Last Night Part 4

The next morning she said, - Oh! There, just beneath the trees, the dog lay. She could see his ears-they were small ears dashed with white.

- What is it? her husband asked.

- Nothing, she said. A dog. It followed me yesterday.

- From where? he said, coming to see.

- Down the road. I think it might be that man's. Brennan's.

- Brennan?

- I pa.s.sed his house, she said, and afterward it was following me.

- What were you doing at Brennan's?

- Nothing. I was pa.s.sing. He's not even there.

- What do you mean, he's not there?

- I don't know. Somebody said that.

He went to the door and opened it. The dog-it was a deerhound-had been lying with its forelegs stretched out in front like a sphinx, its haunches round and high. Awkwardly it rose and after a moment moved, reluctantly it seemed, wandering slowly across the fields, never looking back.

In the evening they went to a party on Mec.o.x Road. Far out toward Montauk, winds were sweeping the coast. The waves exploded in clouds of spray. Ardis was talking to a woman not much older than herself, whose husband had just died of a brain tumor at the age of forty. He had diagnosed it himself, the woman said. He'd been sitting in a theater when he suddenly realized he couldn't see the wall just to his right. At the funeral, she said, there had been two women she did not recognize and who did not come to the reception afterward.

- Of course, he was a surgeon, she said, and they're drawn to surgeons like flies. But I never suspected. I suppose I'm the world's greatest fool.

The trees streamed past in the dark as they drove home. Their house rose in the brilliant headlights. She thought she had caught sight of something and found herself hoping her husband had not. She was nervous as they walked across the gra.s.s. The stars were numberless. They would open the door and go inside, where all was familiar, even serene.

After a while they would prepare for bed while the wind seized the corners of the house and the dark leaves thrashed each other. They would turn out the lights. All that was outside would be left in wildness, in the glory of the wind.

IT WAS TRUE. He was there. He was lying on his side, his whitish coat ruffled. In the morning light she approached slowly. When he raised his head his eyes were hazel and gold. He was not that young, she saw, but his power was that he was unbowed. She spoke in a natural voice.

- Come, she said.

She took a few steps. At first he did not move. She glanced back again. He was following.

It was still early. As they reached the road a car pa.s.sed, drab and sun-faded. A girl was in the back seat, head fallen wearily, being driven home, Ardis thought, after the exhausting night. She felt an inexplicable envy.

It was warm but the true heat had not risen. Several times she waited while he drank from puddles at the edge of the road, standing in them as he did, his large, wet toenails gleaming like ivory.

Suddenly from a porch rushed another dog, barking fiercely. The great hound turned, teeth bared. She held her breath, afraid of the sight of one of them limp and bleeding, but violent as it sounded they kept a distance between them. After a few snaps it was over. He came along less steadily, strands of wet hair near his mouth.

At the house he went to the porch and stood waiting. It was plain he wanted to go inside. He had returned. He must be starving, she thought. She looked around to see if there was anyone in sight. A chair she had not noticed before was out on the gra.s.s, but the house was as still as ever, not even the curtains breathing. With a hand that seemed not even hers she tried the door. It was unlocked.

The hallway was dim. Beyond it was a living room in disorder, couch cus.h.i.+ons rumpled, gla.s.ses on the tables, papers, shoes. In the dining room there were piles of books. It was the house of an artist, abundance, disregard.

There was a large desk in the bedroom, in the middle of which, among paper clips and letters, a s.p.a.ce had been cleared. Here were sheets of paper written in an almost illegible hand, incomplete lines and words that omitted certain vowels. Deth of fathr, she read, then indecipherable things and something that seemed to be carrges sent empty, and at the bottom, set apart, two words, anew, anew. In a different hand was the page of a letter, I deeply love you. I admire you. I love you and admire you. She could not read anymore. She was too uneasy. There were things she did not want to know. In a hammered silver frame was the photograph of a woman, face darkened by shadow, leaning against a wall, the unseen white of a villa somewhere behind. Through the slatted blinds one could hear the soft clack of palm fronds, the birds high above, in the villa where he had found her, where her youth had been bold as a declaration of war. No, that was not it. He had met her on a beach, they had gone to the villa. What is powerful is a glimpse of a truer life. She read the slanting inscription in Spanish, Tus besos me destierran. She put the picture down. A photograph was sacrosanct, you were excluded from it, always. So that was the wife. Tus besos, your kisses.

