Mother Aegypt and Other Stories Part 15

Sweet winced and shook his head.

"That's the weirdest thing I've ever seen, man."

"See? We couldn't spend it in our time without a lot of questions," Dolliver told him, putting the wallet back. "We could sell jewelry, though. If they've got any."

The stockbroker moved away and Edgar came alone to stand in his place, facing out into the room.

After a moment he drew from his pocket a red leather case and opened it, staring inside.

"What did I tell you ?" Sweet nudged Dolliver. "Jewels! You're so fast with your hands, see can you get it."

"All right." Dolliver drained his gla.s.s and stood. Flexing his hands theatrically, he waited until Edgar had slipped the case back into his pocket, sighing; then he slipped the case out again. Edgar remained standing there, staring through him unnervingly as he sat down again and opened the case.

"Diamonds or something," Sweet p.r.o.nounced, leaning over to see. "Not bad!"

"Maybe it's a Christmas present," said Dolliver, looking up guiltily at Edgar's tense face.

"Well, Merry Christmas to you and me," Sweet replied. "We're both down on our luck a lot worse than these dudes will ever be. So... I guess we're splitting fifty-fifty on this?" He put out his hand and took the necklace from the box, and held it up to the firelight. It winked and threw lights on the wall.

"Sure," Dolliver told him. "a.s.suming we ever go back to our own time and aren't stuck here like ghosts." He closed the empty case and slipped it back into Edgar's pocket.

"Oh. Well, we could take one of their cars, if we can find some keys," said Sweet.

"We could," Dolliver agreed, "but we couldn't drive away from the past, you see? Just away from this lodge. And even if we managed to take a Packard or a Model T back with us, how would we handle the registration, once we were there?"

"Frigging DMA7," Sweet conceded with a sigh, tucking the necklace away inside his vest. "Well, if we never go back, this isn't too bad." He eyed the couples who were leaving the dining room. One of the flappers cranked up the Victrola again and all the younger couples began to dance to a fox trot. One girl tugged an older man to his feet and he cut a few awkward capers. Sweet leaned over and nudged Dolliver. "Hey, wonder if the women are like the buffet? D'you think?"

Dolliver just looked at him a minute and then said, "You'd better be careful. How'd you like to get a dose of something when there's no penicillin yet?"

"There isn't?" Sweet was horrified. "Jesus, what'd people do?"

"Gee, Mr. Wallace, you'd better get a monkey gland," cried the girl gaily, as the wheezing stockbroker retreated from the dance floor.

"Suffered a lot," said Dolliver, standing up. "Come on, let's see what's upstairs."

There was a single red candle burning in the window on the landing, and they took it with them, since the second story did not appear to be wired for electricity. Most of the doors were unlocked. Dolliver and Sweet prowled through the dark rooms and found trunks and suitcases alone that would fetch a nice price in antique stores, plastered as they were with steamer and hotel labels. There wasn't quite the fortune in jewels Sweet had been hoping to find, but they did manage to pilfer a nice little haul in cufflinks and one tie tack with what Dolliver was fairly sure was a diamond on it. There were a couple of art deco brooches and a couple of bracelets of indeterminate value.

"Well, this sucks," complained Sweet as they clumped back downstairs, and the scratchy melody of "Am I Blue" floated up to meet them. One of the younger men was yodelling drunkenly along. Sweet turned on the stairs, eyes brightening. "But you know what? If we take one of the cars we can drive down to San Francisco, rob a bank or a jewelry store! Huh? n.o.body'd see us."

"You've got a point there," said Dolliver, deciding not to argue with him.

They settled on the couch again, now and then rising to revisit the buffet. The evening wore on and the young people Charlestoned and s.h.i.+mmied in the glow of the Christmas lights. The older men sat at the edges and talked interminably about the stock market, about Herbert Hoover, about the trouble brewing again among the Serbs and Croats, about surf and stream fis.h.i.+ng, about the big breakfast they'd have in the morning.

Everybody drank the Christmas wa.s.sail and, when that gave out, drank bootleg booze from flasks they'd brought with them. Dolliver was appalled at the cheerful and reckless way they mixed their liquors, to say nothing of the quant.i.ties they seemed to be able to drink without pa.s.sing out. The dancing just got a little clumsier, the laughter of the girls got louder and shriller; and when "Stille Nacht" was played, with Madame Schumann-Heink crooning tenderly, people wept. At last in ones and twos they began to wander up the narrow staircase to their rooms.

