After Life (5 page)

Naw, it's all right. The regular day went great.. .

small classes, manageable, most of the kids quite nice.

I met a few more faculty members, mostly old-timers, from the house in

which old man Carter and the Overstreets lived.

For a moment the driver focused on the lighted windows upstairs. Then

the truck inched forward as if on its own.

A startled owl flew off a nearby tree limb and sailed across the truck's

path before disappearing into the night.

The driver didn't seem to notice. Nothing took his concentration off

the windows. Not more than fifty feet from the house, he stopped the

truck again and just stared. Finally he lit a cigarette. Its glowing

ash looked like the single eye of a terrified alley cat reflecting the

stray glitter from garbage cans. The driver rolled down his window, but

the escaping smoke was barely visible.

After a few more moments he flipped the cigarette into the night. It

landed with an explosion of sparks and remained a tiny, red-orange bead

against the blackness.

A shadow crossed the first lit window.

Reaching over to the dashboard, the driver of the truck opened the glove

compartment and took out a pint bottle of rye whiskey. He unscrewed the

top carefully and took a long swallow. He shuddered as the whiskey

burned down his throat and warmed his chest. Then he screwed on the

bottle cap and put the bottle back in the glove compartment, catching a

glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. Only he didn't see himself;

he didn't see a drawn, unshaven man with sunken cheeks and a pronounced

jawbone. He didn't see his own bloodshot eyes or his disheveled, thin

brown hair. Instead he saw the face of a teenage boy, round and full of

health, a face of smiles and optimism. The driver paused to smile back.

Just a little while longer now, Paulie boy, he muttered Just a little

while longer. You're gonna know it, too, boy. I can feel it. It's

gonna wake you up, bring you back to the way you was. Just a little

while longer.

The dark silhouette in the house moved across a second window. The

driver reached behind his seat and brought out a rifle.

Oh yeah, Paulie boy, he muttered. Oh yeah.

He started to open the truck door, but the handle didn't turn. He

pressed down on it again and again. It didn't move. He leaned on it

with all his weight, but the handle did not budge. What the hell He

slid across the seat impatiently and reached for the handle on the

passenger-side door, but that, too, did not budge. He banged on it with

his closed fist until his hand screamed with pain and then he raised his

rifle and slammed the handle with the rifle butt. Nothing happened.

Except the windows rolled up.

The driver sat back in shock. They were certainly not power windows.

Huh? he said to an invisible passenger.

He kicked at the door, but it was like kicking at a cement wall.

The truck started. He jumped back as if the steering wheel were on

fire. The engine raced.

What the hell's going on? He turned the ignition key, but it was

already on off. The truck shook and rumbled as the engine raced harder

and harder.

Panic set in. The driver slammed the windows with his rifle, but they

didn't as much as crack. He felt as if he were choking, as if all air

were cut off. Then he realized the faulty exhaust system, the carbon

monoxide He flailed about like a man going down in quicksand, but

nothing helped. Nothing. Finally, seeing no other way, he pointed the

rifle at the side window and pulled the trigger. The report was ear

shattering, and he thought, as crazy as it seemed, that he actually saw

the bullet bounce off the window and turn around. It seemed to hesitate

for a moment as if it, too, didn't believe what was happening, or didn't

want what was happening to happen. But neither he nor the bullet had

any say in the matter.

It continued its ricochet and crashed through his fore head, lifting him

slightly off the seat and throwing him back against his door, the rifle

flying out of his hands and landing on the seat.

The engine stopped. The door handle went down and the door opened. The

driver fell back, but his legs got caught under the steering wheel and

he dangled there, his body swaying in the wind.

Jessie woke with a start. Her body was comfortably curled in the pocket

of Lee's embrace, his right arm lying lightly over her shoulder. They

had fallen asleep almost immediately after making love, both enjoying

that gentle and welcome fatigue that followed. Jessie recognized that

through their lovemaking they both rid their bodies of the day's

anxiety. Sex was an antidote for tension, for loneliness, and

especially for fear.

With every kiss, with each touch, they reinforced their alliance and

assured each other that no matter how cold and dark the world seemed to

be around them, they were in a warm, protective cocoon.

Lee would tease her about their sexual relations now.

It was the only time he inserted any humor into a discussion of her

blindness.

Wait a minute, he said after they had made love one night, if the

doctors are right about you and your other senses have become sharper,

you're probably getting more out of this than I am now.

So practice keeping your eyes closed when we make love, she replied, and

they laughed.

But it was true. Often, when they made love she felt something beyond

what she had felt before the accident she reached a higher plateau.

Right at the point of orgasm, she seemed to leave the confines of her

body and become part of some ongoing stream, a flow of souls, a greater,

higher form of life. It was an altogether different sort of ecstasy,

not sensual, not pleasurable in the common sense; her body didn't tingle

and feel filled with electricity. This ecstasy came from a sense of

completion, as if as if she had a taste of what would come in the

hereafter. Of course, she didn't mention a word about it to Lee. He

would just lay the blame on her overworked imagination again, and she

instinctively sensed he might not appreciate knowing she wasn't thinking

of him per se when they made great love.

They had made great love tonight, both of them driven by a need to

comfort themselves as well as each other.

