Death Kit (33 page)

However disagreeable Mrs. Nayburn might be to him this afternoon or evening, Diddy's not offended. Feels sorry for the elderly woman about to return, alone, to the place she called home. Leaving behind the person closest to her, virtually her daughter. Returning to no loved ones. A widow and childless for the rest of her days. Even though, as Hester has assured Diddy, Aunt Jessie's prospects back in Terre Haute are not that sad. Has her job at the Public Library until she turns sixty-five, and has many friends her own age whom she's known all her life.

When, over their last dinner together, Mrs. Nayburn argumentatively brings up the question of when he and Hester are going to marry, Diddy was tempted to speak the truth. To tell the woman that the decision rested entirely with her niece. That he, for his part, was ready to marry Hester any time. Tomorrow, if she wanted. But then reconsidered, thinking that the truth might sound ominously complicated to Mrs. Nayburn, though it really was quite simple. Wavering, not knowing exactly what to say.

“You know, Dalton,” the woman continued plaintively, “I've been pretty broad-minded about you and Hester. I've never suggested you come back and have a church wedding and all that. I know how young people feel these days. And Hester is so strong-minded, I wouldn't even dare propose it to her. But you're more levelheaded than she is. You're a reasonable, well-brought-up young man, I can see that. I saw it right away, from the beginning. On the train. So make Aunt Jessie happy, will you? There's been enough scandal in our family already.… I know I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. Hester's of age; so are you, of course. Still, I'm asking you anyway. Give me your promise that you'll marry as soon as Hester leaves the hospital. I don't care if it's a civil ceremony; you can make it as simple as you like. Just so you're married, not living together like animals. Please promise, Dalton.”

Genuinely moved, Diddy gave Mrs. Nayburn the promise she wanted. Half rising out of his seat, leaned across the restaurant table, took her head with the untidy gray hair in his two hands. And gravely kissed her on both cheeks.

The next afternoon Diddy took Mrs. Nayburn to the station to see her off; she wouldn't have to change trains once to get back to Terre Haute. His first time in the station since his arrival almost three weeks ago. On adjacent tracks, the New York, Boston & Standard trains were operating. Indeed, he read from the information board that the Privateer itself, on its daily run from Buffalo to New York City, was due in forty-three minutes. Diddy shaken by a slight surprise to have evidence that the train was still running. A foolish surprise. Could he have thought there were no other Privateers after his, after the one that made the northbound run on October 27th?

Diddy wondering what had happened to his feelings. Dead? Or just muffled under his new flesh? How was it possible for Incardona's murder to recede so far from his mind as it had these two weeks? Diddy must be living in some dream. Or suffering from amnesia. Or undergoing the disintegration of his character.

That's why, boarding the train carrying Mrs. Nayburn's suitcase and some of her brown-paper bundles, helping her to locate her roomette and get settled in, Diddy didn't think he would be particularly upset. Wrong, again. He was. The train-world brought back all the familiar constrictions, recharged the old nightmare. Within moments, he'd begun to panic. Desperately fearful that the train would start up before he could get off, and carry him away from Hester.

“Thought I heard the whistle,” muttered Diddy anxiously.

“The conductor said the train stops here for twenty minutes. I'm sure you have time.… Dalton, reach me down that suitcase again from the rack, please. I want to take out my bedroom slippers.”

“No, I'm sure I heard something.” Terrified of being trapped on the train, Diddy grabbed upward at the suitcase, in his haste pulling at it clumsily and knocking himself on the head with it as he brought it down.

“Oh, you've hurt yourself! Let me look at it. Dear me! Wait a minute, I have some Band-Aids in the suitcase.”

“Don't fuss, Jessie. It's nothing.”

“But you're bleeding, Dalton. Don't you have a handkerchief? Here, use mine.” The woman began rummaging in her purse. Diddy thought he heard the train whistle again. Convinced that if he is bleeding slightly near his hairline, it was because the blood was pounding so hard in his head. His skull felt as if it was about to split open.

Waving aside the handkerchief that Mrs. Nayburn withdrew from her purse, Diddy leaned over, touched her soft powdery cheek with his lips, and delivered her a curt goodbye.

