.