SHE WANDERED, nearly dreaming, into a large bathroom that looked out on the garden. As she entered, her heart almost stopped-she caught sight of somebody in the mirror. It took a second before she realized it was herself and, as she looked more closely, a not wholly recognizable, even an illicit self, in soft, grainy light. She understood suddenly, she accepted the fate that meant she was to be found here, that Brennan would be returning and discover her, having stopped for the mail or bread. Out of nowhere she would hear the paralyzing sound of footsteps or a car. Still, she continued to look at herself. She was in the house of the poet, the demon. She had entered forbidden rooms. Tus besos . . . the words had not died. At that moment the dog came to the door, stood there, and then fell to the floor, his knowing eyes on her, like an intimate friend. She turned to him. All she had never done seemed at hand.

Deliberately, without thinking, she began to remove her clothes. She went no further than the waist. She was dazzled by what she was doing. There in the silence with the sunlight outside she stood slender and half-naked, the missing image of herself, of all women. The dog's eyes were raised to her as if in reverence. He was unbetraying, a companion like no other. She remembered certain figures ahead of her at school. Kit Vining, Nan Boudreau. Legendary faces and reputations. She had longed to be like them but never seemed to have the chance. She leaned forward to stroke the beautiful head.

- You're a big fellow. The words seemed authentic, more authentic than anything she had said for a long time. A very big fellow.

His long tail stirred and with faint sound brushed the floor. She kneeled and stroked his head again and again.

There was the crackling of gravel beneath the tires of a car. It brought her abruptly to her senses. Hurriedly, almost in panic, she threw on her clothes and made her way to the kitchen. She would run along the porch if necessary and then from tree to tree.

She opened the door and listened. Nothing. As she was going quickly down the back steps, by the side of the house she saw her husband. Thank G.o.d, she thought helplessly.

They approached each other slowly. He glanced at the house.

- I brought the car. Is anyone here?

There was a moment's pause.

- No, no one. She felt her face stiffen, as if she were telling a lie.

- What were you doing? he asked.

- I was in the kitchen, she said. I was trying to find something to feed him.

- Did you find it?

- Yes. No, she said.

He stood looking at her and finally said, - Let's go.

As they backed out, she caught sight of the dog just lying down in the shade, sprawled, disconsolate. She felt the nakedness beneath her clothes, the satisfaction. They turned onto the road.

- Somebody's got to feed him, she said as they drove. She was looking out at the houses and fields. Warren said nothing. He was driving faster. She turned back to look. For a moment she thought she saw him following, far behind.

LATE THAT DAY she went shopping and came home about five. The wind, which had arisen anew, blew the door shut with a bang.

- Warren?

- Did you see him? her husband said.

- Yes.

He had come back. He was out there where the land went up slightly.

- I'm going to call the animal shelter, she said.

- They won't do anything. He's not a stray.

- I can't stand it. I'm calling someone, she said.

- Why don't you call the police? Maybe they'll shoot him.

- Why don't you do it? she said coldly. Borrow someone's gun. He's driving me crazy.

It remained light until past nine, and in the last of it, with the clouds a deeper blue than the sky, she went out quietly, far across the gra.s.s. Her husband watched from the window. She was carrying a white bowl.

She could see him very clearly, the gray of his muzzle there in the muted gra.s.s and when she was close the clear, tan eyes. In an almost ceremonial way she knelt down. The wind was blowing her hair. She seemed almost a mad person there in the fading light.

- Here. Drink something, she said.

His gaze, somehow reproachful, drifted away. He was like a fugitive sleeping on his coat. His eyes were nearly closed.

My life has meant nothing, she thought. She wanted above all else not to confess that.

They ate dinner in silence. Her husband did not look at her. Her face annoyed him, he did not know why. She could be good-looking but there were times when she was not. Her face was like a series of photographs, some of which ought to have been thrown away. Tonight it was like that.

- The sea broke through into Sag Pond today, she said dully.

- Did it?