The girl with the black pageboy bob did not drink much, or dance either. She came and sat on the couch by herself, between Dolliver and Sweet, who looked on bemused as Edgar came to crouch beside her.

"Helene, we don't have to live with them," he said quietly.

"Who?" wondered Sweet.

"In-laws, probably," Dolliver told him.

"You haven't got the spine to tell him no," said Helene matter-of-factly, not taking her eves from the fire. Edgar stiffened and rose again, and left the room.

"Edgar isn't doing very well," remarked Dolliver, yawning. Sweet chuckled, watching Helene, and patted his knee.

"You can come sit on my lap, honey, I'll give you good advice. You don't want to marry that wienie.

Marry the other guy, okay? The poor one. Billy."

"Here he comes," Dolliver observed, as Billy came in to build up the fire. He avoided making eve contact with Helene, but she leaned forward.

"You look nice in that jacket," she said.

"It's a waiter's jacket," he snapped. "I'm n.o.body and I'm going nowhere, remember? Not back east.

Not to Europe. Not to Stanford or an office in the City."

Helene put her head in her hands. "All right. But you could do more for yourself, Billy. I know you could. You have the inner strength."

"Strength doesn't matter," Billy replied stonily. "Money matters, Helene. You taught me that well enough."

"Strength matters more than I'd ever imagined," she said, with the suggestion of tears in her voice. He turned in the firelight to stare at her, and his hand opened and he seemed about to reach out; but she looked sidelong at him from under her lashes with those cold eyes, and something about the look made him draw back his hand.

"Crying?" he said. "Or acting, Helene? It would take a lot more than a few tears for me to ever make a fool of myself again. I've got some pride, you know."

"You tell her, bro," said Sweet, slapping his leg.

Edgar had finally re-entered the room. Billy shut his mouth like a trap and turned away from the fire as though Helene weren't there.

"Is everything satisfactory, mister?" he inquired of Edgar, in an excessively servile tone. Edgar just nodded miserably "Good. Wonderful," said Billy, sounding as though he were about to cry himself. He stalked from the room.

Edgar approached the girl hesitantly "Hey!" Sweet stood up. "I know why there's no jewelry in the rooms. It'd be in the hotel safe."

"You think a place like this has one?" said Dolliver, but he got to his feet too. They paced swiftly into the front lobby, as Edgar knelt beside Helene and began to murmur to her in a hesitant voice.

The desk clerk was no longer there, but a quick search behind the desk failed to turn up anything resembling a safe. Sweet got down on his hands and knees to thump the baseboard paneling. Dolliver's attention was drawn by the open ledger, and he paused to examine the list of registered guests.

"Unless maybe it's behind a painting or something, I seen that in movies too-" Sweet was saving, when he heard Dolliver mutter an exclamation. He scrambled up.

"What?" he said. Dolliver didn't answer, so he read over his shoulder. A moment later he caught his breath and pointed a trembling linger at the third entry in the column.

"s.h.i.+t! Look at that," he croaked.

Mr. Edgar T Sweet, Palo Alto, California. The next entry was Miss Helene Thistlewhite, Santa Rosa, California.

"Same last name," observed Dolliver.

"No! That was my grandfather's name!"

"Uh-" Dolliver blinked at it. "Then-Helene is, what, your grandmother? Which would explain what you're doing here. Maybe. If Helene breaks up with him tonight-"

"I'll never get born," said Sweet. "Oh, my G.o.d!"

He turned and bolted into the main lobby, and Dolliver went after him.

There was Edgar, still on his knees, offering the small leather case and saying, "I swear that's not an empty promise. Merry Christmas, Helene."

"No," cried Sweet, starting forward. Helene, smiling in spite of herself, took the case and opened it.

She saw nothing but white silk lining inside. She lifted her eves to Edgar with a look of flaming contempt.

In that moment, Sweet disappeared. One second he was there, looking on in horror, and the next he was gone. The diamond necklace that had been in his pocket dropped softly to the carpet runner and lay coiled there like a bright snake. Dolliver turned white. For the first time since arriving there he was frightened.

