Hare in March Read online

  He remembered a moment with Hagerman when he was fooling around about having a nervous breakdown, and his own voice had sounded like a stranger’s voice saying something wholly believable.

  And he remembered, too, a feeling he had had when he was standing outside the men’s in the filling station, and the thought had occurred that Hagerman might really be very ill in there, and occurring with this thought was one of giving up the whole venture, of letting poor Hagerman off the hook, really of getting off it himself, before he couldn’t.

  These remembrances had a soothing effect, for he had not been all the way in; there had been some part of him protesting, the part of him that had led him yesterday afternoon to his father’s lab, the part that was carrying him across this field right now, because he felt that he was going to be all right; he was going to get himself back somehow — somewhere along the way he had lost himself, and nearly lost his life in the bargain.

  He saw a Mr. Frostee stand to the left of the housing development; he saw an outdoor phone booth next to it, and he headed that way. It was six-thirty.

  It was seven before he was able to reach her, after eight by the time she arrived to pick him up. He had washed in Mr. Frostee.

  “I’m not a taxi, you know!”

  “I know.”

  He shut the door.

  “No, you don’t know, or you would have called a taxi!”

  “Are we going to sit here and argue?”

  “My God, Charles! My God, what happened to you?”

  “A lot. Let’s go someplace where we can talk.”

  “Let’s go to a hospital! What happened to you?”

  “Let’s just go someplace, Lois. Not a hospital.”

  “That’s blood on your shirt!”

  “Yes, but I’m all right. I’ll button my coat; I’m all right.” “No, you’re not!”

  “I am. I am. I’m not the martyr type.” “What type are you?” He said, “I’ll get to that.”

  • • •

  He began to get to it once they got to the park.

  He poured himself a drink and lit a cigarette; on the way there he had told her that he had had a fight with Hagerman, but he had not gone into all the details, because he wanted to start way back.

  She said, “Are you sure your head doesn’t hurt?”

  “Yes. I’m okay. Okay?”

  “Are you surprised that I wore my mink?”

  “Not too.”

  “You don’t want me to tell you why I wore it, do you? Because we’re talking seriously.” “Why did you wear it?”

  “You really don’t want to know. I can tell by your voice.” “I really want to know.”

  He found himself smiling, despite the growing suspicion that all that he planned to say to her was not going to amount to a hill of beans, because you didn’t reach a Lois Faye ever, which was probably the reason he was attracted to her in the first place. He had had no destination in mind when he had met her. Now? He didn’t know what he wanted from her at this point, only that he wanted to be with her, which entailed listening to the reason she had worn her mink.

  She said, “I wore it because I’ve never worn it when I was in love. And I wasn’t in a good mood either, having to go all the way out to some Mr. Frostee stand!”

  “I want to tell you something before we start talking about love, Lois.”

  “You’re married, aren’t you?”

  “Can we be serious?”

  “I’m sorry about your head. Why wouldn’t you let me take you to a hospital?” “My head’s all right.”

  “We could have stopped on the way, and gotten me some Southern Comfort.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t even notice you weren’t drinking. Have some of mine.”

  “This car isn’t much of a bar; one empty bottle, one bottle half-full.”

  “Have some of mine.”

  “I hate it without water! I hate it anyway, but I hate it without water worse!”

  “We should carry a thermos for emergencies. Do you want to drive in and get some Southern Comfort?”

  “Charles! We have a thermos! It had ice cubes in it, and I put it in the back with the picnic hamper.”

  “And the picnic hamper has cheese in it, and I’m half-starved!”

  “I’m glad I wore my mink,” she said, as Charles got out of the car to get the things from the trunk.

  They drank from paper cups. Charles diluted his whiskey, too, because he was drinking on an empty stomach; he quartered the cheese and passed her some, and then he began again, he began with Billy and he got up to the part where the move to Eighty-second Street from Riverside Drive became necessary because of the drain on his grandfather’s estate.