- They thought some little girl had drowned. The fire trucks were there. It turned out she had just strayed off. After a pause, We have to do something, she said.

- Whatever happens is going to happen, he told her.

- This is different, she said. She suddenly left the room. She felt close to tears.

Her husband's business was essentially one of giving advice. He had a life that served other lives, helped them come to agreements, end marriages, defend themselves against former friends. He was accomplished at it. Its language and techniques were part of him. He lived amid disturbance and self-interest but always protected from it. In his files were letters, memorandums, secrets of careers. One thing he had seen: how near men could be to disaster no matter how secure they seemed. He had seen events turn, one ruinous thing following another. It could happen without warning. Sometimes they were able to save themselves, but there was a point at which they could not. He sometimes wondered about himself-when the blow came and the beams began to give and come apart, what would happen? She was calling Brennan's house again. There was never an answer.

During the night the wind blew itself out. In the morning at first light, Warren could feel the stillness. He lay in bed without moving. His wife's back was turned toward him. He could feel her denial.

He rose and went to the window. The dog was still there, he could see its shape. He knew little of animals and nothing of nature but he could tell what had happened. It was lying in a different way.

- What is it? she asked. She had come up beside him. It seemed she stood there for a long time. He's dead.

She started for the door. He held her by the arm.

- Let me go, she said.

- Ardis . . .

She began to weep, - Let me go.

- Leave him alone! he called after her. Let him be!

She ran quickly across the gra.s.s in her nightgown. The ground was wet. As she came closer she paused to calm herself, to find courage. She regretted only one thing-she had not said good-bye.

She took a step or two forward. She could sense the heavy, limp weight of him, a weight that would disperse, become something else, the sinews fading, the bones becoming light. She longed to do what she had never done, embrace him. At that moment he raised his head.

- Warren! she cried, turning toward the house. Warren!

As if the shouts distressed him, the dog was rising to his feet. He moved wearily off. Hands pressed to her mouth, she stared at the place where he had been, where the gra.s.s was flattened slightly. All night again. Again all night. When she looked, he was some distance off.

She ran after him. Warren could see her. She seemed free. She seemed like another woman, a younger woman, the kind one saw in the dusty fields by the sea, in a bikini, stealing potatoes in bare feet.

SHE DID NOT see him again. She went many times past the house, occasionally seeing Brennan's car there, but never a sign of the dog, or along the road or off in the fields.

One night in Cato's at the end of August, she saw Brennan himself at the bar. His arm was in a sling, from what sort of accident she could not guess. He was talking intently to the bartender, the same fierce eloquence, and though the restaurant was crowded, the stools next to him were empty. He was alone. The dog was not outside, nor in his car, nor part of his life anymore-gone, lost, living elsewhere, his name perhaps to be written in a line someday though most probably he was forgotten, but not by her.

Such Fun.

WHEN THEY LEFT the restaurant, Leslie wanted to go and have a drink at her place, it was only a few blocks away, a large old apartment building with leaded windows on the ground floor and a view over Was.h.i.+ngton Square. Kathrin said fine, but Jane claimed she was tired.

- Just one drink, Leslie said. Come on.

- It's too early to go home, Kathrin added.

In the restaurant they had talked about movies, ones they'd seen and ones they hadn't. They talked about movies and Rudy, the headwaiter.

- I always get one of the good tables, said Leslie.

- Is that right?

- Always.

- And what does he get?

- It's what he hopes he'll get, Leslie said.

- He's really looking at Jane.

- No, he's not, Jane protested.

- He's got half your clothes off already.

- Don't, please, Jane said.

Leslie and Kathrin had been roommates in college and friends ever since. They had hitchhiked through Europe together, getting as far as Turkey, sleeping in the same bed a lot of the nights and, except once, not fooling around with men or, as it happened that time, boys. Kathrin had long hair combed back dark from a handsome brow and a brilliant smile. She could easily have been a model. There was not much more to her than met the eye, but that had always been enough. Leslie had majored in music but hadn't done anything with it. She had a wonderful way on the telephone, as if she'd known you for years.

In the elevator, Kathrin said, - G.o.d, he's cute.

- Who?

- Your doorman. What's his name?