cw.imarriedadeadman-第31部分

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　She　took　out　the　classified　directory；　looked　under　〃Garages。〃
　He　might　leave　it　out　in　the　streets　overnight。　But　she　didn't　think　he　would。　He　was　the　kind　who　prized　his　cars　and　his　hats　and　his　watches。　He　was　the　kind　of　man　prized　everything　but　his　women。
　The　garages　were　alphabetized；　and　she　began　calling　them　alphabetically。
　〃Have　you　a　New　York　car　there　for　the　night；　license　09231？〃
　At　the　third　place　the　night　attendant　came　back　and　said：　〃Yes；　we　have。　It　was　just　brought　in　a　few　minutes　ago。〃
　〃Mr。　Georgesson？〃
　〃Yeah；　that's　right。　What　about　it；　lady？　Whaddya　want　from　us？〃
　〃I…I　was　out　in　it　just　now。　The　young　man　just　brought　me　home　in　it。　And　I　find　I　left　something　with　him。　I　have　to　get　hold　of　him。　Please；　it's　important。　Will　you　tell　me　where　I　can　reach　him？〃
　〃We　ain't　supposed　to　do　that；　lady。〃
　〃But　I　can't　get　in。　He　has　my　doorkey；　don't　you　understand？〃
　〃Whyn'tcha　ring　your　doorbell？〃　the　gruff　voice　answered。
　〃You　fool！〃　she　exploded；　her　fury　lending　her　plausible　eloquence。　〃I　wasn't　supposed　to　be　out　with　him　in　the　first　place！　I　don't　want　to　attract　any　attention。　I　can't　ring　the　doorbell！〃
　〃I　getcha；　lady；〃　the　voice　jeered；　with　that　particular　degree　of　greasiness　she'd　known　it　would　have；　〃I　getcha。〃　And　a　double　tongue…click　was　given　for　punctuation。　〃Wait'll　I　check　up。〃
　He　left。　He　got　on　again；　said：　〃He's　been　keeping　his　car　with　us　for　some　time　now。　The　address　on　our　records　is　110　Decatur　Road。　I　don't　know　if　that's　still…〃
　But　she'd　hung　up。
　
　
　40
　
　She　used　her　own　key　to　unlock　the　garage…door。　The　little　roadster　that　Bill　habitually　used　was　out；　but　the　big　car；　the　sedan；　was　in　there。　She　backed　it　out。　Then　she　got　out　a　moment；　went　back　to　refasten　the　garage…door。
　There　was　the　same　feeling　of　unreality　about　this　as　before；　a　sort　of　dream…fantasy；　a　state　of　somnambulism；　yet　with　over…all　awareness。　The　chip…chip　of　footsteps　along　the　cement　garage…driveway　that　were　someone　else's；　yet　were　her　own…sounding　from　under　her。　It　was　as　though　she　had　experienced　a　violent　personality　split；　and　one　of　her　selves；　aghast　and　helpless；　watched　a　phantom　murderess　issue　from　the　cleavage　and　start　out　upon　her　deadly　quest。　She　could　only　pace　this　dark　thing；　this　other　self；　could　not　recapture　nor　reabsorb　it；　once　loosed。　Hence　（perhaps）　the　detached　objectivity　of　the　footsteps；　the　mirror…like　reproduction　of　her　own　movements。
　Reentering　the　car；　she　backed　it　into　the　street；　reversed　it；　and　let　it　flow　forward。　Not　violently；　but　with　the　suave　pick…up　of　a　perfectly　possessed　driver。　Some　other　hand；　not　hers…so　firm；　so　steady；　so　pure…remembered　to　reach　for　the　door…latch　and　draw　the　door　securely　closed　with　a　smart　little　clout。
　Outside；　the　street…lights　went　spinning　by　like　glowing　bowls　ing　toward　her　down　a　bowling…alley。　But　each　shot　was　a　miss；　they　went　alternately　too　far　out　to　this　side；　too　far　out　to　that　With　herself　and　the　car；　the　kingpin　in　the　middle　that　they　never　knocked　down。
　She　thought：　That　must　be　Fate；　bowling　against　me。　But　I　don't　care；　let　them　e。
　Then　the　car　had　stopped　again。　So　easy　it　was　to　go　forth　to　kill　a　man。
　She　didn't　study　it　closely；　to　see　what　it　was　like。　It　didn't　matter　what　it　was　like；　she　was　going　in　there；　it　was　going　to　happen　there。
　She　pedalled　the　accelerator　again；　went　on　past　the　door　and　around　the　corner。　There　she　made　a　turn；　for　the　right…of…way　was　against　her；　pointed　the　car　forward　to　the　way　from　which　she　had　just　e；　brought　it　over　against　the　sidewalk；　stopped　it　there；　just　out　of　sight。
　She　took　up　her　bag　from　beside　her　on　the　seat；　as　a　woman　does　who　is　about　to　leave　a　car；　secured　it　under　her　arm。
　She　shut　off　the　ignition　and　got　out。　She　walked　back　around　the　corner；　to　where　she'd　just　e　from；　with　the　quick；　preoccupied　gait　of　a　woman　returning　home　late　at　night；　who　hastens　to　get　off　the　street。　One　has　seen　them　that　way　many　times；　minding　their　own　business　with　an　added　intentness；　for　they　know　they　run　a　greater　risk　of　being　accosted　then　that　during　the　daylight　hours。