  “Is your drink sweet?” she interrupted him. “I didn’t notice.”

  “I think there was sugar in that water.” “Can I finish?”

  “So far, it’s a very depressing story. So far, I don’t see what it has to do with you and me.”

  “It has a lot to do with you and me. I think.”

  “I don’t think it does.”

  “You want to get down to brass tacks?”

  “What is the sum and substance? Let’s talk turkey, Charles. Let’s get down to cases, and go over the cardinal points.”

  He sighed, “This isn’t funny … I’m leaving Far Point, Lois.”

  As he said that, he felt a salty taste in his mouth, and a pressure in his head.

  “No, you’re not!” she said.

  “I can’t stay here.” And something was happening to the light; there was a queer prismatic look to the park lamp down the road. He probably should have gone to the hospital. She said, “Yes, you can; what do you mean you can’t?” The air seemed to crackle. He managed to say, “I’m a thief.” “What?”

  “Yes, I am. Turn off the radio, will you?”

  “The radio isn’t on. Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve been stealing so I could take you out. I don’t have any money. I’ve been stealing everywhere. Everywhere.”

  His words seemed to come out very, very slowly, but he was telling her all about it, and it took a long, long time, but he was telling her everything, until he could no longer hear his own voice over her laughter. She kept laughing and laughing and laughing at him, laughing and laughing, and laughing, and laughing.

  Charles began to sob. Everything before his eyes turned into bright jelly, and his mother’s face appeared then on the radio dial, or was Lois there, her head on a great pendulum, larger than the car, hovering over the car, laughing at him?

  Charles said, “I can’t pay you to love me.”

  The pendulum was actually one of her breasts, with her face on it; the nipple, her nose. He saw himself on her breast, crawling across it like a baby, crawling up into her nose.

  “Lois,” he said, “let me out. I feel awful.” She said, “I’m a big phony!” “Why are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m taking off everything. I don’t want to wear these clothes.”

  “You better stop laughing. I know what you think of me. You traded me for silverware.”

  “Everything comes off. I’m going to be naked!” “Stop laughing!”

  But she could not stop, and she was going to be naked. And it took a long, long time to get out of her clothes, and all the while Charles was glaring at her. He was a rabbi, and if there was anything she could not stand it was a rabbi stoking a fire, but that was what she deserved, to be incinerated like all the Jews.

  She said, “I’m afraid.”

  Charles’s voice said, “You hate me.”

  “I don’t, Charles. Where are you?”

  “Don’t come near me.”

  “Charles, I need to hang on to you. I’m out of whack, way out of whack!”

  “Don’t get near me, I said! I’m tired of being used. One wants a mother’s pin, and one wants a Pucci, and no one wants me.”

  “I want you, Charles. I know I’m boring. I am. I make jokes to try and cover it up. I don’t want the r
ight things. I’m a phony. If you don’t love me, I’m going into the fire with all the Jews. I’m a dirty kike! We’re all alike. We want money. Charles, let me hang on to you. I love you.”

  “Don’t!”

  “Charles, please!”

  “You want to decapitate me! I need my head! I need it to think with!”

  “Charles, the knife is so pretty. Look at the colors. There’s cheese left on it, and now there’s a trillion little jewels right there where the cheese was.”

  “You’re a spider.”

  “I’m lonely, Charles. I’m not worthwhile, for I have no real values and I am empty as a shell. I know I am. I’ve been told that I am, and I am. Hold me so I’m full, Charles.”

  “You see this knife? In my fantasies I held a knife like this to kill Billy with. Don’t you hurt my head. Don’t you put your hands near me. I can’t kill Billy, but I have this knife for protection.”

  “I want to put my arms around you. I never told my father I loved him because he made me a Jew. I’m not a nice person at all, not at all. I see snakes hanging from the trees, Charles. I see snakes, Charles! I think I’m out of whack! I see myself dead on the fender! Am I dead?”

  “Let go of me!”

  “I’m afraid!”

