Chapter 15
WITH HIS THUMB ON THE AD he moved the paper over so Helen could read it.
$5000 cash, lovely ranch-type home, 4 bedrooms, etcetera-he knew it by heart, for he had been staring at it for hours, staring and thinking. Thinking of Fran's leaving for California in a day or two, of himself being left behind; of the chance let pass for a new life which might include a business of his own and respectability; and of Helen as she cared for him while he was ill, as she held his hand when he led her about on the purposeless shopping tours. Then the wrestling with his conscience as he had recalled the awful dream. The doubt, the uncertainty, the inner conflict. And at last the decision, final and irrevocable.
"What do you think?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, puzzled, frowning slightly. "I don't know. We'll have to drive out and see it, won't we?"
"No need to. I did that yesterday, when you were at the movies. It's okay-swell! Just exactly what we want. I told the guy we'd be around today and leave the down payment."
"Well then-" she hesitated-"I suppose I'll need to go to the bank and draw a check."
"No." He tried to smile at her, but his lips did not stretch properly. "Get it in cash, Helen. Hundred dollar bills."
"Clash? Why? I don't understand." The frown had deepened, there was fear in her eyes, helpless tear, such as might be glimpsed by the slaughterer in the eyes of the doomed calf.
"Cash-that's what the ad says. I don't want to start bickering with him when we get there. Let's make it quick and final. Resides-" he tried to smile again, and this time his lips trembled-"besides, I want to get the feel of holding that much money in my hands. I never held that much in my...." His voice fell off, and he knew that she had seen through him. "Let's go!" he said impatiently, "Time's wasting. To the bank."
The bank was only a few blocks away and they walked in silence, side by side. From time to time lie glanced to her, noticed her extreme pallor and frailty, the way she stared blankly off into space, directly ahead. Once she missed a curb and would have fallen if he hadn't caught her. "Watch where you're going, will you? What's wrong with you?"
She did not reply; she appeared to be immersed in her thoughts. He knew what she was thinking.
He waited for her outside the bank. When she emerged she held an envelope in her hand. Avoiding his gaze, she gave it to him. He glanced inside and saw the greenbacks, neatly stacked and taped. He stuck the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket.
"There's something wrong with you, Helen. You are not looking well at all."
"It's nothing-" she shook her head. ""Nothing at all."
"Helen, I'm worried about you. Go in the house and take a nap. I'll go and see this guy myself." He swallowed to moisten his throat. "I'll just buy it, sign the papers, give him the money. Tomorrow, when you "re feeling better, well go there, the both of us, and-"
"How long will it take?" she asked.
"To make out the papers and all that? About an hour, I guess. Yeah, an hour ought to do it."
"It's one now. I looked at the clock in the bank. Do you think you'll be back by three?"
"I don't see why not."
Suddenly she did an unexpected thing, which frightened him and at the same time touched him to the heart. Right there on the street, in front of the house, she caught his hand, and lowering her head kissed it fervently. For the first time that day, she raised her lace and looked deeply, searchingly into his eyes. Her eves were moist, shone with such selfless love and tenderness as he had never seen in diem. She began to speak in a subdued, almost hushed voice; and as she spoke there was a trace of a smile on her lips, a smile of resignation, of no hope:
"Joe darling, listen carefully. I'm going into the house now. To take a nap as you suggested. I'll wait there for you till five, which will allow you lots of time to get the business done and return. I beg you to come back by then. If you aren't back by then, please don't come back anymore. The money will be yours-my parting gift to you. I'll write a note and leave it on the table. The note will say that the money belongs to you-that I gave it to you of my own free will, because I loved you. Then, alter I've written the note, I will...." But she could not finish. She shook her head and tears flooded her eyes.
Sobbing, she turned from him and ran up the steps.
He walked away, dazed and confused. His temples pounded and his throat felt parched. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that at last he had the money in his hands; it was all his, with no strings attached to it. He could do with it as he pleased: she had given it to him, he hadn't stolen it. He could go to California or stay where he was. He could take Fran with him or he could leave her behind.
But though he kept touching it through his jacket, the money did not comfort him. Nor did the thought of what it made possible. He was racked by conscience. Self-hatred rose, swelled, threatened to overpower him. He had what he wanted, didn't he? So why complain? And yet the feeling of remorse, the wanting to harm himself, actually, physically. Was this the end he'd been striving for? And if so, then what was the good of it?
He walked along and did not see the faces of the people about him, did not see the traffic, or the hotels or the palm trees. Crossing a street he was almost hit by a bus; a policeman grabbed his arm and said, "Wake up, teller! You trying to get yourself killed?" Me yanked his arm free and continued on his way.
Hut if his mind had no particular destination, his legs did. He suddenly looked around to find himself standing in front of Fran's bungalow. A feeling of repulsion swept him, he turned and would have gone on his way if his name hadn't been called at precisely this moment. Looking back, he saw Fran standing in the door motioning to him. He shrugged as ii resigning himself to his fate, started towards her.