　She　found　herself　alone　on　a　gloomy　nocturnal　strip　of　sidewalk　in　front　of　a　long　rambling　two…story　structure；　hybrid；　half　mercial　and　half　living　quarters。　The　ground　floor　was　a　succession　of　unlighted　store…fronts；　the　upper　a　long　row　of　windows。　The　white　shape　of　a　milk　bottle　stood　on　the　sill　of　one　of　these。　One　was　lighted；　but　with　the　shade　drawn。　Not　the　one　with　the　milk　bottle。
　Between　two　of　the　store…fronts；　recessed；　almost　secretive　in　its　inconspicuousness；　there　was　a　single…panel　door；　with　a　wafflepattern　of　multiple　small　panes　set　into　it。　They　could　be　detected　because　there　was　a　dim　hall…light　somewhere　beyond　them；　doing　its　best　to　overe　the　darkness。
　She　went　over　to　it　and　tried　it；　and　it　swung　out　without　any　demur；　it　had　no　lock；　was　simply　a　closure　for　appearances'　sake。　Inside　there　was　a　rusted　radiator；　and　a　cement　stair　going　up；　and　at　the　side　of　this；　just　as　it　began；　a　row　of　letter　boxes　and　pushbuttons。　His　name　was　on　the　third　she　scanned；　but　not　in　its　own　right；　superimposed　on　the　card　of　the　previous　tenant；　left　behind。　He　had　pencil…scratched　the　name　off；　and　then　put　in　his　own　underneath。　〃S。　Georgesson。〃　He　didn't　print　very　well。
　He　didn't　do　anything　very　well；　except　smash　up　people's　lives。　He　did　that　very　well；　he　was　an　expert。
　She　went　on　up　the　stairs　and　followed　the　hall。　It　was　a　jerrybuilt；　makeshift　sort　of　a　place。　During　the　war　shortage　they　must　have　taken　the　attic　or　storage…space　part　of　the　stores　below　and　rigged　it　up　into　these　flats。
　What　a　place　to　live；　she　thought　dimly。
　What　a　place　to　die；　she　thought　remorselessly。
　She　could　see　the　thin　line　the　light　made　under　his　door。　She　knocked；　and　then　she　knocked　again；　softly　like　the　first　time。　He　had　his　radio　on　in　there。　She　could　hear　that　quite　distinctly　through　the　door。
　She　raised　her　hand　and　smoothed　back　her　hair；　while　waiting。　You　smoothed　your　hair…if　it　needed　it…just　before　you　were　going　to　see　anyone；　or　anyone　was　going　to　see　you。　That　was　why　she　did　it　now。
　They　said　you　were　frightened　at　a　time　like　this。　They　said　you　were　keyed…up　to　an　ungovernable　pitch。　They　said　you　were　blinded　by　fuming　emotion。
　They　said。　What　did　they　know？　She　felt　nothing。　Neither　fear　nor　excitement　nor　blind　anger。　Only　a　dull；　aching　determination　all　over。
　He　didn't　hear；　or　he　wasn't　ing　to　open。　She　tried　the　knob；　and　this　door　too；　like　the　one　below；　was　unlocked；　it　gave　inward。　Why　shouldn't　it　be；　she　reasoned；　what　did　he　have　to　fear　from　others？　They　didn't　take　from　him；　he　took　from　them。
　She　closed　it　behind　her；　to　keep　this　just　between　the　two　of　them。
　He　didn't　meet　her　eyes。　The　room　was　reeking　with　his　presence；　but　it　was　a　double　arrangement；　bed…　and　living…quarters；　and　he　must　be　in　the　one　just　beyond；　must　have　just　stepped　in　as　she　arrived　outside。　She　could　see　offside　light　ing　through　the　opening。
　The　coat　and　hat　he'd　worn　in　the　car　with　her　tonight　were　slung　over　a　chair；　the　coat　broadside　across　its　seat；　the　hat　atop　that。　A　cigarette　that　he'd　inpletely　extinguished　a　few　short　moments　ago　was　in　a　glass　tray；　stubbornly　smouldering　away。　The　drink　that　he'd　started；　then　left；　and　was　ing　back　to　finish　any　second　now…the　drink　with　which　he　was　celebrating　tonight's　successful　enterprise…stood　there　on　the　edge　of　the　table。　The　white　block　of　its　still…unmelted　ice　cube　peered　through　the　side　of　the　glass；　through　the　straw…colored　whiskey　it　floated　in。
　The　sight　of　it　brought　back　a　furnished　room　in　New　York。　He　took　his　drinks　weak；　he　liked　them　strong；　but　he　took　them　weak　when　it　was　his　own　whiskey　he　was　using。　〃There's　always　another　one　ing　up；〃　he　used　to　say　to　her。
　There　wasn't　now。　This　was　his　last　drink。　（You　should　have　made　it　stronger；　she　thought　to　herself　wryly。）
　Some　sort　of　gritty　noise　was　bothering　her。　A　pulsation；　a　discord　of　some　sort　It　was　meant　for　music；　but　no　music　could　have　reached　her　as　music；　as　she　was　now。