Seed on the Wind

She was lying on the couch late of a May afternoon when the door opened and Steve entered. This was extraordinary; not for many weeks had he appeared at such an hour. He extended no greeting, but proceeded directly to the bedroom, and Lora lay and listened to the noises he made in there, interpreting them, at first indifferently and half unconsciously, then with an access of awareness and interest. The scraping and subsequent plop was certainly his suitcase being drawn from under the bed and being planted on a chair; the other suitcase followed. She smiled to herself: not hers; it had more than a week back been transferred permanently to other hands. Drawers were opened and closed; collars rattled; a trip to the bathroom was made; now, she thought, only one toothbrush is left on that rack, and his bathrobe is no longer hanging so you can’t close the door. He had not been about it long, not more than ten minutes altogether, when the sound came of a suitcase closing, followed by a click; then another. At the approach of his footsteps, heavy with the weight of the bags, entering the room where she lay, she opened her eyes.

She didn’t know why she spoke, except that it seemed insane, not human, for him to go off like that without a word and for her to lie silent watching him go. All she said was:

“You might as well say goodbye.”

Nearly to the door he turned and looked at her, his shoulders pulled down by the heavy bags.

“I’m leaving an overcoat and two suits; I haven’t room for them,” he said. “I’ll send someone for them tomorrow. Why should I say goodbye? I don’t want to say anything to you, goodbye or anything else.”

His tone was incredible; Lora shivered at it, struck by an odd uncomfortable fancy: it was as if a man done to death, rotting in his coffin, should suddenly, at sight of his murderer, open his mouth to let the fumes of his defeated hate mingle with the other unpleasant odors suitable to the circumstances. She shivered and said nothing, though an instant before it had occurred to her to say this at least, “I have three dollars and the rent will be due day after tomorrow.” Surely she could say that much; but it remained uncertain whether she would actually have got it out before he disappeared, for just as he put down one of the suitcases to reach for the knob the doorbell rang sharply, startling them both. He pulled the door open, and a girl stepped in; it was Janet Poole from the flat below. She stood there glaring at Steve, small and dark, sharp-featured, her little black eyes pinning him to his spot.

“You’re a lousy bastard,” she said with certitude.

“Get out of my way,” Steve said, picking up the other suitcase.

“Good god,” she went on, “if they squirted skunk-juice all over you it would be a big improvement.” She turned to Lora. “Do you know what? Anne’s down at the door waiting for him; they’re going off. I don’t know which is worse, leaving you like this or taking that poor kid — it’ll be something to think about while I knit. From this day on I’m either a Lesbian or a nun, I don’t care which; if you ever catch me with a man again you can geld me without even a local; I’ll watch it with pleasure.”

Steve was trying to push past her but, hampered by the suitcases, couldn’t make it.

“If I don’t spit on you,” she continued, feet spread out, refusing to budge, “it’s only because I’m a little particular about my excretions. What am I doing? Relieving my mind. I’ve been trying to hammer sense into her, and it’s no use. She must have necrophilia.”

Lora was thinking, all I need to do is tell her how Steve got exempted from the draft. Ha, wouldn’t she jump on that though! All right, I’ll tell her, why shouldn’t I? Then I wouldn’t have to worry; it would take him about one minute to get the suitcases unpacked and his bathrobe back on the door. He must be crazy, he knows very well I could do that just with one word to her, or anyone, and it would be all up.

She said nothing. Janet Poole was still paying her respects to Steve in her colorful and expressive idiom, until all at once he charged, head-on, with the suitcases held in front of him for battering-rams, knocking her into the hall with some violence, but without apparent injury, for she continued to relieve her mind. Lora could hear him lumbering downstairs, with Janet’s unceasing fire following him from the landing. Then there was a pause, during which all other sounds were lost beneath Janet’s voice now raised to a shout, and finally there came from below the slam and rattle of the outer door closing, and all was suddenly silent.

Janet appeared in the open door.

“Shall I stay?” she asked abruptly.

Lora shook her head. “Please not now.”

“All right. See you later.”

She reached in to close the door, and then was gone.

XI