  “Let — go — of me!”

  “Charles!”

  “I told you! I need my head!”

  Then he said, “My head is there, but I’m out of my mind.” It took a long, long time to pull out the knife. She was naked, and she would soon be very cold, so he forced enough energy out of himself to put her coat on her. Mink. Because she was with someone she loved.

  Eighteen

  “Maybe it’s my height,” said Peter Hagerman. Ida Burroughs said, “Maybe what’s your height?” “Maybe that’s why no one pays any attention to what I say.”

  Arnold Burroughs said, “We take full responsibility for this. I don’t care if a dwarf walks in and says he thinks he just killed Fatty Arbuckle, it’s up to us to investigate.”

  Bud Burroughs said, “I’d investigate that myself, since Fatty Arbuckle’s been dead about ten years.”

  Arnold Burroughs shot his son a disapproving look; there was nothing funny in the situation.

  Ida Burroughs saw her husband’s expression, and she said, “Buddy doesn’t mean to joke about something so serious. It’s just that it’s Easter, and we ought to try and smile.”

  That was a terrible thing for Arnold to say, about the dwarf. That poor little boy didn’t come to Buddy’s shoulder. He was a nice boy, too, not at all the way Ida Burroughs had pictured him. He had the manners of a prince.

  Arnold Burroughs said, “If I’d been on duty, I’d have done more than drive out to that filling station and look around.”

  “They could see the blood,” said Hagerman. “Excuse me, Mrs. Burroughs. I know this is a very distasteful conversation.”

  “You should know the things we discuss at this table, Peter. I’ve developed a very strong stomach…. Why don’t you have another slice of ham?”

  “Thank you, but I’ve had too much already.”

  Arnold Burroughs said, “Oh, I know what they thought. They thought you boys had gotten into a little tussle, and it’d all come out in the wash. The kid was gone and all. They probably figured it wasn’t worth following up.”

  “If they’d only let me see you, sir. You would have followed it up.”

  “Darn right!”

  Ida Burroughs said, “That girl would be alive today if they’d called Arnold. That maniac never would have gotten to her if they hadn’t been so afraid to wake up Arnold. I don’t know what it is about a policeman sleeping in the daytime. They respect that. But they don’t think anything of calling up at two, three in the morning, when Arnold works a day shift…. That poor girl.”

  Bud Burroughs said. “What did she go into the park with him for in the first place? He couldn’t have acted very normal.”

  Hagerman said, “Nuts are very tricky.”

  “They are for a fact,” said Arnold Burroughs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the same one who went after Matilda Holt. It’ll probably turn out that he was.”

  “I was thinking that, too, sir,” said Hagerman.

  Arnold Burroughs liked being called “sir"; he wouldn’t mind at all if a little of Hagerman’s character rubbed off on Bud. He could even bear the stinky cigarettes; Hagerman was a New Yorker, and he had a little polish; you couldn’t hang a man for that.

  “I still can’t figure out how he got my gold lighter,” said Hagerman. “I always carried it with me. I never left it in my room.”

  “How’d he get all that loot?” Burroughs said. “Jesus, he had everything but Mother Varner’s teeth stashed away in that drawer of his.”

  “Don’t say Jesus on Easter Sunday, dear,” said Ida Burroughs.

  “Remember Thorpe’s face?” Hagerman laughed. He turned to Arnold Burroughs and said, “After I came back from the police station, I told Thorpe that I wanted to go through Shepley’s things. I said I didn’t think we’d find anything — I thought Shepley was too clever for that; well, sir, Thorpe said we wouldn’t find anything, because he’d have known if he was living with a klep, and then I opened the top drawer, and my God! Excuse me, Mrs. Burroughs.”

  “I don’t mind ‘my God.’ It’s ‘Jesus’ I don’t like.”

  Bud Burroughs said, “Thorpe’s eyes were as big as saucers! Out came Peter’s lighter, and then a cigarette case, and then a few wallets, and like I said, everything but Mother Varner’s teeth.”

