Let's Go Play at the Adams'

utility, just the miracle of the voice. The Adams had a car. She felt struck blind with

some kind of wisdom. Barbara could be moved.

Suddenly Dianne wished that the going home, the watching television, and the going to

bed were over and done with. She wanted very much to be alone where she could imagine

things, make things. All at once, she had a "story" in mind.

177

Perhaps he had heard his name being called even as he slept. It came closer quickly in

short, distress whoops. Then there was a white splash of light in his eyes and he was being

shaken, pushed, and pummeled by Cindy, her face nearly against his own.

"Bobby, Bobby-there's someone looking in the window! Get up! It's a man out there looking

in our windows. Bobby, wake up, I mean it!" The noise went on and on like a radio at top

volume.

Somehow, between sleep and waking and still numb, Bobby knew that what he heard was

true. It had been coming since he had seen the light in the marsh last night; it had moved

from being one of the possibilities to that of being an absolute future event in his mind.

Now Cindy's panic was the proof. They were discovered. And still she shook and pushed

him and pulled at the sheet, whether to get him out or make hiding room for herself being

unclear. "Bobby, hurry/ He's here! He's coming," she was crying with fright.

The Picker.

He sat up so suddenly that his forehead hit hers, but neither noticed. "What?" he said

though he knew what. "Where? Which window?" He looked-frightened-at his own, which

was empty.

"The basement, Barbara, the rec room." All of Cindy's words poured out as one. "You

know"-she was in agony-" ... There!"

"What kind of man?" Bobby made no move to get out of bed. In spite of the room's heat,

he suddenly felt cold and sick.

"A man, that's all."

"Did he see her?"

_

"How do I know what he saw?"

"Are the doors locked?"

"You find out," Cindy hissed.

"Did you open any of them tonight?"

"I dunno--no-yes, I did. One. The kitchen." "Did you lock it again?"

"No!" Cindy began to really cry now. "No, no.

Just get up!"

-

·

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He knew he had to do it,. and yet everything inside told him that this was the end.

Someone had seen their secret, had looked in the window of the basement, and seen it all-

Barbara, the way they bad left her, Cindy, the emptiness of the house, the whole works.

Now there would be a pounding on the kitchen door, heavy shouts, big footfalls in the

living room, pushes and shoves and hits, Barbara free and telling the whole story. "Be

quiet," he said, and waited for the end.

"What're you going to do?"

"Just be quiet." He finally threw down the sheet, swung his feet out over the edge of the

bed, and sat up. Cindy looked at him, her eyes wet enough but momentarily not crying, her

springy hair curled up into spirals around her face, her lips pursed. They waited.

In fact, nothing happened, and it was very puzzling to Bobby. What was to happen was not

occurring. There was only the sound of the cicadas outside, moths at the window of his

room, and the very distant, almost soothing sound of summer thunder. He reached up and

turned out the light. He did it slowly, fearfully, almost religiously.

"Don't do that." "We have to." ·

"I'm scared-I want to see."

"Go hide then. I don't want him to see us." "Hide where?"

"Anywhere."

"I want to stay with you-u-u-u .... "

"OK, then, but shut up, will you?" Bobby slowly stood up, testing the quietness of the house

with his ears-they felt as if they were sticking out a mile beyond his head. "Get away from

me, now. Stop getting in my way." He went to his window and squinted out. Nothing. Then

he went out into the hall and looked out the windows there. Nothing.

"What do you see?" "Shut up."

He went into the living room and stood in front of the .410 be had left there. It was far from

a warlike

179

move. He felt now that if he took a gun in his hand

. and an adult really did come in-a good adult-it would somehow make their whole crime

worse. It had all been well and good to go parading around with shotguns up to this point,

but he knew, he just simply knew, that he didn't have it in himself to shoot anyone tonight

Particularly somebody who oughtn't be shot. If a grown-up came in and just found Barbara

tied up and the two children being good (otherwise, of course), it would be better. There

was no reasoning to this; it was just the truth. "Stay here," he told Cindy.

"What're you going to do?" "Just stay here."

Barefooted, he went out into the kitchen to the river door and looked out the unlatched

screen (Cindy). In two lightning flares, everything continued quiet, and he opened the door

and looked out, up and down the length of the house. Although he again saw nothing, ev-

ery bush and tree beyond the immediate yard seemed a threat. He shut the screen,

latched it firmly, and shut the inner door behind it. "Tum on all the lights."

"All of them?" Cindy said from the doorway. "Everything. The television, too."