"Not an empty promise?" said Helene with a tight smile. Edgar gaped at the open case a moment before beating frantically at his pockets, and then getting down on hands and knees to peer under the couch.

"Helene, I swear-" he choked. "There was a necklace in there!" He jumped up and started out for the front lobby. Dolliver hesitated a moment before bending quickly to scoop up the necklace and drop it into his own pocket.

"Oh, oh, Lord-" Edgar swept the carpet runner with a desperate stare, and ran to the desk and hammered on the bell. "Oh, jiminy crickets, Helene, it's got to be here-I'll get the staff to help me look-"

"Whatever you like, Edgar," said Helene. "I'm going to go have a cup of coffee. Let me know when you manage to get something right."

There was quite a commotion for a while, as the desk clerk and a couple of waiters-though not Billy-came out and helped Edgar search. Dolliver slunk away to the dining room, where he sat s.h.i.+vering. Helene was not in the dining room. After a while the commotion died down and Edgar went upstairs. Dolliver went back to the main lobby and sank down on the couch, before the fire that was going down to coals. He knew where Helene was, and what she was doing.

A waiter-again, not Billy-made a pa.s.s through the room, collecting coffee cups and dessert plates the guests had left. A few minutes later the man in the brown sweater came through, turning out the lamps and blowing out the candles. The surf beat loud on the s.h.i.+ngle beach in the night.

Dolliver didn't think he'd ever sleep again after that, but he did doze off sometime before sunrise.

When he awoke he was freezing cold and stiff, and sitting up found himself lying on the bare floor of a ruin, as he had half expected. The fireplace was black and yawning, the floor creaking, filthy. There was trash piled in the corners. Blackberry brambles choked the windows. He ran outside and his coat at least was okay, right where he'd left it; but the cars were long gone, the road overgrown, the upstairs gable windows black and staring.

Dolliver shrugged into his coat and went his way He p.a.w.ned one of the brooches in San Francisco and got enough money to buy himself a suit, so he could sell the rest of the jewelry without drawing undue attention to himself. Within a week he'd found a job, which was ironic because his need wasn't desperate now; the necklace alone had brought enough to set him up nicely.

He still felt guilty, though he told himself that neither he nor Sweet could have affected the outcome that night in 1928. It hadn't been his decision. It hadn't been anyone's decision but Helene Thistlewhite's, ever, and she had decided to break her engagement to a young stockbroker and run off with Eustace William Dolliver; or so the family legend went.

Her Father's Eyes.

It was so long ago that fathers were still gaunt from the war, their awful scars still livid; so long ago that mothers wore frocks, made fancy Jell-O desserts in ring molds. And that summer, there was enough money to go for a trip on the train. She was taken along because she had been so sick she had almost died, so it was a reward for surviving.

She was hurried along between her parents, holding their hands, wondering what a dome coach was and why it was supposed to be special. Then there was a gap in the sea of adult legs, and the high silver cars of the train shone out at her. She stared up at the row of windows in the coach roof, and thought it looked like the c.o.c.kpits in the bombers her father was always pointing out.

Inside it was nicer, and much bigger, and there was no possible way any German or j.a.panese fighter pilots could spray the pa.s.sengers with bullets; so she settled into the seat she had all for herself. There she watched the people moving down on the platform, until the train puked out of the station.

Then her parents exclaimed, and told her to look out the wonderful dome windows at the scenery.

That was interesting for a while, especially the sight of the highway far down there with its Oldsmobiles and DeSotos floating along in eerie silence, and then, as they moved out into the country, the occasional field with a real horse or cow.

The change in her parents was more interesting. Out of uniform her father looked younger, was neither gloomy nor sarcastic but raucously happy. All dressed up, her mother was today as serene and cheerful as a housewife in a magazine advertis.e.m.e.nt. They held hands, like newlyweds, cried out in rapture at each change in the landscape, and told her repeatedly what a lucky little girl she was, to get to ride in a dome coach.

She had to admit they seemed to be right, though her gaze kept tracking nervously to the blue sky framed by the dome, expecting any minute steeply banking wings there, fire or smoke. How could people turn on happiness 123 like a tap, and pretend the world was a bright and s.h.i.+ny place when they knew it wasn't at all?

