Read Online A Stir of Echoes by Richard Matheson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Matheson
Tags: Fantasy
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revelations.
"There's a little redheaded job at the plant," he said.
I was surprised again.
"Oh, she knows about it," he said. "Old Lizzie knows all about it. What the hell else can she expect, though? A man needs it. That's all. And I need a lot of it. It's a matter of simple arithmetic."
He went on telling me about the little "job"- redheaded, petite, tight-sweatered and sheathed with hugging slacks. She brought papers to the accounting department and dropped them off there.
"I don't get much eating done at lunchtime," Frank said, winking.
EIGHT
I CAN'T STAND HIM," Anne told me as we were getting ready for bed that night. "He's loathsome. He's got that poor woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown."
I pulled off my second sock and dropped it into my shoe.
"I know," I said.
"All she wants is a baby," Anne said. "God! You'd think she was asking for the moon! She doesn't ask a thing of him; not a thing. He doesn't help her with anything! He goes out by himself whenever he damn well pleases. He begrudges her every cent she spends no matter how carefully she budgets. He yells at her and abuses her. I've seen black and blue marks on that girl- bad ones."
She slung the hanger over the closet bar. "And she doesn't say a thing," she said. "All she wants is a baby.
Seven years of marriage and that's all she asks. And him …"
"Maybe that's her trouble," I said. "She lets him get away with too much."
"What can she do?" Anne asked, sitting down at her dressing table and picking up her brush.
"Leave him?" I suggested.
"Where would she go?" she asked, brushing with short, angry strokes. "She hasn't a friend in the world. Both her parents have been dead for nine years. If you and I ever broke up, I, at least, could go home to my mother and father for a while to get over it. Elizabeth hasn't a place in the world to go. That's her home over there. And that-pig is making it a hell."
I sighed. "I know," I said. I lay back on the bed. "I wonder, does she really know he's having an affair with-?"
I stopped. I could tell from the way her head had snapped around what the answer was.
"He's what?" she asked, slowly.
We looked at each other a moment. She turned away.
"That's fine," she said in that falsely calm voice a woman manages to achieve when she is at the height of her fury. "That's just fine. That really ices the cake. That really does."
I smiled without amusement.
"So she doesn't know," I said. "He said she did."
"Oh, he's-he's a… there isn't any word bad enough." I shook my head slowly.
"That's a real nice situation there," I said. "I feel like a soap-opera character living in this house. On one side we have a wife who kicks the guts out of her husband. On the other side we have an adulterer and a drudge." I got under the covers. "I wouldn't tell her if I were you."
"Tell her?" Anne said. "Good God, I wouldn't dare. If anything could snap her right down the middle, that'd be it."
She shivered.
"Tell her. Oh… God, not me. I shudder to think what'll happen if she finds out."
"She won't," I said.
We were quiet a while. I lay there looking at the ceiling, wondering if I was going to have that dream again-mentally feeling around the house; as if my thoughts were insect antennae quivering, searching timidly, ready to recoil in an instant at the slightest touch of anything.
But there was nothing. I began to think that maybe the keyed-up state Phil had left me in really was fading; that I was, already, below the level of awareness, and now it would keep sinking until I was as I had been before. Frankly, it made me feel a little disappointed. It was an intriguing capacity. I found myself almost straining to revitalize it in myself. Of course it didn't work. It wasn't voluntary.
A few minutes later, Anne got in bed beside me and we turned out the lights.
"You-think you're
"There's a little redheaded job at the plant," he said.
I was surprised again.
"Oh, she knows about it," he said. "Old Lizzie knows all about it. What the hell else can she expect, though? A man needs it. That's all. And I need a lot of it. It's a matter of simple arithmetic."
He went on telling me about the little "job"- redheaded, petite, tight-sweatered and sheathed with hugging slacks. She brought papers to the accounting department and dropped them off there.
"I don't get much eating done at lunchtime," Frank said, winking.
EIGHT
I CAN'T STAND HIM," Anne told me as we were getting ready for bed that night. "He's loathsome. He's got that poor woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown."
I pulled off my second sock and dropped it into my shoe.
"I know," I said.
"All she wants is a baby," Anne said. "God! You'd think she was asking for the moon! She doesn't ask a thing of him; not a thing. He doesn't help her with anything! He goes out by himself whenever he damn well pleases. He begrudges her every cent she spends no matter how carefully she budgets. He yells at her and abuses her. I've seen black and blue marks on that girl- bad ones."
She slung the hanger over the closet bar. "And she doesn't say a thing," she said. "All she wants is a baby.
Seven years of marriage and that's all she asks. And him …"
"Maybe that's her trouble," I said. "She lets him get away with too much."
"What can she do?" Anne asked, sitting down at her dressing table and picking up her brush.
"Leave him?" I suggested.
"Where would she go?" she asked, brushing with short, angry strokes. "She hasn't a friend in the world. Both her parents have been dead for nine years. If you and I ever broke up, I, at least, could go home to my mother and father for a while to get over it. Elizabeth hasn't a place in the world to go. That's her home over there. And that-pig is making it a hell."
I sighed. "I know," I said. I lay back on the bed. "I wonder, does she really know he's having an affair with-?"
I stopped. I could tell from the way her head had snapped around what the answer was.
"He's what?" she asked, slowly.
We looked at each other a moment. She turned away.
"That's fine," she said in that falsely calm voice a woman manages to achieve when she is at the height of her fury. "That's just fine. That really ices the cake. That really does."
I smiled without amusement.
"So she doesn't know," I said. "He said she did."
"Oh, he's-he's a… there isn't any word bad enough." I shook my head slowly.
"That's a real nice situation there," I said. "I feel like a soap-opera character living in this house. On one side we have a wife who kicks the guts out of her husband. On the other side we have an adulterer and a drudge." I got under the covers. "I wouldn't tell her if I were you."
"Tell her?" Anne said. "Good God, I wouldn't dare. If anything could snap her right down the middle, that'd be it."
She shivered.
"Tell her. Oh… God, not me. I shudder to think what'll happen if she finds out."
"She won't," I said.
We were quiet a while. I lay there looking at the ceiling, wondering if I was going to have that dream again-mentally feeling around the house; as if my thoughts were insect antennae quivering, searching timidly, ready to recoil in an instant at the slightest touch of anything.
But there was nothing. I began to think that maybe the keyed-up state Phil had left me in really was fading; that I was, already, below the level of awareness, and now it would keep sinking until I was as I had been before. Frankly, it made me feel a little disappointed. It was an intriguing capacity. I found myself almost straining to revitalize it in myself. Of course it didn't work. It wasn't voluntary.
A few minutes later, Anne got in bed beside me and we turned out the lights.
"You-think you're
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