Lee had taken his time, titillating her with what he playfully called

his mystery kiss. It was their closest thing to kinky sex. She would

lie nude, her arms up over her head. He would begin by kissing her feet

or her stomach, and then she had to anticipate where he would put his

lips next. In her perpetual darkness, his kisses felt like drops of

warm rain, one falling on her breasts, another on her lips, and then

another just inside her thighs.

Sometimes he lingered between kisses, making the anticipation that much

greater, drawing out the exquisite torment until she cried out and

reached up for him. He would laugh and come to her and they would cling

to each other with a delicious desperation. It had been like that

tonight. And they had drifted into a gentle repose.

Until the noise shattered her peace.

What was that? she cried, sitting up. Lee's arm fell away from her

shoulders and he groaned. Lee?

Huh? He fought opening his eyes. It was too sweet, too comfortable.

She poked him. What? he said, and groaned as he turned over on his

back. Didn't you hear that bang? What bang? He wiped his eyes and

reluctantly lifted his head from the pillow to listen. I don't hear

anything, he said. Not now. She threw her legs over the bed and found

her slippers.

Where are you going? I heard something something terrible, she said,

and started for the doorway.

Oh Jessie, Jesus. He wiped his cheeks vigorously and sat up himself. By

the time he found his own slippers, she was down the corridor and

entering the living room. He was nude, but he didn't pause to get a

robe.

He flipped on the hallway light and found her with her ear pressed

against the front window. For a moment he almost burst out laughing.

She looked like some one eavesdropping on the neighbors in the next-door

apartment. Jesse? Someone's out there, she said.

I hear an engine running.

Oh boy, he said, and joined her at the window. It took a moment for him

to see the truck silhouetted in the darkness. Without its headlights

on, it had blended in with the other shadows and forms in the night.

What the There's someone there? A truck, he said. No lights.

I can't tell if anyone's sitting in it or not. The engine's running,

she insisted. He couldn't hear it through the closed window, so he

opened it and knelt down to place his ear close to the screen. Yeah, he

said, it is. Well, what is it? I don't know. I heard a terrible, loud

sound before, Lee. It sounded like a gunshot. Huh? An icy finger of

fear traced the length of his spine from his neck to his waist. He

shook his body like a bird shaking off rain. Shit, he said. I'm

standing here naked. And, he realized, so are you. Maybe you should

phone the police, Lee, she said, unconcerned with her own exposure in

the window. And tell them what? There's a truck parked on the street

with its engine running.

It's very late. And whoever it is has the lights off.

That's peculiar, Lee. Oh Jesus, he groaned. I'll get some clothes on

and see what the hell it is. She grabbed his arm. No, Lee. just phone

the police. I'm afraid.

They won't come up here if I just tell them there's a truck outside with

its engine running, honey. There's no law against that. I'll see if

there's anything wrong and then I'll phone. He patted her hand and

returned to the bedroom. Jesse turned her attention back to the window

and continued to listen. There was the distinct sound of those

shuffling footsteps again. The cool night air came in through the

opened window, but it wasn't the chill that made her step back; it was

the odor, a whiff of that horrible stench. She brought the window down

sharply stepped back, her heart pounding. A moment later she heard Lee

coming down the hallway toward the front door. Wait, she cried. What?

There's something out there, Lee. What? he asked. I don't know, but

it's something horrible. Oh Jessie, he groaned. I have a flashlight

with me. I'll check it out first before I go too far, okay? Don't go

off the porch, she advised.

Right, he said. He opened the door and went out.

Lee! she cried when he closed the door behind him.

She rushed to it and opened it again just in time to hear him walking

down the steps. Lee? It's all right, he called back. I'm okay. Get

back inside, you exhibitionist, he said, and she finally realized she

was standing naked in the doorway.

What do you see? she asked, covering her bosom with her arms. A truck

with its door opened, he said as nonchalantly as he could, for he had

seen more.

He walked over the flagstones and directed the beam at the truck cab

where the driver's door was open. He ran the light down and saw the man

dangling.

Should I phone the police? Jesse called from the doorway. For a moment

Lee didn't respond. He stepped closer. Yeah, he called back, I guess

you should.

He directed the beam of light over the driver. The man moaned. What

the hell. .. Lee knelt down beside him and shook his arm. The man

groaned and then started to vomit profusely. Lee jumped up and stepped

back to avoid the splatter. The foul odor of whiskey mixed with

whatever the man had put into his stomach during the last few hours came

up at Lee in undulating waves.

Lee fanned the air around him and stepped to the side, directing his

flashlight at the cab. He saw the man's feet were caught in the

steering wheel and he saw the emptied pint bottle of rye on the seat

with a rifle beside it.

The man moaned and began his struggle to right him self, but he had no

support and simply flapped about like a fish on land. Reluctantly,

holding his breath as he did so, Lee came to his assistance and lifted

him so that he could free his feet from the steering wheel. Then he

scooped his arms under the man's arms to pull him from the truck as if

he were pulling him from a vehicle on fire. He wanted to get as far

away from the rancid odors as quickly as he could. He dropped the man

gently on the shoulder of the road and ran the beam of light over his

face.

The gaunt-looking, unshaven man waved his hand at the light the way he