  “Stealing from his own fraternity brothers,” said Ida Burroughs.

  “Ida, the boy isn’t all there. You know? Screw loose?”

  Hagerman said, “Sir, I’d be curious to know what he said when you found him in the park. Did he mention me?”

  “Naw. Nope. He was too far gone. He didn’t talk gibberish or anything. He knew he’d murdered the girl. He kept saying that it wasn’t her fault. He kept saying that he’d gone crazy, that he was crazy, and that he needed help. He was in a state of shock.”

  “Well,” said Ida Burroughs, “Far Point’s had its share of excitement these last few days. I thought that poor Mrs. Holt was bad enough, but then all of this happened, and I guess we just never have had anything like this happen, ever. Have we, Arnold?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “Blouter sure picked a good weekend to go see mommy and daddy,” said Hagerman.

  “What do your folks do for Easter, Peter?” Ida Burroughs asked.

  “They go out.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ve never had much of a home life. I was always shipped off to school.”

  “If you were my son, I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I think you’re a darling boy.”

  “Well, thank you, Mrs. Burroughs. I suppose I shouldn’t admit it, but this is the very nicest Easter I’ve ever spent.”

  “Why shouldn’t you admit it, Peter. It makes me very happy.”

  “It looks like a bid for sympathy or something.” Arnold Burroughs said, “You consider this your home away from home, Peter. We like having you here.” Hagerman was close to tears. Really.

  You go along thinking there’s something wrong with you, because nobody’s ever taken much trouble with you, and then one day you wake up and you discover you were doing the only thing you could do, because instinctively you knew you had to protect yourself; instinctively you knew that. What other way was there to explain this whole thing?

  You were up against something you didn’t even know the size of; you were running against a mother the likes of which you couldn’t have even imagined; a mother who would hack up a defenseless girl! A klep mother; a clever, diabolical goddam klep-mother-murderer! And a little peanut like you had held your own, with nobody to help you, with nobody there for you, with no place to go on Easter Sunday but to your roommate’s home.

  For all Len Lovely cared, for all Peg B
eauty cared, you were an ant; hell, you were a cockroach. You were that mother in the mud in Vietnam; the mud-Turtle, with some bespectacled creep back home by her radio borrowing glory from your battles. Oh, I love Joey … just as long as Joey doesn’t come home and sit in any of the goddam chairs and soil the antimacassars!

  Beautiful! Wasn’t it?

  Well, Joeys, peanuts, ants, cockroaches, they come through, and they always will, and they’ll do it on their own goddam power too; they’ll take crumbs; sure, they’ll probably even choke up when somebody else’s mother says they’re darling boys. You going to blame them?

  But you listen here, mothers. There are some of us, not many of us, just a few of us, who’ll smell you mothers out; we’ll get better and better and better at smelling you out, and the kind of chance a Shepley got once a Shepley won’t get a second time, because that old monkey wrench will kill him dead. Because you learn, don’t you? The mothers are a lot bigger and a lot more dangerous than you ever dreamed, and they’re never going to get a chance at you again.

  Nobody helps you; you might get a few crumbs tossed your way, but you bake your own cake. Solo. Number two has to try harder, right, Len Lovely?

  Oh dear; oh dear, thought Ida Burroughs, now those are tears in that boy’s eyes.

  She said, “Chocolate cake coming up! I hope you like chocolate cake, Peter!”

  “I like it very much, thank you, Mrs. Burroughs.”

  Bud Burroughs said, “Dad, what’ll happen to Shepley?”

  “What can they do with a kid like that? Lock him up the rest of his life, is all. We’ll pay the taxes, and he’ll get chicken à la king every Sunday.”

  Peter Hagerman said, “Somebody will always pay his way. He always had his way paid for him, and now it won’t be any different. Beautiful!”

  Bud Burroughs said, “He’ll be out in a few years. His family’s got money.”