Once on the platform, he felt very foolish. Plenty of passengers were still boarding the train; some strolling down the platform, seeming in no rush at all. The train was supposed to leave at three minutes after two. His watch said ten minutes to two; so did the platform clock. Of course he stayed, waving at the woman and directing smiles at her through the dirty window. After what seems an interminable time, the whistle did sound. Men along the platform made their signals. Was there someone on the track right in front of the train, a workman just (now) clambering to safety? Diddy couldn't see ahead of the long straight train. Slowly, the train started up. Diddy ran alongside it for a few yards, maintaining his pantomime of waving and smiling. The train picked up speed. Diddy stops.

If only he can get out of the station without mishap. Who knows, Capt. Mallory may be lurking around, still pursuing his investigation, though it's not recorded in the papers. Capt. Mallory, having studied a list of the passengers who were on the Privateer on Sunday, October 27th, somehow, through an occult hunch, recognizing Diddy and stopping him to ask questions. Or Myra Incardona, down to complain about why she hasn't received the dough she thinks is owed her by the railroad, emerging red-faced through some office door with puny Thomas Francis in tow. Or even the stamp dealer or the plump cleric, either of whom may live in this city or have business which brings him here regularly from New York.

If Diddy really means to turn his back upon the past, that means not just Joan but all of the past; all. Even the most recent. Even the most terrifying. Supreme courage is needed to refuse the past, a courage far greater than that required in situations of acute physical danger. Diddy not all that brave. The past draws. Like a wind tunnel, with Diddy the ingenious scale model of some new experimental airplane that's being thrust into the tunnel, fiercely buffeted. And while perhaps not simply, rudely, shattering in pieces, the model visibly trembles; sags; buckles under the tunnel's stresses. Is too fragile to meet the normal standards of performance and safety. With rethinking and more work in the laboratories, the structural faults of the new plane may be mended. So it is urged. But is it worth it? The plane has had its chance, been put to the test. Energy is better spent working on something new, an object without the stigma of failure. So the company decides to invest no more money or time in research on the plane; cancels plans to put it into production.

Diddy feels the sucking of the wind. Feels himself swaying, as he might if he were still excessively thin. But no, he's not that thin any more; though not fat either. And it's only the bitter wind of winter; for Diddy's farther north, where the climate is colder than he's used to. Added to the violent air currents set up by the thunderous entrances and exits of the trains. But that's not enough to account for Diddy's having trouble standing erect. He's not that fragile.

True. And not that strong either; or particularly brave. But then, he doesn't have to be (now), since he's no longer alone. If the past draws, here's a counterpull from the present. That is, the future.

Diddy still in the station, but heading away from the site of train traffic. Heading (now) toward the exit. Past may not be directly converted into future, but the problem admits of a more roundabout solution. Treat time as space. Once time is converted into space, then one space may be exchanged for another. For example: Diddy's case. The past is here. Here where the guilt surges up. So he will go elsewhere. And he has a place to go to, the hospital where his future is being born. Diddy has Hester and the space she inhabits, which he will share with her. And when she shares with him the space he inhabits, when he draws her into it, it will become a different space. Transformed and disinfected.

Diddy in a taxi, his panic and tumult pacified, getting closer and closer to the hospital and his afternoon hours with Hester. Is Diddy being complacent? Perhaps. Thus far, Hester is a very smooth stone in his consciousness. Not that he's complacent about the girl; his feeling for her has all the energy of romantic passion. But he's not obsessed with her. She's too exclusively a release from, or neutralization of, his obsessions.

How well does he understand Hester apart from himself? Not very well, it would seem. Admittedly, she doesn't make understanding easy. But is Diddy trying as hard as he might? The sum of all his recent efforts.

Perhaps, to understand Hester, he'll have to do more than love her and be in love with her. Perhaps, if their union is to succeed and their life together genuinely flourish, he will have to become obsessed with her. But is one ever obsessed with anything except what is, in some way, destructive? No. Then perhaps Diddy will have to locate the element of destructiveness lodged deep in Hester. Seems absurd, doesn't it? But perhaps not. There aren't any saints on this earth, are there?

