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out when they see a sad picture, or a puppy run over. I held Elma gently and knew everything was going to
work out. I began to cry too... because I was still damn scared.
Elma asked,  Should I call up his mother?
 Why?
 She must be sick and...
 I wouldn't call her now. As you say, she's probably too sick and upset to talk. And as I listened to my
own words, the casual, offhand sound of them, I was surprised at my hardness. For as soon as Elma called his
mother, it might be the start of a link between me and the case... the police.
Elma slept soundly that night without pills. The doc dropped in and we were both in bed. He looked at
Elma, said it was a  good sleep.
I had the same nightmare, only with a corny touch this time. I was running out of the store and a
motorcycle cop was chasing me, Mac sitting behind the driver and pointing to me and laughing as he yelled,
 Killer I Killer! Then I ran into a huge spider web and got hung up on it. The web turned out to be my
fingerprint and Mac's pointing finger became a gun barrel and flame spurted from the finger nail and I felt the
hot lead tearing through me with horrible pain and I awoke with a short scream, my pillow sweat-wet.
In the morning Elma ate a large breakfast and I managed to keep coffee and toast down although even
that gave me the runs. She decided to call her mother-in-law. I tried to stall her, but there wasn't any way I
could talk Elma out of it. She had a long talk with the old woman, who was hysterical most of the time. I held
my face next to Elma's, listened in.
The old woman said,  Elma, we've lost him. God has taken all I had in life. Maybe I was wrong in wanting
him so much, in trying to run his life and yours. Elma, do you forgive me?
 Of course.
 The funeral will be... tomorrow. Oh God, they're burying my son tomorrow, tomorrow! When she finally
checked her sobbing, she said,  In the prime of his life, he had to die. I keep asking myself only one question:
Why? Why did this happen to me and mine? He was right, always hated the stores... they fed and clothed him,
and they killed him. Elma, you must be at the funeral. I have so few friends, and I know so few of his...
I shook my head. The thought of me driving Elma back to the scene of the crime, to the cemetery, gave my
guts a chill. The old lady's babbling didn't upset me... she probably had talked as passionately in convincing
Mac he had to take the baby.
Elma said,  I'm not feeling too well. And I'm quite a long ways from Newark. I can't travel. You see, I
expect to have the baby in a few...
 Ah, the baby! My God, are You punishing me for what I did to Elma? Elma....
 Yes?
 Do you have it in your heart to forgive an old jealous mother? Oh my daughter, no one has the right to
take a child from its mother how I know that now! How I think of...
The old woman rattled on and I gave up listening. As I lit my pipe I thought it was lucky she wasn't going
to try to take the baby. Her case wouldn't be as strong as Mac's, but it would still be a nasty mess if she tried...
and mean I'd knocked off Mac for... nothing.
Elma talked to her for almost an hour, soothing her. It seemed to be a tonic for Elma too. When the doc
came and spent some time with her, he gave me the eye to walk him to the door, told me,  Well, Jameson,
58
Enter Without Desire
your wife is very much better. I think she's snapped out of it. Young women of today, they read too much. In
the old days they didn't know about childbirth, couldn't worry too much. You know the saying: A little
knowledge is a dangerous thing. Now, a woman reads a couple of these pseudo-medical books or articles, and
scares herself half to death. Glad she's over whatever was worrying her. She'll be all right, and shouldn't have
any trouble during the birth she's built right.
The doc was correct within two days Elma was out of bed and pretty gay. She still called the old lady
every day, to comfort her, and the old woman suddenly seemed to love Elma like a daughter... all of which I
took with a grain of salt.
I drove to New York and bought all the Newark papers, including back issues to the day of the killing. It
looked good. The police admitted they didn't have the slightest idea as to the identity of the killer, and in one
story they even said that fingerprints weren't found... which made me feel better, but I knew that might just be [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]