The candy butcher came up the aisle, and her father bought her a bag of mint jellies. She didn't like mint jellies but ate them anyway, amazed at his good mood. Then her mother took her down the car to wash the sugar from her face and hands, and the tiny steel lavatory astonished and fascinated her.

From time to time the train stopped in strange towns to let people off or on. Old neon signs winked from brick hotels, and pointed forests like Christmas trees ran along the crests of hills, stood black against the skyline. The sun set round and red. While it still lit the undersides of the clouds, her parents took her down to the dining car.

What silent terror, at the roaring s.p.a.ces between the cars where anyone might fall out and die instantly; and people sat in the long room beyond, and sipped coffee and ate breaded veal cutlets as calmly as though there were no yawning gulf rus.h.i.+ng along under them. She watched the diners in awe, and pushed the green peas round and round the margin of her plate, while her parents were chatting together so happily they didn't even scold her.

When they climbed the narrow steel stair again, night had fallen. The whole of the coach had the half-lit gloom of an aquarium, and stars burned down through the gla.s.s. She was led through little islands of light, back to her seat. Taking her place again she saw that there were now people occupying the seats across the aisle, that had been vacant before.

The man and the lady looked as though they had stepped out of the movies, so elegant they were.

The lady wore a white fur coat, had perfect red nails; the man wore a long coat, with a silk scarf around his neck. His eyes were like black water. He was very pale. So was the lady, and so was their little boy who sat stiffly in the seat in front of them. He wore a lone coat too, and gloves, like a miniature grownup.

She decided they must be rich people.

Presently the Coach Hostess climbed up, and smilingly informed them all that there would be a meteor shower tonight. The elegant couple winked at each other. The little girl scrambled around in her seat, and peering over the back, asked her parents to explain what a meteor was. When she understood, she pressed her face against the cold window gla.s.s, watching eagerly as the night miles swam by. Distant lights floated in the darkness; but she saw no falling stars.

Disappointed, cranky and bored, she threw herself back from the window at last, and saw that the little boy across the aisle was staring at her. She ignored him and addressed her parents over the back of the seat: "There aren't either any meteors," she complained.

"You're not looking hard enough," said her father, while at the same time her mother said, "Hush," and drew from her big purse a tablet of lined paper and a brand-new box of crayons, the giant box with rows and rows of colors. She handed them over the seat back and added, "Draw some pictures of what you saw from the windows, and you can show them to Auntie when we get there."

Wide-eyed, the little girl took the offerings and slid back into her seat. For a while she admired the pristine green-and-yellow box, the staggered regiments of pure color. All her crayons at home lived in an old coffee can, in a chaos of nub ends and peeled paper.

At last she selected an Olive Green crayon and opened the tablet. She drew a cigar shape and added flat wings. She colored in the airplane, and then took the Sky Blue and drew on a gla.s.s c.o.c.kpit.

With the Black, she added stars on the wings and dots flying out the front to signify bullets.

She looked up. The little boy was staring at her again. She scowled at him.

"Those are nice," he said. "That's a lot of colors."

"This is the really big box," she said.

"Can I draw too?" he asked her, very quietly, so quietly something strange puked at her heart. Was he so quiet because he was scared? And the elegant man said: "Daniel, don't bother the little girl," in a strange resonant voice that had something just the slightest bit wrong about it. He sounded as though he were in the movies.

"You can share," she told the little boy, deciding suddenly. "But you have to come sit here, because I don't want to tear the paper out."

"Okay," he said, and pushed himself out of his seat as she moved over. The elegant couple watched closely but as the children opened the tablet out between them and took each a crayon, they seemed to relax and turned their smiling attention to the night once more. The boy kept his gloves on while coloring.

"Don't you have crayons at home?" she asked him, drawing black doughnut-tires under the plane. He shook his head, pressing his lips together in a line as he examined the Green crayon he had taken.

"How can you not have crayons? You're rich," she said, and then was sorry she had said it, because he looked as though he were about to cry. But he shrugged and said in a careless voice, "I have paints and things."

"Oh," she said. She studied him. He had fair hair and blue eyes, a deep twilight blue. "How come you don't look like your mommy and daddy?" she inquired. "I have my daddy's eyes. But you don't have their eyes."