Take Hester's attitude to her mother. Can't be that her daughter simply forgives Stella Nayburn for what she did when Hester was fourteen. Can't be that Hester simply loves and misses her mother. What happened to the rage of the betrayed child? She could only suppress it, which means it's still there: coming out, inverted, as goodness. With dark and bitter fluids seething underneath. Maybe Hester doesn't know how else to be; except to be good. But, if that's the case, she's murderously good. Cannot expunge her dark, demonic side. Only keep it hidden. Diddy must look at her more carefully. Without getting too close. Without inviting Hester to turn a comparable look on him.

The taxi is pulling up in front of the Warren Institute. Diddy pays, gets out. Lying in his pocket, the paperback edition of
Emma.
He stops off at the coffee shop in the hospital lobby; orders an egg salad sandwich on toast and a coffee to go. Hester, a light eater, will already have had her lunch; but Diddy, who gobbled down a club sandwich with Mrs. Nayburn at the station an hour ago, is hungry again. As he rides up the elevator, with his small paper bag in his hand, the inside of his mouth begins to get moist. Its stimulus: being hungry and knowing he's about to be fed. Another stimulus: a wave of tenderness toward Hester. Anticipation of the intense pleasure of just seeing her, sharing this afternoon with her, however restricted their situation. But it's improving all the time. Today Mrs. Nayburn left. No more talking for courtesy's sake. And Hester herself is more active. Ever since she's been allowed out of bed—a week already—they may choose either to stay in her room or to settle in the patients' lounge at the end of the corridor. And on the horizon, only two days away, the largest choice of all: the whole world from which to carve out their space.

His thoughts in the taxi seem (now) very foolish to Diddy. His plans to scrutinize the girl in the hope of unmasking her perfections, something perverse and mean-spirited. If Hester discloses flaws of character, as who does not, he will be the tactful lover. Like Mr. Knightly, waiting patiently, his true sentiments undeclared, until the moment when Emma perceives her follies, feels shame over them, and repudiates them. Then, because it's finally wanted, Mr. Knightly can offer the healing balm of his generous love.

Presumptuous Diddy! Far more likely to be Hester who will discover the flaws, his flaws. Hester who will need much patience to put up with him. But can't that painful process be circumvented? If Diddy already knows what he does that's foolish and stupid, why can't he become wise? Act wisely. For, oh, Diddy has perceived his follies countless times. Is heartily ashamed of them, strenuously repudiates them. It's only that he doesn't understand. Not really. A hopeless, bumbling tourist in the somber labyrinth of his own consciousness.

The punitive labyrinth.

The initiatory labyrinth.

The architectonic labyrinth.

The girl with the oval sunglasses, sure-footed in the dark, will lead him out.

“Hester?” Not in her room. Diddy wants to know from the college student and the wife of the state senator where she's gone.

Probably in the lounge.

Diddy races down the corridor. To the room at the end, a room with a wall of windows like a sun porch. Yes! At the sight of her, Diddy's heart breaks open; for somewhere he's never rid of the fear that Hester doesn't exist. Or will vanish, as Incardona has. Be withdrawn, like the newspaper account of Incardona's death. Diddy troubled by the diminished substantiality of this death, the fact that he's (now) so much less powerfully obsessed by it.

Hester, stretched out on a leather reclining chair, wrapped in her yellow bathrobe, holds her face to the sun. Her long blond hair hangs over the sides of the chair; looking as if it had been freshly washed. This morning? How pale she is. So much in need of sun, pure air, exercise, food that whets the appetite, and the body of an ardent lover. But Hester has, at least, found the sun. Which starts, glintingly, off her dark glasses. As Hester is the sun that Diddy's found, the black sun.

*   *   *

Wednesday morning, three days later. Hester scheduled to leave the hospital at ten o'clock.

On the slight chance that she might be sent down earlier, Diddy arrived at nine. Is Diddy's early arrival the precaution of Diddy the Overexcited? Not exactly. Arrived a whole hour early because of the pleasure he took in being extra-considerate on Hester's behalf, the most vigilant lover and protector imaginable. Preferring to wait for her rather than run the slightest risk of keeping her waiting for him. And also, a less happy reason. Because he senses that Hester is suspicious of him. Something more than the natural mistrust of the blind and dependent of those to whose care they are, without recourse, committed. It was a mistrust of him, Diddy. Who has (now) to prove himself to his bride.